“There is another word for the emotion you describe,” I replied, grinding my teeth together as my ribs compressed. “And none of that is my doing. I didn’t write the laws. Better to direct your hate at the system.”

She laughed, holding out the gown for me to step into. “Are you suggesting I take up the sympathizer banner, Pénélope? Your father would have me dispatched to the labyrinth within the hour of him discovering I’d been anything less than loyal.”

I glanced in the mirror, seeing the ensemble for what it was: a tool. My gown was innocent and sweet and entirely appropriate for the day, while the garment beneath constricted and molded my body, the effect subtly but undeniably alluring. “I don’t think he would,” I said, considering the young woman behind me in the reflection, only a handful of years older than I was myself. “Bastard or not, you’re still the King’s daughter.”

“I doubt my father would even notice I was dead, much less care.” Lessa’s voice was glib, but there were traces of an old hurt in it, buried deep but not forgotten.

“You’re wrong.” I started toward the door. “Neither my father nor my grandmother invest time or money in anything that doesn’t pay dividends, and you cost a great deal of both. Which leads me to believe that the King cares far more about your fate than you’ve been led to believe, and that one day, my family will use that power to their advantage.” I hesitated with my back to her, thinking of myself as much as the half-blood behind me. Lessa had done what she had to in order to make a life for herself.

For the sake of my sister, and for the sake of myself, it was time I did the same.

The markets were teeming with activity, dozens of human traders arriving with their wares to sell in exchange for Trollus gold. Many were the fair-skinned men and woman hailing from the Isle, but just as many bore the darker complexions from the continent and beyond, the gold we paid worth the perilous journey across the seas. All were oath-sworn – bound by magic to keep our existence a secret – and were experienced in our ways, my accoutrements recognizable to them, if not my face, and each of them bowed or curtseyed as I passed, eyes remaining fixed on the paving stones.

My destination was the clearing house, where the crown arranged the purchase of nearly all the goods brought into the city, which were in turn sold to the merchants who used them or sold them to the rest of those living in Trollus. The process was, ostensibly, to maintain control over prices and to prevent humans not authorized to trade from doing so, but most believed the true reason was because the crown turned a tidy profit as the middleman. I believed the real motivation was control. Control over what was bought and sold, who did the buying and selling, but most importantly, over the exchange of information between the inside and outside world. Nothing happened in Trollus that the Montignys didn’t know about. If Tristan intended to overthrow his father, then he might be in communication with human allies outside of Trollus, and for that to be happening, Marc had to be helping him.