She watched in silence as Varos stormed through the room. He picked up the plate of food she had prepared for him and flung it against the wall. The plate shattered, shards skidding across the floor.

Jessamyn did not even flinch. She was used to his outbursts and had learned long ago not to react to them.

He leaned against the table, glaring at it. “I have received new orders from the admiral,” he said at last. “Instead of moving on the Keshavarzian estate, we are to board the admiral’s ship and await further instructions.”

Jessamyn opened her mouth, closed it. A treasonous rage flared inside her, and she struggled to contain it. She and Varos were the ones who had discovered the duplicity of Danizet Keshavarzian and her sons—a family Lord Tabris had invited often to dine with him, a family of supposed Empire loyalists who had in fact been overseeing a massive Red Crown operation in Festival for years. The mission to destroy Willow and kill the family of traitors it housed had been assigned to them as a reward for their hard work. And, with Rahzavel dead, Varos was the most decorated member of Invictus, the most beloved. Eradicating the heart of the Red Crown presence in Festival was the reward he deserved.

And if he was kept from it, Jessamyn would not have the chance to prove herself. She would not gain an audience with the Emperor. She would not hear his voice utter her chosen name. And she could not say when another such opportunity would come.

“These new orders come from the admiral?” she managed.

“From one of his lieutenants,” Varos muttered. “He would not even take the time to speak to me himself.”

“But we are Invictus. We are the Emperor’s eyes and ears, his blades. We spent weeks uncovering the Keshavarzians’ deception and planning this operation.” She hesitated. It was perhaps too bold, to ask the question. “Has the Emperor confirmed these orders?”

“The Emperor has not spoken to me in days. I have even dared to reach for him and have found nothing.” His voice vibrated with anger. “He keeps himself from me. I do not understand it.”

Jessamyn waited for him to speak again, and when he didn’t, she sucked in a breath.

“We are Invictus,” she said again, keeping her voice firm and even. “We are not adatrox, mindless and disposable. We do not wait on ships while the glory blazes elsewhere. We take orders from the Emperor, and the Emperor alone, and if the admiral can’t honor that, then he is a fool.”

Without warning, Varos spun on her. His hand flew hard and fast, striking her on the jaw.

She bore the impact in silence. The pain of his fists had not diminished over the years, but she had learned better how to bear it.

“We are human,” he spat out, “and no matter how high the Emperor elevates us in service to him, we will never exceed the glory of his generals, and certainly not that of the admiral. You would do well to remember that. You will not say such things again, or even entertain them in your mind.”

Ducking her head, blinking to clear her tilting vision, she whispered, “Yes, kaeshana.”

He grabbed her jaw, wrenching up her gaze. He watched her for a long time before releasing her with a scoff. “You claim to desire the Emperor’s favor, and yet you force my hand far too often.”

She did not cry. Varos had long ago wrung every tear out of her body, leaving none behind. But she burned with anger, and shame, and longed desperately to flee to the mountains outside the city. She would push herself fast down the deadly narrow paths that cut high over the canyon rivers. She would run until she no longer felt the humiliation of his scorn.

“Yes, kaeshana,” she said instead, her body rigid.

And then, after a few long moments of silence, he said, “But you aren’t wrong.”

She stared at the floor, not daring to look up.

“We have indeed spent long weeks preparing for this moment,” he continued. “And our victory is so close, our quarry so near, that I can already taste their blood on my tongue. And you, Jessamyn. Look at me.”

She obeyed, lips clamped tight. Her heart pounded hard in her throat, its eagerness disgusting her.

Varos smiled at her, the anger slipping from his face, and in that moment Jessamyn forgot every other feeling except for the spark of joy licking up her spine like a hungry flame. She would endure a thousand beatings if it meant he would look at her like that again—her kaeshana, her Varos. Her teacher and her family, and her key to the Emperor’s favor.

“You deserve your name, virashta,” he said. “And if it means defying the admiral to get it for you, then that’s what we shall do.”

She knelt at his feet. Too overwhelmed to speak, she simply huddled there, her palms flat against the floor. After a moment, Varos placed his hand on her head, laughing fondly, and told her to clean the mess of his ruined supper.

She obeyed at once, aware of his eyes on her as she worked. And even as her mind spun stupidly with joy, she knew that any defiance Varos displayed was not for her benefit. That he would even consider disobedience showed her how deeply the admiral’s dismissal had wounded him. Before anything else, Varos would defy the admiral for himself, to demonstrate to the Emperor that he was not a mere human. That he was something more, and infinitely worthy. That he surpassed the orders all others must obey.

But she cared nothing for his reasons, as long as it meant this mission would end on their terms.

As she worked, her thoughts shifted to the girl Eliana, whom the Keshavarzian family had been housing. Jessamyn longed to hunt her most of all. In her dreams, she was the one to present her before the Emperor. Never mind Willow or Danizet Keshavarzian. Presenting Eliana Ferracora to the Emperor would be a glory unmatched in this world.

But Eliana was the admiral’s prey, so instead, Jessamyn recited what she knew of the girl: A child of Ventera. A twelve-year-old brother named Remy. A dead father, killed during the Empire’s invasion of Ventera. A dead mother, transformed in one of the Fidelia labs and lost in the icy waters of Karajak Bay when the girl had somehow sent an entire Empire fleet crashing to the bottom of the sea.

She had power, that much was obvious. Power no human deserved.

Power that belonged to the angels.

What the Emperor would do with her once he had her, Jessamyn didn’t know, or care—except for a fleeting curiosity she easily dismissed.

The important thing was this: soon, Eliana would be writhing at the Emperor’s feet. Perhaps Jessamyn would be fortunate enough to be there, allowed an audience as a reward for a successfully completed mission. Perhaps she would be able to listen to Eliana beg for mercy that the Emperor would never grant.

She shivered to think of it and redirected her thoughts to the present, to the shattered plate, the ruined food, the mission ahead of her, and how she would make Varos proud enough to boast of her wherever he went—his virashta, his brilliant protegée. He would need no one else in his life but her. No lovers, no students.