I frown. “Prince Ettore is going back to War?”

Theo nods. “You wanted an excuse to talk to the servant girl again. And right now the palace is empty.”

My heart quickens. If I can find proof the humans are waking up, I might be able to convince the others to help her. To help Martin.

Theo lifts his shoulders, hopeful. “Are you up for it?”

I nod firmly. “Can you get me out of here unseen?”

“I can walk you to the edge of the city. I’m not the best veiler, but I know enough to get us through the North Tunnel and past the docks.”

“I can make my way from there,” I say. I’m familiar enough with the Spring District and the various streets leading to the palace’s forests. I can make the journey on foot, with the mask I’ve spent months mastering.

He cracks his knuckles, anxious. “If we do this, there might not be any turning back.”

“I know,” I say stubbornly, and the realization that I’m growing more comfortable with Infinity makes my confidence swell. I hope it lasts. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

Theo looks relieved. “Good.” He pauses. “If you get caught—”

“I won’t,” I assure him. “Just take me to the docks. I’ll be back before daybreak.”

We set off for the North Tunnels, side by side and veiled in secrecy.

And I feel alive.

I pull the dark green cloak from my head and make my way up the palace steps. My hair is braided to one side and threaded with gold flowers—something I made on my walk here, since I didn’t exactly have time to plan another elaborate outfit. The cloak hides a simple pale green dress beneath. Without time and inspiration, it was all I could manage.

No servants greet me when I enter the grand hallway. Maybe it’s for the best. The fewer people who see me here, the more likely I’ll be able to slip away without making a lasting impression.

I turn for one of the back hallways, heading toward the servants’ quarters. While the staircase is nowhere near as grand as the rest of the palace, it still boasts gleaming wooden floorboards and chunky exposed beams that make the space feel homely.

I find myself in a large kitchen with an open stone fireplace and large wooden countertops that overflow with fresh vegetables, fruit, and aromatic spices. Dried flowers and leaves hang from one end of the ceiling, and cupboards stocked full of food are concealed by colorful glass doors. When I breathe in the smell of freshly baked dough coated in cinnamon, I smile dreamily.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. I wonder if that matters—not being able to remember my last meal.