Nomi followed Malachi through a narrow alleyway. Above them, women hung laundry on wires strung between the two buildings. Nomi remembered completing this same task, the wire burning against her fingertips, already raw from the hot water and harsh soap of the wash.

Every street they walked along, Nomi looked for signs the country was in mourning for the Superior. Black curtains in windows, or black ribbons hanging from light posts and the twisted iron gates that protected the nicer homes.

There was nothing.

“The whole country should be hung in black for your father,” she murmured. “Do they not know the Superior is dead?”

“I saw a portrait of Asa hanging in a shop. They know my father is dead.” Malachi’s jaw tightened. “It seems Asa did not declare a mourning period upon his ascension.”

Nomi shifted closer, pressing herself into his side. She didn’t know what else to do to show that she was sorry. It didn’t matter that the Superior had been cruel and capricious. He’d been Malachi’s father. And maybe Nomi wasn’t sad that Viridia did not mourn such a man. But Asa had made the choice not to, and that tainted it.

“Almost there,” Malachi muttered.

Here, it was quieter. Nomi guessed they were moving away from the central piazza and the day’s business. The houses on this street were larger, with tall wrought-iron fences and bright green foliage. Aside from an elderly woman sweeping a stoop and a child playing with a small wooden ball on the corner, no one was around.

They had traveled a good distance from the pier, up into the hills, but the air still smelled of fish and brine. It reminded Nomi of her first day in Bellaqua, when she’d seen the city’s fairy-tale bridges and canals for the first time and smelled the city’s rot.

She hoped this excursion would have a more positive outcome.

Malachi turned right, and they came upon a grassy training field with a squat building at its corner. He paused.

“What’s wrong?” Nomi asked.

Malachi shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But it’s curious that no one is training. Every unit trains in the morning.”

“Let’s go see,” she said. She pulled against his grip on her elbow, drawing him forward.

They approached cautiously, though Nomi couldn’t say why. Maybe it had to do with the birdsong in the trees, and the peaceful quiet.

She imagined training grounds and garrisons were not often peaceful, quiet places.

“You’ll have to stay out here,” Malachi said when they reached the building’s heavy front door. “Women aren’t allowed.”

Of course they weren’t. But she didn’t like it. What if Dante was not as loyal as Malachi supposed he was?

And if that’s the case, what would you do?