My steps are heavy as I trudge up the stairs to my flat for the second time in one night. When I push open the door, I find Lara curled up on the bed, her back to me. I sink down onto the cushions beside her, slumping forward with my head in my hands.

I feel the bed shift as she sits up, her thin arms snaking around me and drawing me back against her. I turn into the crook of her neck and finally let the weight of everything cascade off me. At last, I allow myself to feel every bump, cut and bruise, inside and out.

I am not sure how long we sit like that, our arms wrapped around each other, before I pull back, rubbing my eyes with my hand.

"What happened?" she asks softly, smoothing the strands of hair away from my face.

"He lied," I say, my voice scratchy. I shake my head, fighting to sort through my hazy thoughts. "No, I suppose he never actually lied. He just...withheld some truth."

"Who?"

"He was there, the night of the fire. The night they killed my parents."

Lara gasps, drawing back from me. "That courtier you've been plotting with?"

I blink slowly, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. "It turns out you were right. We can't trust them."

"Oh my gods." Her face crumples. "Kay, I'm so sorry."

I fall back onto the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. "I miss them so much."

"I know you do, sweet. I miss them too."

"I let everyone down. Meg especially." I think of the hurt expression on my friend's face when I told her who I really was. Her heartbreak is an echo of the leaden feeling pulling at my own chest.

Lara doesn't say anything. The bed shifts beneath me as she moves about, pulling off my boots and arranging the blanket over my shoulders.

My eyes drift shut as warm lips brush my forehead, Lara's tenderness reminding me of my mother. Another wave of hurt washes over me and I burrow my head deeper into the scratchy bedclothes, so unlike Will's cool sheets.

"Sleep now." The voice is a million miles away.

And finally, I do.

My sleep is deep and dreamless. I crawl slowly through a thick, suffocating mist, dragging my weary body toward consciousness. Before I even manage to pry open an eye, I am aware of every cut and bruise dotting my body, all enthusiastic to welcome me back into the world of the living.

Someone places their hand on my back and shakes me roughly. I groan, swatting them away. There is the sound of metal scraping against a scabbard and my eyes fly open, searching wildly.

Lieutenant Griss stands over my bed, his sword drawn and held inches away from my throat.

"Good morning," he says, drawing his lips back into a sneer and revealing two rows of perfectly shiny, white teeth.

I bolt upright, my back slamming against the wall behind me. No fewer than six guards have crowded into my attic, their broad shoulders filling the small space. My eyes dart automatically to the open window. One oversized guard has already firmly planted himself there, his arms crossed, smirking as though he can tell exactly what I'm thinking. Another guard stands barring the door, and still a third is with Lara in the corner. She stares at me with wide, terrified eyes, her thin form hunched and shaking.

There's no way out. I feel a lump of panic rise in my throat as I slowly bring my gaze back to Griss and his sword.

"I think you may well and truly be out of luck this time, Runner."

His accent is refined, but the intention behind his words sends shivers down my spine. Every one of my sore muscles is tensed and I keep my eyes locked on Griss', nearly vibrating with fury as I stare daggers at him.

"You can rot in the eternal Burn," I spit. "I'm not scared of a king's lapdog."

Griss' eyes narrow and he jerks the sword forward an inch, nicking my cheek. From across the room, I hear Lara gasp.

"If it were up to me, I would slice your pretty face off right here." His voice is low, menacing. "So trust me when I say you should be extremely grateful that I am tasked only with escorting you back to the Palace."

"I'm sure it's easy to make threats when you're surrounded by your lackeys," I mock, swiping my hand across my cut cheek and smearing the blood. "Why not hand me a sword and make this a fair fight?"

"Enough." Griss straightens and gestures for Lara. Someone drags her forward and Griss grabs her arm roughly, holding her tight and pressing his sword against her neck.

Red spots my vision, clouding my thoughts and hardening my heart. How dare he. How dare these men come into my home, pull me from the sweet release of unconsciousness and threaten the only family I have left?

Lieutenant Griss has made a grave error in judgment by tangling with the Runner.

I cast my gaze down, eyes searching as my hands ball into fists on the bedspread. Will's instructions echo in my head. Patience.

"Give me my shoes," I say, my voice low, dangerous. "I won't go to the Palace barefoot."

