Sevaka twisted away, her face contorted in anguish. A part of Rosa wondered why the revelation had hit her so hard. But then she recalled Ebigail’s insistence she not involve Sevaka. Perhaps the sister simply lacked the brother’s strength, though Rosa couldn’t find it in her heart to disdain her for it. Some losses should never be easily borne.

“You think Viktor ordered both deaths?” said Sevaka.

Her incredulity brought swirling emotions to the surface once more. But that was the thing about Viktor, wasn’t it? He left an impression. He made you believe in him. Rosa wondered briefly how Sevaka knew him, but it would have been more remarkable had she not, given their parents’ close association.

“I also thought him above such things,” she replied. “But the more time passes, the more I wonder.”

“Very little is beneath the powerful, when the need is there.” Sevaka spoke softly. “Especially when status and pride are at stake. No, this is a mistake. A horrible mistake. It has to be.”

Her insistent words wrestled with an unpleasant truth. Her eyes mirrored Rosa’s own heartsick mood.

Rosa laid a hand on her arm. “No more arguments. I have to do this.”

Sevaka’s head snapped about, eyes red-ringed. “No. You don’t. Go home.”

Rosa shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve thought about this all day. The ring proves the connection between Kas’ death and the attempt on Malachi’s life. It doesn’t prove Viktor gave the order . . .”

“No.” Sevaka spoke in barely a whisper. “No, it doesn’t. Rosa . . . What if it wasn’t Viktor?”

“I still have to look. I have to know for certain.”

“If I ever doubted how much you loved my brother, I do so no longer. Walk away. Please.”

“This was your idea.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So you won’t help?”

Sevaka took a deep breath. A little colour returned to her cheeks. “No. I’ll help. Because if I don’t, and you’re caught . . . and with all the fun that entails . . . I don’t know how I’ll live with that.” She sighed. “And because you asked. Everyone else demands.”

Apara drew the cloak of ravens close about her body and stepped off the rooftop. The wind swept her away. Cobbles blurred far beneath her feet. Then the iron-tipped stone and trees of the mansion’s boundary wall. She could have touched the sky, save for the clouds. She was above everything. A god among ephemerals.

So why did she feel so wretched?

The cloak shifted as Apara descended, its manifold voices croaking their delight. Still consumed by the giddiness of flight, she landed heavily. Knees buckled and her boots gouged the sod. The ravens croaked one last time, and dispersed, and the cloak was simple wool-cloth again. But the cold remained. Apara suspected she’d never be free of it.