Thisbe’s pulse quickened. She moved deliberately to the throne room and looked at the long stretch of table that held stockpiles of dragon-bone broth. At the far end were a handful of bottles that had a slightly richer, golden-colored broth within. Shaking, Thisbe shoved a few ancestor broth vials into her already full pockets, and then slipped a few more into the waistband of her pants, pulling her shirt over to hide them. She took a handful of dragon-bone broth vials and ceremoniously uncorked them and dumped them down the drain so that Dev would notice and be able to report that she’d done it, if asked. She hurriedly rinsed the bottles and put them with the empties, then turned back to her station. With no more ancestor bones in sight, and with Dev there to stop her from making the same “mistake” again, Thisbe wasn’t sure what else to do but begin a new batch of dragon-bone broth, which she reluctantly did.

Sometime later, two soldiers on their rounds stopped in to check on them. “The Revinir has ordered you slaves to take another dose today,” one of them announced. The woman stood there waiting for Thisbe and Dev to act on the command. “Bring me enough for the others so I can distribute them.”

“Yes, soldier.” Thisbe kept her expression dull, but inside she was freaking out. “I’ll go get them.” She went into the throne room again, trying to come up with a plan on the fly. Was there a way to start slipping the ancestor broth to the others so that they didn’t keep getting more and more embroiled in the Revinir’s plan? Thisbe didn’t have enough bottles in her pockets and waistband for everyone, but she had enough for most of them, at least.

She pulled all but one of them out, counted them, and grabbed a couple of the dragon-bone broth vials too. Returning to the kitchen, she handed one of the bottles from her pocket to Dev, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize it or notice its darker color, and kept one for herself. The rest she gave to the soldier. She uncorked hers and drank it obediently, trying not to make a face at the horrible taste. A rush of warmth rolled through her, and the familiar images posted like wallpaper around her mind, not impairing her vision at all but still distracting her with the sounds that accompanied the scenes. Maiven Taveer! Maiven Taveer! echoed in her ears. She set the glass container on the counter.

Dev uncorked his vial, barely looking at the contents of the bottle before chugging it down. He frowned after swallowing and wrinkled his nose. “Prindi and Reza must have made that batch,” he said, and set his bottle into the sink. “They got fired from kitchen duty.”