The Archon barely seemed to hear his son. He lifted Discordia’s chin. She knew every line of that face. She had spent so much of her life trying to please him. Hadn’t she? “I thought you were dead. So many came to me—but they weren’t you.”

His voice—softer than she remembered—came to Discordia as if from the bowels of a ship. Echoing. Distorted. His face was blurred, and she shook her head to focus.

Give the gift, an inner voice said. No. Her brother’s. He’d given that command back on the ship, and the drugs they’d put in her made it so difficult to resist. It pounded through her head like a klaxon.

No. No. Something was wrong. She couldn’t remember.

She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak again.

“Oh, did I mention?” Damocles couldn’t hide his sense of victory. “Her tongue’s been cut out.”

A hush went through the room. Her vision was beginning to clear. She met her father’s shocked gaze.

Do something, she willed herself. But her body wasn’t her own. It waited for a command.

Her arm still stung from the needle. The drug coursed through her veins. Her body felt like it was floating. The box was heavy, the only thing weighing her to the ground.

“Discordia?” the Archon asked, gaze searching hers. “Did they break you?”

“I told you she wasn’t as strong as you believed,” Damocles said. “When I found her, she was giving the Novantae information on how to destroy us. I had to control her myself, and now she can barely resist a command. Watch.” He turned to Discordia. “You have an offering for the Ascendant, don’t you, sister? Give it to them.” He glanced at the Ascendant.

No. Discordia was shaking her head. Something wasn’t right. What was it? What was it?

Someone called her by another name, one she’d chosen. Or had she imagined that familiar voice in the crowd?

The Evoli soldiers stepped forward to accept the gift.

“Discordia.” Damocles’s voice again, so loud that it pounded through her head. Was that her name? “Open the box. Let them see.” He delighted in ordering her around, as if she were nothing more than a pet.

Open. Open, open, open. The command was so loud, she was powerless against it.

She set the box down on the table between the Archon and the Ascendant, and lifted the lid.

A gasp went through the crowd.

The jewels glittered in the light. The necklace, the orb, and the scepter were nestled in the fabric. Each one was beautifully polished, highlighting the reds, blues, and oranges of the stones that gave the fire opals their name. A match to the jewels nestled among the branching antlers of her headdress.