“Maisie, you’re nineteen.”

“Yeah, and my girlfriend is seventeen and the rightful leader of a nation—”

“Oh, and that makes you the expert on post-relationship etiquette, you jumped-up cowpat? Thank the God of Justice for you, Maisie.”

Maisie snarled like a stepped-on cat. “Oh, shut your self-righteous hole, you absurd—”

“Who are you calling—”

Dale clapped his hands over his head, spools unspooling while Vel fruitlessly tried to keep his brother steady. “This!” Clap. “Is!” Clap. “So!” Clap. “Stupid!” Clap.

“I’m so tired.” Hill dropped his head into his lap. “So tired.”

“Girls!” At the sound of Mrs. Callin’s voice, both women’s mouths snapped shut. “You are revolutionaries, not feral cats. Might I remind you that this is a matter of national importance? If you can’t put your differences aside, our entire plan will go right to the infinite hells, and the two of you along with it. I’ll see to that myself.”

Maisie and Brella lowered their heads like scolded children.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Callin,” Brella mumbled.

“Yeah.” Maisie sniffed. “Sorry.”

Dale elbowed a scowling Vel. “Callin’s better than Mum, eh? Quicker too. And nobody lost any hair this time.”

“I have a concern.” Hill raised a tentative hand. “What if she doesn’t want to go with you, Brella?”

Brella raised her eyes to him, cautious but no less murderous. “We’ve been through this, Hillary. She doesn’t have a choice.”

“I know she doesn’t, but she’s smart. She could easily figure out something’s going on. I just want to know what kind of plan you have in place to convince her not to ask too many questions.”

“Convince her?” Brella folded her arms over her chest. “All I have to do is keep the plan a secret, which I am perfectly capable of doing. Her only way of getting to Koravia is through me. I don’t need to convince that ridiculous, bloodthirsty imp of anything.”

“You have a point, Brella,” Leverett offered, forthcoming caveat written all over his shrewd face. “But consider, she has no way of knowing whether you’re lying about the Between and Koravia. If she thinks you’re a traitor—which, darling, you absolutely are—she’ll have no reason to go on with you. And besides, once you get into the Between with her, it will be a great deal harder to hide what’s under the surface.”

She pointed a deadly finger at Leverett. “I am not a traitor.”

Maisie groaned. “We know, Brella. You don’t have to do the whole . . .,” she waved her hands around, “thing.”

Brella ignored her, jaw set. “I am not a traitor. I love my country and its people. That’s why I’m doing any of this: to make a small difference in the fight to save this country from that idiot on the throne, his heinous Hand, and that tiny, little—”

“Murderous raisin?” Maisie supplied.

“Stabbing squirrel?” Dale offered.