She lifted a hand as if to reach across and touch him but lowered it, her fingers curling into a fist. “You intend to use it to fight Illucia?”

I nodded.

Samra considered us in silence, her face expressionless. Then she rose, stepping around the desk. “I’ll prepare rooms for you,” she said before slipping outside.

I watched her go, marveling at how controlled she was. It was as though I’d showed her a flower, not a magical creature meant to be extinct.

That was the kind of poise I had to learn if I was ever going to be a leader.

Suddenly left with nothing to do and afraid to let my mind wander to Kiva, my eyes snagged on Gio again. Or Aroch, apparently. It made no sense how the kitten had managed to travel back and forth between Port Maranock and Sordell, unless—

I cast a sidelong look at Caylus, who rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Samra was at the ball,” I told him. “Who is she?”

He looked up, distant gaze focusing. “She’s the smuggler friend I told you about. The one that got me out of Seahalla when…” He trailed off, shrugging as if it would complete his story.

“Oh.”

“She’s an Ambriellan noble,” he continued. “Her father was the leader of the high council. He’s one of the few who kept his power. Samra pretends to be loyal, but her family runs a whiskey-trading business, and she uses it as a front to smuggle for the rebels.”

That explained both her presence at the ball and the disgust with which she’d treated me. She’d likely been staying somewhere in Sordell, then brought Aroch back with her when she left. “Samra’s a Trendellan name,” I said.

“Her mother was Trendellan.”

Was. Had Samra lost her to Illucia? Was that why she played this dangerous game?

Caylus hesitated, then added, “Samra is Diah.”

I stiffened, everything falling into place: what she’d said to me at the ball about not being sure if I was a friend or an enemy. The dullness of the left side of Diah’s mask, where the wood covered her blind eye. She was a rebel leader.

My eyes wandered across the bruises darkening Caylus’s face and the part of his ribs visible from where he’d torn his shirt to stop Kiva’s bleeding. It took everything I had to sit patiently in my seat and not burst into Luan’s room and demand to know what was happening to my best friend. I’d even wrapped my feet around the legs of the chair to keep myself rooted.

“Are you all right?” I took his hand.

His fingers curled around mine, and he tried to smile. It didn’t work. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” He meant to make me feel better, but it made me feel sick.