The Empire took my siblings, Eris had said, the neck of the bottle clinking against the glass as she refilled it.

She’d neglected to mention that she had done most of the killing.

Eris read the change in Clo, but she wasn’t quick enough. Clo had the Mors from the small of her back pressed against the princess’s head before she could blink. Gods, there was four minutes before the bomb went off. What was she supposed to do now?

One shot. Discordia was supposed to be dead anyway. One shot, then Clo could run and disappear. Worst case, she blew herself up and died a godsdamned hero.

But she didn’t want to be a hero. She just wanted to live.

“Let me go,” Eris—Discordia—hissed. “We have to get out of here. There’s no time.”

Clo hesitated.

Discordia jabbed her elbow into Clo’s stomach. Clo wheezed, her grip on the Mors loosening. Discordia ducked and sprinted away from the bomb. Clo followed. She gained speed as she moved through the tangled underbrush as easily as she’d darted through the slums of her homeland.

She caught Discordia, tackling her to the ground. She shoved the Mors into the small of Discordia’s back. Were they far enough? How much time?

“Shoot me, then,” Discordia’s voice was low, almost a growl. She still sounded so much like Eris. “Kill the person who’s best placed to help take down Tholos.”

“No royal would turn their back on the Empire. Especially the Heir.”

Discordia’s expression went hard. “Well, I did.”

“You’re lying,” Clo said, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Kyla—”

“Kyla knows,” Discordia said. “So does Sher. Both of them helped me stage my death.”

A rushing in Clo’s ears. They knew, they knew. And Kyla had kept it from her. Sher had kept it from her.

“You lied to me.”

“Clo, there’s no—”

A warning beep blared in the dark. Discordia turned toward Clo, eyes wide. Clo had thought they were far enough away. But if they heard—

A boom, so loud it reverberated in her chest.

The world burned bright as the flames of the Avern.

Clo went flying and slammed into the trunk of a tree. Leaves, debris, and heavy branches rained down. She couldn’t think. Her ears rang, the world roaring like spaceship engines. She saw only the brightness of fire, then the warm, almost-red blackness. She let out a moan. Everything hurt.

Movement above her. Clo couldn’t turn her head.

“Come t’kill me proper?” Clo managed to mumble through swollen, bloody lips, Imperial accent forgotten in pain.

Princess Discordia crept closer, her face illuminated by the dying fires. She was lacerated with small cuts that were already healing over. Nanites like that were only for royalty.