Orso straightens, his hands flexing. I’ve long suspected that he was the lone rebel who escaped, and his silence tells me I was right.

“You were not there, child,” he says in a low, dangerous voice. “You do not know of what you speak. You do not know what it is to see your brethren slaughtered like dogs.”

“Then why are you withdrawing your support from them? Don’t you know it will happen all over again?”

“You dare question me, child? A Lord of the Miracle Court? Have you considered your own ways? You are sworn to serve Tomasis and the Thieves, yet you plan to enter Kaplan’s home and attack him. Where is your concern for your own Guild if your plan fails? If you draw us all into war?”

He breaks off, and I feel the sickening truth of his words.

“Your aims are righteous, little Cat. The Court was broken when Kaplan came, and I hate him with all that is within me. But I have weighed the cost. Have you?”

I have not. I have been too busy spinning plans, blindly trying to convince others that this is more than just a suicide mission, that there might be a glimmer of hope. But Orso’s words are like my conscience: my own voice now accuses me; my own thoughts now judge me.

“Kaplan broke the Messenger’s hands for trying to steal from him once, and not a single Lord objected,” Orso continues. “He whipped you like a dog in full view of the entire Court with their sanction. What might he do to your Guild if your attack fails?”

“Thinking of and fearing what might happen is what gives the Tiger his power. He is a cancer among us, and he must be cut out,” I insist.

The Dead Lord laughs, and the tension wound so tightly about us eases.

“Ah, little Cat, you are so fierce. You remind me of my fallen brothers. They, too, dreamt of justice, but for all their dreams they still fell to Madame Guillotine, and all who loved them hanged at Montfaucon.” He reaches out a ruined hand and touches my cheek gently. “You are small, but you are sharp and bright, and the Court loves you. They see in you a fire and a purity. You could be the Lady of Thieves if you choose your battles wisely.”

“You told me once that if I got you out of the Châtelet, you would give me anything I asked.”

“That was a long time ago,” he says gruffly.

I smile and do my best impression of Thénardier. “Has the word of the Dead Lord changed? There may come a time when you will need angry men with guns and fire in their hearts. It would be a shame if that day comes, only for you to find that they have all died meaninglessly. I’m asking you to help me keep your foot soldiers alive.”

I hover there with nervous energy, wondering what the Dead Lord will say, readying myself for a crushing blow of disappointment. Orso eyes me; I can see the gears turning in his great mind.