Every window on the north façade of Lussier Hall was lit as she approached the residencies. At night, darkness hid the columns running across the front of the building. She’d hidden within those shadows many times while sneaking inside after tending to Zeynel’s deliveries.

Four hundred of the nearly six thousand professors who taught at the university resided here. She saw all four hundred of them more frequently than she saw her mother, Professor Leonore Valois.

Tonight, she needn’t worry about being caught by a professor. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

As she climbed the few stairs to the doors, she fingered the series of chains suspended from the cast iron chatelaine clipped to her belt. In the silence, the metal clinked like the jangle of a set of keys. She followed one of the chains into her pocket and retrieved her silver, the coin glinting as she waved it in front of the door handle. The surface of that little metal piece was coated with her personal data, including her authorization codes for the university’s network.

The lock snapped open. The sound tightened the skin at the back of her neck. When she stepped inside, a warm draft from the great fire in the entry hall brushed against her frozen nose and ears.

In the commons, a few professors-in-residence nodded to her from their armchairs by the white marble hearth. She gave a brief bow, soft smile in place, then made her way up the grand staircase to the second floor. The rap of her boots echoed down the white halls and high ceilings as she headed to the east wing.

Under her door, a sliver of light created a glare against the floor. She came up short, her stomach knotting. Her mother really was home.

Malou released another breath and set her hand over the letters Zeynel had tucked inside her greatcoat. She imagined them becoming intangible, imagined them simply passing into the space between the coat’s inner liner and outer wool layer. Her palm prickled with magic, and she knew it was done when they rustled down to the bottom of her coat, caught by the bottom hem.

Opening the door after using her silver, her mother’s voice carried into the open living room. Malou followed it to her bedroom, where a double-breasted gray overcoat lay on her bed beside a pair of beige breeches. What was her mother dressing her for? Her uniform was proper enough for a half-hour trip to the Valois Manor.

“Good evening,” Malou said as her mother held up an intricately woven tailcoat from within her wardrobe, rose-colored and something she didn’t remember seeing in her closet.

As always, her mother was perfectly composed; her brown curls were in a long braid, lips a dark pink against her tan skin. Nothing amiss, nothing disheveled, and nothing like Malou.

Leonore glanced at Malou, and the faint crease between her eyebrows eased away as a beautiful smile found her lips. The same one that almost fooled Malou time and time again.

“You’re rather late,” her mother said and crossed the distance between them.

“I apologize.” Because she'd learned to pick her battles long ago.

“Accepted.” Leonore folded the tailcoat over her arm and wrapped Malou into her embrace. She smelled of spiced perfume and mint.

Malou froze and, for a moment, thought perhaps her mother would apologize for being gone so long, for always being gone, for breaking her promise that they’d make it through it together. But she would never say such a thing.

Instead, her mother said, “How I’ve missed my gorgeous daughter. Did you have an enjoyable time at Haddou’s retirement party?”

Apparently, she’d noticed one of the many wax-sealed envelopes absent from her pile of discarded formal mail on the coffee table.

“Yes, quite. Shame you couldn’t be there.”

Leonore planted a single kiss into Malou’s curls, then pulled away enough to press the tailcoat to Malou’s shoulders. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. Every detail. But first, we need to get you ready. Amandine’s inauguration is tonight. She’ll make a wonderful senator.”

Tonight? Only patrician pomp and circumstance would arrange an inauguration on the eve of a funeral. As a senator in the Parliament of Patriciates, her grandfather must’ve chosen to elect Amandine to his seat in his will. That was how politics worked in the Second Revern Empire.

Malou could agree with her mother, though. Her aunt would surely be as well-loved as her grandfather had been. For tonight, Malou would do as her mother asked, would act as her mother expected, and would hope her mother would wait even longer to return next time.

Leonore’s slender hand smoothed a sleeve flat against one of Malou’s arms. “This should do, shouldn’t it? Rather nice against your skin tone. Let’s get you into a quick bath. Take off your coat, will you?”

Leonore called for her attendant while Malou shrugged off her greatcoat. She’d make sure the letters found their way into whatever greatcoat Leonore wanted her to wear and plan their delivery when she had a moment alone. If she had to guess, she’d be delivering one at the inauguration party—though to whom she had not a guess—and another sometime after midnight.

Her mother’s attendant rushed into the bedroom, lowering into a greeting bow, then hurried to Malou’s bathroom without entirely rising. A new one. Had Malou passed by her in the living room or had she been waiting to be useful in her mother’s always-locked bedroom?

