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“And then daughter will be imprisoned. You expect me to agree to this?” His calm voice has fooled many, convincing them he houses no anger, nor disapproval. But Iriset knows the calmer he seems, the more danger he nurses.

“These past quads,” she says quickly, following his switch back to mirané, “I’ve been handmaiden to Amaranth mé Esmail Her Glory.”

Isidor studies her again, still frowning. “How did you manage that?”

“Oh, Dad.” She smiles only a little, but proudly.

“They believed I was not Silk. The trick worked. Her Glory came for me, thinking I would be a fine addition to her menagerie—and I am. I was. I made her my friend, as much as such is possible, and I’ve spoken personally with the Vertex Seal.

He asked a favor of me. I know the ambassador from the Ceres Remnants.

And I work with one of the royal designers—that’s how I stole the materials I needed for your mask, and Raia trusts me.

Dad, even if they punish me, you’ll be free.

Outside this tower you have the allies and power to free me in return.

They won’t execute me, as they will you. ”

The Little Cat sighs, a small, irritated hum. “I will not trade myself for you.”

“You must! It’s my fault!”

“What is?”

Her pulse roars in her ears and she’s dizzied with panic at the thought of confessing. But she must. He has to know. “They traced me. Silk. They traced my silk imports to the tower. If it weren’t for my mistake, you wouldn’t be here. I can’t let you be executed when it’s my fault.”

“Kitten, I imported those cocoons for you.”

“But—”

“No. You worked for me, I am ultimately responsible. Do not take this on your shoulders.”

“It’s my fault!”

“Stop.” He says it hard, and next he’ll snap his fingers. If she doesn’t stop, he’ll slap her.

Iriset bites her tongue.

Her father glances away. It’s his scheming face.

She waits, though she hates it. Her fingers go cold, then hot.

It takes very little time before her father turns decisively. “You cannot give up this new position, Iriset. Power at your fingertips and allied with the strongest of the empire. You could do anything from that place. Take anything, transform anything. I could never have given you so much.”

Shock widens her eyes. He is her father. He gave her everything . “Dad! It’s nothing. I don’t need power, or—or riches. We can be safe far away from here. We can flee to the Ceres islands. I don’t need them, I need you.”

“Iriset. They will convict you of human architecture.”

“But—”

“They will know you for Silk. Then Paser’s sacrifice will mean nothing.”

Iriset closes her mouth on all replies. She lowers her eyes. It had been Paser. Her lover is a widow now. For Iriset.

Her father’s hands find her shoulders, then her neck. He cups her face again. “You have done so much, so well.”

“Not enough!” she says viciously, spiking with fury. She tears away. “I have to save you.”

“You can’t save everyone, kitten.”

Back turned to him, Iriset hugs herself, gripping her own elbows tightly through the belled sleeves. She cannot look into his eyes now, not when they both think of her mother.

“Can you even imagine what she would say if I allowed you to do this for me?” Isidor asks gruffly.

“She wouldn’t want you dead, either,” Iriset grinds out through her teeth. This can’t be happening. How dare he reject her rescue.

“No. But she would choose you.”

“Dad.”

“You cannot make me don your mask. You will not win this argument.”

Iriset holds herself tighter.

“Make me proud instead, Iriset. Make your mother proud. Do something with this position in which you have found yourself. Make a mark, or change something. Anything. The whole empire. If anyone can, you can. I’ve seen what you are capable of doing when you decide.”

“Dad.”

“You challenged Aharté herself, and won, when you were ten years old. What can the Vertex Seal do against that?”

Iriset stares, lips parted, and feels like—nothing. Nulled, as if the wires bind her wrists again, or a thick collar clenches her throat. She’s choking on nothingness. She can’t accept this. Her knees give out and she sits abruptly on the floor, knocking her tailbone hard.

Her father kneels beside her, pulling her close. “I love you, kitten. Iriset, my Silk. I will die your father, rather than earn the appellation of villain in my own core.”

“I’ll find another way,” she whispers. “Beg for your life on the Days of Mercy. Is Bittor alive, do you know?”

“As far as I know, he was not killed or imprisoned.”

“I’ll get a message to him.” She’ll find a way. If the undermarket isn’t checking the old drops, she’ll find a new one. “Bittor will get cousins to the execution, and we’ll rescue you. I will find all the flaws in their security. Be ready.”

“As long as you do not show your hand. And if you ever must flee, there is money and a cache of jewels in the Violet Break.”

“I know.” It’s a small crevasse in one of the catacombs where they’ve hidden things only Iriset (or some similarly skilled designer who happens to know the exact location and engagement sequence) can get to, with a careful application of forces. “I am sorry about Paser,” Iriset whispers.

