“It was for revenge that the Fox had come,” I continue, relaying the betrayal of Rennart by Ysengrim, the murder of his wife, the casting out of the Fox to a dark hell until he could escape and have justice.

But my voice grows unsteady. I try not to remember Azelma wrapping her arms about me like this, the warmth of her. Azelma, who protected me, who would never have done to me what I am contemplating doing to Ettie.

When a warm tear rolls down my cheek, she reaches up to wipe it from my chin.

“Don’t cry, Nina,” she says in her small voice.

And I know then that even for Azelma, my sister, even for her, I cannot go through with this. And the knowledge defeats me. For if I can’t exchange Ettie for Azelma, then I cannot save my sister at all. I’ve lost her again, lost her forever.

The pain of it slices at me, but I cannot let it drown me, not now. I did a terrible thing setting this plan in motion. Ettie’s life hangs in the great and terrible balance, and if I fall apart now, there will be no one else to help her. I must concentrate on the only thing I have any chance of changing now … I must think of Ettie.

I glance sideways at her. She is so vulnerable, in her oversized shirt and boots. Like the beast he is, the Tiger has gotten the scent of her. I made sure of that. He’ll come for her, and it will be my fault.

What am I going to do?

When we don’t return, they’ll look for me; they’ll know I had a hand in it. She can’t hide in this building forever. Nor can I.

Be useful, Azelma said the day she was taken, be smart, and stay one step ahead of everyone.

And then it comes to me. Breathtaking in its simplicity, really: the only way to protect someone is to give them to the protection of another Guild.

I remember Tomasis’s reaction when I was given to him, and I frown. No Guild will want the Tiger’s prey, for all the Lords fear the Tiger.

Except, perhaps, the Dead Lord.

I sit upright so suddenly that Ettie looks at me, blinking.

“What is it, Nina?”

My mind is racing as I begin to make a new plan, and I am faced with an inconvenient fact: no one has seen the Dead Lord or his Ghosts in weeks. His absence is strange enough to be whispered about in the Court. There is only one person who might know what has become of him.

The thought is so insane it is laughable.

What choice do I have?

“Where are we going?” Ettie asks.

“To find Lady Corday.”

“Who is Lady Corday?”

You don’t want to know.

“The Lady of the Assassins Guild.”

Ettie catches her breath. “Where will we find her?”

Somewhere no one goes—at least, not if they want to walk out alive.