That was when I realized.

He hadn’t said it in the quiet code.

He’d spoken aloud.

“Aaru,” I whispered. I stood, pulling LaLa up to my shoulder. “Aaru.”

He turned his head, and light shone bright around the contours of his profile. I followed the line down his forehead, his sharp nose, and full lips. It was so hard to believe that after decans of no sound passing those lips . . .

Even when he’d wanted to speak out loud.

Even when he’d tried.

Nothing. Until now.

Aaru reached up and pulled the curtains all the way closed. Then he turned fully and met my eyes. Again, his voice came, soft and careful. “For the memorial.”

Of course. Of course he should go to the memorial for his people. I should have thought about that first. I should have invited him—

“You can talk?” Zara’s words were piercing in the quiet parlor.

“Shut up, Zara,” I muttered, unable to rip my gaze from Aaru, his lips, the place on his throat that must have vibrated with his voice.

His voice.

I stepped forward, like I might be able to catch his words in my hands. I’d missed his voice, the careful, deliberate way he spoke, the thoughtful softness of it, but mostly I’d thought about it because he clearly thought about it. Whether or not he ever spoke aloud again—that didn’t affect the way I loved him, because it didn’t affect who he was. He was Aaru. That was all that mattered.

But now he could speak aloud again, after so much effort.

Now he could speak aloud again. Because . . .

I stopped moving, letting my hands drop to my sides as I thought about that evening on the Chance Encounter, right before we’d kissed, and he’d tried to say my name aloud.

There’d been a part of me—a deep, secret part of me I’d never wanted to acknowledge—that had thought if he ever used his voice again, it would be because of our love. I’d believed, somewhere in my selfish depths, that the first time he used his voice again, it would be to declare that he loved me, or to speak my name, or something else silly and romantic.

Disappointment washed through me, hot with the shame of my greed. My throat and cheeks burned as I looked up at him. “You and I will go.”

He gave a single, small nod, and then walked into the bedroom. The door shut. And a moment later, we all heard a long, grief-stricken scream.

CHAPTER SIX

THREE MORNINGS LATER, ALTAN WAS GONE.

It started with a shout.

At first, I thought it was just noise from the streets below. Every morning, the city sprang awake like this might be the last dawn, and the cacophony never ceased to amaze me. Carts rattled, people yelled, bells pealed, and horsecarres clattered. And today, being the day of the memorial and ball, pushed even more urgency into the clamor below. I caught a few hacking coughs, someone hollering for another person to hurry it up, and also the chime of laughter.