Nomi drew out the collection of coins from her pocket and stared down at the glint of gold. She had little sense of the cost of things, never having been allowed to carry or spend money. But even so, she knew eight golds was dear. It was the reason they’d taken the slow train the last time, and why she’d assumed Renzo would need the full six days to travel to Bellaqua before the ball.

But there were far more than eight gold coins in her hand, even after leaving most of the money with Renzo, so she paid for the express. Whatever reason her father had for keeping the money, she was sure he’d never imagined Nomi would use it to avenge his death.

“The express leaves at five. Platform two. You’ll arrive in Bellaqua tomorrow morning, just after eight.” The man took her money and held out the ticket, and then called for the next customer in line. He never once looked at her face.

Nomi was so she relieved she could have cried. Instead, she cleared her throat in what she hoped was a manly fashion and stomped away from the counter.

Then she looked for platform two.

She followed signs, testing her luck once more at a kiosk selling espresso and pastries. She found a bench, settled back into the voluminous folds of the cloak, and shoved two pastries into her mouth, one after another. She ate because she knew she had to, because she needed her strength and a clear head to survive this journey, to execute her plan. But the sugar and fat sat heavily in her stomach after more than a week on the austere diet of Mount Ruin and the sailboat. How quickly it had forgotten the rich food of the palazzo.

A train left the station a few minutes later, and then it was quiet for hours. Nomi dozed uncomfortably on her bench. A man swept stray leaves and trash from the cracked tile floor. A few drunken voices echoed to the vaulted roof, but no one bothered Nomi.

Near four o’clock, a train pulled in with a shriek of brakes and a cloud of steam. Men in fine clothes disembarked, interspersed with a handful of women, their gazes fixed to the floor demurely. Nomi wanted to jump up and scream at the women to run, to escape, to fight back.

But the truth was, most of them didn’t look unhappy. They didn’t cringe away from their husbands or brothers or fathers; they didn’t frown or fidget.

Nomi remembered how Serina had taught her to smile, even when she seethed inside. She remembered Mama’s lessons on the importance of masks.

Contentment was a hard emotion to fake, and yet she saw it everywhere.