Ebigail Kiradin was dead, her mortal remains sealed up in the family vault without ceremony, and without prayer. She’d face Lumestra come Third Dawn, and Malachi had no doubt that meeting would end poorly.

“I actually don’t care,” he said at last. “Ebigail is dead. I’m concerned about the living. Sidara, for one. What she did for Sevaka – for you – I’ve never heard of even a proctor wielding so much light. The church will want her for the foundry.”

“No. My daughter will not toil away in darkness.”

“It’s the law,” he said.

“Then change it.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

“It would be if you were First Councillor.”

How easy to see in hindsight the road along which she’d led him. Not for the first time, Malachi wished their positions reversed. “I can’t do it. Please don’t ask me again.”

Lily tilted her head. Eyes narrowed to slits beneath the veil. “They’ll take her away. They’ll take our brilliant, radiant daughter and drown her in grime. Is that what you want?”

“Of course it isn’t, but . . .” He swallowed back a rising sense of frustration. “If you’d told me she was gifted, I’d have had time to address this in council.”

“If you’d been home more, you’d have seen for yourself.” She drew up, face wrinkling in distaste. “There’s much we both could have done, but didn’t. And now our options are limited.”

“I know.”

Malachi embraced his wife, as much to hide his torment as in reconciliation. Lily was right. As First Councillor, he could protect Sidara from hidebound tradition. But what Lily wanted was impossible. And the worst of it was, he daren’t tell her why.

“I’ll talk to Viktor,” he said. “He’ll change his mind, and I’m sure he’d want to help. After all . . .” He bit his tongue, remembering just soon enough that Lily wasn’t privy to Viktor’s secret.

“Perhaps I’d have more success,” she said. “Sometimes it’s easier to refuse a friend than a stranger.”

“We’ll see. At least Constans isn’t a problem.” He drew back from the embrace. “Unless you’re hiding something from me on that score.”

“No. Constans is Constans. He, at least, can be a child a little longer.” Lily lifted her veil and kissed him on the cheek. “Speak to Viktor.”

“I will.”

A vision in black silk, she retreated across the terrace and vanished inside. Malachi tried to remember the last time he’d changed Viktor’s mind. Still, there had to be a first time, and given the consequences of failure both for the Republic and for his daughter . . .

He took a deep breath and held it until his lungs burned. Mist gathered about his feet, cold in the noonday sun.

He froze.

“Your wife is correct.”