There it was again: her real name and not the title. This time, Lev offered it as a warning. Her grip dropped and her weight shifted, a subtle clink of armor. “I know you have a fancy title now, but it doesn’t make any difference if you’re wearing that noose.”

Safi almost laughed at those words: if you’re wearing that noose. Like wearing the gold chain around her neck was an option. Like she could remove it at any time and have her magic once more bound inside her.

“Let the Emperor command me,” she declared with false lightness, returning her attention to the candle, Firewitched and always flickering atop a hexagonal golden base.

Fascinating. Foul.

“It is not you,” Lev began, “he will command.”

As if to demonstrate this—as if the Emperor knew exactly what words Lev had just uttered—the Hell-Bard doubled over with coughing. It took Safi a moment to understand what was happening. A moment to spot the tainted lines swirling over Lev’s skin. But as soon as she saw and understood, horror yawned inside her lungs. She lurched at Lev and yanked off her helmet. The Hell-Bard didn’t resist.

And there they were: more shadows writhing across her face, wriggling in her eyes. Emperor Henrick fon Cartorra was commanding Lev to deliver Safi, and Lev was failing to obey.

For the first time in fourteen days, heat ignited in Safi’s veins. Rage that tasted so thick, so good.

In ten long strides, she reached her bedroom door and burst into the hallway, where five Hell-Bards leaped into formation around her. Lev did not join, so the knights closed the gap where she usually stood. They were accustomed to comrades felled by punishment.

Without any verbal command from Safi, the Hell-Bards aimed for the imperial wing on the western side of the sprawling palace. Through the Gentleladies’ Gallery they strode with Safi in their midst, the wood gleaming beneath crystal chandeliers, the various seating areas covered in enough gold to sustain a small nation. A nation like Nubrevna. Safi hated this room, not merely because of the waste, but because once upon a time, she had thought all that glittering beautiful.

Now it was just a washed-out reminder of what her world had become.

Gods below, how had everything gone so thrice-damned wrong? How had Safi done so much damage in so little time? She had left Mathew and Habim in a world of flames a month ago—two men she loved as fathers—and then she had lost Vaness somewhere inside a mountain.

She’d found Merik, only to lose him as well. And then, after two glorious weeks with Iseult, she had lost her too. And for what? Safi had come here to save Uncle Eron from execution, but she was no closer to achieving that than she had been in Marstok.