“Do the stripes on your back not remind you of the foolishness of your plan?” Tamar asks before I can answer.

“They sing to me day and night,” I snap. “They sing the hunting song in his name.”

Tamar narrows her eyes. “You’re not going to rescue anybody, are you?”

“None of us is safe while he lives,” I reply.

“You’re going to kill him,” Yelles says.

Femi shakes his head in disbelief. “No, she’s going to get killed trying.”

“Child, the Tiger will slit your throat and wear your skin on his back.” Corday’s voice is as calm as if she’s asking me about the weather.

“Probably. But if there’s a single chance on this earth that I can destroy him, is it not worth trying?”

“You’ll fail,” Corday says, emotionless, then turns to Montparnasse with a motion that shows she is leaving. I feel panic lance through me. They can’t leave, not yet.

“Nina, you can’t even get to the Guild House,” Femi says.

He’s right. Almost all the Guilds keep the location of their houses secret. Femi knows where they are, but he is bound by the Law never to reveal their location, and I can’t ask it of him.

“The Guild of Letters audits every Guild,” I say. “They know the location of the Flesh Guild.”

Corday pauses at the window.

Everyone’s attention turns to Lady Komayd. She smiles, betraying nothing.

“Tell us your plan, then,” she says.

Which is better than an outright refusal to help me. At least they’re listening.

“I know that none of the Guilds can be seen to endorse my quest,” I say. “If they’re caught, it could mean war. So I ask no Ghosts, Rats, Bats, or Dreamers to join me. I need only information from the People of the Pen, and a gift from the Fisherman and the Lord of Dreamers, to help me.

“If I fail and perish, then what I have done can be left at my door. They will say I was half mad with grief and it drove me to do the unthinkable. You may all wash your hands of me in peace.

“But if I succeed, if Kaplan falls, then I will ask something of you. I will ask that you set free the Sisters of the Guild of Flesh.”

“The Sisters are no more—the Tiger destroyed them,” Col-Blanche says.

“Many of that Guild live still, under the sway of the poppy,” Yelles answers.

“How can we free anyone under the influence of the poppy?” Col-Blanche asks.

The Lords of the Miracle Court are notoriously suspicious; their eyes turn to the bottles I’ve pulled from the crates and set before me.

“Ysengrim be damned, child, what have you done?” the Fisherman hisses.

“We have awakened those who slumber,” Yelles says, his voice a fraction of a whisper.

“We have been diluting the drugs that the Guild of Dreamers sells to the Tiger,” I add.

“Have the Fleshers not suspected? Not seen signs?” Tamar asks.