Stasia wanted to shrink down into nothing within her voluminous coat. She wanted to pull her hat down so low over her head that nothing of her face remained visible. While she gripped Clarissa’s hand with tenderness, her free hand clawed splinters free of the table with her fingernails. These doubts, they came over anyone struggling against so overwhelming a foe. But this confession, so soon after the prince’s death and Lycaena’s execution…

“I forgot how much the Butterfly goddess meant to you,” Stasia said, mentally screaming at herself for her obliviousness. For fuck’s sake, Clarissa’s father had hung at the Dead Flags for his faith in Lycaena, she knew that, she knew it, yet she focused so much on her own hurt that she neglected Clarissa’s. “I’m sorry. I’m moping and angry, and yet I should be the one here for you.”

“You’re always here for me,” Clarissa said, and she dried her face. “I’m just scared one day you won’t be.”

The three imperial soldiers were badgering the men on either side of them to join in their song, something raunchy about a Miquoan prostitute and her lover. Stasia took her now-empty glass and hammered it atop her table.

“For gods’ sake,” she shouted. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

Her words were a cold iron thrust into the heart of the tavern. Tense silence followed in its wake, not long, a heartbeat of wonder at the repercussions for such impudence before nervous laughter and conversations resumed. The imperials, however, would not let her go so easily.

“Well, well, well, the kitty has claws,” said one who wandered over from the bar. A heavy scar ran from one cheek, across the bridge of his nose, and to the other. His words were playful, but his smile was vicious. Stasia noticed that despite coming in for a drink, the man still wore his chainmail and gray tunic. Still officially on patrol, by her guess.

“No claws,” Stasia said, already regretting her outburst. “I just want to eat without having to endure awful songs.”

“If you don’t want awful songs, then don’t go to taverns when the moon is high!” The imperial laughed. His lips spread into a toothy smile. “And lighten up. We’re all having a good time, aren’t we, boys? Today’s a day of celebration!”

The other two lifted their glasses, and a few sycophants sitting beside them did likewise. It soured Stasia’s stomach.

“Sorry, forgive my outburst,” she said. “It’s been a long day. I’ll do better to hold my tongue.”

But it seemed the imperial would not leave her be. He sat on the bench opposite theirs, and he leaned in close as if he were to share a secret.

“Your eyes… you’re from Miquo, aren’t you?”