“Once I give them to you,” Isana whispered, “what is to stop you from seeing to our deaths?”

“I told you. My word.”

Isana met her eyes and felt a swift, brief stab of pity for the woman as she slowly shook her head. “You don’t have that anymore, Invidia. You cannot give me what you do not have.”

Invida stared at Isana without expression. Then she said, “What would you have of me, then?”

“Your sword,” Isana said calmly.

Invidia’s head tilted slightly. “Why? You’re hardly a threat, Isana, even armed.”

“If I have it, you don’t,” Isana said.

The burned woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Does it matter?” Isana asked. “You said there isn’t much time. After any sort of battle, your cure won’t be left whole. Do you really have time to debate with me? Do you have any choice?”

Invidia pressed her lips together. Then she started unbuckling her sword, and said, “A certain amount of drama will be required.”

“The means in question is a mushroomlike growth found in hives like this one,” Isana said. “The Marat call it the Blessing of Night. Unlike most fungus, it apparently has thorns. I would look for it concealed around the edges of the pool or within the Queen’s alcove.”

Invidia took her sword, in its scabbard, in hand, and asked, “How is it used?”

“Eaten, according to Octavian, or squeezed, and its juices applied to wounds.”

Invidia stared at her for a moment. Then she frowned, and said, slowly, “I cannot tell if you are lying to me.”

“Things are never true because we want them to be, Invidia,” Isana said. “Or because we don’t want them to be. They simply are.”

Her spine stiffened. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That it is not surprising someone who has so thoroughly deceived herself about the truth can’t recognize it when it is spoken to her.”

Invidia’s face turned cold. She drew back her hand and struck Isana’s face with her palm. Quick, sharp pain expanded and dissipated almost immediately, leaving a harsh tingling in Isana’s cheek. As the blow landed, the windcrafting concealing their speech vanished.

Invidia threw her sword at Isana’s chest. “So pleasant to be lectured by a self-righteous camp whore who has stumbled into power.” She sneered, and Isana felt the lash of Invidia’s hatred against her skin like an unseen riding crop. “If you’re so convinced of your cause, draw it. Challenge me to the juris macto. If you can take me, perhaps you will be allowed to rule a Realm of ashes and graves.”