Naya steeled herself as she stepped from the cramped lift and onto the wide cliffside street. It was exactly as she’d remembered, and her throat tightened painfully at the familiar sights. The street in front of the lifts opened into a large plaza, allowing room for wagons to load or unload cargo. Beyond that taverns, inns, and shops lined the streets. Every building boasted the white-painted walls and red roofs required for structures in the cliffside and palace districts. Tall aether lamps stood in orderly rows, but the light spilling from nearby windows bore the yellow glow of candles and oil.

“This way.” A soldier directed Naya and Lucia toward one of the five black carriages waiting by the lift. Naya walked quickly, hoping for a chance to speak privately with Lucia during the ride. That hope was ruined when she found Francisco already waiting inside. Naya tried to catch Lucia’s eye as they took their seats. Lucia only shook her head before turning to stare out the window.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Francisco sat across from Naya, his expression distant as he watched the city roll past. Again, Naya wondered what Delence had been thinking when he’d asked her and Francisco to work together. There were other undead who surely could have joined the delegation and who would have been more willing to work with her.

Something Francisco had said tugged at her memory. Naya frowned. “Back on the ship, you said that your father brought us here as a distraction. What did you mean?”

Francisco’s shoulders tensed, but he kept his eyes fixed on the street outside. “Nothing. It was a poor choice of words.”

“It sounded like more than that. If there’s something else going on here, don’t you think it would be better if you told me? Maybe I can help.”

“I already told you. I’m not interested in—”

“I’m not asking you to be my friend,” Naya cut him off. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t come here to make friends. I came to help the undead and to protect the peace between Talmir and Ceramor.” She was surprised by how true the words felt. Yes, she’d come to find a way to save Corten. But she also wanted to fight back against the hate and anger that had gotten him killed in the first place.

Francisco met her eyes. “Are you questioning my loyalty to our cause? You of all people?”

“No! But I’m tired of you treating me like we’re on opposite sides. I’m sorry for what happened to your family. I wish I could take back that night, but I can’t.” She leaned forward, meeting Francisco’s glare. “I understand if you can’t forgive me. But your father invited me here because he thinks I can do some good for Ceramor. If you decide to cut me out, keep in mind it’s his plans you’re blocking.”

Francisco looked away. Bodied undead like him were harder to read than the living, but this close Naya could sense the dark anger in the aether leaking off his tattoos. It settled against the back of her throat like the stench of burning pepper, bitter and sharp all at once. “Why do you care?” he finally asked. “You must know that anything we gain here will likely come at a cost to Talmir. And you already switched sides once. How am I supposed to trust you’d stay loyal to us now?”

Naya glanced at Lucia, who was listening to the exchange with obvious curiosity. “I switched sides because I realized what Valn was doing was wrong.” She paused, the words sticking in her throat. “I was wrong about the undead. I was scared to question what Valn and my father told me, and because of that people got hurt. I want to make up for that, and I want to prove that Talmir and Ceramor don’t have to be enemies.”

Francisco let out a snort that might have been a laugh. “Is that all? You just want to make peace between two countries who’ve been at each other’s throats for decades? I can’t tell if you’re an outrageous liar or just tragically optimistic.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Naya said, more than a little annoyed with his amused tone.

Francisco met her eyes, watching her for a moment. “In that case, I have a question for you. Do you think you would have changed your mind about the undead if you hadn’t become one?”

Naya’s first instinct was to snap at him. Of course she would have seen the truth. But something in the careful way Francisco had asked the question made her pause. She thought about the horror she’d felt when she first realized what she’d become, and about the cold and spiteful way she’d treated Lucia. Shame sent a rush of heat to her face. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “But it shouldn’t take dying to realize that sort of hate is wrong.”

“It shouldn’t,” Francisco agreed. His expression was intense, somehow captivating. Then he looked away and slumped back against the seat of the carriage. “Maybe someday other people will see that too. But right now my father doesn’t think necromancy is our biggest problem. Ceramor and Talmir fought each other even before the Mad King’s War. So even if we could somehow agree about necromancy, we’d find something else to argue over. My father thinks the only true path to peace is to make the cost of war too high for any leader to risk.”

“That sounds ominous,” Naya said.

“It’s practical. But strengthening Ceramor will mean making sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?” Lucia asked.

