Chapter 26: The Queen’s Last Offer - The Obsidian Seal

By the time Blackwater disappeared behind the headland, Ronan had begun to shiver.

At first, Elara mistook it for the cold. The wind came hard off the water, cutting through their damp clothes, and the small boat pitched uneasily beneath them. Sella's companion, a broad-shouldered man named Marek, worked the oars with steady strokes while Sella watched the coastline for patrol vessels. Neither of them offered conversation. They had risked enough by helping two fugitives escape the fortress, and the silver mask on Ronan's face was a reminder that their troubles had only begun.

Then Ronan's shivering grew worse.

Elara shifted closer to him. "How long have you been like this?"

"I'm fine."

"You have been imprisoned for months, your wrists are bleeding, and you can barely sit upright. If you tell me you are fine again, I will throw you into the sea myself."

His eyes turned toward her. Despite the exhaustion clouding them, she recognised the faint irritation that had once appeared whenever she challenged him in the palace.

"You have developed a very unpleasant manner."

"I learned from the people who raised me."

"That explains a great deal."

She almost smiled, but the expression faded when she touched his wrist. His skin felt unnaturally cold. Beneath the bruising, his pulse was rapid and uneven.

"Did the physician give you anything before the transfer?" she asked.

"No."

"Did you eat?"

"A little."

"Drink?"

"Some water."

"How long ago?"

He hesitated.

"Ronan."

"Yesterday morning."

Elara looked toward Sella. "How far to shore?"

"Another twenty minutes if the wind keeps behaving. Longer if the tide decides it owns this boat."

"We need a place to stop."

"We need several things. A dry bed, a physician, fresh supplies, and a new identity for anyone who asks what happened at Blackwater. What we do not need is to draw attention by landing at the first settlement we see."

"He may be seriously ill."

Sella glanced at Ronan and then back at the sea. "Then he had better hold on until we reach somewhere I can take you without half the coast asking questions."

Elara returned her attention to Ronan. The mask was secured around his head by the same small locks she had seen in the examination room. Its metal surface was cold beneath her fingers, and she could feel the faint vibration of his breathing through the grille.

"Can you breathe properly?"

"Enough."

"Can you see clearly?"

"Enough."

"Can you tell me what the physician did to you?"

"Not while you are interrogating me like a military examiner."

"I can change my methods."

"I'm sure you can."

His voice was growing weaker. Elara stopped asking questions and pulled the spare cloak from beneath the seat, wrapping it around his shoulders. He did not resist. For a man who had spent years commanding soldiers and making decisions that affected the lives of others, accepting help appeared to cost him more than the restraints had.

She understood the feeling better than she wished to admit.

For years, she had relied on her own judgment because depending on another person meant giving them the power to disappoint her. The Ash Network had taught her to trust specific people for specific tasks, never to confuse cooperation with loyalty. Even Tavin and Maelin, who had helped her hide the deposition and the Obsidian Seal, knew only the portions of her past that she had chosen to reveal.

Ronan had been different. He had entered her life before she understood what trust meant, and his absence had shaped every decision she made afterward.

Now that she had found him, she was discovering how little she knew about the man beneath the mask.

"Tell me something," she said.

His eyes remained on the water. "That is an ambitious request."

"Why did you never send word?"

He did not answer immediately.

"After Cassian died, you could have sent a message. Even a warning. You knew I was looking into the murder. You knew I would not stop."

"I did not know where you were."

"You could have found out."

"Perhaps."

The admission stung more than a denial would have.

Ronan turned his head toward her. "I was watched long before I disappeared. My letters were intercepted, my household was searched, and everyone who had served closely beside me was questioned. I believed that anyone attempting to contact you would lead the court directly to you."

"So you decided I would be safer if I believed you were dead."

"Yes."

Elara looked away.

The answer was consistent with everything she knew about him, and that made it harder to forgive. He had not forgotten her or abandoned her through indifference. He had made another decision on her behalf, believing that ignorance was a kind of protection.

She had spent sixteen years trying to uncover the truth he had concealed.

"I would have preferred the danger," she said.

"I know."

"No, you don't. You know what danger looks like when you choose it for yourself. You do not know what it feels like to have someone else decide which truths you are allowed to survive."

Ronan closed his eyes.

For once, he did not argue.

