NOMI COULDN’T GET close to Asa. She tried to hang back as the Graces were led down the hall, looked for ways to slip away as they filed out onto the terrace, eyed the male servants as they corralled the women outside. There was no opportunity to run.

She was pushed out onto the balcony by the press of bodies, hidden among the Graces. Safe from recognition but rendered utterly useless. Helpless.

Asa stepped out onto the head of the palazzo stairs. Too far away to try to throw her knife.

He spoke of treason, of daily executions. He said the leader of the rebellion would die today.

Oh, Serina.

Nomi couldn’t keep herself together, she couldn’t breathe, she was going to scream—

In the grass before the palazzo, the soldiers lined a woman up against a stone wall near the grand staircase. She stood steadily, her red hair bright in the sun.

Bright red hair.

It wasn’t Serina.

The women of Mount Ruin and the crowds in the piazza were deathly silent.

Nomi’s heart shuddered in her chest. Relief and shame filled her in equal measure. Serina wouldn’t die today. But that woman would. Somehow, she’d taken Serina’s place.

Asa gave a signal.

And then one single, shaking voice began to sing.

Nomi knew that voice. It had sung her the lullabies that had soothed her throughout childhood. It had told her stories. It had admonished her when she rebelled.

And not too long ago, it had called for a vote.

More voices joined Serina’s, but they couldn’t drown out the gunshots, sharp cracks that tore the morning in two.

The red-haired figure jerked like a marionette, and then, strings snapped, she fell.

The women sang on, loud as cathedral bells.

Nomi didn’t make a sound. The hurricane raging inside her was too big—if she screamed, she’d never be able to stop.

One thought kept her from breaking apart.

Tonight. Asa would die tonight.

THIRTY-ONE

SERINA

SERINA HAD NEVER wanted anything more in all her life than to see Asa suffer. She wanted his country torn from him. His life torn from him. Nomi was right. He was so, so much worse than his father.

Serina shuffled through the hallways back to the dungeon, surrounded by dead-eyed women. Val held her hand, their shackles clanking together. If they hadn’t been chained, Serina would have told everyone to fight… firearms or not, her women could have overwhelmed the guards. And if not, well, they were all slated to die anyway. Why drag it out?

Serina stared straight ahead, images of Asa being flayed alive playing on a loop in her mind. She killed him over and over again in a hundred different ways. She had no power here, no hope for her own life, but she could still control her thoughts. And, in her thoughts, she eviscerated him.