“We’ll need you to hop into a quick bath,” Leonore said and started making quick work of the gold buttons of Malou’s waistcoat,

Malou brushed her mother’s hands away. “I can at least undress myself,” she said, but quietly so it wouldn’t sound as rude as she meant it to be.

A pause. The water rushed from the faucet with a whisper, and the room filled with the scent of rose and hibiscus soap. Leonore’s favorite.

“Yes, I suppose you can.” Her mother faced Malou’s wardrobe, her fingers sifting through cream and ivory blouses once again. She glanced over her shoulder, her look warm and almost sincere. “I know you’d prefer arriving separately, but it’s more important that I arrive with my darling daughter on my arm. My father was poisoned, and until the threat is contained, it’s best if we remain together, unshaken, as a family. Otherwise, my sister could be next. I’m sure you understand. We both know loss, don’t we?”

She called for the attendant again—her final dismissal. While Malou was brought into the bathroom by the girl and helped out of her clothes like a toddler, she heard the warmth in her mother’s voice say her grandfather had been poisoned over and over again. Murdered. That woman hadn’t even flinched.

Malou didn’t know why she was surprised, though. She knew better than to question her mother. Zeynel and Leonore were the same this way—neither ever gave her any answers, although she was sure Zeynel did it to protect her and that her mother did it to protect herself.

The real questions were who had poisoned her grandfather, why had they done it, and whether her mother knew the answers.

Once Malou was ready to her mother’s satisfaction, they left for the Valois Manor in one of the family’s hansoms, and after an hour’s drive, they rounded the fountain in the front of the manor. Leonore hadn’t glanced in her daughter’s direction once the entire ride.

As soon as they had pulled through Tousieux’s front gates, Leonore launched into a voice conference through the personal assistant programmed into her diamond earring. Twice, she briefly pinched the bridge of her nose in a moment of frustration, though mostly she seemed to be only a passive participant. Malou caught enough of the conversation to guess her mother was discussing the same business that kept her away for months at a time.

When the hansom rolled to a stop, a tired-eyed attendant opened the door. Leonore slipped out of the hansom with the murmur of fur linings against leather seats. Her mother’s effortless grace tightened Malou’s jaw as she followed on uneasy legs. Leonore flagged the attendant to the trunk.

“The suitcase goes to the west wing, second floor, the sixth door on the left," she said. "The valise goes across the hall to my daughter's room, if you would.”

Malou whispered to Laure, “Track my valise through the security system. I don’t want anyone to find the other letter.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Laure whispered back to her. “None of them ever bother fussing over your belongings. Vice-Premier Casals’s other stupid letter will be perfectly safe. Worry about how you’re going to deliver one at the party instead.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I have it covered.” Malou hid her murmuring behind a smile as Leonore set Malou’s hand on her forearm.

“Sure you do,” Laure said. “Let me know if you need help.”

“Shall we?” Leonore asked although it wasn’t much of a request. She didn’t wait for an answer to start guiding her daughter up the stairs to the manor’s entrance. She patted Malou’s knuckles, then weaved their fingers together and squeezed. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve had to use proper etiquette, but please try not to embarrass me.”

Apparently, Leonore expected Malou to decorate her arm tonight. To keep quiet, to smile when necessary, to laugh when expected. As if she didn’t already do that. She would do as her mother asked, would act as her mother expected, and would hope her mother would wait even longer to return next time.

“Of course,” she said.

“Perfect,” Leonore purred into Malou’s temple.

Malou’s fingers gripped the wool of Leonore's greatcoat, but it was probably so thick her mother couldn’t tell. They climbed the final stair, and the great doors opened to the marble floor and gold-trimmed paneling of the manor's entrance hall.

The butler's shoulder-length silver hair hid her sun-kissed complexion as she dipped into a full bow, the Behestri jeweled hoop in her nose glittering for a moment under the glass chandeliers. Leonore wasted not a second, greeting the woman and asking her to take their coats.

“Certainly,” the butler said. She straightened and her gloved hands smoothed a small wrinkle in her waistcoat as she moved to Leonore's side. With her eyes properly downcast, she slipped the fur from Leonore’s shoulders, down Leonore’s arms. “Our Amandine was glad to know you would be here tonight. She has two places reserved at the Valois tables for you in the front.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her.” Leonore checked her pocket watch. Malou suppressed her cringe at the sudden reserved, formal tone of her mother’s voice—the very definition of proper formality. “When will she be speaking?”

The butler folded Leonore's coat over her arm, then turned to gather Malou’s. A twinkle lit her russet eyes. “In ten minutes. You have arrived at just the right time.”

