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Every gaze turned to her at once. Taly waited for the fear, the shyness, the inadequacy to creep in. But her legs were steady as she rose from her seat.

Savior of Ebondrift—it was still a stupid title.

And maybe she didn’t deserve their praise.

The Vale relay wasn’t some noble cause. It had been an escape.

She’d been running from Skye, running towards her own death.

But somehow, somewhere in the cowardice, she’d done something good.

She’d made the horror of that night matter to enough people that when she spoke, they listened.

Just like they were listening now. Whether or not she deserved it, she needed to make it count.

The crowd murmured as Taly stepped onto the floor. A few gasped when Ivain stepped aside, yielding to a human . Letting her speak? But as Ainsley had already pointed out, she’d been given a seat of honor. And according to Fey rules of Congress, it was her right to take the floor.

“Not that I would expect you to know it.” Her voice was steady, her shoulders straight. She walked until she could feel the prick of Ainsley’s shield, air magic making the downy mass of her skirts flutter.

His lip curled at the audacity of a human approaching him without leave.

She answered with a dismissive flick of her eyes, looking him over from head to toe.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’m used to being overlooked. But not you,” she mused as she considered him. “No, you’re used to being seen. To walking into a room and expecting everyone there to already know your name, never once stopping to consider the privilege behind that expectation.”

She stalked around him, step by measured step.

“You don’t know my name, but I know yours, Ainsley Enix.

I actually know quite a lot about you. Like that you’re here to facilitate trade negotiations for your House to the guilds in Faro, and that this was your first time coming to the island.

I know you arrived early because Lord Castaro has been trying to rebuild the airtrams, and the High Lady of Air sent you to let him down gently.

I know that you hate the rain, hate the cold, hate the aetherless air, hate that everything and everyone here is so simple and quaint.

You always complain about the price of ale but never hesitate to order the most expensive one, and you won’t cross a bridge at night,” she said, smiling at the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Too superstitious.”

Taly looked to the terraces—the people there.

“I know that you like taverns. I do too. They’re warm during the winter, and it’s cheap to nurse a beer.

” A few rumblings from the crowd, those who had also weathered a Tempris winter with no water or heat.

“You also hear things in taverns. People talk, and the beer, the liquor, the noise makes them forget that others might be listening.”

There it was. Recognition . Now, finally, he remembered her.

She’d seen him in the weeks before the attacks. Six nights, he’d come into the tavern below where she lived, and six nights, she’d listened to him and his friends from a quiet, secluded corner.

Six nights, he’d followed her back up to her room and spent most of it trying to get through her door.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. There were only two reasons rich Highborn came to that side of town—to drink and rut with humans. And Jay had always found it endlessly amusing to tell anyone who would listen that she might be for sale.

Thankfully, the wards on her door had been working that week, though she’d still spent the night with her dagger clutched close to her chest.

Taly slid her hands into her skirt pockets. “It’s amazing the things people say when they think no one is listening. Amazing what you hear when the world deems you beneath its notice.”

She let that sink in, let him wonder how many more of his dirty, little secrets she might know.

Finishing her slow circle of the stage, Taly held his eyes as she came to stand before him.

“You are a guest here. As are most of the people I see sitting in places of honor.” She surveyed the assembled nobility.

“Vacationers, emissaries—those who see Tempris as merely a waypoint. Something temporary that doesn’t matter.

That’s not worth preserving, not worth fighting for, and forgetting that the food you eat, the safety you enjoy, comes at the expense of our generosity.

The people of Tempris—Fey and human alike. ”

There was a whoop from the crowd, and Taly realized it was Kato. Scattered applause built like distant thunder.

Taly stepped closer, drinking in the seething hatred in the lordling’s eyes.

“It matters,” she said quietly. “This place—it matters . Humans die. Our lives are but a flicker, but we matter . We have voices and minds and a wealth of strength that would put men like you to shame if you could ever figure out how to look. We have bled for this island, side-by-side with those Fey lives you claim to seek to preserve. And perhaps you should consider that the next time you get the urge to start making speeches. Consider the work they do that allows you and your ilk to eat and drink and spend your days ignoring the situation at hand.”

Another step closer. Ainsley stood rigid, sneering down at her as she leaned in to whisper, “Consider also that in my family, we don’t make idle threats.”

And then Taly let her eyes drop. Waited for his to follow… to the dagger she held poised between his legs.

When the blade had made its way into her hand, how she’d moved without him seeing, pushing past his shield—she could see each question as it flashed across his expression. See the calculus there.

He could easily overpower her, but not before she unmanned him.

And so, he grudgingly, nervously, remained very, very still.

She smirked, sliding her eyes to Ivain. “You did promise,” she said sweetly. One of the nobles gasped, though she couldn’t tell if it was from horror or delight.

Leaning against a twisting pillar, hands resting casually in his pockets, Ivain grinned, the picture of fatherly, indulgent pride. “I warned you, Ainsley, what would happen if you didn’t find your place.” Then to Taly, he crooned, “It’s your call, sweetling.”

There were no cries of outrage. No one stood up. Not even the members of Ainsley’s own House, all too afraid now of drawing more of Ivain’s ire.

Taly made sure that Ainsley marked every friend he didn’t have before she whispered, her voice laced with silk and poison, “Lucky for you, I like this dress. And blood stains horribly.” A flick of her dagger dropped the bottom button of his waistcoat into her waiting hand.

“I suppose I’ll have to satisfy myself with just your dignity. ”

And then Taly turned with a flourish of her skirts.

A distant part of her registered the gasps from the crowd, then the applause, then the thunderous cheering punctuated with whoops and whistles as she held up the button like a trophy.

What she’d done—it would not soon be forgotten. Not by the people, and not by that lordling. She’d decide later if it was a mistake.

“Please,” she said, shushing them. Because being heard was a privilege and right now they were listening.

“Please sit. I know you’re afraid, and I know that you’re tired, but we are still here.

We are still standing, so please, I’m begging you, do not let this be the thing that breaks us.

Sit and listen to your leaders. Look to the people who are helping, not those who seek only to divide. ”

Ainsley barked, “Castaro, call off—”

“ No! ” Taly snarled and flung out a finger. “You are done speaking. It is time for other voices to be heard.”

“Yeah, sit the fuck down,” someone called from the terraces.

Shame burned the lordling’s face, but he didn’t strike back. Wouldn’t risk it with Ivain and Skye watching his every breath. With Sarina’s flames sparking the air, begging to be released as her fingers drummed against the arm of her throne. Her expression was near feral, lit up with savage pride.

Taly surrendered the stage. She took Skye’s outstretched hand when she was close enough.

He sent down the bond, I love watching you put arrogant pricks in their place.

She let him help her back into her seat, a necessity with so much dress to maneuver and her knees turning to jelly. I think I may have blacked out a little.

Indeed, whatever had driven her to stand, to step onto that floor, to speak, was fading, and in the wake of it, she felt shaky.

Finally, the crowd began to settle, the din of voices and movement thinning into quiet. But one pair of hands kept clapping.

A gravelly laugh followed, unmistakably feminine and full of wicked delight. “Oh, this is marvelous!”