Ranka stood there, lost and a little limp, watching the sleek line of Aramis’s back disappear into the crowd. Her cheek burned where Aramis had kissed it. A beautiful Arlani witch extended a brown hand and asked Ranka to dance, but she politely declined, retreating to the back of the room, her head spinning. A newfound determination settled in her.

She would do everything in her power to protect that girl, no matter the cost.

And that meant finding Ongrum.

Ranka cut her way through the crowd, beelining toward a familiar, slender back and twin red braids. She clapped her hand on Tafa’s shoulder, and the Skra girl she’d once loved spun around so fast, her braids snapped against her shoulder.

For the briefest flicker, Ranka saw it—guilt and anger intertwined, cascading across Tafa’s sharp, beautiful face before smoothing into false indifference.

“Ranka,” Tafa said awkwardly. “Hi, I meant to find you sooner—this place is pretty overwhelming, huh?”

From the sidelines, Sigrid, Nadya, and two other Skra watched. They’d shut her down when she’d pressed about Ongrum, but she and Tafa were friends. Had been more, once. Tafa would tell the truth. Ranka shook off their glares, took Tafa by the elbow, and steered her toward the corner of the room.

“Why are you treating me like the enemy?” Ranka demanded.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve been trying to talk to the Skra all night—and you keep skittering away from me like scared little ants. Even you look terrified of me. What’s going on, Tafa? Where is Ongrum?”

There it was again—that odd flash of anger mixed with guilt. “She’s here.”

“But where is here? I’ve been looking for her for an hour and…”

Several heads turned. Ranka lowered her voice.

“I need to talk to her, Tafa. It’s about tomorrow’s coup. It’s important—so important that whatever Ongrum is doing can wait, because the very future of our coven is at risk.”

“Our future,” Tafa said flatly. “Right. I’m sure you’re real concerned about the Skra’s future.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Tafa snapped. “I just saw you dancing, Ranka—what are you doing, making moon eyes over Aramis Sunra? Following her and her brother around like some loyal puppy? We sent you here to do a job.”

“And I’m doing it,” Ranka snapped back. She’d never been anything but loyal to the Skra—why were they acting like she’d already betrayed them?

She’s trying to rile you up. Breathe, you big oaf, a familiar voice reminded her. And look closely.

The room faded away. Tafa remained where she was, her face drawn and frustrated, but there was no actual bite to her words. She was just trying to distract Ranka—to drag out time.

Why?