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I give her a wry glance. “Captain Huxley offered to ride with us,” I say. “I declined.”

“Is he worried about the dagger I’ve hidden in my skirts?”

“Say that a little louder and you’ll find out.”

The driver chirps to the horses and a whip snaps in the air, and suddenly we’re rocking and swaying over the cobblestones.

A small lantern hangs above the window, throwing shadows across her cheeks and making the red highlights in her gown gleam.

I lean back into the cushions. “Tell me: Do you really have a dagger?”

Tessa turns to look at the window. “Keep your hands to yourself or you’ll find out.”

“For as much as you hate me, you can’t be this upset about a fine carriage ride and a meal at the most exclusive establishment in all of Kandala.”

Her eyebrows go up. “I can’t?”

Lord, she is so brazen. “Fine. Perhaps you can.”

She says nothing. I say nothing. The silence grows cooler between us, punctuated by the rhythmic clopping of hooves against the cobblestones.

“Forgive me,” I say. “I should have started by saying that I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Shewhips her head around. She looks like she expected me to be teasing her, but when she sees that I’m not, her eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t tell Harristan about . . . ?us.”

She turns to look out at the night again. “I did, in fact.” She pauses, her fingers flexing. “I told him the truth. I was partners with a man I thought was a friend, until he was caught by the night patrol and hung along the gate.”

The truth. I wonder if that’s the truth she’s told herself, too. That it doesn’t matter that I was Weston Lark—because he’s dead. Now I’m just me.

She clears her throat. “I thought it wouldn’t matter anyway, since no one would believe me.”

“Harristan suspects . . . something between us.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”

“It’s not like me to be lenient.” I shrug. “He’s not pressing me for answers.”

Her fingers twine together again, like this is worrisome. “Why not?”

“Because he’s my brother, Tessa.”

She looks back at the window. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing between us.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Silence ticks along between us again. The night is very dark here, but ahead, fire flickers in a massive circle that appears to hang suspended above the earth. Despite her ire, Tessa shifts slightly closer to the window to see better. I’ve seen it all my life, but even still, the illusion at night really is quite spectacular. It’s not a circle at all, but a large archway hung with a hundred torches, each spilling ash and sparks onto a glistening pond that reflects the light. Tessa’s lips part as we draw closer, the light illuminating wonder in her eyes.

I shift to the opposite side of the carriage to sit beside her so I can see it as clearly, and she gasps and swings a fist.

Honestly. I catch her wrist. “Don’t cause a ruckus in the carriage,” I say. “I was serious about the captain.” I keep hold of her arm and nod at the window. “Look, before we’re past.”

She inhales like she wants to snap at me, but we’ve drawn close enough to hear sparks sizzle as they strike the water, and the sound pulls her attention to the window again. It’s too dark to see the woven branches that support the torches, and starlight twinkles beyond the suspended flames. Each spark that falls glitters on the surface of the pond before drowning.

“It’s called Stonehammer’s Arch,” I say. “You can see it from the palace. It was built by my great-grandfather as a declaration of love for his bride. He said as long as the torches kept burning, so would his love for her. When we were children, Harristan and I used to dare each other to climb across.”

She jerks her hand out of my grasp. “I hope you fell a lot.”