The boat rounded the headland, revealing a narrow inlet beneath a line of dark cliffs. A cluster of weather-beaten buildings stood above the shore, their roofs grey with salt and age. There were no visible docks, only a wooden landing and a path leading uphill between stone walls. A fishing net hung from a post near the water, and smoke rose from one chimney.

Sella pointed toward the inlet.

"That is the old settlement. Most of the families moved inland years ago, but two houses are still used when the weather is bad. I know the woman who keeps one of them."

"Can she be trusted?" Elara asked.

"She can be paid. Trust is a luxury for people who do not have enemies."

Sella guided Marek through a narrow channel between the rocks. He eased the boat toward the landing, and Elara helped Ronan sit upright as the hull scraped against the weathered planks.

The moment they reached shore, Marek jumped out and secured the boat. Sella climbed after him, pulled her hood over her head, and surveyed the empty path.

"Move quickly," she said. "The inlet is hidden from the main road, but not from anyone who knows where to look."

Elara stepped onto the landing, her legs unsteady after the voyage. She helped Ronan out of the boat, taking most of his weight as he struggled to stand. His injured knee nearly gave way, and she felt him brace himself against her shoulder.

"Lean on me," she said.

"I am."

"Properly."

"I had not realised there was a correct method."

"There is. You are doing it badly."

Marek concealed a smile as he gathered the oars. Sella ignored them both and led the way up the path.

The house stood at the top of a short rise, built from rough stone with a steep slate roof and a door reinforced by strips of iron. A woman with white hair waited inside the open doorway. She wore a thick woollen dress and carried a lantern, though daylight had already begun to reach the inlet.

"Sella," she said. "You have brought trouble."

"I have brought a paying guest and a man who needs a physician."

The woman looked at Ronan's mask.

"That is not a man who needs an ordinary physician."

"No," Sella replied. "But he will have to do until we find one who asks fewer questions."

The woman stepped aside.

"Bring him in before the entire coast sees what you have dragged out of the sea."

Inside, the house was warm and smelled of peat smoke, dried herbs, and bread. A fire burned in the hearth, and a narrow staircase led to two rooms beneath the roof. The woman introduced herself as Mara, then directed Marek to help move a wooden chest so Ronan could be laid on a padded bench near the fire.

Once he was settled, Mara examined his wrists and checked the movement of his injured leg. She said little at first, though her expression tightened when she saw the skin beneath the mask's lower edge.

"These restraints were not designed for ordinary prisoners," she said.

"No," Elara replied.

"And this thing on his face?"

"We need to remove it."

Mara drew back slightly. "That is not a task I would attempt without the proper tools."

"Do you know someone who has them?"

"I know a physician in the next village who once treated soldiers from the northern campaign. He may have instruments that can open the locks, but getting him here will take time."

"How much?"

"Several hours, if the roads are clear."

Elara looked at Ronan. His breathing had steadied, though his eyes remained closed.

"Send for him."

Mara nodded and went to speak with Sella.

Elara sat beside Ronan and took his hand. His fingers were cold, and the bruising around his wrists looked worse in the firelight. She wanted to ask him about every detail of his captivity, but there would be time for questions once he had recovered enough to answer them. For now, she contented herself with the knowledge that he was alive and within reach.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Sella crossed the room and looked through a narrow gap beside the curtain. Her expression changed.

"That was quick," she said.

Elara stood immediately.

"Who is it?"

"Someone carrying a message."

"From whom?"

Sella turned away from the window. "The Empress."

The room seemed to quiet around them.

Ronan opened his eyes.

"Do not let her inside," he said.

Sella's expression hardened. "I had not planned to invite her to supper."

She opened the door only a handspan, keeping the iron latch in place. Outside stood a young woman wearing a plain travelling cloak. Her hair was tucked beneath a woollen cap, and she carried a small leather satchel. She did not resemble a palace messenger, but she held herself with the careful confidence of someone who had learned to move among powerful people without attracting notice.

"I have a letter for Elara Venn," the messenger said.

Sella did not move. "There is no one here by that name."

The woman reached into her satchel and produced a narrow strip of black ribbon. A small silver thread had been sewn through its centre, forming the shape of a closed eye.

Sella's gaze sharpened.

"The message is for Elara Venn," the woman repeated. "It concerns the General who has recently left Blackwater."

Behind Sella, Ronan pushed himself upright.

"Tell Seraphine she has already done enough."

The messenger glanced past Sella toward his voice. She could not see him clearly from the doorway, but she appeared to recognise the significance of what she had heard.

