“The lightning woke me up,” Birch snapped, turning back and half rising in his bed to glare at Adare.

“Mind your tone before the princess, soldier,” Fulton growled.

“Princess? She’s a prophet now, or didn’t you hear? The thing is, I didn’t sign on to serve a prophet.” His eyes were wide, almost wild, accusatory and pleading both. “I would have taken a blade for you, Adare. A bolt in the belly. I would have run into a burning tower to haul you out.”

“You might still have the chance,” Fulton growled.

“No,” Birch said, voice suddenly horribly weary. “I will not. I’m done. I always knew I might be killed for you, Adare. I just never figured I’d be killed by you. By a deal you made.” He dropped his head back to the pillow, turned his gaze to the window, and fell silent.

Jaw tight, Fulton started to pull himself upright in bed, but Adare crossed to him, put a hand on his shoulder. He was feverish, skin aflame, and weak as a child when she pushed him back against the pillow.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “Leave him be. I already owe him more than I can repay.”

Birch didn’t turn his head. From where Adare stood, she could see only the unburned side of his face, the handsome side, the side she recognized. Tears sheeted his cheek, but he refused to look over, didn’t meet her eye. He was alive, saved, either by the grace of Intarra or Adare’s own mad folly, and yet she had lost him all the same.

He is the first to see through me, Adare told herself, staring at the man, trying to remember his casual laugh, his grin. But he will not be the last. Or the worst.

“I’m not a prophet,” Adare said, shaking her head, meeting Nira’s glare from across the table. “I’m not, regardless of what they say.”

“The fuck does that have ta do with anything?” the woman snapped.

“I won’t drape myself in a lie and call it glory.”

“Oh for ’Shael’s sweet sake, girl, you think you can rule an empire without lying? You think your father didn’t lie? Or his father? Or any of your goldy-eyed great-great-founders of Annur? It’s built into the job. Bakers have flour, fishermen have nets, and leaders have lies.”