That was a lie. They were an hour late, which surely Leonore blamed on Malou. After all, it took time to turn Malou into every bit the doll her mother wished her to be.

Leonore gave her a saccharine smile. “I never do arrive at these things on time, do I?”

“Not quite,” the butler answered, her tone light to conceal her critique, “but I believe your presence trumps your unpunctuality.” She gestured them toward the east wing, guards lining the walls. “If you would follow me.”

After the butler handed off the coats to her red-cheeked apprentice, she showed Leonore and Malou down the hall. Leonore's boots clipped along the marble at the butler’s side, her pantsuit floating around her legs like smoke.

Ignoring the guards to her best ability, Malou lingered two measured steps behind them as Leonore asked about her own mother and inquired about the guests. Yes, her mother was fine. Oh, she hasn't cried once, has she? Not that woman—she always had been the rock of the family just like the matron of the Valois family before her. Yes, the entire family was present. Yes, it has been a while since all of Leonore's brothers and sisters had been together in one place. Yes, everyone was doing such great things. They were all just so very busy.

So very busy none of them would notice if Malou slipped her grandmother one of Zeynel’s letters, even under the watchful gaze of the guards.

As far as she knew, her grandmother had no reason to be involved with the Vice-Premier of Tousieux University. She was an Associate Justice of the Crowned Court of Revern, not a professor or an engineer like her father. But if Zeynel had a letter for her, then Malou would deliver it regardless. She could ask questions later.

“Now tell me,” Leonore said, giving a slight tilt to her head as she studied the Valois butler, “how many members of the parliament were able to make it tonight?”

“We were asked to set a table for one,” the butler said.

As they neared the stateroom at the end of the hall, the distant, sultry melody of a woman singing drifted toward them, accompanied by a piano and the quiet chatter of a sophisticated crowd. If Gavriel were here, he would’ve found the perfect moment to roll his eyes at the grandeur of the expensive holographic performance likely behind the doors ahead.

“Only one? I suppose Father's death was a bit sudden.” Leonore released a pretty, little sigh that didn’t properly reflect the weight of her words.

The political implications of her grandfather’s murder struck Malou. The whispers of tension within the parliament she’d been noting for years may have played a part in his death. Perhaps the other senators were under similar threat.

“Will there be more attending his funeral?” Leonore asked.

“I would need to check the register. Would you like me to?”

“If it wouldn't be too much trouble,” Leonore said, slipping in a thimble-full of familiarity for the sake of getting what she wanted.

Malou only needed to say Laure’s name under her breath. The program was smart enough to gather the context of the conversation and assume Malou’s request for her: make a copy of the register for her. Tasks like this and tracking her valise by watching the security cams were simple for the program. After all, Malou had integrated Laure into the Valois Manor’s intelligent control system long ago using the magic techniques her father had taught her.

“None at all. I will have the guest lists sent to you momentarily.” The butler stopped in front of the stateroom. “I will leave you two here. I wish you a good time.” She bowed her head goodbye and opened the great doors.

A chilly draft sweet with incense swept across Malou’s face as she followed her mother inside. Guards lined the walls here as well. Leonore weaved between the tall tables in the dim ochre light with her chin high. Malou searched the packed room for her grandmother, her hand back on her mother’s arm.

Her mind returned to her mother’s words. Any of these people could’ve slipped her grandfather the poison that’d killed him, and that knowledge dried Malou’s mouth. A couple raised their flutes with diamond-ringed fingers for a toast in the back corner. A person on the other side of the room fed a mechanical jackal lounging at their feet some hor d’oeuvres from their hand. When the piano hopped into a jazz number, another couple nearby started into a lazy swing dance by their table, whispering in each other’s ear.

“Laure, I need your help again,” Malou said, quietly so her mother wouldn’t hear. “Cross check the guest list against the names of people who have been publicly against Grandfather’s policies over the last five years.”

“Do you want it now?” Laure asked. All she’d have to do was run a quick search through the nation’s news feed and then compare it to the register—perhaps a half-second task.

As Leonore and Malou drew nearer to the front, her grandmother waved to them a few tables over with a glittering fan. Leonore raised a finger of notice in return.

“I’ll look it over later,” Malou said, and Laure snorted as if she knew her user would regret that decision later.

The matron of the Valois family stood beside her two eldest sons and Amandine’s husband, a free hand on his shoulder. Beside him stood Dorian, his son, his pride and joy. Malou’s older cousin by three years, he was already an associate lawyer at their family’s prestigious law firm. His eyes followed Malou’s every move, someone so confident he didn’t care if he was caught staring. It was part of what made him so intimidating. Malou had to swallow under his gaze. She’d been hoping to avoid him tonight.