"I was instructed to deliver the letter," she said. "I was not instructed to negotiate."

"Then you have completed your task," Ronan replied.

Sella closed the door.

For a moment, no one spoke. The messenger's knock came again, more softly this time.

Elara looked toward Sella. "What does the ribbon mean?"

"It marks a private message from the Empress's household. The closed eye means the information is not meant for public record."

"How would you know that?"

Sella's mouth tightened. "Because I have been paid by people who prefer their names never to appear in public records."

She crossed the room and removed the latch.

The messenger entered, keeping her hands visible. Her gaze passed over Mara, the hearth, and finally Ronan, who sat beneath the cloak with the silver mask still covering his face.

For the first time, the young woman's composure faltered.

"The General," she whispered.

"Do you have something to say?" Ronan asked.

She quickly looked away and addressed Elara instead.

"Her Majesty requests that you read the letter privately. I am to wait for your answer."

Elara took the folded paper from her.

The outer fold bore no royal seal, only her name written in a hand she recognised from the letter accompanying the coastal chart. Seraphine had been careful. A document carrying the Empress's official seal could be traced through the palace, and a messenger arriving openly from the court would have attracted the attention of every watch along the coast.

This was a private approach, designed to preserve deniability.

Elara unfolded the letter.

Elara,

By now you have discovered that the General's survival was never a simple matter of imprisonment. You have also discovered that Caelan's decision to declare him dead has not protected him from those who wish to use his existence.

You must leave the coast before the Imperial Guard closes the roads. A royal patrol has already been dispatched toward the old settlements, and a second party is searching the waters south of Blackwater. You may evade them for a day, perhaps two. After that, every harbour will be watched.

I can arrange passage beyond the imperial boundary. I can provide a physician capable of removing the General's mask, new identities for both of you, and a place where neither Voss nor the Imperial Guard can reach you without exposing their own involvement.

In return, I require the deposition and the Obsidian Seal.

Bring them to the old chapel at Greyhaven before tomorrow's sunset. Come without the Ash Network, without the General's former officers, and without anyone who believes that a secret can be divided among too many hands. I will provide proof that the passage is secure before you make the exchange.

You have spent sixteen years pursuing the truth about Cassian Veyr. You have now seen what that truth costs the people who carry it.

Do not mistake my offer for kindness. I am offering you the only remaining chance to leave this conflict alive.

Seraphine

Elara read the letter twice.

The Empress had done what she always did: offered just enough truth to make refusal difficult, while presenting her own assistance as the only practical way forward. She knew about the escape before any public report could have reached the capital, which meant that one of her informants was either watching Blackwater or had been positioned near the eastern coast in anticipation of exactly this outcome.

The details of the letter made Elara's stomach tighten. The patrols, the watched harbours, the promise of a physician who could remove the mask—all of it suggested preparation rather than reaction.

Seraphine had expected Elara to find Ronan.

Perhaps she had even expected her to escape with him.

Elara folded the letter carefully.

"She wants the deposition," she said.

"And the Seal," Ronan replied.

"She says she can get us beyond the imperial boundary."

"She can get us into a place where she has complete control over us."

The messenger remained silent.

Elara turned toward her. "When was this letter written?"

"Last night."

"Before or after the General left Blackwater?"

The young woman hesitated. "I was given the letter after the first report arrived from the fortress."

"What report?"

"That the prisoner had escaped."

Ronan's eyes narrowed.

"So she knew before the guards had even finished searching the shore."

The messenger lowered her gaze. "I was not told how the information reached the Empress."

Elara studied her for a moment. "Did she tell you what would happen if I refused?"

"She said you would make your own decision."

"That was not my question."

The messenger's fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel.

"She said the Imperial Guard would continue searching for the General, and that the court would not allow his return to become public knowledge. She also said that you had been given enough warnings to understand the danger."

Elara looked toward Ronan.

"She is threatening us."

"She is describing what she intends to allow," he said. "There is a difference, though it rarely matters to the people trapped between her decisions."

Elara returned her attention to the messenger. "How am I supposed to know that the passage is secure?"

"The Empress will provide a token at Greyhaven. It will identify the vessel and the captain responsible for taking you beyond the boundary."

"And if the token is false?"

"I do not know."

"Will she have guards waiting at the chapel?"

"I was told that no soldiers would be present."

"That was not the same as an answer."

The messenger's face flushed. "I have delivered the letter, Lady Venn. I cannot tell you what the Empress has not told me."

