Raina folds her arms. “I’m only practical. The greater good should triumph over our individual concerns. And I have no time to waste on things that will slow this down.”

Mayor Elland leans forward. “Is that so? And would you be equally willing to sacrifice your husband and son?”

The Chief Architect looks away at that. I think of the way she had pressed close to her husband during the dances at the Sun Dial, the image of her son and his hired maid in the crowd.

“The lives that may be sacrificed are also lives that have families,” the mayor says quietly. “Mothers. Sons. Daughters. Fathers. Take care with the lives of our allies, Raina, or you may find yourself losing everything that matters to you.”

Raina rises, refusing to meet the mayor’s eyes. “We do what we have to do,” she says, pushing her glasses up. “Nothing changes. We move forward.”

Then she leaves us alone in the room.

I watch as the door slides shut behind her. Her words leave me uneasy, and I find myself hanging tighter to the walls around my emotions, lest Constantine sense me.

If Raina is so willing to sacrifice the lives of others, what’s to keep her from being willing to sacrifice my mother?

The mayor meets my questioning gaze. “We’ve long been at odds,” she finally says in a low voice. “I admit the Chief Architect wouldn’t have survived this long without a few losses. But it’s still a game I don’t like to play.”

I study the weary lines around the mayor’s eyes. Today, her usual bravado and cheek are muted, burdened by the weight of what must be coming. There’s grief beneath this woman’s steel, and I find myself thinking back to what Raina had once dismissively said, that the mayor has a soft spot for Constantine.

I nod, and point a finger at her, then touch my hand to my heart.

Mayor Elland shakes her head at me, indicating she can’t understand, and I swallow my frustration, wishing she could read my hands. I take a pen from the table and start to draw on one of the papers before us. A rough sketch of Constantine’s crown, then a woman’s figure beside it. I point at her questioningly again, then touch my hand to my heart.

This time, she seems to understand. “You want to know my past connections with the Premier,” she says. “With his mother.”

I nod.

She sighs and looks away. There’s a distant memory in her eyes. Finally, she says, “I remember Constantine as a little boy. I used to walk with his mother, Darea, in the greenhouse on summer afternoons, and Constantine would sprint ahead as fast as his little legs would allow. That was before the whole scandal of Caitoman’s birth, you know. Darea was happier back then.”

I listen carefully to the way the lilt in her voice changes at the mention of Constantine’s mother.

“I loved her,” the mayor says quietly after a while. She looks sidelong at me. “Darea. She was a young bride that the old Premier had chosen from Carreal, then the latest conquest. Her entire family perished during that siege.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “And what did the Premier do? Decide she was beautiful enough to make her his official queen.” She shook her head. “At the time, I was just a young noblewoman waiting around for a wealthy young husband. Darea made a good companion. We’d walk the grounds of my manor, make up imaginary future lives together.” She looks down at the table and furrows her brows, and in that gesture, I sense a grief borne from a lover’s broken heart.