Ptolemus appears from the back of the pack, dragging a screaming body by her hair. Cal turns away and meets my eyes the moment I recognize her. I can see regret there, but he does nothing to save her.

Ptolemus tosses Walsh to the polished floor, her face smashing against the rock. She barely spares a glance at me before turning her pained eyes on the king. I remember the playful, smiling servant who first introduced me to this world; that person is gone.

“The rats crawl in the old tunnels,” Ptolemus snarls, turning her over with his foot. She scrambles away from his touch, surprisingly quick for her many injuries. “We found this one trailing us near the river holes.”

Trailing them? How could she be so stupid? But Walsh isn’t stupid. No, this was an order, I realize with growing horror. She was watching the train tunnels, making sure the way was clear for us to get back from Naercey. And while we made it through safely, she did not.

Maven’s grip on my arm tightens, pulling me into him until his chest lies flush to my back. He knows I want to run to her, to save her, to help her. And I know we can’t do anything at all.

“We went as far as the radiation detectors would allow,” Cal adds, trying his best to ignore Walsh coughing up blood. “The tunnel system is huge, much larger than we originally thought. There must be dozens of miles in the area and the Scarlet Guard know them better than any of us.”

King Tiberias scowls beneath his beard. He gestures at Walsh, waving her forward. Cal seizes her by the arm, pulling her toward the king. A thousand different tortures fill my head, each one worse than the last. Fire, metal, water, even my own lightning, could be used to make her talk.

“I will not make the same mistake again,” the king growls into her face. “Elara, make her sing. Right now.”

“With pleasure,” the queen replies, freeing her hands from her trailing sleeves.

This is worse. Walsh will talk, she’ll implicate us all, she’ll ruin us. And then they’ll kill her slowly. They’ll kill us all slowly.

An Eagrie in the crowd of soldiers, an eye with the ability of foresight, suddenly jumps forward. “Stop her! Hold her arms!”

But Walsh is faster than his vision. “For Tristan,” she says, before slamming a hand to her mouth. She bites down on something and swallows, knocking her head back.

“A healer!” Cal snaps, grabbing her throat, trying to stop her. But her mouth foams white and her limbs twitch—she’s choking. “A healer, now!”

She seizes violently, twisting out of his grip with the last of her strength. When she hits the floor, her eyes are wide open, staring but not seeing. Dead.

For Tristan.

I can’t even mourn her.

“A suicide pill.”

Cal’s voice is gentle, like he’s explaining this to a child. But I suppose I am a child when it comes to war and death. “We give them to officers on the line, and our spies. If they’re captured—”

“They won’t talk,” I spit back at him.

Careful, I warn myself. As much as his presence makes my skin crawl, I have to endure it. After all, I let him find me here on the balcony. I must give him hope. I must let him think he has a chance with me. That part was Maven’s idea, as much as it hurt him to say so. As for me, it’s hard to walk the narrow line between a lie and the truth, especially with Cal. I hate him, I know that, but something in his eyes and his voice reminds me that my feelings aren’t so simple.

He keeps his distance, standing an arm’s length away. “It’s a better death than she would get from us.”

“Would she be frozen? Or maybe burned for a change of pace?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “She would go to the Bowl of Bones.” He raises his eyes from the barracks, looking across the river. On the far side, nestled among the high-rises, is a massive oval arena with spikes around the rim in a violent crown. The Bowl of Bones. “She’d be executed in a broadcast, as a message to all the rest.”

“I thought you didn’t do that anymore. I haven’t seen one in over a decade.” I barely remember those broadcasts from when I was a little girl, years ago.

“Exceptions can be made. The arena fights haven’t stopped the Guard from taking hold, maybe something else will.”

“You knew her,” I whisper, trying to find just one shred of regret in him. “You sent her to me after we first met.”

He crosses his arms, like that can somehow protect him from the memory. “I knew she came from your village. I thought that might help you adjust a little.”