“I drink it. And then I live out the memories he’s stored. Witstone ashes are involved, mixed with other things – his blood, for one. Thrana’s blood for another.” She saw my grimace. “It’s not pleasant. But then, neither were most of the things my father did.” She curled her fingers around the base of one of Thrana’s ears, her voice soft. “I don’t want to keep things from you, but you must understand there have been few people I’ve ever been able to trust.”

“I know that feeling too.”

“You could injure me in a thousand ways with the secrets I’ve told you.” She rose and I felt my knees wobble. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “Do you still not trust me? I want you to trust me.”

She wasn’t lying or trying to deflect. She told me the truth, and it made my heart ache. “You’re the Emperor. You have your father’s power.” I could feel the wall the words put between us, and wished that I could take them back – just as much as I knew they had to be said.

“It’s who I am. Would you rather I be someone different?” The hint of sharpness beneath that was so very, very Lin.

Yes. No. I closed my eyes, trying to think clearly.

Mephi pressed against my leg. What would he want me to do here? According to him, I was the one who helped. My satchel swung loose against my side, the book inside its only weight. I cleared my throat, lifting the bag between us as though it were a shield – the only thing between me and my doom. There was no reason I should keep this from her, and she’d spent long hours of study. Translating the book with Mephi’s distractible help was slow going. Perhaps she’d seen this language before. A question for a question. A secret for a secret. It only seemed fair.

“I found something,” I blurted out, reaching into the bag and pulling out the journal. “Back on Nephilanu, in some Alanga ruins near the city. It was like the statue’s face,” I lied. “It seemed to call out to Mephi. It’s in a language I don’t recognize and I’ve been trying to translate it – with only a little luck. I think it’s an Alanga book. Your father’s libraries are extensive. Maybe you’ve seen this script before?” I shoved it at her.

She took the book from my hands, opening it and leafing delicately through the pages, her curiosity taking over. “It is an Alanga book.” Her gaze raced across the words, her lips parting in surprise. “Dione’s journal – the last Alanga to fall to the Sukais. He and the first Emperor were… friends?”

“You can read it? You’ve seen this language before?”