Nyx didn’t believe in martyrs, because she’d been one. It was easy to become disillusioned with something others thought she was. She knew the rot at her core. It was good to know what you were before you acted foolishly. It kept things in perspective.

The first thing Nyx did when they clawed their way back into Nasheen was buy a wad of sen from a street vendor in Amtullah. Nyx got Ahmed settled back into the storefront and had him contact Mercia. Nyx preferred an area of operations far from the bloodshed. She didn’t expect to come back from it. She gave Ahmed a list of people to call, and took care of some quick legal business, then locked it all away in a coded lockbox.

“I’m not back in two days,” she told Ahmed, “here’s the pattern for the lockbox. Take what you want and get out.”

She figured he would take it long before that, but didn’t mention it. With just one team member left, she could actually afford to pay him for the months he traveled with her.

“Anything else before you get started?” Ahmed said.

“Just one,” Nyx said. “No matter what happens, try to keep that pretty little face of yours intact.”

Nyx chewed sen as she and Safiyah approached Blood Hill. The bel dame novice at the gate asked their business. Nyx said, “Tell Fatima Kosan I’ve brought in Raine al Alharazad.”

The filter admitted them almost immediately. They were led to Fatima’s quarters on Blood Hill by no fewer than a dozen bel dames. Nyx thought that very complimentary.

The bel dames announced them. Nyx pushed past them before they’d finished.

And there Fatima sat behind her bel dame council desk, wearing her high council finery. Next to her, as Safiyah had promised, was Raine’s mother, and the most notorious bel dame in Nasheen, the one that nobody in the country had the stomach or the skill to bring in—Alharazad.

“Where is he?” Alharazad said.

“So you figured that he’d told me you were in on this,” Nyx said. “So you showed up to confirm I had him.”

“Obviously,” Alharazad said. “Where is he?” She spit sen on the floor. On the whole, she was much improved from the last time Nyx saw her. Her eyes were still a little bloodshot, nestled in a haggard face, but she had cleaned up quite a bit, cropped her white hair, and washed. She dressed in rather expensive maroon trousers and matching tunic with silver stitching. She had a pistol at either hip and a dagger lashed to one thigh.

Fatima set aside a ledger she had been consulting and pressed her hands to the table. An old bel dame show of respect, that—showing the person you were with that you were unarmed and come to parley in peace.

“I brought Raine home like you asked,” Nyx said.