“And the snow. It’s falling already?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“The mountain pass will close.”

“Yes,” Tensen said gently, and he saw too much. Kestrel could tell that he heard that horrible note in her voice, and that he recognized it as the sound of someone fighting tears. “As expected,” he added.

But she hadn’t expected this: this stupid hope, this punishing one, for who would long to see someone who was already lost? What good would it have done?

None.

Apparently Arin knew this, too. He knew it better than she, or his hope would have been equal to hers, and would have driven him here.

Kestrel drew herself up straight. “You can find your rooms by yourself, Minister Tensen. I have more important matters to attend to.”

She strode from the hall. The veined marble floor was icy beneath her feet: a frozen lake with fractures she did not care to see.

She walked, she did not care.

She did not.

* * *

Jess adjusted Kestrel’s ball gown, stepped back, cocked her head, and peered. “You’re anxious,” Jess said, “aren’t you? Your face looks pinched.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” This was true. Kestrel had asked Jess to come early from her house in the city, and spend the night before the ball in Kestrel’s palace rooms. Kestrel and Jess had shared a bed, like they sometimes did when they were little girls in Herran, and talked until the lamp had burned all its oil. “You snored,” Kestrel said.

“I did not.”

“You did. You snored so loudly that the people in my dreams complained.”

Jess laughed, and Kestrel was glad for her silly little lie. Laughter softened Jess’s face, filled the hollows of her cheeks. It drew attention away from the dark rings beneath her brown eyes. Jess never looked well. Not anymore, not since she had been poisoned on the night of the Herrani rebellion.

“I have something for you.” Jess opened her trunk and lifted out a velvet bundle. “An engagement present.” Jess unwrapped the bundle. “I made this for you.” The velvet held a necklace of flowers strung on a black ribbon, the petals large, blown open, fashioned from sanded shards of amber glass and thin curls of horn. The colors were muted, but the flowers’ size and spread made them almost feral.

Jess tied the ribbon around Kestrel’s neck. The flowers clicked against one another, sliding low to rest against the dress’s bodice.

“It’s beautiful,” Kestrel said.

Jess adjusted the necklace. “I understand why you’re nervous.”

The crackle of flowers went silent. Kestrel became aware that she was holding her breath.

“I shouldn’t say this.” Jess’s eyes met Kestrel’s. They were hard, unblinking. “I hate that you’re marrying into the emperor’s family. I hate that you’re going to walk straight from this room to your engagement ball. With the prince. You should be my sister. You should be Ronan’s wife.”

Kestrel hadn’t seen Ronan since the night of the Firstwinter Rebellion. She’d written letters, then burned them. She’d sent an invitation to the court. It was ignored. He was in the city now, Jess had said. He’d fallen in with a wild crowd. Then Jess had gone tight-lipped and wouldn’t say any more—and Kestrel, who had loved Ronan as much as she could, and missed him, didn’t dare ask.

Slowly, Kestrel said to Jess, “I’ve told you before. The emperor made the offer of marriage to his son. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Could you not? Everyone knows the story of how you brought the wrath of the imperial army to Herran. You could have asked the emperor for anything.”

Kestrel was silent.

“It’s because you do not want to refuse,” Jess said. “You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

“It’s a political marriage. For the good of the empire.”

“What makes you think that you are the best thing for it?”

Kestrel had never seen such resentment in Jess’s eyes. Quietly Kestrel said, “Ronan wants nothing to do with me now anyway.”

“True.” Jess seemed to regret her hard words, then to regret her regret. Her voice stayed stony. “I am glad that he won’t be here tonight. How could the emperor invite Herrani to the ball?”

“Just one. One Herrani.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“They’re not slaves anymore, Jess. They’re independent members of the empire.”

“So we reward murder with freedom? Those rebels killed Valorians. They killed our friends. I hate the emperor for his edict.”

Dangerous words. “Jess—”

“He doesn’t know. He didn’t see the slaves’ savagery. I did. You did. That so-called governor kept you as some kind of toy—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Jess scowled at the floor. Her voice came low: “You never do.”

* * *

Kestrel stood next to Verex outside the closed ballroom doors, listening to the swell of the emperor’s voice. Kestrel couldn’t distinguish the words, but heard the sure rhythm. The emperor was a skilled public speaker.

Verex’s head was lowered, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was dressed in formal military style: all black, with gold piping that echoed the glittering horizontal line drawn above Kestrel’s brows. His belted, jeweled dagger matched hers. The emperor had finally given Kestrel the dagger he’d promised, and it was indeed fine—set with diamonds and exquisitely sharp. It was too heavy. It dragged at her hip.