She sat taller in her seat, an idea unfurling. Slowly, slowly, she teased it apart. If she could do what she was imagining—if she could create something not so different from what the domna wore—then it would make her search for answers so much easier.

When at last Henrick finished his dessert and Safi was sent away to change for the night’s dancing, she had to fight the urge to sprint through the imperial halls. Her fingers itched to work.

“I want alone time,” she told Svenja and Nika the instant she entered her room. “I have a letter to write.” Safi offered a shy smile, and as she’d hoped, Nika giggled. Svenja sighed. Neither woman argued.

As soon as Safi was coiffed and dressed in evening finery, they left her at her desk with the privacy screen high. And as soon as Safi heard her door shut, she pulled out her Truth-lens and hastily got to work.

She had no tools beyond a goose-quill pen, which she quickly realized was useless. Fortunately, the outer casing of the device was easily separated. The inner workings—the quartz stones, the threads—were more delicate, but she was patient and did not rush.

Magic tickled her fingers as she worked. Her magic.

The twenty-second chimes rang, a tolling of bells throughout the city along with smaller, clockwork chimes in the palace. Then, somehow, the twenty-third chimes were ringing, and Safi could no longer delay her arrival at the dancing.

But that was all right because she was almost done.

Then she was done, and she sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. She grabbed the blotting salts and pretended to sprinkle them over her desk, beneath the privacy shade. A dramatic whoof of exhaled air, and her work was complete.

A knock at her door. “A moment,” she trilled before tucking her new, rearranged Truth-lens into the folds of her dancing gown. By the time her door opened and Lev poked in her head, ready to escort Safi to dancing, there was nothing in sight except a piece of paper she was carefully folding.

“Seal this,” she ordered Lev as she glided toward the door, “and deliver it to His Imperial Highness.”

“Of course,” Lev said with a bow. Then she, Safi, and the rest of her assigned Hell-Bards fell into their usual stride across the palace.

Safi would not say she enjoyed her evening, but it was the closest she’d come to pleasure in a long time. She was the empress Henrick wished her to be, and soon, Safi would know what she wanted to know and have what she needed to have. Her new Truth-lens necklace had worked better than she’d dared hope. Whenever a lie had been uttered near her, magic had hummed against her chest.

And gods, so many lies during the dancing. So many flatterers, so many fools.