Dorian must’ve pointed because the girl at his side with silver tinsel braided into her tightly coiled curls glanced over her shoulder. From her hair alone, Malou knew it was Elodie, her younger cousin by seven years and, in her humble opinion, Amandine’s superior child.

Once Elodie found Malou in the crowd, her face brightened. The affection in her round, dark eyes hadn't changed at all since the last time Malou had seen her. She hurried to Malou with a skip in her step that meant she wished she could run instead. Elodie wrapped her thin arms around Malou’s waist and squeezed with all the strength her little thirteen-year-old body could.

“They didn't tell me you were coming!” She buried her head into Malou’s chest for a moment, then tipped her head back to look at her older cousin. The same formality that made Malou cringe sounded adorable in her cousin’s honeyed voice.

Malou hugged her close as she imagined the danger lurking in the shadows of the room and the laughter of the elite. She wanted to spin her around, she wanted to kiss her, and she never wanted to release her. “They didn’t tell me I was coming either. Not until it was about time to leave.”

Elodie tightened her hold of her cousin’s waist. “Are you staying tonight? Please tell me you are. Then we can have a sleepover. Your room this time. I have a lot of stories to tell you! You know. About. Things.”

“I know?” Malou asked, not hiding even a sliver of her mirth. This girl had thought kissing was disgusting last year, and now she had stories. “What things do I know? I can’t read your mind.”

She scrunched her nose. “Later, later. If you give me a hard time, I’m not going to tell you how much I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Malou planted a big kiss on the top of her head, then sneaked one on her cheek and her temple. “So much. You have no idea.”

“If it’s even comparable to how much I’ve missed you, I probably have a good idea.”

“Are you implying you missed me more? I doubt it.”

Her cheeks dimpled. “I am not implying it. I know it. Now come here. Grandmother is calling you.” She finally parted from Malou and tugged her to their grandmother’s table only a few steps away.

Her grandmother's smile was immediate. “You made it,” she said when they were close enough to hear her over the music. Her black curls were in a loose chignon, and she wore a simple white ensemble of relaxed trousers and a sleeveless blouse. She reached a hand for Malou.

“I wouldn’t dare miss it,” Malou said, taking her hand and giving it a squeezing. The formality of her voice tasted sour.

Her grandmother kissed Malou’s cheeks, and Malou kissed hers. She smelled of vanilla and cloves. “Why, look at you, my dear. Do you not look just like your mother?” She wrapped her arms around Malou. She was warm and gentle and everything Malou remembered of her father’s embrace.

The mechanical Great Dane that’d been her grandfather’s companion nudged her wet nose into Malou’s hand, so she obliged with a good ear scratch. “I’m sorry we were late.”

“No need to apologize, my sweet grandchild.” She gave Malou another squeeze. Her ebony eyes glistened. “I want to see that big smile of yours. Have some champagne. Listen to your grandfather’s favorite singer. This performance of hers from fifty years ago was particularly wonderful. He would want you to enjoy yourself. Here—with us.”

Malou’s stomach twisted, but her smile remained. “I will.”

Her thoughts went to her grandfather’s smile again. Had her grandmother discovered her own spouse dead? Had she been the one who told Leonore about the poison? Did she know who had poisoned him, and had she invited them here knowingly?

“Good evening, Malou,” Dorian said, now at their grandmother’s side. “What a pleasant surprise seeing you here.”

The last time Malou had visited the manor had been for his twenty-third birthday four months ago. She lifted her chin to meet his unyielding gold gaze. “Good evening, my beloved cousin.”

Their grandmother passed Malou’s hand to Dorian, her expression tender. “I believe you two have some catching up to do.” She gave each of their cheeks a gentle pat, then turned from them to entertain Elodie and watch the hologram sway behind the piano keys as she sang of love not borrowed, of her baby who only cared for her.

The letter in Malou’s waistcoat pocket seemed to gain weight.

“It’s been a while," Dorian said. Anyone listening would’ve mistaken his tone to mean they were friends. “How’ve you been?”

A part of her hated that he was so quick to take a familiar manner with her. As children, they’d attended the Valois fêtes together, sharing eye-rolls and sneers behind gloves and wine glasses. Now he sent her gold-embossed invitations with his name listed as the host and a bouquet of roses as if his party would be any more enjoyable than the ones they’d scoffed at before. The memory itched under her skin.

“Faring just fine, thank you," she said. "I assume you’ve been well. Another win in court this month, I heard. How many does that make?”

