“Did she ever say what made her change her mind?” he asked. “She said she loved me even though nearly everybody who counted was against us. And…and we would have won, that’s the thing. I know we would have.”

It was as if Crow was trying to persuade Han and Lucius. “We were well fortified, well armed, and had the armory at our disposal if we needed it. We’d driven everyone else off the mountain. We had the support of nearly all of the young voices on council. The Bayars were smart enough to know that if they kept slamming their heads against the walls of Gray Lady, they would only injure themselves. They would have come to terms, sooner or later.”

“Alger,” Lucius said, his voice husky and strange. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“And I would have come to terms with them,” Crow went on. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Once you’d humiliated them,” Lucius said, running his stole through his fingers. “Once you’d taught them a lesson they’d never forget.”

For a long moment, Crow stared at Lucius. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said softly. “But all I ever wanted was Hana. I did what I did because it was the only way we could be together. And she betrayed me.” His voice broke. “So…did the Bayars get to her? Or were they blackmailing her, holding a hostage—someone close to her? Or was I completely wrong about her?” He blotted his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked up at Lucius.

“You were never wrong about Hanalea,” Lucius said. “And she never betrayed you. I did.”

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - F I V E

TRUTH OR LIE

For a moment, the tavern scene slipped, dissolving as Crow lost focus. Bits of other images intruded: an elegant ballroom, a dance of bluebloods, an orchestra playing in the background. A stone chamber—no—a dungeon, deep underground, lined with instruments of torture, blood spattered over the floor and walls.

A glass garden, rose petals scattered on the stone path.

The images faded, and then, with a jarring suddenness, Crow, Lucius, and Han were alone in a stark, empty landscape, a cold wind howling around them.

“You?” Crow splintered, spiraled, reassembled himself. “You betrayed me? I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Lucius said. “Because it’s the truth. I betrayed you not just once, but several times.”

Crow stared at Lucius—confusion, hurt, and anger chasing each other across his face.

“But…you were my friend,” he whispered. “I trusted you. I…I—”

His image rippled, grew in size and brilliance and menace until he might have been the Demon King of the stories.