In the darkness of the bedroom, I stare up at where the ceiling should be. My stomach growls, but under the memory of sleepless nights where it gnawed on its own flesh, I almost don't notice it. I'll eat when I find a group of Ladies drinking tea. Morineause women seem to eat all the time: pastries, biscuits, little flaky delicacies that fall apart in my hands. No, I won't go hungry here.

Jacin, though—I roll over. I'm tired of getting maids to bring Jacin his meals. Not because it's hard to do. There's a little thrill at ordering these girls around, my words turning into action. I feel like a warlord over a house, servants running to do my bidding. It's a delight to order them for my own case, but there's something different about keeping track of this freeloader. I shouldn't have brought him along. He's nothing but a waste of effort; he's not even my ward.

For the past two days, I've cast every morning to remake my dress into a new outfit, found Ladies to socialize with, and then wandered the castle as if I have somewhere I'm going. The routine is easy, but despite my effort to familiarize myself with this place, the voices whisper that I'll never really learn my way around. I don't know these people or their customs, no matter how much the shamans tried to teach me. The twists and turns of the corridors are ridiculous, as if some queen along the way decided that the castle just needed more hallways. After a few more days of wandering, maybe the halls won't seem like such a maze, but I'll still feel lost. I swear I've gone in circles more than once, and I itch to know how many little things I've done to tip off the Ladies that I'm not a native. Not native to this city, not native to this country, and not native to this lifestyle.

And all of this social guesswork and wandering was interrupted with suddenly remembering that Jacin needed food too. He eats out of my hand like a stray dog I don't want following me. By every right, I should just step back and let the odd-jobs boy fend for himself. He chose to come here. Let him keep himself alive. Let him keep himself out of the dungeon. Let him—

But if Leavi found out, she would do something to stop it. Help him. Just like my little sister always was, Leavi is nicer than me.

I push out of bed, solution apparent. Leavi will take him.

I prepare for the day and head for the infirmary instead of the drawing rooms I have been attending. The door is open, and I step inside. A door at the back is also ajar, and sounds of someone shuffling come through it.

"Hello?" I say, wandering a couple paces in. My eyes roam the crowded cabinets, some with locks, some not. What a wonderful, accidental collection of spell materials.

"Just a moment." The voice is old but strong. I wonder if my new role will fool him too.

I wait, glancing through the glass of one of the unlocked cabinets. Bottles of dried herbs line the shelves—thyme, sage, fennel, even some I don't recognize. Yes, this will be a lovely place to obtain materials when it's time.

The old man shuffles in. "What can I do for you?"

I smile at him. "I was told a Maed Leavi Riveaux is staying with you. Is she here now?"

His eyes narrow faintly, and the voices buzz. He doesn't trust me, knows I'm a liar, knows I'm a no one from Draó.

"Who should I tell her is calling?"

I wave my hand. "No need for such formality." I give a breathy laugh. "I'll just go to her, if you don't mind."

His lips press together regretfully. "Of course, my lady." He gestures upstairs.

Relief washes through me. What glorious, imaginary power I have. I resist the urge to bounce on my feet as I smile. "Thank you!" My skirt swishes up the stairs. Pushing through the door, I call, "Leavi?"

"Idyne?" Leavi exits a room, a plain grey dress swaying over black leggings. The wooden soles of her cloth flats clunk against the stone as she walks. She's playing dress-up as one of the castle pages. "Skies, it is you," she says, crossing to me and taking my hands. She glances over her shoulder at another door and lowers her voice. "How did you get in?"

"The physician sent me up here, of course." I giggle, slapping on a silly smile, and pull her to the couch. I know that's not the question she meant, but she obviously thinks other people could be listening in. I can't risk yelling out for anyone to hear, I broke into the castle!

"Well, yes, but—" Her eyes roam over my ensemble, and her expression shifts. "What are you wearing?"