“Her family is well cared for.”

Iriset quietly asks after the rest of their cousins and courtiers, and Isidor tells her what he can of who is free, who captured, who killed, who sent to work camps already, and who likely will be executed at his side in twenty-six days.

They move to the wall and sit with shoulders pressed, hands together.

Iriset listens to her father, to the liquid words, his charm as he tries to give her some comfort, to convince her he’s well enough and proud and will go to his death with no regrets.

She tries to listen, not letting her thoughts wander to contacting Bittor or asking Shahd or Amaranth for aid.

These moments are precious and she has to be in them. A new plan can come later. Tonight.

Her father asks for stories of the palace. “I’ve never explored it, you know, kitten. I made it to the Silent Chapel once, but never into the palace itself, nor the Moon-Eater’s Temple.”

And so Iriset describes the temple to him, and the fossil teeth, even tells him what Amaranth said about them not belonging to the Moon-Eater.

“But she feels him, or something, Dad. I did, too. A connective knot. And all the palace complex is woven together, architecturally, into a great array. It’s like an organism, a massive one—not just like the Holy Design of Moonshadow.

The design of the palace is ancient. Apostatical design, though I’ll be careful to whom I say such a thing. ”

She tells him about the star-eye windows in every room, about the feather dragons prowling the gardens like cats for skinks and rats, and the flowers that turn their faces to the strongest force.

He asks about the food, and she’s extravagant with her report, because he’s hungry, and it helps assuage the longing to imagine in extreme detail.

“Now tell me about this favor asked of you by the Vertex Seal himself.”

“He asked me to learn as much Ceres as I can, quickly, in order to be a friend to his newly arriving wife. He believes she will be comforted with some handmaidens knowing her home tongue.”

“Thoughtful.”

“If we needed to, Dad, we could run to the islands. The ambassador might help me—and I already know some of the language. They might not expect that, thinking you would head for the Cloud Kings.”

Isidor is silent for a moment, then takes her hand again, weaving their fingers together. “You might run there, then. Do not think of me.”

“You can’t command such a thing.” Tears collect behind her eyes, pressing her voice into a whine.

His hand squeezes, hurting her knuckles as his fingers crush hers. “I do.”

“Dad.”

“Your willfulness has served you, Iriset, but do not let it get you killed. Do not let it ruin you. You gave me your bond.”

Iriset digs her nails into the back of his hand. “How can I live with myself if I don’t try? What kind of monster would I be?”

“Ah, girl, do not make me worry constantly my last days!”

Tears burn her eyes, her cheeks are hot, there’s a staggering in her pulse. Iriset keeps her eyes on their hurting hands. “Don’t make me say goodbye to you!”

Her father’s grip loosens. She chokes out a sob and pulls her hand free.

Isidor takes her shoulder instead and pushes her to face him. A haggard frown drags his expression. “Goodbye, Iriset.”

“No.”

“Iriset.”

She climbs to her feet, using the wall for support. She shakes her head, no, no, no .

“Where is your pride?” Isidor asks gently.

Spiking ecstatically, twisted in a dreadful fall, a glutted flow, with nowhere to rise, no hope, no prayer to the silver-pink moon in the sky.

“Gather it,” orders the Little Cat.

Iriset puts her fists together over her sternum, shoved against her flesh, then pushes down until her fists are a pressed heart of force right over her core, the center of her balance.

She breathes. Air flows into her, cooling the spikes of ecstatic fury, the sparks of excitement.

Blood pumps to her palms and soles of her feet, pushing out and inward again, a gravity centered within her.

Love and longing drift together, lifting toward the lightest cloud of warmth as she sighs it out across her tongue.

Isidor brushes his fingers along her temple, then kisses her lips, her forehead, and touches his forehead to hers.

Hot tears fall in straight lines down her cheeks. Her lips tremble. “I won’t say goodbye, Dad.”

His sigh crackles with a growl.

“I swear I will see you again. Even if it is at the unraveling pier.”

“Do not watch me die,” Isidor says.

“Stop commanding me! I will watch if I must. If I cannot free you, I will face the consequences of our life, of my failure. That is my pride!” She steps back, holds his gaze.

“Like this, and you can find me, find my eyes across the field of curious and death-seekers come to watch the Little Cat perish. If nothing else, promise me you’ll look for me, look at me, and let me—let me be the last thing you see. ”

“Your eyes, kitten, and the clouds in the sky,” he whispers, so tense with emotion the words almost disintegrate.