I leaned back and crossed my legs. LaLa huffed and readjusted herself, this time with her belly up for scratches. I obliged. “If Nine is at the memorial, perhaps they’ll be able to help. There’s not a chance in all of Noore that they’d miss the summit, so they must have a way in.”

“Agreed.” Chenda tapped her chin. “With the invitations Tanhe procured, getting into the memorial and ball is a matter of altering residency papers and having our false names added to the guest list.”

“Oh, is that all?” Gerel shook her head.

“I didn’t say a simple matter.” Chenda smirked.

Gerel turned to me. “It’s dangerous. What if Paorah recognizes you?”

“He won’t. It’s been three years since I last saw him. I look different now.”

Chenda snorted. “That scar isn’t as good of a disguise as you imagine.”

Ilina nodded. “You still look like you. And you’ll still look like the Hopebearer if you go in dressed appropriately. Not a hunting dress and leggings, but something nice.”

“Something like one of the gowns you told me not to bring because they required too much effort.”

“Exactly.” A smile touched the corner of Ilina’s mouth.

My fingers drifted over the ridge of scar tissue on my left cheek. It felt like it should alter my entire appearance, but they were right. Wearing hunting dresses or cheap clothes, I could usually hide who I was. People expected the Hopebearer to dress a certain way, so they rarely noticed me otherwise.

“We could ignore the invitations and I could go as a servant,” I said after a moment. “Like you did, Ilina, in the Shadowed City. No one would expect me like that.”

She shook her head. “Even more impossible. The high magistrate is paranoid, so all his servants have been with him for years. My father said he employed entire families, not out of generosity, but to ensure he always had the right kind of pressure over the people who worked for him.”

I rubbed my temples. I believed her, of course, but it was difficult to comprehend someone so thoroughly awful. “Then what do we do?”

LaLa looked at me, then scrambled up to butt her head against my knuckles. As I petted her, the knot of frustration eased.

“While we were out,” Hristo said, “I found it interesting how unconcerned people were about martial law. I got the sense that it’s a regular occurrence, sometimes after protests or labor strikes. People are confident this one will end soon—a couple of days at worst.”

“Aren’t they worried about the explosions?” Zara asked. “If they haven’t caught whoever planted the explosives, it could happen again. It could happen here.” She gestured around the room.

“I wouldn’t worry about it happening here.” Ilina’s expression grew hard. “Plenty of people are blaming it on anarchists who’ve apparently done things like this before, but others are suspicious of the guards. They think the guards occasionally set explosives to give themselves more power and control in the city.”