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“I figured it was long past due for us to hold a conversation.” He shrugged as she stood from her kneeling position againstthe wall.

“And what could we possibly have to talk about?” Crimson bit out, already tired of his presence and growing glibness. “Your love of clothes that seems to grow far faster than your love of people? Other than yourself, that is.”

He barked out a thick laugh. “No, but I would happily discuss ramients with you at another time, if you so wished it.” He lowered himself slightly, bending towards her level as his hand brushed off the dirt of the bench seat across from the cells. “I wanted to talk about my mother’s murder.”

A chill brushed across her spine, coating her in a thin layer of unsettling ice. “What about it?” She asked hoarsely.

Altivar crossed one long leg over the other, his saffron trousers rustling with the movements. He wore a black velvet jacket that was as dark as pitch, with gold trim up the edges until it reached the collar. The entire neck piece seemed to be fashioned from the colour, with slightly puffy sleeves that held diamond shaped buttons.

“Everyone seems to think thatyoudid it.” He began to trifle with the black satchel as his side, threading the thick strap through the buckle as he loosened it.

She already knew that.

The guards liked to gossip.

“And?”

He lifted a manicured brow. “Oh? There’s not a hint of denial to be found. Are you pleading guilty, then? Shall I whip up a trial like that?” He snapped his long fingers. The sound echoed throughout the lone corridor.

Crimson scoffed at his jovial resonance. “I know better than to try to prove my innocence. I didn’t do it. I’m sure that there’s a ton of evidence that will illuminate that particular fact, and I’ll be let out of here in no time.”

Even if it had already been four days, and hopelessness was settling in like a hook in a fish’s mouth. It wrenched her back andforth, slamming her from side to side in a cruel method. She’d already cried twice, but he didn’t need to know any of that. Once for Muse, to allow the sadness to climb over her about her death, about the fact that she would miss the shimmering ball of light in a mortal shell. And the second time had been for herself. For her situation.

His smile was lupine and feral, and she didn’t like it. “Will they?”

Tension curled in her gut like an awakening hurricane. “What did you do?” Crimson whispered, horror filling her voice. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep it at bay as she began to slowly understand her predicament a bit better.

Altivar flipped open the flap on his bag and reached inside, searching for something. He pulled out two, long items that were horribly familiar to her.

Her blades.

Her heart sank like a stone thrown into the ocean as she understood that it was pointless. It didn’t matter if she was innocent or not, because Altivar would make her look as guilty as possible.

“I did what I did.” He casually shrugged, as if it were a mere insect on the summer breeze. “But it’s not the past I want to talk about, it’s the future.” He angled her blades towards her as he peered at the carved heart on the handle. “Do you know what these are?”

“Of course I do. They’re my fighting knives.”

Altivar’s smile grew into something even more vicious. “Yes,Red Lyric.These are your fighting knives. The very ones that you entered into the Blades of Blood with and earned the respect of most of the citizens in Tazali with.” He flipped them around for her to see. “But look beyond that. Don’t tell me that you’ve never thought about it before, about what thesetrulyare.”

His tone was condescending and she wanted to plunge one of her blades into his lean chest, if only to grant her a momentary pause of silence.

“I don’t need to, because I have no doubt that you’ll tell me.” Crimson muttered, laying her knotted head against the crumbling stones. It was as comfortable as it would get. “Get on with it already.”

Altivar chuckled lowly, shaking his head near his chest. “Firstly, they are the murder weapon. The left one was found shoved through my mother. Since these beautiful blades are Saint-made, they killed her.”

Everything inside of her shrivelled up to the point of discomfort. She became a lead stone, tumbling back into herself. The deep pool of anxiety swallowed her whole and she felt as though she were drowning in the waters of worry. It didn’t matter what she said, what she did or who could vouch for her. She was going to die for a crime that she didn’t commit.

But there, like a murky flare in the bleak water, a slice of light in the darkness, a star in the sapphire sky gleamed down at her.

No, notastar.

TheStar.

TheNorthern Star.

West.

If West testified for her, vouched for her, she wouldn’t be prosecuted. He was the Captain of the Watch and Osira’s most faithful companion. A loyal friend that everyone knew and trusted. His words would be taken seriously and they would all believe him if he said that she was innocent. And there was no way that West would think her to be capable of such a horrible deed.