"I'm a proper Lady, Leavi! Can't you tell?" I grin, but inside, I tremble. What if she really couldn't?

She leans back subtly. "I didn't know that nobility was just something they handed out."

I laugh. "Of course not, silly. But I've been ill for the past couple months, so no one has seen me in a while. Thankfully, I completely missed the invasion of the Kadranians into the castle." I lean forward, still holding her hands. "But it's so good to see that you made it out of the attack of those awful soldiers. I was worried about you."

Her face softens. "Yes. I've been well taken care of."

My lips twist. "I don't know what to do about our poor friend Jacin."

"What about Jacin?" Oh, good. She seems concerned.

"Ever since his lord died in that attack, he's all alone, but it's hard for me to keep up with checking on him. He only has the clothes he was able to escape from his lord's suite with. It's like no one but me knows he exists."

The voices snicker.

She presses her lips together, looking away.

"You're losing her," the voices say, "just like you lose everyone—"

"He was really worried about you too," I blurt. "When I ran into him, making sure you got out alright was nearly all he talked about."

She glances back. "Really?"

I nod emphatically. "He wanted to go find you and save you himself, but I convinced him we should let people more suited to that role do it."

Her head tilts at me, and I can almost see her putting things together. "Have you been in contact with any of our other friends?"

I nod again. "I talked to him then, and then later, he told me you were here!" My smile is bright.

She nods, as if tucking that away, and then her eyes go wide. She glances at a small window where the sun creeps grey over the horizon. "I have to go. I'm sorry." She stands. "I don't know how much I can do for Jacin, but I'll check in on him. Where is he staying?"

Pleased, I tell her and stand as well. We both go down, and I leave, wondering where she's off to. I suppose to carry around messages, but it's odd for her to have so quickly adapted to castle life. It seems I'm not the only one still in contact with our dear prince.

I wind through the castle halls, headed toward the closest drawing room. The Morineause may be uppity highbrows, but even I have to admit that they're good at making things pretty. The stones all around me are beautifully crafted, fitted into each other perfectly. I'm amazed that someone could have built this place.

"Maybe they did it with magic." The voices seem to be in a good mood now.

"Nobody has magic that powerful," I counter, rolling my eyes. But an excited thrill runs through me at the idea that I could be walking through supernaturally-constructed corridors. Even more than being good at pretty things, Morineaux is good at magic.

Some people rumor that Retra should be considered the home of magic instead, what with their Eri and priestesses and magic temples, but everyone knows Morineaux's the place that magic thrives in everywhere. Even the Retrans I've talked to can't give me a good idea of who or what their 'Eri' is. And if she doesn't have the power to make her people know what she is, then how am I supposed to believe that she has the power to control magic?

I shake my head. Silly Retrans with their silly Retran beliefs. It doesn't matter who or what made magic. What matters is that it is and that it is-es inside of us.

I frown. My toes feel like I'm walking on feathers. I cover my mouth, suppressing a laugh. That's ridiculous.

I stop walking and squeeze my eyes shut. The Ladies can't see me like this. They haven't seen me floaty yet, and if they do, I'll lose all chance of earning a place here.

"What does it matter what they think of you?" the voices chorus in their flat, dead little tones.

And then I'm balled up in the night, jamming my fingers into my ears, yelling, begging the shamans to stop because they're making me hear the voices of the dead, dead, dead shades.

How interesting, the shamans say. How effective.

"Stop, stop, stop," I murmur. The wall is hard against my back, and my eyes flicker open. I sit, knees to my chest, against the hallway wall and blinking rapidly. My nails dig into my palms. Tears will mess my makeup.

"I'm not there anymore," I whisper.

"But we will always be right here."

I slap the floor. "Shut up!" My palm stings. The clap reverberates down the hall along with my shout.

