I use the same authoritative voice I’ve honed over years, but this guard steps back. “No.”

He looks around as if to sound an alarm. Without thinking, I grab a dart from my pouch and scratch him on the arm.

“What did—” he says. He stumbles against the wall and slides slowly to the ground as his friend topples over as well. I drag them into the doorway. They’re heavy, and the walls only partially hide them, but it’s the best I can do.

The front door opens into a dimly lit room. Three guards sit around the table, and there is a fireplace on the far end. The guards stand when they see me, and I pull the door shut before they can notice that their friends outside are gone.

The soldier closest to me wrinkles his nose at the smoking bundles. “What is this?”

“Incense to bless the palace. To commemorate one month of Emperor Kurosh’s passing.”

“Give me those. They stink,” he says. He grabs the dishes out of my hand and pushes them across the table, farther away than I’d like. Then he takes a closer look at me.

“You’re not dressed like a priestess,” he says.

Curse the room’s numerous oil lamps. If he looks carefully enough, he’ll see the ointment covering my rosemarks. “And who are you to say what a servant of Zenagua should wear?”

“A lone priestess like you, wandering the grounds at this hour?”

“My sisters are doing the same as we speak.”

He glances out the window. “I don’t see them.”

One of the soldiers at the table coughs. “Farbod, the smoke is foul,” he says, and grabs the herbs. I tense, thinking he’s going to take the dish out the door, but instead he puts them in the fireplace.

Farbod glances back, then resumes his interrogation in earnest. “What order are you? Who is your mother priestess?”

“I will not be questioned like a common criminal,” I snap.

The soldier who’d moved the herbs into the fireplace coughs. “Chimney’s blocked.” He picks up the plates and carries them toward the door, but then he falls to one knee. One herb bundle rolls, still smoldering, onto the ground.

Farbod’s eyes open wide, and he grabs me by the arm. His fingers dig into my cut. “Who are you?” he demands, and he drags me toward the door.

“Let go of me!” But he’s too strong. I might as well be a sack of rice. Panic thrills through me, and I kick at his shins. He swears, and throws me against the wall. Lights explode in front of my eyes.

“Vicious wench.” He grabs me by the collar.

A slithering up my arm, a flash of scales, and then Farbod screams and grabs his hand. I had forgotten about Diadem.