“So, he was supposed to wait for the zilfium vote to start making the weapons. But he didn’t. And that—ah,” said Lovisa, understanding. “This explains a piece I hadn’t fathomed before. Namely, how my mother ever imagined they could develop a zilfium weapon without breaking any laws. But she believed they could have done so, once zilfium use was legalized in Winterkeep. And she was planning to throw her vote,” said Lovisa, remembering another piece she’d forgotten. “I heard her tell my father, ‘I was going to give you your zilfium vote.’ She was planning to go against her party with the tie-breaking vote to help the Industrialists legalize zilfium use.”

“Yes.”

“Does Erita understand it?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s hard to tell.”

Erita was the boy who seemed to be coping best with all that was happening. Every time he mentioned some memory that piqued the interest of his sister or his uncle, he swelled with pride for being helpful. He didn’t seem concerned with what any of his memories meant.

In contrast, Vikti, the oldest, seemed to shrink at Erita’s announcements. He was so quiet. Too quiet, with something shuttered behind his eyes that made Lovisa’s heart rise in her throat. She wished she could see in there, figure out what he needed.

Viri, the youngest, asked questions constantly. Details he wanted clarified about the night of the fire, the night she’d found the queen in the attic, or the days she’d spent in the north before they’d joined her. It choked her with tears, over and over, when Viri kept coming to the conclusion that she’d been a hero. She hadn’t. She’d abandoned him. He kept asking, “Are you going to leave again, Lovisa?” And Vikti’s eyes would rise to her face, watching her carefully while she answered.

“I can’t promise you I’m never going to go anywhere ever,” she would say, because she would not lie to them. “In our long lives, we’re all going to visit lots of places. But I’m not going to disappear again, and I’m always going to be where you can find me, all right? I promise.”

Now, before the fire, Katu was watching her.

“As much as I want a clearer idea of what my parents did,” Lovisa said, “I hope for his own sake that Erita doesn’t have too many more secrets to share.”

Katu was silent for a moment, staring soberly into the fire. “I don’t think it would be quite right to say that I ever understood my sister,” he said. “But I saw her adolescence, and what my father subjected her to. I might be able to help you understand where some of her wrong ideas came from, Lovisa.”

Lovisa considered that. She already knew a lot of those stories. “No, thank you,” she said.

“Are you sure?”