He almost smiled at the memory, before he caught himself. “I beat you that day.”

“But I kept tithing longer than you,” she pointed out.

“This won’t be like training, Zofi. If they catch you sneaking in, we’ll both hang for it.”

“Just trust me, Vidal. I know what I’m doing.” She said the latter with more certainty than she felt. All she knew right now was that she needed to speak to her sisters. Hear from them what exactly had happened, and make a plan to fix it.

Finally, with a sigh of defeat, Vidal strode toward the Keep. Zofi kept pace with him until they reached the broad lawn that led up to the base of the towers. Then she drew her longknife and dragged the edge across the back of her arm.

After the panicked thoughts that had been chasing through her head all day—every day since she learned of her father’s death, in truth—it was a relief to focus all her senses on a tithe, and nothing more. She absorbed the world around her, shifted herself to match it with every step she took, until her body went invisible against the empty streets, the warm sunlit grass.

She had no space in her brain left to worry or plot. She just followed Vidal, one step after another, and stayed invisible.

They made it halfway across the front lawn before a guard stepped down from her post to wave at Vidal. “Back at last?” the Talon joked, pushing her helm back to reveal a plump, friendly face. “What kept you, enjoying some Traveler hospitality?”

Zofi clenched her fists at the girl’s mocking tone, though she didn’t let annoyance break her concentration. She continued to tithe, making sure all the girl saw beside Vidal was an empty street. Not Zofi at his elbow, one hand hovering over the boost she’d need soon.

“Just being thorough,” Vidal replied. Zofi hoped this girl didn’t know him well. Hoped she couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice. “If you’ll excuse me, Ulie, I’m not feeling my best, and I still need to report to the captain.…” He moved to pass, but the girl, Ulie, apparently, barred his path.

“Just a second.” Ulie tapped her forearm. “Sorry. Can’t let you pass until you tithe. Regulations, you know.”

Her partner had stepped forward, as well, and greeted Vidal with a grin.

Vidal drew a bloodletter. “Anything in particular?”

“Any tithe you like,” she said. “Just make it a long one.”

Zofi noticed Vidal’s shoulders tense with worry. Still, to his credit, he didn’t protest. Only flicked the bloodletter across his arm and began a speed tithe. The effect was like watching a person turn into a fly—suddenly his arms moved too quickly to keep track of, and when he stepped to the side, he seemed to blur across the grass at an impossible pace.