The title sounded strange in the small room, spoken by someone who had likely never met Elara before that moment. Elara wondered whether Seraphine had deliberately instructed the messenger to use it, reminding her of the identity she had forged and the royal household that had once employed her.

She placed the letter on the table.

"Tell the Empress I received her offer."

The messenger waited. "And your answer?"

"I have not decided."

"You must understand that the meeting is time-sensitive."

"I understand that the Empress has chosen a time when we are injured, exhausted, and being hunted. It is an excellent moment to ask for something she wants."

The young woman's expression revealed nothing, but Elara saw a small movement in her jaw.

"Her Majesty expects you to recognise the seriousness of the situation."

"I do. That is why I am not agreeing to anything yet."

Elara handed the letter back to the messenger.

"No," she said, correcting herself. "Actually, I will keep this. You can tell her that I will decide whether to attend Greyhaven after I know what the chapel is and who will be waiting there."

The messenger looked uncertain. "The letter is intended for you."

"Then you will have no difficulty explaining why I kept it."

Sella crossed her arms beside the hearth. "The answer is clear enough. You have delivered your message. Now leave before someone sees you entering this house."

The messenger bowed her head and stepped toward the door. Before she left, she turned once more toward Ronan.

"Your Majesty's court believes you are dead," she said quietly. "Some of them will do anything to keep believing it."

Ronan's response was immediate.

"Then tell them they should have made certain."

The messenger departed without another word.

Sella secured the door and drew the curtain across the window. Then she turned toward Elara.

"Tell me you are not considering this."

"I am considering every possibility."

"That is not reassuring."

"Seraphine may be lying about the passage, but she is probably telling the truth about the patrols. We cannot remain here for long."

"We could move inland," Sella said. "There are villages where people ask fewer questions than they do along this coast."

"And how long before the Imperial Guard reaches them?"

"Longer than it will take to reach Greyhaven, if they believe the Empress has arranged a meeting there."

Ronan shifted against the bench. "She may be using Greyhaven to draw out anyone connected to the deposition."

Elara nodded. "Or she may genuinely intend to help us escape."

Ronan gave her a hard look. "You cannot still believe that Seraphine acts for anyone but herself."

"I do not. But acting for herself does not mean she cannot help us."

"It means the help will end the moment she no longer needs us."

Elara knew he was right. She had seen Seraphine's intelligence and cruelty at close range. The Empress was capable of making an enemy feel protected, indebted, and indispensable before revealing that the entire arrangement had been designed to secure her own position. Any alliance with her would have to account for betrayal from the beginning.

Yet there was another consideration. The deposition and the Obsidian Seal were hidden at the abandoned dye works, far from Greyhaven. Elara had not brought them to Blackwater, and she had not told anyone outside the Ash Network where they were concealed. Seraphine could offer passage, but she could not take the documents unless Elara chose to retrieve them.

That was the one advantage she still possessed.

"The Empress needs the deposition," Elara said. "She would not risk sending a messenger if she believed she could obtain it by force."

"Or she intends to learn where it is hidden."

"She already knows I have it. If all she wanted was the location, she could have demanded it from me when I arrived at Blackwater. Instead, she offered a physician, passage, and new identities."

"All of which she can withdraw."

"Yes."

Ronan regarded her silently.

Elara sat beside him and lowered her voice. "There is something else. If she is willing to take us beyond the boundary, it means she believes keeping us inside the empire has become too dangerous. Perhaps she wants to preserve the secret by removing us. Perhaps she wants to use the deposition against Voss without allowing the court to see it. Or perhaps she intends to take the Seal and leave us to the Imperial Guard."

"Those are very different outcomes."

"That is why we do not accept her offer without knowing which one she wants."

Ronan looked toward the letter.

"You sound like her."

Elara felt the words strike more deeply than she expected.

"Is that what you think?"

"I think you have learned to make every decision as though the worst outcome is already certain."

"From the people who taught me that trusting them was dangerous."

He held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away.

"I am sorry," he said.

This time, the apology did not mend anything, but it changed the silence between them.

Mara returned from the back room carrying a basin of warm water and a bundle of clean cloth. She had overheard enough of their discussion to understand that the letter had brought no relief.

"The physician is on his way," she said. "Until he arrives, your General needs rest. If he collapses before the mask is removed, it will make no difference how many enemies you have outwitted."

Sella seized the opportunity to reclaim control of the room.

"You heard her. No more arguments until he's been examined."

