Though people took pride in the cohorts they were born into, shifters helped everyone at these celebrations show off for other genetic groups—for no one knew what was natural and what wasn’t. Did the Pollux opifex cohort really produce those with eyes so blue? And that lone survivor of the Orphne militus cohort that fought in the Battle of the Garnet—had they all been so striking?

All performances. Nyx bit her lip so she didn’t curl it in disgust. She had not missed the drama of ceremony.

Tonight, the ball was held in the upper levels of the palace, with grand views over the grounds and the skyscrapers rising into the mist. Impressive, and easier to protect from a security standpoint. All the palace watchtowers had a view of the ballroom, with sniper weapons trained and ready in case of attack. Far-off towers and farther-off mountains were hulking shapes in the gloaming. The setting sun tinged the mist rose gold.

As the double doors of the grand elevator opened, Nyx caught her breath. Her memory of this place after the Battle of the Garnet paled to seeing it again in person. The grand dome of the ceiling rose above them, painted deep indigo, the many conquered planets illustrated in gold foil. There were already one or two more than the last time Nyx had attended her tour.

Nyx froze as she spotted the familiar faces that belonged to members of her regiment. There was Alava Cordesian-13, one of the generals on Circe, her medals shining brightly on her chest. Near her was Conori Molkos-56, who had fought alongside Nyx in the trenches at the Garnet. She’d handed him her Mors to hold once, and trusted him to have her back. The Molkos cohort had nearly been wiped out in the battle, and yet Conori stayed with Nyx—a member of his regiment, yes, but not of his own cohort. She owed him her life.

Stop, Nyx told herself. You can’t think like that anymore.

Trust on the battlefield didn’t mean anything while soldiers were controlled by the Oracle. If Nyx were caught there tonight as a traitor who broke with the Empire and her coding, Conori would stand in the crowd, righteous as he watched her execution.

<Nyx?> Ariadne’s voice was in her head. <Are you all right?>

She realized she had paused just outside the elevator; the other women were looking back at her with worry. Nyx shook her head. <I’m fine.>

<Are you sure?> Eris asked. <Because you don’t look fine.>

<Let’s just get this done,> Nyx said, catching up to them. <You look ridiculous, Eris. Rhea made that dress?>

<Out of parachutes. She called it a riot of color.> Eris sounded like she was praying for a swift death.

<More like a vomit of color.>

<I think she looks pretty,> Ariadne said. <Like a cake with eyes!>