A little quirk lifted one corner of his lips. He was trying so hard not to smirk it shimmered in his eyes until he couldn’t fight it anymore. Something about his smile always softened his hard brow.

“I’m better now that you’re here," Dorian said, "and you flatter me. Only two since I started, though it’s only been a few months. Now, tell me, should I compliment Aunt Leonore for her masterpiece—" Now he was kissing the back of her hand to accentuate his so-called compliment of her appearance. “—or are you going to give me a line about how this was all your doing?”

“She would never turn down anyone’s accolades,” Malou said, “not even yours.”

“You always speak so highly of her.”

“Indeed, I hold my mother dearest in such extraordinary esteem.” She swiped a gold-accented flute of champagne from a server passing and tipped it toward him with a smile. “I hold you in equally high regards.”

He let out a quiet scoff—one that he shouldn’t have just like he used to when they were younger. “Will you be staying here until after the funeral?”

“I was made to pack for three nights.” She took a sip of champagne. “No promises though.”

One of his locs slipped over the fur collar of the jacket draped over his shoulders when he folded his arms over his chest. He leaned closer and quietly said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

She couldn’t imagine what he’d want to talk to her about. Unless it was about their grandfather. Maybe he knew something.

“Sure, we can talk. However, I prefer our usual method of communication.” After all, if he was going to continue sending her pointless invitations, he may as well continue passing her messages within them. “Lose the roses this time, though.”

Before he could respond, their grandmother slipped an arm around Malou’s shoulders and wrapped her other around Dorian’s arm.

“It’s starting,” her grandmother said.

The holo’s voice faded. As her fingers stilled on the black and white keys, the piano humming with a final low note, the room lifted with courteous applause. The holo didn’t raise her eyes to her crowd and fell to glittering dust in one soft ripple. The curtains on the second-floor balcony split, and Leonore cut through the parted curtains, a regal slip of a woman. The applause died into excited gossip.

With a stately raise of her hand, Leonore caught everyone’s attention. Rather than wait until she lost all opportunities to easily deliver the letter, Malou brushed her tingling palm over her waistcoat pocket. She imaged the letter back in her hand, imagined it invisible as its stiff paper materialized in her fingers. Then she pressed Zeynel’s letter into the pocket of her grandmother’s trousers.

“Good evening, our distinguished guests,” Leonore started, “we thank you all for coming tonight.”

Her grandmother paused. Her eyes shifted to Malou, and a cold trickle climbed the back of Malou’s neck. Had Zeynel told her that her granddaughter would be delivering a message for her tonight? Had she ever received a letter from Zeynel before?

“Without further ado,” Leonore continued, “it is my great privilege and distinct honor to introduce my sister and best friend, Senator-Elect Amandine Valois, future Representative of Nuyere in the Parliament of Patriciates.”

Everyone clapped again, all very courteous, but her grandmother took her hand into her own again and smiled just enough for the wrinkles to bunch in the corner of her eyes. Just enough for Malou to know: yes, she knew, but no, she hadn’t been expecting Malou.

Amandine laughed lightly from the balcony as she pulled away from hugging Leonore. Then she stepped forward, giving a grateful nod to calm the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. I am pleased to announce I have accepted the will of my late father to be your next senator and representative of our noble province of Nuyere.”

There was more applause. Except from a short man, hair a mix of black and gray. Malou recognized his weathered face. He was the current senator of Drondaal, the northern-most province of the Second Revern Empire. At his side was another mechanical Great Dane just like her grandmother’s serving as a guard.

“I will work tirelessly,” Amandine continued as the room quieted again, “to uphold my father’s legacy and uplift the voices of the citizens of this great country from those, even within our borders, who wish to silence us. We are one empire under His Royal Majesty the Crowned Consul. Long live the empire!”

Her guests clapped again—all but the Drondaal senator who sent Malou a wolfish smile before turning to tip his glass of wine in Amandine’s direction. Why had she attracted his attention? Or perhaps it was her grandmother he’d been studying? Even if he’d been watching them the whole time, he couldn’t possibly see their exchange as anything but a tender moment between a grandmother and her granddaughter.

However, Zeynel would tell her that even one person’s attention was one too many when delivering his letters, and her gut told her that was especially true when it was the attention of the only person in the room who she knew would be on Laure’s list of those who’d publicly opposed Grandfather’s policies. Maybe using a little bit of magic wasn't enough anymore. There had to be ways to use it she didn't know. Ways that would ensure her activities would go entirely unnoticed. Ways to protect the people she loved before more were taken from her.