Footsteps tip-tap distantly, and I scramble up. That's the sound of the Ladies' platform shoes. She can't see me, and she must have heard me, so she can't know it was me. I dart away from the sound, hurrying down this hallway and that until I can't hear her anymore, but I don't want to get caught, I can't get caught. I don't know where I am anymore. I'm lost in this maze of halls, this empty, empty maze of halls. Most of the glow crystals here aren't even lit, and I'm walking alone in the lowlight.

Alone. My footsteps slow. I'm alone—she didn't catch me. I pull in a slow, unsteady breath. She doesn't know I'm crazy. I'm safe.

"And lost," the voices hiss, a taunting smile in their tone.

"I don't care. I'll find my way back." I stop and look around. The hall is empty, devoid even of the decorative tables that most of the castle sports. I wander to a door, fingertips pushing it open. It's a large room with a recessed ceiling adorned in elaborate mural work. Dusty coverings lie over the furniture—what looks like a couple couches against the walls, a table against a different one, and a large, bulky item in the middle of the room. I wonder what it's like to live in a world where you have so many things, you can't use them all.

Curiosity pulls me in, the faint tap of my bare feet following me. I want that world.

A thin layer of dust covers the room's glow crystals, and my fingers reach out to tap one. The crystal illuminates most of the room. The dust lit from beneath gives the illusion of the crystal having fur. I find the edge of the leather covering, and when I throw it back, a dust cloud flies up. I turn away, coughing.

Once it settles, I look again. A short bench sits in front of a thick table with thin legs. Brow furrowed, I step forward and brush my fingers across the long white and black rectangles lined up at the front part of the table. I push on one. A heavy thrum echoes through the room, and I jump back. Nothing else happens, and I press a different rectangle. A lighter note echoes, and I relax. It's just an instrument.

Replacing the covering, I wonder why they stopped using this room. This whole hall, even. I tap the light off and duck out. That dust wasn't thick enough to be years, or even months' worth of disuse. They've been under siege for a couple weeks. They probably pulled back from here when the Kadranians hit the city, hoping to save on resources and labor.

I wander down the hall, trying to get back to where I came from. Something tickles my arm, and I glance down. A black, many-legged thing crawls across my skin, and I smack it off on impulse, dancing back. It flops to the ground and runs about a foot away before freezing.

I laugh. It's just a spider. It might even be helpful for a spell, if I can catch it. I lean forward to get a better look, placing my hand on the wall.

The stone beneath my hand sinks, and I lose my balance. The spider skitters away, and I catch myself, standing. The stone where my hand was sits about half a foot into the wall, and beside it, a section only about as big as a door shudders and shifts back a few inches. I stare dumbfounded before scrambling to worm my fingers into the crack and tug it sideways. It doesn't budge. I strain to pull it over, but it refuses to move. I'm about to give up when, with a groan, it slowly starts sliding into the rest of the wall beside it. I stop pulling when the gap is just wide enough for me to slip inside.

The room is small, maybe ten feet wide but only about four deep. My fingers fumble along the walls for any glow crystals, and my little finger brushes one. Its soft glow makes it easier for me to find the few more scattered across the room.

It's empty. A thick layer of dust coats the surfaces, and every step kicks up motes. Now, this is somewhere that hasn't been touched in years. I move about the empty space and glance around, thinking about Alaar's green amulet in my bag, back in my room.

This is perfect.

"Yes. Let this be the place we kill someone," the voices cackle.

"Shush." I smile despite myself. I had been intending to use my bedroom for everything, but this—this is more private and more distant from any listening ears. The smile slowly widens. Those Shadesnare-worshipping shamans might not die here, but they will suffer at my hand. For every time they used me to experiment, for every time they called me their slave, for every time they thought I was a defenseless, spineless nothing, they will suffer a hundred times more.

I leave, pushing the trigger stone again. It moves forward to where it's supposed to be, and the wall slides shut.

They never thought the weapon they raised, trained, and tortured would point itself back at them. But there are secrets behind masks of madness, and there are schemes behind pain. Alaar was so sure I was his docile little girl.

I guess he'll learn better.