Lena realized they were heading broadly east, out of town, and had reached the tangled warren of streets that had seemed like lace from far above, climbing up one of the city’s seven hills. Emris darted left down a dark alley and drew her aside. The rain had lessened at last, and a reddish, sickly sun showed through the drizzle.

“Hide here for a while,” he said. “I’m going to create a diversion.”

“Emris—no. It’s too dangerous! What if they catch you?” None of this is his fault, she thought. I can’t let him suffer the consequences. Not like Vigo did. “Besides, I haven’t heard anyone following lately… Aren’t we safer sticking together?”

“It’s not that simple, Lena. Look.” He pointed upward. Sure enough, she spotted riders in the sky, a few of them barely streets away. “They’ll be combing the city for us until it’s too dark to see. If I can lead them somewhere else, we’ll be safe until dawn.”

Lena hesitated, seeing the wisdom in what he was saying but not wanting to accept it. “I…”

Emris shook his head. “Just hide. I’ll find you again—please, just for once, do as I say. Stay here until nightfall. I promise I’ll be back.”

And before he left, he pressed his lips briefly to hers—so briefly she wondered if she had imagined it, and held her hand over her mouth as if to keep the ghost of the kiss.

Lena crouched in a doorway in the quiet, dilapidated alley where Emris had left her. It was full of empty, broken windows, abandoned newspapers, and the stench of feral animals. She sat in the dark at the end, drawing her knees to her chest. She’d been waiting for ages; it was dark now, and a beam of moonlight lit the detritus at the alley entrance.

The houses here had been grand once, with huge deep doorways and wide steps—but they looked old too, their bricks flaking and ivy trailing through their windows. The night grew quieter as the moon rose: for hours, the only sound she heard was a distant drunkard lurching, singing, into a gutter.

Tears streaked Lena’s cheeks with salt as she wondered what had happened to Emris. The butterfly perched on her knee, gazing at her as if in sympathy.

“He said he wouldn’t be long,” she whispered. “But it’s been hours. What if they captured him?” Her forehead sank down, and the butterfly crawled into her hair—she felt its warm weight against her skull, the gentle simmer of its magical heart chiming with her own. She’d wait until sunrise, she decided. If he didn’t return, she’d have to flee the city on her own.