“I’ll write to Alina,” Genya said. “The news should come from me. But … does that mean you won’t be here for the wedding?”

“I’m sorry,” Zoya said, though that was not entirely true. She wanted to be there for Genya, but she had spent her life standing on the outside of moments, unsure of where she belonged. She was at her best with a mission to accomplish, not in a chapel festooned with roses and echoing with declarations of love.

“I forgive you,” said Genya. “Mostly. And people should be staring at the bride, not the gorgeous General Nazyalensky. Just take care of our girl. I hate the thought of the Darkling being near Alina again.”

“I don’t like it either.”

“I hoped we wouldn’t have to tell her he’s returned.”

“That we could put him in the ground and she’d never have to find out?”

Genya scoffed. “I would never bury that man. Who knows what might spring up from the soil?”

“He doesn’t have to survive this trip,” Zoya mused. “Accidents happen.”

“Would you be killing him for you or for me?”

“I don’t honestly know anymore.”

Genya gave a little shiver. “I’m glad he’ll be gone from this place. Even for a short while. I hate having him in our home.”

Our home. Was that what this place was? Was that what they had made it?

“He should have a trial,” said David.

Genya wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe he should be burned on the pyre as the Fjerdans do and scattered at sea. Am I a monster for saying so?”

“No,” said Zoya. “As the king likes to remind me, we’re human. Do you … I look back and I hate knowing how easy I was to manipulate.”

“Hungry for love and full of pride?”

Zoya squirmed. “Was I that obvious?”

Genya looped her arm through Zoya’s and leaned her head against her shoulder. Zoya tried not to stiffen. She wasn’t good at this kind of closeness, but some childish part of her craved it, remembered how easy it had felt to laugh with her aunt, how glad she’d been when Lada had climbed into her lap to demand a story. She’d pretended to resent it, but she’d felt like she belonged with them.

“We were all that way. He took us from our families when we were so young.”

“I don’t regret that,” Zoya said. “I hate him for many things, but not for teaching me to fight.”

Genya looked up at her. “Just remember, Zoya, he wasn’t teaching you to fight for yourself but in his service. He had only punishment for those who dared to speak against him.”

He was the reason for Genya’s scars, for all the pain she’d endured.