Pain twisted his features. “Then you’re no cursed good to us.” He turned away, half lifting a hand that faltered and dropped before it could form a fist. “Go back to Raverra, harpies. Leave us alone.”

And with that, he wove his way off into the party, muttering to himself.

Zaira sheathed her dagger. “See? Even drunk as a disgraced shrinekeeper, they don’t have the will to fight.”

She had a point. Despite the broadsides and graffiti we’d seen from the coach, this wasn’t a city on the verge of rebellion. Whatever danger Baron Leodra had tried to warn me about, it wasn’t a simple matter of angry mobs in the street howling for Raverran blood. It was a more deeply hidden threat: an unseen knife waiting in the darkness at my back, not a ruffian coming straight at me in a rage.

“You’re right,” I said. “They don’t. But someone’s trying to give it to them. We need to find out who.”

As we left Lord Waldon’s mansion, stepping out into the vibrant lamplit night, I spotted an unlikely and familiar figure waiting at the shadowy edge of the plaza. Prince Ruven of Vaskandar, complete with trailing servants, resplendent in a showy fur-lined coat that hung to his ankles. Bold, angular embroidery in Vaskandran designs traced paths like jagged violet lightning down his chest. A jeweled rapier rode at his hip.

“What is he doing here?” I murmured to Zaira.

She peered across the square. “Is that your skin-shifting suitor? Nice legs.”

“Ugh. He’s not mine.” I frowned. “I should find out why he’s here, though.”

“Yes, let’s. I’d love to meet him.” Zaira’s grin was less than reassuring.

More disturbing was the delight in Prince Ruven’s face as we approached. He bowed extravagantly, forcing me to return a curtsy.

“Lady Amalia! What a pleasure. And this must be the Lady Zaira, I presume?”

“I’m no lady.” Zaira didn’t bow or curtsy. I wondered if the lack of manners was deliberate, or if it came naturally.

“What brings you here at this hour, Your Highness?” I asked.

Ruven’s eyes flicked to Lord Waldon’s door, where more guests still trickled out, in various stages of inebriation. “Oh, waiting for someone. But the Grace of Luck has smiled on me, to meet you instead.”

“I’ve heard you have many friends in this city.”

“The Ardentines seem eager for allies these days.” His eyes traveled to Zaira. “I hope you, too, will accept my hand in friendship, my lady.” He reached out toward her.

I wanted to lunge between them, but Zaira had matters under control. She curtsied now, late, both hands too full of skirts to take his. “That depends.” She laughed coquettishly. “I’m a practical girl. What do you do for your friends?”