“Neither.”

“My lady?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance, I’m told. He suggested you might be able to do something about the flowers that keep arriving in the palace garden. Neither of us is particularly fond of the smell, and he suggested you might be in a position to see any future orders cancelled.”

“There’s something familiar about her voice . . .” Sarhina said, scowling as Nana pushed her aside to step up next to Jor, trying to peer over his shoulder at the women beyond.

“How peculiar,” Beth said. “Unfortunately, I don’t see how I can help you. My business is gemstones, not flowers, and I have no commissions with the crown.”

“Not with the Maridrinian crown, you mean. But perhaps another.”

Bronwyn dragged at Lara’s arm, pointing up to the ceiling, where a hatch was already open, rain falling through to splatter the table. “You and Sarhina go,” she hissed. “We’ll distract them while you take the rooftops.”

“No.” Lara pulled her arm out of her sister’s grip. “It’s me Father wants most, and I’m sure he wants me alive. I’ll provide the distraction, the rest of you go.”

Sarhina had turned back around. “Don’t be a fool, Lara. Once Father has you, he has less reason to keep Aren alive. And if he dies, so does any chance of Ithicana enduring. This is about more than just you.”

The jeweler was blathering on about works she’d done for foreign royals, trying to keep the wife’s attention long enough for the group to flee.

“We need to go.” Sarhina climbed onto the chair Bronwyn had placed on the table, reaching up to the trap door leading to the attic.

“You too, Nana. Aren will never forgive me if I let you get caught.” Jor hauled on the old woman, trying to pull her back from the door, but she shooed him away.

And from the front, the harem wife’s voice carved through the noise of marching soldiers. “Enough with your babbling, woman. I only have so much time. Now tell whatever Ithicanians you’re harboring that Amelie Yamure’s grandson sent me.”

15

Lara

The jeweler,Beth, continued to ramble, trying to buy them time to escape, but no one in the room moved.

“Let her in.” For the first time since she’d met Nana, Lara heard a slight shake in the old woman’s voice. A hint of nerves.

“Enough of this.” There was a clack of heels against the wooden floor, and an elderly woman draped in expensive velvet and even more expensive jewels appeared in the doorway.

Where she stopped dead, her eyes growing wide as saucers at the sight of them. “My God—can it be?”

Sarhina stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “Auntie?”

The woman’s gaze fixed on her. “Little Sarhina?” In two strides, she closed the distance, wrapping her arms around Sarhina’s shoulders and pulling her close even as she took in the rest of them. “This is not what I expected to find. How did he know?” Then she shook her head. “No, of course he doesn’t know. Would never have agreed to it, if it meant . . .” Her voice turned sharp. “Which one of you is Lara?”

Lara stepped forward, wishing she was dressed in finer attire. Clothes had always been armor for her, tools to wield. And right now, she felt woefully unequipped. “I am.”

The old woman stared at her for a long moment, then dropped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

“Please don’t.” Lara’s voice croaked. “It’s not a title I deserve.”

“Most people with titles don’t deserve them.”

“Least of all her,” Nana said. “It’s been a long time, Coralyn. You look like you’ve been living soft.”

“And you look like you’ve been left out in the sun to bake for the past fifty years.”

No one in the room breathed while the two matriarchs glared each other down.

“So you remember me,” Nana finally said.

“It’s my body that’s gone soft, not my head.” The old woman—Coralyn—sniffed. “You’re the only one to have ever disappeared without explanation.” Her jaw tightened. “We thought you were dead.”