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Chiron turns to face us both. “Pray that never happens.”

* * *

The apothecary’s bustle fades as the day drags on, but the akla’s lifeless form doesn’t leave my mind. My stomach churns.I’m training to save lives; what good am I if I can’t keep pace?

Chiron’s words linger:Prepare yourself.His hand had felt pointedly heavy on my shoulder.

By the time I reach the narrow underground corridor leading to my room, the weight of the day is a stone in my chest. The familiar creak of the stiff door greets me as I step inside.

A small flame flickers to life in the lamp I coax to burn, casting long shadows over the cramped, windowless space.

My gaze falls to a flower-patterned teapot on the shelf—I’d found it moulded-over when I first moved in. Now it feels like a lost item in someone else’s life—a reminder that not all who start here get to finish.

Will I follow in his footsteps?

Collapsing onto the rickety bed, I stare at the ceiling, heart pounding. The cold stone, the silence...

I press my hands to the soldad at my belt, hoping the weight will ground me. Coming here was meant to secure my future—to raise me to medius-complex vitalian, earn my fourth stamp. To be beside Nicostratus and help him.

But the akla’s lifeless form haunts my dreams. Her final, shallow breaths echo in my mind, and morning comes without rest.

I yawn and nudge the teapot on the shelf in unspoken solidarity.Mustn’t falter.Must forge on.

A knock pulls me from my thoughts, and I open the door to Florentius’s usual scowl.

“We’re headed to King’s Island,” he says, as if it’s a normal day’s work.

I grab my gloves and slide them on. “As ready as possible.”

Our boat glides silently under enormous archways, the air thick with the scent of old stone and stagnant water. I shiver as the chill wraps around me. High stone walls line the expansive royal canals, their sheer size enough to hold a thousand sinister secrets.

I turn a shiver into a smile aimed at Florentius. “How about we look out for each other while we’re here?”

Florentius huffs. “Studying in the same place at the same time doesn’t make us comrades.”

“It makes us associates.”

“This is the royal city. It makes us rivals.”

I laugh at how his face pinches. “We’ll grow better if we learn from each other.”

“What could youpossiblyteach me?”

“Tact, perhaps?”

An icy breeze whistles through the tunnel as we emerge into the inner city. I follow Florentius’s gaze, taking in the palaces, courtyards—and, somewhat incongruously, an array of festive stalls. “What’s that?”

“Spring gala,” Florentius replies. “The royal family and courtiers enjoy it first, then us.”

“We can go too?” I ask, surprised.

“The last day. To honour those who serve in the royal city.”

My eyes catch on a figure by the canal—an akla, whose profile is uncomfortably familiar.Megaera?Why would she come here? She despises the rulers that sentenced her father.

I don’t have long to dwell on it. The winding canals converge into a shimmering lake, and there, at the centre, an island rises. Terraced gardens cascade upwards to a gold-chased stone house.

King’s Island.