I shouldn't be here.

There's no reason to be in her room if she's not in it. I should be preparing for the meeting, devising ways to rid myself of Maven so Mother and I may speak alone. Follow her home, if I can.

And leave Mare at his mercy.

My hands brush the surface of her desk, snaring on something cold, something that chills my blood and dulls my senses. Silent stone manacles.

Don't make me use these.

I shred the note without thinking, sweep the spiteful remains into the nearest bin. Everytime I think he can't sink any lower, he digs another hole beneath his feet. Horrid little man.

What would he do if I took them?

They fit neatly within my satchel, a dark chill settling over my bones. He commissioned a throne of the stuff. How does he bear it?

It doesn't matter. If he can withstand it, so shall I.

I'll not have him best me.

Who put this man in charge of seating arrangements?

Every placement seems calculated for maximum discomfort. Shove the revolutionary between two Silver princes. Put four chairs between his brother and his grandmother. Ensure Mother and I cannot speak without him hearing every word.

And of course . . .

"Hi." Mare peers at Tiberias like a trapped mouse. "I hope you're doing well."

Maven smirks.

My eyes drift to the hand he's draped over her arm, as if he owns her, as if she's a trophy to be displayed on his shelf, as if he has any right to be smug when she's in such obvious distress.

I'm beginning to understand how Tiberias feels.

I turn away. I may be seated next to him, but that doesn't make us aligned. If he wants my help, he'll have to beg for it

He kissed her.

It shouldn't surprise me. It shouldn't anger me. It shouldn't set my blood aflame and remind me of all the ways he might drown. They've kissed many times before, and they'll continue kissing for days to come. And when they return to Whitefire, they'll do much more than kiss.

"You look solemn." Mother tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Is something on your mind?"

We're finally alone. He didn't want to endure her lecture on the dangerous ideas he might spread, the pointlessness of this display, how he ought to keep his concubine on a tighter leash.

Why do I feel empty?

"I'm exhausted." That must be it. "Father is dead. I haven't seen you in months, and Tiora . . . " My eyes water. "She can't leave the country."

"No. She can't." Mother closes her eyes. "I wish Orrec had found another way to ensure the treaty. One that didn't leave you so far away." A sigh. "She mentions you all the time. If Iris were here, this document would be finished. If Iris were here, I wouldn't have forgotten. If Iris were here, I'd have been on time. If Iris were here-" She laughs. "Your biggest fan."

"I'll be sure to give her an autograph." I smile. Tiora always struggled with dates and times and finishing work placed directly in front of her. It happened so often, we joked of her abdicating out of boredom.

If I'm in Norta, I can't help her.

I clench my fists. I am a Cygnet, regal and untouchable, humble only to the gods who rule the skies above. I choose my fate.

I am not powerless.

"Here." Mother presses a small packet in my hands. "A gram should do. Plant the remains in a maid's pocket. A Scarlet Guard attack." Her lips tug. "It will be painless."

She was always fond of small mercies.

"Better than he deserves."

"He?"

Oh.

Oh no.

"I understand the temptation. Believe me, it was all I could do not to drag him into the nearest lake." She sighs. "But we need him alive. We can't have a united Norta." She gestures to Tiberias, in deep conversation with his uncle across the room. "We're not ready."

I don't like where this conversation is going.

"And we're not ready for a Red to puppet Norta's boy-king. Let's take hold of his strings." Her eyes gleam. "Would he fulfill his promises if she were dead? Or would he devote himself to hunting down her killers?" She tuts. "What a terrible trick for the Scarlet Guard to pull. Slaughtering a Red princess. They truly hate Silvers more than they love Reds."

"No one would believe it." Is this how it feels to drown? "She helps them. They shield her family." A breath. "They like her."

"Do they?" Mother points.

The general has squirreled away to a corner, one Mare can't be happy to share. She mutters something I cannot hear, something which makes Mare's expression go cold. The same cold I hid behind in the Rift. A cold that dissolves when she says something else, something that weakens her knees and I can't catch her, can't reach her, can't do anything but watch and pray the gods have mercy on her.

He rescues her.

He shoos the general away.

He kisses her cheek.

If I didn't know better, I'd find them adorable.

I watch Maven cage her in his arms, brush the hair from her eyes, mutter delicate lies in her ear as she stares into tearful space. What right does he have to comfort her? By what logic is he the hero of a situation he put her in?

If only I could save her.

"They don't seem too fond of her." Mother startles me from my pensivity. "He'll be too enraged to focus on us. You can take over the duties he has no time for anymore, nudge him to abandon more and more until he has nothing left. Let him burn himself out." She chuckles. "And let us rise from the ashes."

Blood is a fact of life.

She brushes my hand. "You asked for justice. What better retribution than eliminating his only companion?"

"I did?"

"In your letter." Mother tilts her head. "The one with the signal. You mentioned him in combination with a vengeance goddess that didn't exist. Clever. Mail passes through many hands, and not all of them are trustworthy."

"I'd remember sending a letter like that."

Mother's head snaps to Mare again. "Faking a letter . . ." A sigh. "We've too many variables to account for as it is. Eliminate her."

"I need time to think." My hands shake. "He's attached to reality by a gossamer thread. What will he do if it snaps?"

She nods. "Take a breath. But know you must act soon."

I must.

The edge of the island is silent and still, save for a few stray gulls. Waves lap at the sands, if they could be called waves. Ripples. A disturbance of what should have remained calm.

It will be painless.

Mother was always fond of small mercies.

She was not amiable to large ones.

I settle amidst the tall grass, blades bending with the breeze. At least with Maven, she was safe. He would humiliate her, degrade her, but he'd protect her from anyone else who dared. An uneasy sort of affection. But better than death.

Unless . . .

He wouldn't aim to. If he could bear the thought, he'd have done it already. But one day, she might push him too far. One day, he might lose himself to his rage. One day, he might not be able to live with himself in the morning.

And she won't be alive to grieve him.

I shake. She will die, whether by his hand or in his arms, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing but watch.

Can't stay with him. Can't leave her behind. Can't let Mother grow impatient and finish the job herself. Can't smile and nod like a good little wife. Can't summon a tidal wave and destroy everyone for some peace and quiet.

I slam my satchel into the nearest tree, and the world shifts. Colors seem brighter, more vibrant, the air fresher, the atmosphere warmer and less punishing. The manacles. I'd forgotten I had them.

Forgotten "eliminate" could be softened to "neutralize."

It's a terrible idea. A terrible, terrible idea a better soul would never consider. But it's a better terrible than the one she knows. And it won't be forever. If Mother speaks with her as I have, sees her as an asset instead of a threat . . . she could be happy.

It'll be good for her, in the end.

The key slides into the lock with unnatural ease, a click cracking the cuffs in two like a traitorous egg. I told Maven I would take what was his.

Did he think I was bluffing?