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Trust has no room for façades.A blurred memory, soaked in dark wine.I would look on your true face, little dreamer. And know that you had looked on mine.

His wish had come true. At last, I knew the secret he had kept for nearly a year.

My head listed to the side. I could allow myself a short rest, after everything. When I breathed in, a barb scored the right side of my chest. I had barely dozed off when an explosion slapped me awake.

At first, the total darkness was disorienting. When my thigh smarted, I remembered where I was. I must have slept for the whole afternoon and deep into the evening.

Another explosion. Fireworks. Bleary-eyed, I groped my way to the window, one hand on my aching rib cage. There was a commotion in the front courtyard. Shouts and cheers. Another firework wheeled over the mansion and fractured into splinters of red and white light. From the sound of it, they were going off all over the citadel.

In the courtyard, Vigiles pulled off their helmets and embraced one another. The night staff poured down the front steps to dance in the snow. I had never witnessed so much joy in Scion, not even at Novembertide or New Year. It was something like madness.

This could only mean one thing. Lisbon had fallen. I turned my back on the window, sick with grief for Portugal.

I remembered the Fall of Ireland so clearly. The day our leader, Eóghan Ó Cairealláin, had finally issued our formal and unconditional surrender. Throughout the Molly Riots, he had spurred us to resist the invaders, to protect our independence from what he had called a cult of hatred. Some had condemned him for his obstinacy, blamed him for the bloodshed, while others had declared him a hero.

Ó Cairealláin had met his end on the gallows that December. His replacement was the first and present Grand Inquisitor of Ireland, who had anglicized her name to April Whelan.

We were in London by then, of course. The night of the surrender, my father and I had gone into hiding. He had collected me from school early—before the official announcement—and got us chips for supper. Once we were home, he had explained that we needed to stay inside for a while. Ireland was now part of Scion. Things would get worse before they got better.

I hadn’t been afraid for myself. Even though the other children tormented me at school, nothing could be worse than the bloodbath I had narrowly survived in Dublin. All I had been able to think about was my beloved grandparents, who would soon be dead, like my cousin.

At dusk, my father had spoken to the security guard and locked up the apartment. The two of us had huddled up together on the couch, one of my old toys squashed between us, and pretended to watch a film. That was the last time I could remember him holding me. Even though dread had squeezed my insides, I had felt warm and safe. He had drawn me so close I had felt him shivering. His parents were in Ireland. His sister, grief-stricken over her son. He had lost everyone but me.

The fireworks had gone on and on, each detonation reaching my bones. My father had not sent me to bed. Our apartment had been high up, the windows shut fast, but we had still heard their joy. In the end, I had fallen asleep against his chest, my cheeks salted with tears.

Fifty-seven settlers, most of them homeless, had been killed or beaten that night. A few Scots had died, too, the Sasanaigh hearing something other in their voices. Years later, the exultant screams rang in my memory. The same fevered crows of triumph that cracked the frozen air tonight.

My father had kept me home from school for a month, saying I had whooping cough. During that time, he had been gentle with me. Checked how I was feeling and brought treats home. The other children had pounced when I returned—they had tripped me in the corridors, spat on my hair, emptied offal into my bag and laughed when I got the blood on my hands—but it would have been worse in those early days of victory. And for the first time in years, I had walked those corridors armored with the certainty that I was loved.

My father had soon enclosed himself in ice once more. I wished he were still here so I could ask him why. Why he had never comforted me again, or explained anything, or tried to soothe me when I raged. Why he had never once acted like a father to me after that time—except on the night of my arrest. I wished he was here so I could hide from the world with him just one more time.

Portugal had fallen in little more than a month. For the first time, it occurred to me that ScionIDE might have swelled its ranks with Irish conscripts.

When another victorious bellow raked my spine, I switched my attention to the æther. There were no dreamscapes nearby. Or anywhere on the floor below. Eager to join the celebrations, the Vigiles had forsaken their post outside my door.

A chance to get into the Salon Doré. In an instant, I was at the door to my cell, rattling the handle. Still locked. I waited for another firework, ready to fling my weight against the door.

Footsteps. I backed off, heart pounding. A moment later, the lock clicked, and then Cade was in the room, wearing a nightshirt and shorts. Shadows circled his eyes.

“They’ve taken Lisbon,” he said. “I thought—” He stared at my face. “Shit, Paige, what happened to you?”

“Not important. How the hell did you get in?”

He held up a ring of keys I had seen before. “Luce’s old set. I know where Mylène hides it.”

“Good.” I was already brushing past him. “I need to get into the Salon Doré while they’re all distracted. I need to crack his safe.”

“You won’t.” Cade caught my bad wrist. I took a sharp breath, then regretted it. “Paige, just listen. You need a registered fingerprint to access the study, and even then, there’s a manual lock to get past.” He seemed exasperated. “Maybe if you told me what you were looking for—”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone.” My voice was on the verge of cracking. “I’ll find a way.”

“If they catch you, you’ll never leave this room again. Consider a deal. Earn his trust, like I did. Wait for him to drop his guard.” Cade grasped my elbow. “Don’t risk it. Think of the bigger picture.”

The next firework made us both glow red as embers. Red as our shared order. Something about his aura had distracted me, and I couldn’t put my finger on what. He let go.