She lowered herself down—the effort of standing on tiptoes was making her legs wobble—and stepped out of the flower bed. Keeping low, she crept along to another window, closer to the end of the room where the King sat. A drainpipe ran up the side, and Lena lifted herself onto the wide window ledge, angling her body into the shadow.

Yes, this was a better view. From here, she could see how the Radical’s eyes had turned a brilliant swirling color, like the rainbows in spilled oil, no distinction between the pupils, irises, and whites of his eyes. He was smiling. She leaned against the window, straining to hear. Emris was speaking to the Radical, stepping forward. She picked up a few words.

“Step away … can never hope to defeat … the gods…”

He was like a different person—no longer her mild-mannered teacher and friend, but formidable, angry, and powerful. In the bright light of the chandeliers, his scars seemed to glow pale against his dark skin—a reminder of everything he had survived, everything he had conquered. Even from a distance, behind a window, Lena could feel the magic rolling from him in waves. She leaned closer, her weight on the cool glass … and suddenly, with a creak, the casement swung inward, and Lena tumbled into the room.

Her head hit the marble—hard. A loud ringing started instantly in her ears. For a moment, the cold surface beneath her felt like the stone of a tomb, and she was caught in a vivid and confusing dream in which Vigo was firmly telling her to decide what to do with her life, while at the same time removing her heart and putting it into an earthenware jar. She heard her heartbeat, loud as a drum, as if he were holding it up to her ears … but no, that didn’t make sense. And with that thought, the world returned abruptly—the fresh pain in her head, shoulder, hip. She laid her palms flat and pushed against the polished floor.

“Hello, little spy.” The Radical was in front of her, smiling as she sat up, his black-rainbow eyes swirling.

Behind him, hunters swiftly moved to surround the King, who seemed unharmed, and rushed him to the doors, where the waiting palace guardsmen whisked him away to safety. The huntsmen started to hurry the other guests from the room. Emris was standing on the dais nearby, very still, watching her, and his eyes were alight with rage.

“Oh … Ancestors … ,” Lena breathed, nearly more terrified of Emris than of the Radical.

Nearly.