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“This is our proposed treaty and the terms we request,” says Vil.

“Everything is laid out in detail there, but to speak generally, Skaanda requests a permanent cessation of hostilities and the establishment of free trade between our nations, including food in exchange for metal and gems, and shared, uncontested access to the Altari Forest. We also offer to Daeros Skaanda’s army, in the event that Iljaria break their vow of peace, or”—Vil’s eyes flick sideways to Aelia—“there is other threat of invasion.”

For a brief moment I wonder why Vil and Saga aren’t here in earnest, seeking true and lasting peace. But then my glance snags on Kallias, and I remember why. Kallias could sign his name to a thousand treaties, but Violet God’s heart, he would never abide by them if they didn’t serve his purpose.

He doesn’t want to treat with Skaanda. He wants to rule it.

“And these are our terms,” Kallias replies.

“ Generally speaking , Skaanda has much to answer for.” He snaps his fingers at his steward, Nicanor, who also hands sheaves of paper to everyone in attendance.

When I get mine, I rub my finger along the smooth cream parchment, wondering how late Kallias’s scribes were up writing these—he had a day to come up with terms; we’ve been working on ours for months.

“I propose we take the day to consider both documents,” says Aelia. “We can reconvene tomorrow morning with any objections. All in favor?”

Everyone voices their assent, already thumbing through the pages. Attendants pass out drinks and pastries. I stare at the Daerosian list of terms, the letters swimming before my eyes.

“Tonight,” says Kallias, not even bothering to look at his set of papers, “you are all requested to attend my Winter Dark celebration. After dinner, I will have my Collection perform in your honor.” He raises his wine goblet in my and Vil’s direction, and I choke on my coffee.

“Does the Princess Astridur ever speak?” asks Kallias mildly, his blue eyes fixing once more on mine.

I’m too busy coughing for a moment to properly answer him, and he smirks at me, eating another ginger cake without his gaze ever leaving my face.

“Of course I speak,” I snap, not at all meaning to.

Kallias smiles. “I’m glad to hear it.” He goes on staring at me as he licks powdered sugar from his fingers again.

I can’t quite seem to tear my eyes away. There is a faint scar on his upper lip I don’t remember from before; I am pleased that something, at least, had the power to mar him.

Kallias’s eyes glitter, like he can read my thoughts, and he turns to Vil. “If I had known the Skaandans would send me such a beautiful ambassador, I would have requested a treaty long ago.”

“You didn’t request this one,” Vil says hotly, hand going protectively to my arm. “And my cousin Astridur was sent for her shrewdness.”

I barely register Vil’s defense of me. I want to cast my self into the Sea of Bones—Kallias of Daeros just called me beautiful.

“It seems we have quite a lot of reading to do,” says Vil, visibly reining in his temper.

I stare again at the list of Daerosian terms, which starts with the laughable demand to expand Daeros’s borders so far into Skaanda there would be hardly any Skaandan land left.

This is all a game to Kallias. Of course it is. Everything is a game to him.

“I am not certain we will be able to come to an agreement in a single day,” I say, remembering our objective. “Or even several.”

I glance up to see Kallias watching me again. He of course has caught my not-so-subtle hint. “You should stay, then,” he says, “until an agreement can be reached. Stay for all of Winter Dark—miserable travel conditions until the new year.”

“That is very kind of you, Your Majesty,” says Vil.

“The Aeronan envoy will stay as well,” says Aelia.

I glance at her—I hadn’t realized she was following our conversation.

“We would like to be here for the duration of negotiations,” Aelia goes on. “The empire has a vested interest in your peninsula, and a workable treaty between Daeros and Skaanda will go far in persuading my father that imperial action is not needed.”

My heart drums dully in my chest—this has always been larger than Skaanda and Daeros, and Aelia just threatened both of us.

Talan’s words to Kallias two years ago echo in my mind: “ If the Iljaria weapon is not in Aeronan hands by the end of next Winter Dark, the food shipments will stop, and my emperor will send his army to seize Tenebris and look for it himself. ”

I don’t know why Aerona wants the Iljaria weapon, but everything I’ve learned about Kallias tells me he has no intention of giving it to them, even if he does find it.

Such a weapon would give Kallias the power to be free of the trade agreement with Aerona, to end the conflict with Skaanda, even to bend the Iljaria to his will, if he were to be that bold.

Uneasily, I think of the Iljaria party we met on the road, of their leader’s promise to send an envoy to help negotiate the treaty. I wonder if those Iljaria will be the ones who come, or if it will be another group entirely.

“Daeros is very pleased to have you stay, my dear,” says Kallias smoothly. He takes Aelia’s hand and raises it to his lips.

I feel her rage, radiating off her like a signal fire, but she only draws her hand back again and smiles brightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Now if you’ll excuse us, Talan and I will retire to our rooms to review these documents before the ceremony tonight.”

The Aeronans leave, and Kallias looks after them with thunder on his brow. He fears Aelia and her threat of imperial occupation. He hates her, because she is one of the very few people in all his world he can’t control.

Kallias jerks up from his seat and stalks out. My stomach drops, and I know where he’s going: to visit his Collection. To remind himself of his own power, and to wield it on those who have none of their own.