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Lyrian leaned over his desk toward Segal, resting on his knuckles like an ape. “Did you murder Porrol Vogolan?”

“I did not,” said Segal clearly.

“Do you know anything about the murder of Porrol Vogolan?”

The fire crackled and spat. “I do not.”

A nod from the kingpin. “Zirlit, step forward.”

The tall Nomarean mage with the monocle and macaw cane stepped forward.

One by one, every Bloodmoon in the room stepped forward and drank the truth elixir until the only person left was Levan. There was a tense beat, as everyone waited to see whether the kingpin would question his own son.

Lyrian did not hesitate. “Levan, step forward.”

Levan lowered Rasso to the floor as he crossed to the desk, then took the last remaining vial and drank.

“Did you murder Porrol Vogolan?”

He seemed afraid of the answer.

You’ve always hated him, he’d said when he first confided in Levan.

Why? What was the history there?

“I did not,” said Levan in a low voice.

“Do you know anything about the murder of Porrol Vogolan?”

The room held its breath.

“I do not.”

A tendon flexed in the kingpin’s jaw. “Very well.” The three syllables crunched out like grinding bone.

“You’re all dismissed. But rest assured, this is not the last you will hear of Porrol Vogolan’s death.

Segal, fetch me the servants. It’s time we interrogated them.

” He hooked a finger toward Saffron. “Filthcloak. A word.”

All the other Bloodmoons filtered out until only Saffron, Levan, and Lyrian remained in the office. The kingpin kept looking over his shoulder, as though to find Vogolan, before he remembered what had happened and a brief, bright pain flashed across his face.

Good, thought Saff bitterly. This is the same pain you so casually inflict on countless families. I hope it swallows you whole. I hope you never recover. I hope you’re sad until your dying breath.

“Levan,” said the kingpin, waving a hand. His rings caught the firelight. “You may go.”

“What she hears, I hear,” Levan replied gruffly.

“Fine.” Lyrian sank into his wing-backed chair, keen eyes still trained on Saffron. “There are rumors that the Silvercloaks have developed a charm capable of tracing a spell’s origin back to the wand that cast it. You have an informant in the Order, do you not?”

“I do.” Saff kept her answer intentionally vague. “But that charm is under lock and key—or at least, it was when I left. Forensics say it’s too unreliable to be implemented yet, and my informant doesn’t have the clearance to access it.”

“Get it for me,” he said coolly, as though he hadn’t heard her.

Saff shook her head. She couldn’t ask Nissa to do that. Slipping her information was one thing. Stealing a charm was quite another.

“I don’t think she’ll be able to breach—”

“Not my concern. Get me the charm.” A hard, leering smile. “You know what we do to sources who cease to be useful.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, but she couldn’t ask Nissa to do this.

She couldn’t not ask Nissa to do this.

Panic grabbed her by the ribs and rattled them like the bars of a cage. The collar was ever tightening around her neck. It was one thing to endanger her own life, but to so brazenly risk someone who meant so much to her …

As she and Levan exited the office, she bridled her breathing as best she could, but he still picked up on her disquiet.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Wonderful,” she muttered, only just resisting the urge to kick at the nearest wall.

“I love living with the knowledge that one wrong turn down the wrong alley on the wrong night has put everyone I’ve ever loved in jeopardy.

I love knowing that one wrong move could mean execution, for me or for them.

I love torturing and killing, I love bending my knee to your tyrant father.

” She uttered all of this without pausing for breathing, her lungs tight and throbbing.

“And I love knowing that there’s no way out. ”

Of course, this last part wasn’t true—she had a very clear way out.

But as for the rest … the dread clawing up her throat was real, the phantom collar around her neck suffocating, unyielding, an almost physical force.

The threads tying her to the people she loved felt like garrotes.

I’m sorry, Nissa. I’m so sorry.

Levan said nothing, but as they entered the warded tunnels, he laid a gentle palm on her shoulder.

The touch sent a curious frisson through her, both warm and shimmeringly cold, and he tugged slightly, willing her to stop marching for a second.

She did, but she couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t let him see the tears she was only just holding back.

“I’m sorry it came to this,” he said. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Saffron scoffed. “Why do you care?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Because I know what it’s like to feel like every choice you make is the wrong one.

To understand that the world can come crumbling down with a single wrong move.

My apology might not change anything, true.

But you’re not alone, Silver. And if you’re anything like me, which I think you are, then that means something. ”

Saff’s breath caught in her throat, surprised by his outpouring.

It seemed so … genuine. More genuine than anything he’d ever said to her before.

The careful mask he always wore had dropped, and his expression was a little pained, as though embarrassed by his own unabashed honesty.

His piercing blue eyes had crinkled at the corners, and there was a kind of urgency to his gaze, so at odds with his usual aloofness.

Soft lanternlight danced over his face, and in that moment, he looked so real.

There was a beauty to him that even Saffron, with all her worldly hatred for the Bloodmoons, could not deny. Could not tear her gaze away from.

But why was he so openly—

Of course.

He was under the influence of truth elixir. It’d be in his system for the next six hours.

The kingpin had just handed her one hell of an advantage.