Ronan opened his mouth.

"Do not," Elara said.

He closed it again.

Mara helped Elara clean the wounds around his wrists, and the familiar smell of warm water and medicinal herbs briefly displaced the tension. Ronan endured the treatment without complaint, though he flinched when Mara touched the bruised skin beneath the cuffs. She examined the swelling in his knee, checked his breathing, and instructed Elara to keep him warm.

As they worked, Elara found herself thinking about the letter.

A passage beyond the imperial boundary. A physician able to remove the mask. New identities. A place beyond the reach of Voss and the Imperial Guard. The offer was almost everything she could have hoped for when she first decided to go to Blackwater.

It was also precisely what she would have offered a fugitive if she wanted to keep him alive long enough to extract a secret from him.

After Mara finished, Sella took Elara into the adjoining room. A narrow table stood beside the hearth, and on it lay a map of the coast with several routes marked in charcoal.

"Greyhaven is here," Sella said, touching a point near the western cliffs. "An old chapel sits above the harbour, abandoned after the fishing settlement moved inland. The inlet is deep enough for a small vessel, but the main road passes within half a mile. Anyone waiting there will see who approaches."

"Can we reach it without using the road?"

"There is an old footpath through the hills. It takes longer, but it avoids the main patrol route."

"How long?"

"Half a day if the weather holds."

Elara studied the map. "And the route beyond the imperial boundary?"

Sella pointed toward a narrow stretch of open water between two headlands. "If the Empress has arranged a vessel, it will probably leave from the western side of Greyhaven. The currents are difficult there. A captain who knows the coast can reach the outer waters without passing the largest customs stations."

"Do you know a captain who might take us?"

Sella's mouth tightened. "I do."

"Would he do it?"

"For the right price."

Elara looked at her. "I have already paid you."

"You paid me to carry you to Blackwater. You did not pay me to smuggle an injured general, evade imperial patrols, and become a footnote in the history of a succession crisis."

"I can pay more."

"That is not the problem."

"What is?"

Sella leaned forward, placing both hands on the table.

"I have survived this long because I know when a job has become bigger than the person paying for it. The Empress is not simply buying passage for you and the General. She is deciding which version of the truth gets to survive. If you take her offer, she may help you escape, but she will also make certain that no one who remains in the empire can challenge her account of what happened."

Elara considered the observation. It was the clearest argument against Seraphine's offer that she had heard, and it came from someone who had no interest in protecting the throne.

"What would you do?" she asked.

"I would leave the empire and never return."

"With the deposition still hidden at the dye works?"

Sella paused.

"That is a different question."

"It is the question that matters."

Sella studied her for a moment, then sighed.

"You cannot carry that document around forever. Sooner or later, someone will discover where you have hidden it. The Seal may be the only proof that the deposition is genuine, but it will not protect you from a knife in the dark."

"No. It won't."

"Then decide what you actually want. Do you want revenge? Justice? To clear the General's name? To destroy the Empress? These things are not always the same."

Elara looked down at the map.

For years, she had believed that the truth would be sufficient. If she could prove that Cassian had been murdered, expose the conspiracy surrounding Caelan's birth, and show how the court had manipulated the succession, the empire would be forced to confront what it had done. She had imagined that once the right documents reached the right hands, the lies would collapse under their own weight.

But Blackwater had shown her what the empire did with inconvenient truths. It locked them away, stripped them of names, and moved them to places where no one could hear them speak.

She did not want merely to expose the powerful. She wanted to prevent them from deciding that people could be erased whenever their existence became inconvenient.

That goal could not be achieved by handing the evidence to another person who believed she had the right to control it.

"I want the truth to survive even if I do not," Elara said.

Sella's expression softened slightly, though not enough to become approval.

"Then you will need more than a letter from a queen."

Elara folded Seraphine's message and placed it inside her coat.

"I know."

When she returned to Ronan, he was awake and watching the window. His eyes moved to the letter in her hand.

"What have you decided?"

"Nothing yet."

"You intend to go to Greyhaven."

"I intend to decide whether Greyhaven is worth the risk."

"That is the same thing with more words."

She sat beside him.

"The Empress knows we have escaped. She may know where we are, and she has already placed patrols along the coast. We need to get the mask removed, and we need a route out of the empire. We also need to retrieve the deposition and the Seal before anyone discovers where I hid them."

Ronan's expression hardened at the last sentence.

"You cannot go back to the dye works. Not now."

