“Yes.”

“Nights! Why?”

“I couldn’t let you steal the scepter.”

“What? Suddenly you’re a loyal subject? Nights, Fool! You should have come to me. I’d have offered you gold to keep my secret.”

“I couldn’t let you steal it,” the Fool continued, “because I had to steal it myself.”

Shai froze.

“Your duplicate, I might add,” the Fool said, hands clasped behind his back, “was quite useful. Thank you.”

Shai was a Forger. She had spent her life studying the way people thought and the best ways to fool them. She knew to spot another fake when she saw one. Usually.

All this time… The pieces twisted, fitting into place with one another. He had duped her. He had duped them all, the Grands, the empire itself.

Shai’s anger melted away like cold spring runoff, and she found herself raising two curled fingers to her forehead: a salute. If he had pulled this off… Nights, she was in the presence of a master.

The Fool smiled. “A chance is coming your way, Shai,” he said.

“A chance?”

“A sign of respect, from one liar to another. It is not much—I must leave this place, and my time to arrange an opportunity for you was narrow. But you are clever; it might be enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Keep your wits sharpened,” the Fool said, turning to go. “Be careful, be keen. It has been an interesting dance, sparring with you.”

“Fool? I have money.” A lie. “I can offer—”

He turned toward her, meeting her eyes. In that moment, the Imperial Fool changed. His face grew somber, became steel, and his eyes…

In his eyes lay an eternity, an age.

She knew people. She had studied people. This man cared nothing for bribes. This man was not just a master. He was something far beyond that.

A shiver ran through her. “Nights, what are you?”

“Why must people always ask it that way?” A faint smile rose on his lips. “You will not see me again. Farewell.”

He slipped up the steps on near-silent feet. Shai watched him go, feeling thoroughly trounced. How long had it been since someone had gotten the better of her so soundly?

She sank down, looking at her bent fork, the notes on the bed, the wooden handle of the fork that she’d removed and begun carving—crudely—as a soulstamp. It was far too imprecise to be effective.

A chance. What did he mean?

The door to the dungeons opened above. She half thought it would be the Fool returning. How like him that would be, to claim that she would not see him again, then reappear seconds later laughing.

Heavy boots sounded on the steps leading out of the dungeon, and she squinted at the newcomers. Guards, guiding a man with long features and fingers. A Grand, the race who led the empire, but he was not high ranked. That robe of blue and green indicated a minor functionary who had passed the tests for government service, but not risen high in its ranks.