The guard nearest me kicks my boots over and I take my time in pulling them on. My hand slips down inside the worn leather and closes around the dagger hidden within.

"Ready, Runner?" Griss' tone is mocking; he believes he's already won.

"Not quite yet." The colour red presses itself in further, thudding into my mind and drowning Will's lessons. All I can see is Lara's tear-streaked face and Griss' sneer. My father mouthing the word, "Run."

I release a guttural cry, throwing myself at the lieutenant. Taken aback, he stumbles, his hold on Lara loosening as I slam into him. We crash to the ground, Lara shrieking and darting away. Before any of the guards can react, I have Griss pinned, the point of my dagger held against his cheek.

"Hold!" Griss chokes, ordering his men back.

I trap his shoulders beneath my knees, pushing the dagger further and releasing a bright droplet of blood.

The cloud of red is all encompassing, binding and freeing all at once. I am dimly aware of the deadly circle of swords levelled at me but my rage blinds me to all but Griss' fearful, wide-eyed stare and the ease with which I could turn them dim, forever.

"Don't be a fool, Runner." Griss' voice is raspy. "Try to run and a dozen men will arrest you the moment your feet hit the ground. Take to the roofs and I kill your friend. You don't have any options."

"You're wrong," I growl. "I could kill you."

He swallows, skin turning ashen beneath my blade.

"Kay, please." A voice cuts through the fog.

I blink, Griss' face blurring while my hand wavers, ever so slightly.

"Kay," Lara calls out to me again. "This isn't you."

It could be. It would be so easy. One quick movement and all of Griss' cruelty would be wiped away. His death wouldn't undo any of the injustices inflicted upon us, but it would be a start.

The familiar weight of Lara's hand rests on my shoulder, easing me away from the cloud and back to the cramped and guard-filled attic. I shut my eyes, letting my dagger fall to the ground and slumping forward.

I am immediately seized, yanked to my feet while Griss scrambles out from under me.

I grunt, choking back a cry of pain as my bruised arms are forced behind me. From the corner of my eye, I can see a second guard approaching us, a length of rope in his hands.

"Forgive me for not wanting to take any chances, Runner. You haven't proven yourself trustworthy." Griss stands back, rubbing his neck and watching the scene from a safe distance.

"There's a lot of that going around." I wince as my wrists are bound behind my back.

"Nice work, gentlemen. And lady." Griss nods to Lara.

I try to catch her eye but Lara isn't looking toward me. I watch in confusion as she reaches cautiously for Griss' arm, getting his attention.

"I think there is another matter?" she asks him, tentatively.

I wrinkle my brow as the knots around my wrists are tightened and someone clasps my arm firmly.

"Of course." Absently, Griss unties the pouch at his waist and draws out a rolled piece of parchment, handing it to her.

"Lara?" My gaze darts back and forth between my friend and the lieutenant. "What's going on?"

"Your friend is one clever little lady." Griss speaks for her, clearly enjoying himself. "She cut herself a tidy little deal in exchange for your capture."

"Lara?" My knees buckle, staying upright only because of the guard's hold on my upper arm.

Lara has unrolled the parchment and is staring at it, her eyes wide. "So, it's official?" she asks Griss, ignoring me.

"It's official. Bid goodbye to the Commons, missy. The King has arranged a fine house for you in the Court." Griss' needle-like gaze is trained on me as he gleefully awaits my reaction.

Gradually, the pieces begin to fall into place. Meg's missing letter. Sera's warning.

"It was you? You turned us in?" I struggle against the guard, feeling sick. "Lara, how could you?"

She finally turns to look at me, rolling up the parchment and tucking it delicately into her bodice. "I'm sorry, Kay. I just couldn't go on like this anymore."

I shake my head, uncomprehending. "It won't change anything, you know," I hear myself say. "The money, the house, the dresses."

"Why shouldn't it?" She stalks toward me and jabs a finger in my chest, scoring a direct hit with a bruise. "What, do you suppose you're good enough for the Court but I'm not?"

"What are you—"

"You left me here to rot!" she shrieks, her blue eyes wide and wild. "You pat me on the head and shove money in my hands, treat me as though coins are all it takes to placate me, your poor-little-prostitute project." She shakes her head, her expression one of utter disgust. "I never wanted your charity, Kay. I wanted your love."