Francisco nodded. “My father brought us here because he knew the Talmirans would be furious about having to allow undead at the Congress. He wants them to think he’s trying to revoke the bans on necromancy. That way when they block us on those issues, it will make them think they’re winning. Meanwhile, my father will be working to convince the Banian delegates to forgive Ceramor’s debts and to propose lifting the restrictions on our army and trade. If they agree, the Silmarans will follow. Talmir alone won’t be able to stop the vote from passing, and Ceramor will be one step closer to regaining its former power.”

“That can’t be right,” Lucia said sharply. “The Necromantic Council helped rescue Lord Delence and the king. They wouldn’t throw our interests aside after that.”

“My father will,” Francisco said with blunt certainty. “Even if the other Powers don’t hate necromancy as much as Talmir, they’ll still be more comfortable working with us while the restrictions are in place. We have to prove to them that Ceramor is a trustworthy ally, and that they’ll be safer and more prosperous if they help us thrive.”

Naya clutched her mother’s necklace. She’d known Delence had a reputation for cold calculation. But using his son as a distraction to further his own goals seemed especially cruel. She’d heard the ache in Francisco’s voice when he’d said he could never hold a political office now that he was undead. From the way he talked, it was obvious he’d been studying to follow in his father’s footsteps. Instead of fighting for the changes that would let him chase that dream, his father had chosen this. No wonder Francisco was bitter.

Before anyone could say more, the carriage jerked to an abrupt halt.

“What was that?” Lucia asked, one hand moving to cradle her plaster-wrapped arm.

Naya glanced out the window. Cold fear slithered through her. A crowd had gathered around the carriages. She’d been so focused on Francisco that she hadn’t noticed the sharp-smoky taste of their aether.

“Go home!” someone shouted.

“Monsters!”

Francisco’s brows drew together as he peeked out the window. “Where are the soldiers?” he asked.

Something shattered against the side of their carriage, and one of the horses shrieked. Francisco jerked away from the window, his eyes wide. The attack seemed to rally the crowd. Men and women surged toward the carriages, their faces twisted with a need for violence.

Naya flinched as bodies slammed against the side of their carriage, making it rock wildly.

The carriage wheels groaned. Naya forced her fear aside.

“Come on!” she shouted, grabbing Lucia’s good arm. But before she could open the far door, the crowd shoved again. The carriage tipped, then crashed sideways onto the pavement. The world became a chaos of flailing limbs and splintering wood. The window shattered and Lucia screamed. Naya landed with her back pressed flat against one wall and her head twisted at an awkward angle against the roof.

Lucia was lying in a heap next to her, curled around her broken arm. Blood trickled from a cut on Francisco’s forehead, and bits of broken glass glittered on his coat. He pulled himself to his hands and knees with a groan. The sounds of conflict outside grew louder. What was going on? Naya crawled to Lucia, fear tightening her throat. “Lucia?” she asked, touching the necromancer’s arm.

“I’m all right,” Lucia said, though the lines of pain in her expression told a different story. She sat up and looked Naya up and down, then turned to Francisco. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not that bad,” Francisco said. “We have to get out of here.” He stood, his shoulders hunched against the side of the carriage that now faced up, and reached for the door latch. Naya drew in aether and listened. Outside, the crash of fists and feet against wood stopped, replaced by shouts of pain. Hopefully that meant the soldiers were driving the crowd back.

“As soon as you have a clear route, get Lucia to safety,” Naya said to Francisco.

“What about you?” Francisco asked.

“I’ll make sure no one comes after you from behind.”

Francisco hesitated, then nodded. He shoved the carriage door open and Naya hauled herself up and out, trying to orient herself in the confusion.

Men in the blue-and-black uniforms of the Talmiran city guard frantically waved the other carriages through the palace gates while a score of soldiers in blue and gold tried to push the crowd away. Now that she had a clear view, Naya realized there couldn’t be more than fifty people gathered in the shadows cast by the aether lamps atop the walls. A few in the crowd wielded improvised clubs or broken bottles, but the soldiers seemed reluctant to draw their own weapons. Naya heard a muttered curse behind her as Francisco helped Lucia toward the open door. Lucia’s face was pale, but her jaw was set in determination.

Desperate rage surged like fire through the aether. Naya turned just in time to see a man in tattered clothes sprinting toward her through a gap in the soldiers’ line. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and something sharp gleamed in his right hand. Naya’s own eyes widened in horror as she realized what it was. The blade was not so finely wrought as others she had seen, but the aether twisting into the runes along its length marked it as a wraith eater.