“I’m not planning to get into any trouble,” I said. I meant it. Making things difficult at the Coventry or in Arras didn’t fit into my plans. I hadn’t come back to make trouble. I knew if I wanted to keep the people I loved safe, I needed to play along.

“I’m glad to hear that, but all the same, remember I’ll have my eyes on you,” she said.

Alixandra didn’t like me. That much was clear.

“So you’ll be with me at all times?”

“Yes, per Cormac’s instructions,” Alixandra said.

“And after we’re married?”

“I’ll do what he asks me to do. I wouldn’t count on him relaxing the security surrounding you, though, especially once children come along.”

I gagged a little, but managed to cover it with my hand. Children hadn’t been part of our discussions.

“You don’t look excited about having children,” Alixandra noted.

I wasn’t. “Things are happening very quickly. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Cormac will want an heir, of course, and then…” She let her words trail away and didn’t finish her thought.

I wanted her to continue, but I couldn’t stomach any more talk of my future with Cormac. I avoided conversation after that.

“Adelice!” Cormac’s voice calls me back to the present, and I blink at him. “Minister Swander asked you to dance with him.”

“Of course,” I murmur, trying to remember who Minister Swander is. The name sounds familiar, but to my surprise the man who steps forward is young and handsome. I recall the last gala I attended at the Coventry—when Erik reminded me that every official was married. Swander’s wife must be nearby. I take his hand, ready to get it over with.

Minister Swander leads me onto the dance floor, keeping a proper amount of space between us and dancing formally, which is to say, stiffly. For a moment I wish I was dancing with Erik, but I immediately put the thought out of my head. Then I notice that with each careful step, he is leading me farther across the dance floor, farther from Cormac.

“Cormac has finally landed himself a new Creweler,” he says in a light tone.

I study him closely. He’s exactly how I imagine Cormac would have looked at the same age. Too slick, too quick with a smile.

“I suppose he has,” I respond. “Pardon my saying so, but you seem a little young to be a minister.”

“You seem a little young to be a Creweler.”

“Touché.”

“I was born into Ministry service,” he explains to me. “My father was an official.”

“Was?” I ask.

A confused look passes over the minister’s face. “He died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He waves off my regrets with the ease of someone who never mourned the loss.

“You weren’t close?” I guess.

“No, we were,” the minister assures me, “but that’s life.”

But it’s not life, I think. Not for the Guild. Officials don’t just die and ministers don’t forget what happened.

“How did your father die?” I press.

“Old age, of course.”

I can see I’m not going to get far with him, so I change the subject.

“Is your wife here?” I ask.

“I’m not married,” he says.

I can’t help myself. “That’s unusual.”

“I suppose I was married, but my wife is gone.” He stumbles over the confession, blinking as if to clear his head.

Suddenly I know where I’ve heard his name. The old memory resurfaces and my stomach rolls over.

She had an accident.

Amie’s words. Before I can compose myself, he stops and drops his hands from me.

“The song has ended. I suppose I must return you to your fiancé.” He offers me his arm. His gaze stays unfocused, as though he’s searching for something in the distance as he leads me back to Cormac and thanks him for the dance.

“Of course,” Cormac says. “It looked like you were having a nice chat.” I can tell Cormac wants to know what the minister said to me. Of course he does.

“He was telling me how his father died,” I admit.

“He was?” Cormac asks. I can’t gauge his reaction.

“Actually, he was about to tell me,” I say, turning to Minister Swander expectantly.

“Excuse me, I see Brient,” he says, avoiding the question once more. “Thank you for the lovely dance.”

He hurries away, and I can’t help but notice that he dashes straight for the washroom.

“How did his father die?” I ask Cormac. “I thought the Guild had gotten around that inconvenience.”

“We can still die, Adelice,” Cormac mutters.

“You could have fooled me.”

“Death is a tricky thing. He wears many faces.”

I wonder what face death will wear when he visits Cormac. I wonder if death will look like me.

“And his wife?”

Cormac shrugs.

“There was an accident,” I say. “You made an example of her.”

I recall the reverent account Amie gave about her teacher, at our dining table. I remember the hushed fear in my parents’ voices. I remember everything about that night.

“You do love your stories,” Cormac says, taking my elbow and steering me out of earshot.