“We have money.” Renzo dug into his pocket and held up a silk pouch that jingled invitingly. “It’s the money Father got for your selection as Grace.” He handed it to her. “He didn’t spend it, not a silver.”

Nomi’s heart seized. “But why not?”

Renzo shrugged. “I don’t know. Father spoke of Mama retiring, of buying a little house outside the city walls if Serina became a Grace. But when he heard it was you, he put the money in his desk and never spoke of it.”

Nomi stood up, the weight of the purse heavy in her hand. Her father had lashed her often enough as a child when she’d railed and rebelled. He’d taught her, whether she liked it or not, how to hide her defiance. Was he ashamed that she’d been chosen instead of Serina? Or had he guessed how unhappy she would be?

Why hadn’t he spent the money?

He was dead now, and she would never know. She slammed the flat of her hand against the floor.

“Nomi?” Malachi put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging him off. “No, I’m not,” she amended, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Promise me that you’ll make your brother pay.”

He didn’t blink or back away. “I swear, Nomi.”

But the words didn’t fully satisfy her. She wanted to make Asa pay.

It wasn’t until hours later, when they’d eaten a small supper and decided that they would leave the next morning, that a dangerous idea took root. As Nomi drowsed, propped up against the wall, she scratched her leg and her fingers snagged against the rough handle of the knife Serina had given her. It was an answer to the question she’d been asking herself since she saw her parents’ broken bodies.

She tilted her head to look at the Heir. “Malachi, back on Mount Ruin, you spoke of secret passages. Ways the women could access the palazzo without detection. Will you use that route with Dante’s troops?”

Malachi rubbed the back of his neck, his head cocked to the side. “I don’t know. It depends on how many join us, what Asa’s defenses look like when we get there. The passages are narrow and hard to access. Why?”

“And if you must go alone?” she asked. “If Dante doesn’t get your message?”

His attention sharpened. “Yes. Then I would definitely use the tunnels. There’s one that begins in a baker’s basement. My father showed it to me. There’s a relief of a fat man on the wall, and if you press his belly, the door opens. That passage goes directly to the palazzo’s sleeping quarters—the Graces, mine and Asa’s rooms, the Superior’s. Why, Nomi?”

A passageway straight to the Superior.

A fine tremble began in Nomi’s fingers.