I stare at her, disbelieving. She shudders and pokes me again.

"I lost everything when I lost your brother, do you realize that? I'm not like you, I can't run from my problems the way you can. The things I had to do in order to survive..." She trails off, appearing adrift for a moment before her eyes flash with anger again. "Meanwhile, you flew about on those stupid roofs, consorting with courtiers, forgetting all about me."

"How can you say that? I did everything for you. I risked my life for you!"

"Oh please, you didn't do it for me. You did it for yourself. For the glory. For that ridiculous hero complex your father left you with."

I blink, still not completely registering the situation. When I speak, my voice is shaking. "You've made a huge mistake."

"I don't think so." She pats her bodice. "This is the world we live in, Kay. You have to look out for yourself, because no one else is going to give a damn. That's what I've done."

"You're a coward. You have no idea what you've done," I seethe, digging in my heels as Griss signals us from the room.

Lara doesn't reply. I catch one last glimpse of her as I am hauled through the door, her brassy head bent over the unrolled parchment and a small smile tugging at her lips.

I stumble on the stairs, biting my lip to keep from crying out as my bad leg bangs against the steps.

"Take it easy, will you?" I yell at the oaf holding me.

He says nothing, pushing me onward and out into a waiting carriage bedecked with the King's insignia.

A small crowd has gathered to watch the proceedings, peering out at the street from the shadows of their doorways. Several guards stand around on horseback, eyeing the curious commoners warily. I almost feel flattered at the number of armed men sent to arrest me.

I keep my head down as they haul me toward the carriage, avoiding the sympathetic looks of my neighbours. I can feel the disappointment radiating off them and my shoulders hunch, mortified that I have been brought to this state, trussed and freighted away like a common thief.

Which I suppose I am.

The drive back to the Palace—jostled in the back seat between two guards—is depressingly short compared to the long, painful trip I took getting away from it. As we drive, I make a point of staring out the window as much as possible, drinking in the familiar sights. Even the run-down Commons buildings appear beautiful, bathed in the white light of the afternoon sun, their dappled exteriors baking warmly. I fight the rising sense of anxiety as I come to the realization that this may be one of the last times I am outdoors, the last time I look upon these streets. I concentrate on my breathing and try not to think about how furious the King will be, about the deep, mouldy gaol and the dark chambers hidden at the far end of it.

One step at a time.

A shudder runs through me as we rumble under the threshold of the Palace gate, its great wooden doors swinging open ominously. How many times have I ridden up this path, dressed in finery and waiting to be escorted to a plush bedchamber? Then, the Palace seemed a mighty and beautiful thing, an architectural testament. Now, as we roll ever closer to its gaping maw, I find no beauty, only an ugly sense of foreboding.

I expected to drive around to the gaol entrance, but instead the carriage halts directly in front of the Palace doors. I am hauled out, a guard gripping either of my arms as the rest of the men dismount and arrange themselves around us. Griss stands in front, his shoulders drawn back and his chin raised proudly. Disgust churns my stomach at seeing the sick sense of satisfaction he clearly derives from my capture.

They yank me forward and I have to fight to keep my bad leg from twisting beneath me. The front doors swing open and we parade through, the soldiers' heavy footsteps echoing obnoxiously in the tiled hallway. I stumble once and the man on my left hauls me roughly upward, barely adjusting his pace. We march down the foyer and past the staircases, advancing on the Great Hall.

The grand room is still configured for the engagement party. The tables are pushed back against the walls and a wide aisle sweeps from the doors all the way down to the King's gilded throne. A low murmuring fills my ears as I am dragged past what looks to be every noble in the City. Finely dressed men and women are lined up against all sides of the room, pointing at me and whispering among themselves. I feel a heat creep up my cheeks and focus on putting one foot in front of the other without falling.

We break formation near the front of the room. Griss bows and steps to the side, gesturing dramatically as I am shoved forward onto my knees in front of the throne. I grunt and grit my teeth when my bad knee collides with the unforgiving stone floor.

"Your Majesty, may I present to you the Runner."

I raise my head, peering upwards. The King is leaning forward in his great gold throne, his jewellery-laden fingers clasping the arms of the chair. I watch as a gleeful sneer creeps up his face, and I know that he has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.