“That one.” Ana pointed to Wick’s old bunk on the bottom, opposite hers. “There’s more room inside the pod than it looks.”

The ex–guard captain put down her blanket and pillow on the mattress and leaned inside. “Oh, there are charging ports and everything.”

“There isn’t much privacy on this ship, but we should be to Zenteli soon. Then you can find a ship to . . .” She hesitated, frowning. “Where’ll you go?”

To that, Viera shrugged. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bunk. “I am not quite sure. The kingdom thinks I am dead, yes?” When Ana nodded, she frowned. “Then my family does, too.”

“Are you okay?”

The woman blinked. The arrowhead-shaped markings under her gray eyes made her gaze sharp and narrow. She remembered that Wick had markings as well—splotches under his eyes. “Yes.”

“I mean, after . . .” After the HIVE got you.

“I am fine, Ana.”

She didn’t think Viera was fine at all, but she didn’t want to push her. “You know, if you ever want to talk . . .”

To that, Viera ran her fingers through her wet white-blond hair. “I thought you were dead these last six months, Ananke. I thought I had failed. I had never failed before.”

Does she think her imprisonment was punishment? The thought horrified her, and she quickly leaned forward and said, “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“Yes, well. Now I do.”

“And I’m alive.”

To that, Viera smiled, but the expression never quite reached her eyes. “That you are.”

Emperor

He was just about to sit down in the Moon Garden, the charred remains of the Iron Shrine in the distance, to read a book he had found in the library, when the Iron Council called an emergency meeting. Glancing up at the sky so he would not be tempted to roll his eyes, he put his book down on the side table and stood from the white wrought-iron chair.

“I did not know you read,” Mellifare commented from her perch on a nearby bench. She had been in the head of another Messier a few moments before, her body rigid and still. She flicked her dark eyes to him.

“It passes the time,” he replied, but he honestly did not remember why he wanted to read it. The book sounded interesting. It helped him forget about that Solani boy—but something about the C’zar still bugged him. He paused before he left the garden, judging that the steward was still out of earshot, and turned back to Mellifare. “We could have turned him into a Metal.”

“Who?”

“The Solani prince.”

She blinked, pulling herself fully back into her body, and gave him an annoyed, pointed look. “And why would we need him?”

“It seemed like a waste, is all,” he replied. “We could have used his talents to locate your heart. The girl now knows you are searching for something in the shrines. It would be . . . beneficial if we found your heart before she did.”