SERINA KNEW SHE had to deal with Malachi, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but her sister’s presence. She took in Nomi’s bedraggled hair, half-fallen from its pins. Her smooth, clear skin, her delicate amber eyes. Her newly graceful bearing.

Nomi was here. It didn’t matter why or how it had happened. Serina didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was here. Serina’s baby sister was here. They were both free. Hope sprang to life in Serina’s heart, fed by this strange, impossible miracle. If her ribs didn’t scream with every breath, she’d think it was a dream.

Serina couldn’t imagine what Nomi saw when she returned her gaze. In fact, it might have brought her shame, the knowledge that she was dirty and wild and un-Grace-like, if she didn’t know what her newly strong arms had accomplished. What her sweat-stained body had withstood.

Malachi groaned again.

“Please help him,” Nomi pleaded.

Val pushed through the crowd, carrying a large leather bag. “I’ve got some extra medical supplies.”

Serina glanced at Anika. With a nod, the girl raised her voice above the grumblings and questions. “Give him some room. Who’s helping with the other injured? We’ve got wounds to stitch and food to distribute. Let’s get on with it.”

Before Serina turned her full attention to Malachi, she paused to watch the women scatter. Most she didn’t know by name, but she saw Doll’s tall frame and Claw’s hunched shoulders. She wondered how Ember was doing; Oracle’s death had leveled her. Since they’d returned from committing Oracle and the other dead women to the volcano, Ember had kept to herself, refusing to engage in any of the planning.

Serina needed to assess for herself how many were wounded, whether the move to Hotel Misery was going smoothly and the extra rations distributed fairly. And the captured guards—she still needed to check on them. She and Val had abandoned that task when the boat had arrived.

So much to do, and Serina was so tired.

Maris, the other Grace, paced awkwardly across the marble floor, her eyes never leaving Malachi’s still form. Serina wondered what part she had played in all of this. Why had Asa sent her here?

“Serina, what can we do for him?” Nomi asked, kneeling again at Malachi’s side.

Serina crouched down, despite her sore body’s protests, and carefully pulled his wet jacket up to expose his stomach. He moaned weakly. A small hole marred his unnaturally pale skin. “He’s still bleeding, but there’s no pus or fluids leaking,” Serina said. “That’s good.”