“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

Because her life depended on what she could extract from me, which meant she’d burn whatever truth there was to our friendship to the ground if she had to. “Why?” I asked, the question coming out without thought. “Because your father will kill you if you come home empty-handed?”

Her lips parted in a barely audible gasp, and she took one step back.

“Drop the act, Pénélope,” I snarled, as angry with her now as I was with her father. “I know your father wants to put Roland on the throne. I know he’s using you to try to prove Tristan’s a sympathizer by manipulating me. I know–”

“Stop!” she shrieked, and launched herself at me, hand clamping down on my mouth. We went down in a tangled heap, her nails digging into my cheek as she repeated, “Stop, stop, don’t say it. Don’t tell me.”

I stared up at her, her panic not making sense until it did. There was only one way I could know she was a spy, only one way I could know about her father’s plans, and that was through her sister. And there was only one reason Anaïs would undermine her father: her loyalty was to Tristan and the revolution.

Pénélope’s hand fell away from my mouth, her forehead dropping to my chest. “I can’t go home. It was one thing when I only had my suspicions, but now that I have proof…”

Because accidentally or not, I’d revealed Anaïs’s true allegiance. And in doing so, undermined everything.

“I thought I was helping you,” she said. “Helping Anaïs. I believed that Trollus would be better off with any ruler other than Tristan. But it’s all an act, isn’t it? He’s a sympathizer. You all are.”

I knew I should put her off, try to recover, but I was tired of deceiving her. “Yes.”

The weight of the admission hung between us, and I held my breath, waiting.

“I told my father that you were using the human traders to bring in contraband,” she said. “That’s why he confiscated those drawings from the twins. Because of me.”

I winced. “Tristan… We arranged for you to make that discovery so that you’d have something of note to tell your father.”

Her jaw clenched and she gave an angry shake of her head. I didn’t blame her. “You gave him more than you intended. He knows they were printed on the same press as the sympathizer pamphlets.”

I gaped at her. “How?”

“The pages are marked with flaws unique to the press,” she said. “I imagine it’s only a matter of time before his agents determine which printer in Trianon you used. Who placed the order. And once they catch that individual, it won’t be long until they come for you.”

“Shit,” I muttered, my mind racing as to how I could mitigate this disaster.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” she said. “Did you really believe that I, of all people, would be against the sympathizer cause?”