“Nyx and Cato,” Sher said, thankfully before Clo could start ranting about her beloved blasted Asteria again. “You take the spharias and create the perimeter, then go into the palace for backup duty. If Ariadne warns us the weapon is in the ceremonial ballroom, steal it, cause a scene, I don’t care. Just prevent the ichor from being released. Clear?”

Nyx nodded, already deciding which weapons she might be able to sneak in under her delegate silks. She had a few things the scans wouldn’t pick up.

A beep sounded from the computers.

Ariadne hurried over to the screens. “The shifters are all set!” She held up the devices. “Who’s going first?”

—

Their ship was hailed easily into Laguna.

Spacecrafts had gathered from all over the galaxy to celebrate the truce, and each one was carefully scanned and searched for weapons. The only difference between those ships and this was the kind treatment given to the delegates’ stolen faces.

Clo let out a soft whistle as she navigated them toward the Laguna palace’s hangar. “Look at that.”

Light drones glittered across the night sky and formed the shapes and patterns of birds in flight—symbols of freedom and peace. They lit up the thousands upon thousands of revelers, their burning torches casting a smoky, orange glow across the landscape. This was not to be a formal, somber setting for a truce. It was a celebration on such a massive scale that Nyx could barely see the ground through the throng of people. As they flew in, the beat of drums and ecstatic song grew loud enough to penetrate the metal of the ship.

“All these people,” Rhea whispered. Nyx knew her unspoken words: if they failed, so many of them would die.

“Focus.” Nyx was glad the word sounded confident. She tried to project certainty rather than her fear and unease.

Clo landed Lysicrates inside the hangar and expelled a breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Outside, the crush of people felt as thick as the throes of battle. If Nyx were carrying guns at her belt and the heavy military coat around her shoulders, she would have felt more at ease. But her clothes were the flimsy, formal silks of the upper class. Too light, odd against her skin. She hated how easily air flowed through when she moved.

The crowds around them whooped with glee, thousands of voices rising up in a song she didn’t recognize. She was overwhelmed by the bright colors of Evoli clothing, by the flashes of bronzed skin, the streams of lights overhead that lit up the walkway to the palace. Paper lanterns burned bright in the sky as they rose up to the triple moons that felt aligned for this very occasion.

Apparently, the Evoli viewed the sign of alignment as a symbol of great changes to come. To the Tholosians, it was an omen of terrible things. The God of Death would be seeking satisfaction tonight.