Amon gripped Raisa’s shoulders, holding her upright so she wouldn’t fall. “Do you have proof of this?”

Micah nodded. “We took these off of Alister’s body.” He thrust his hand into his coat, pulling out a cloth bag, and dumped two objects onto the table, their chains clanking. One was Han’s Lone Hunter amulet. The other was the copper talisman with his streetlord symbol on it—the one Dancer had made to replace the one he’d lost.

Raisa stared at them, horrified. Anguish sluiced through her, scouring everything else away.

“Alister wore two amulets,” Micah said. He poked at the Lone Hunter piece with his forefinger. “This one and another—a serpent amulet he stole from us. That one is old flash—a family heirloom. We kept that one since we’re going to need all of the old flash we can get.”

“You’re a liar, Bayar!” Cat spat. “Cuffs didn’t never try to murder you!” She lunged across the table at Micah. Micah threw himself sideways, rolling as he hit the floor. He came to his knees with one hand on his amulet, the other extended toward Cat.

“No, don’t, Micah!” Raisa cried reflexively, breaking free from Amon’s grip and flinging herself between the two of them.

Amon seized Cat in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides, hauling her back from Micah. Talia relieved her of her knives, and Amon handed her off to Mick and Hallie. She continued to struggle in their grasp, trying to get at Micah, spewing increasingly virulent curses.

Micah scrambled to his feet, his eyes fixed on Cat. “The next time you make a move on me, it will be your last,” he said, his voice low and furious. “I’m tired of constantly having to watch my back while—”

“You’re tired?” Raisa shouted. “You’re tired, Bayar? Well, I’m sick and tired!”

They all turned to stare at her.

Raisa stood, hands fisted, tears streaming. “Maybe we deserve to be overrun by Arden,” she said, her voice ragged with despair. “You can all just…kill each other, for all I care. Don’t expect me to clean up after you. Or try and rule over you. Henceforth, you are on your own.”

Nightwalker sat frozen in his chair, his eyes shifting from Micah to Raisa and back again.

Micah took a step toward her, hands extended, his dark brows drawn together in puzzlement. “Your Majesty. Raisa. I—”

Raisa turned and stalked from the room, leaving a dead silence in her wake.

Once in the corridor, she broke into a trot, and then a flat-out run, down the walkway, through the far tower of the barbican, past the bluejackets posted at the door of her chambers. Ripping open the door, she charged through her sitting room to her bedchamber on the opposite side.

Magret looked up from her book. “Your Majesty? Is the meeting over already?”