And now.

He’d shaved, so his jaw was smooth and sharp. The cut of his suit was all clean lines that accented his slender build, and the fabric was deep blues and black, with hints of bronze embroidery that popped around his cuffs and collar. So unlike an Idrisi. Even his fingernails were clean, trimmed neatly into pale ovals over his warm brown skin. I couldn’t look away.

Then I realized he was staring at me, too, and his careful unreadability was gone. His lips had parted. His eyes were wide. His breath moved short and fast.

I must have looked like a stranger to him.

With my hair braided like this, my entire face was clear, as if I wasn’t trying to hide my identity at all. It revealed the bronze lines of Chenda’s artwork, which twined across my right cheek and down my neck. On my left cheek, my scar stood as clear as ever. And then there was the gown.

When I was the Hopebearer, my gowns had been elaborate creations, lovingly designed by my family’s personal seamstress. Mother had always intended me to look beautiful, young, and distant. Like a painting. The gowns had reflected that by style and color and level of complication. I’d been meant to be seen—heard when appropriate—but not touched.

This was something else entirely. It was simple. Elegant. Cut in the flowing Bophan style, the black gown hugged my chest before flaring down into loose ripples that showed hints of my shape when I moved. I’d chosen it because Mother wouldn’t have, and because I liked the way the silk felt as it slid over my body.

The entire ensemble made me into another person. Older. Sharper. Stronger.

Aaru’s mouth moved, but he didn’t speak. Slowly, he packed away his surprise: his lips closed, his eyebrows fell to their normal height, his breathing evened out. Then he approached me and offered a hand, as though to ask if I would dance.

My heart thundered so loudly he had to hear it, but as I accepted his hand, warmth spread through me at his touch, and I knew—no matter what he’d done earlier—that I still loved him. I would still do anything for him, if only he asked.

“Are you ready?” My voice came from deep in my chest, thick with longing.

Aaru squeezed my hand. “Yes.”

PART TWO

THE GREATEST CALAMITY

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN SILENCE, WE TOOK THE HORSECARRE TO THE RED Hall, where the memorial was to be held on the largest rooftop garden. My hands rested on my lap. Aaru’s stayed on his knees. Knots of anxiety tightened between us, and I wanted to ask him about Altan—surely he had a reasonable explanation—but that worry kept coming back. I’d been betrayed too many times.

I distracted myself by watching the red sandstone buildings pass by, listening to snatches of dialogue from people on the streets, and praying that no one at the memorial or ball recognized me. I looked different, I knew that, but anyone who cared to see me would know the truth.