"I may not have to. Tavin and Maelin can move the documents if they know the location is compromised."

"Have you sent them a warning?"

"No."

"Then they may still be safe."

"Or they may already be under observation."

He looked away, jaw tightening beneath the mask.

"Voss will search the network once he learns that you helped me escape. He knows you were connected to the Ash District. If he discovers that you have the deposition, he will look for everyone who has assisted you."

"That is why I need to act before he can."

"And if acting exposes them?"

Elara had no immediate answer.

The question was not whether she trusted Tavin and Maelin. She did. They had protected the documents when she could not, created false trails when palace investigators drew too close, and helped maintain the identity of Nera Vale. But the network was made of people who had their own lives, families, and fears. Every step she took threatened to pull them deeper into a conflict they had chosen only in pieces.

She could not save Ronan by sacrificing everyone else.

"I will not use the network without warning them," she said at last. "But I will not abandon the documents either."

Ronan inclined his head slightly.

"That is a better answer."

"Do not sound so surprised."

"I am not surprised. I am relieved."

The admission caught her off guard. She watched him, trying to determine whether he meant it as a kindness or as another attempt to guide her toward the decision he preferred.

"Then help me think," she said. "If Seraphine truly intends to arrange a passage beyond the imperial boundary, what does she gain by letting us leave?"

"Distance. Deniability. The ability to claim that the General disappeared during the confusion at Blackwater, while you fled with whatever evidence you possessed. If the deposition later surfaces, she can deny knowing anything about it. If it does not surface, she retains control over the only version of events the court will accept."

"And what does she risk?"

"Your refusal. Your ability to give the documents to someone she cannot control. My return to the capital."

Elara let the possibilities settle.

"Then her offer is not entirely a trap. It is a bargain."

"Every trap is a bargain to the person who sets it."

She gave him a tired smile. "You are becoming irritating again."

"That is usually a sign that I am recovering."

Before she could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the back door. Mara entered carrying a folded note, her face drawn with concern.

"A messenger arrived from the village," she said. "He was looking for Sella, but he insisted this was for the woman who came from Blackwater."

Elara took the note.

It contained only a few lines, written in the compact hand used by members of the Ash Network.

The capital is moving. Royal clerks have been ordered to review all records connected to Cassian's final inquiry. Voss has sealed the old archives and sent men to question former palace servants. We do not know what they have discovered, but they are asking about the abandoned dye works.

Do not return openly. We will move what we can.

There was no signature, only the small mark Tavin used when he needed her to know that a message had come from him and not from someone imitating the network.

Elara read it a second time, then passed it to Ronan.

He examined the mark and nodded.

"It is genuine."

"They are already searching for the documents," she said.

"They may have been looking for them for years."

"Then we have less time than I thought."

Ronan returned the note. "Now you understand why I wanted you to leave this alone."

"No," Elara replied. "Now I understand why you were wrong to believe that disappearing would protect everyone."

His gaze met hers.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

The house was warm, the physician was on his way, and Blackwater stood beyond the cliffs with its bells still ringing. Yet Elara could feel the empire drawing closer around them. Voss was searching the archives, the Empress was offering passage, and Caelan was somewhere in the capital trying to preserve a throne built on a secret that had already begun to unravel.

They had escaped the fortress, but the danger had not ended. It had merely changed its shape.

Elara folded Tavin's message and placed it beside Seraphine's letter. Two pieces of paper, two different kinds of warning, and two people who believed they could still influence what happened next.

The Empress offered a road beyond the empire in exchange for the truth.

The network warned that the empire had begun searching for it.

Elara looked at the silver mask covering Ronan's face and understood that she could no longer make her decisions according to which path offered the greatest chance of survival. Survival had brought her this far, but it would not determine what kind of world remained when the lies finally fell.

"Tell the Empress I will meet her at Greyhaven," she said.

Ronan stiffened. "Elara—"

"But I will not bring the deposition or the Seal."

Sella looked up from the map. "Then what will you bring?"

Elara folded both letters and tucked them inside her coat.

"The truth she has already paid to hide."

She met Ronan's eyes through the silver mask.

"If Seraphine wants the documents, she will have to explain what she intends to do with them. And if she expects me to trust her, she will have to give me something more than a promise."

Outside, the wind shifted across the inlet, bringing the distant sound of a ship's bell from somewhere beyond the headland.

The Empress had made her final offer.

Elara intended to make her answer cost something.