“Adrian’s heading south,” he says. “He will be the first Longhand in twelve years to compete in the Races. When he wins, our people will remember. They will rise to war. My son will remind the Ashlords who we are, what we can do. Their world will tremble.”

They look from me to him, more convinced than ever. No one objects to the plan, or to the war, but there’s still a fear that they’ll leave today and have their throats slit within a week. The Ashlords have faced insurrections before, and they always put them down in fire and blood.

Luckily, we’ve got one more show for them.

I unsheathe a blade from my hip, take two steps, and let it swing. The metal shines a silver arc before stopping an inch shy of Sweet Maggie’s throat. The room takes in a breath. The other Maggie stands, pistol rising to my temple, her eyes a storm.

“You’ve got that aimed at the wrong person,” Daddy tells her. “Sweet Maggie’s been sliding secrets back to the Empire. Informing for the Ashlords since the incident in Vivinia. I always did wonder how you slipped your charges on that nightmarish expedition.”

Bad Maggie’s still got her gun to my temple, close enough that I can smell the loaded powder. But I was taught to show no weakness. Give them nothing. So my blade hangs steady over Sweet Maggie’s blotchy throat. After a second, Daddy stands, angry at this show of distrust.

“Unless you are her accomplice in this betrayal,” he says, “set the gun down.”

Bad Maggie’s reply is mostly spit. “Like hell. She wouldn’t.”

“She would. She did,” Daddy says. “Set it down.”

“He’s right.” Sweet Maggie can pick someone off from a hundred paces, but she’s too honest to carry a lie. “Ashlords snagged me. I should have told you, Mags, but I thought it’d be easier this way. All I sent them was a few notes. The information wasn’t even that good.”

There’s a few seconds where the tension holds. Bad Maggie makes a noise, no doubt feeling fouled by it all, then lowers her gun. My eyes flicker to her for a second, and that’s as long as Sweet Maggie needs to go for her knife. It’s off her hip and driving toward my stomach, but I’m quicker. I slam the grip of my sword down and crush her at the wrist.

She fumbles the knife and I bring my elbow up and across. The blow sends her staggering to the ground. Before she can even think to reach for her fallen weapon, I have the sword at her neck again. She goes still, her chest heaving, eyes wide and defeated.

“It was confusing enough having two of you,” Daddy says. “Get her out.”