But Harkan’s bedroom was a familiar, untidy place. Over the years, Eliana had spent as many nights there as she had in her own.

She climbed into his bed, waiting. He pulled the drapes nearly shut, leaving the window open behind them. He lit the four squat candles he kept on a side table—one for each member of his lost family. When he had pulled off his shirt and boots, he climbed in beside her and drew her down into the warm nest of his arms.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her cheek.

She smiled, wriggling closer. “I always sleep better when I’m with you.”

He laughed softly. Then the room filled with silence. He worried the ends of her braid between his fingers. “Someday, we’ll have enough money to leave this place.”

Eliana closed her eyes. It was the beginning of Harkan’s favorite story, one he had told her countless times. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she couldn’t stand listening to it, not today. That this story had been a comfort when they were young and didn’t know any better but was simply cruel and pointless now.

So she waited until she could speak instead of yelling at him, and asked, as she always did, “Where will we go?”

“North across the Narrow Sea, to Astavar.”

Astavar. Eliana used to dream about what it would look like—white-capped mountains, lush green valleys, a world of ice and snow and night skies filled with twisting strands of colored light.

Now it was simply a place on a map. Ventera’s northern neighbor and the last free country left in the world.

“No one gets in or out of Astavar,” Eliana countered, falling into the rhythm of their practiced back-and-forth.

“We’ll find a smuggler,” Harkan continued. “A good one. We’ll pay whatever we need to pay.”

“Astavar will fall one of these days. Everyone falls to the Empire. Look what happened to us.”

“Perhaps. But in the meantime, we could have a few years of peace. You, me, your mother, Remy.” He squeezed her hand. “A proper family.”

Just like the one Eliana had destroyed mere hours ago. Suddenly she found it difficult to swallow. Suddenly her eyes felt hot and full.

Damn it. This was what came of trying to be a good friend.

“I don’t know that I could ever be proper,” she teased. It sounded unconvincing even to her.

“Think of it, El.” Harkan’s thumb smoothed circles against the crook of her arm. “The sea isn’t large. We could be in Astavar in an hour, maybe two. We could find a small place, maybe by a lake. I could farm. Remy could bake. Your mother could continue with her mending. And you—”

“And me?” Eliana sat up. She couldn’t play this game any longer. “If we could get past the Empire troops at our border, and if we could find a smuggler who wouldn’t betray us to the Empire, and if we could convince the Astavaris to let us cross their border…if we managed to do all that, with money we don’t have, what would I do, then, in this fantasy of yours?”

Harkan ignored the harsh edge to her voice. He kissed her wrist. “Anything. You can hunt game. I’ll teach you how to grow tomatoes. You can wear a straw hat.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “I suppose you don’t have to wear a hat. Although I’m not ashamed to say I’ve been daydreaming about it for so long that my heart might break if you didn’t.”

“It won’t work,” she said at last.

“The hat?” Harkan’s gaze was soft. “On the contrary, I think it would flatter you nicely.”

In that moment, she hated him almost as much as she hated herself.

She moved out of his arms, drew her tunic over her head, and gently pinned his wrists to his pillow.

“There’s no place for a girl like me in your dream world, love,” she explained with a coy smile. “All I know how to do is kill, remember?”

“And this,” Harkan said, his eyes dark and his voice low.

“And this,” she agreed and then kissed him deeply enough that he had nothing else to say.

• • •

That evening, she returned home at dusk to prepare dinner.

“Darling Mother!” She dropped a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

“What happened today?” asked Rozen Ferracora. She sat at the table, parts from her latest tinkering job scattered across the worn wood. Nuts and bolts. Nails and knives. “I heard about the boy—and Quill.”

“Oh, did you?” Eliana shrugged, started chopping carrots. She felt her mother’s eyes upon her and chopped faster. “Well. What do you expect? Another banner day in the glorious kingdom of Ventera.”

Later, Remy came in and sat at the table, watching Eliana lay out their dinner—a loaf of fresh bread, vegetable stew, a block of hard cheese—all of it high quality, freshly bought in the Garden Quarter.

Eliana had never been more aware of their lovely little home, their stock of food, the relative safety of their neighborhood.

All of it bought with the blood on her hands.

She filled her mother’s bowl and set it before her with a flourish.

Remy broke the silence, his voice shaking. His blue eyes were brilliant with unshed tears. “You’re a coward.”

Eliana had expected that. Still, the vitriol in his voice was a gut punch. She almost dropped her plate.

Rozen hissed at him, “Stop it, Remy.”

“I heard a child was executed today, and that rebel, Quill. The one who smuggles people out of the city.”

Eliana’s throat tightened painfully. She had never seen such an expression on Remy’s face. Like he didn’t recognize her—and didn’t want to.

With relish, she bit off a chunk of bread. “All true!”

“You did that,” he whispered.

“Did what?”

“You killed them.”

She swallowed, knocked back a gulp of water, wiped her mouth. “As I’ve said before, my cowardice keeps us warm and fed and alive. So, dearest brother, unless you’d prefer to starve…”

Remy shoved his plate away. “I hate you.”

Rozen sat rigid in her chair. “You don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Let him hate me.” Eliana glanced at Remy and then quickly away. He was looking right at the soft hole in her middle, the hollow place she let no one but him see. It ached from the bruise of his words. “If it helps him sleep at night, he can hate me until the end of his days.”

Remy’s eyes flicked to her neck, where the chain of her necklace was visible. His expression darkened.