Page 99 of Sharpest Court

“There are six smuggling routes here.” Keil frowned, flicking through the pages. “There are meant to be seven.”

“That’s all I found,” Zeke said, plainly enough that I believed him.

Keil must have also believed him, because he pocketed the papers and lowered his voice. “Do you remember the route back to the mainland?”

Zeke nodded. “Why?”

“Use it. This island is no sanctuary, and its general is not kind to mainland runaways. Your best chance at safety is within the Ansoran settlement. There’s security, good food . . .” His gaze softened. “And people available to talk to.”

As Zeke tensed, I realized what Keil was saying. And I realized, too, why the young man who had once wished for a god to steal away his specter would find refuge in Draker House. Because here, they gave out dullroot at the door.

“I don’t need to wean myself off it,” Zeke ground out.

Keil nodded slowly, sadly. “Think about it. Your specter doesn’t have to be your enemy. It could be your chance to fight back.”

I put my mask back on, and as Keil held the curtain open for me, I glanced over my shoulder.

Zeke was hunched over the table, looking weary and pained. And yet, for the first time, he appeared to be contemplating change.

27

Banarrat sparkled in the darkness like a giant nightstone pit.

Once we’d returned to the cloak room to change our clothes, and I’d tied Keil’s blazer around my waist to hide the rip in my dress, we’d departed on a swell of courtiers, the night twinkling above. With our companions wringing out the last drops of tonight’s celebrations, we’d returned to an empty lounge. And now, in the little adjoining kitchen, with Keil’s blazer discarded on the stool beside mine, the sleek black surfaces glittered under the soft glow of lanterns, making it appear as though we were surrounded by starlight.

Keil spread out Zeke’s documents along the opposite side of the counter, each page detailing a smuggling route around Banarrat. “Not all seven,” he said, still seeming perplexed by that, “but enough to choose from.” He met my eyes and smiled. “We’ll get Perla out.”

A knot of tension loosened inside me. But not all the way.

Keil’s voice gentled. “Did you know Zeke’s uncle?”

“No,” I said, sad that the man had been tortured for information about me, yet also confused. “There’s something odd about the Hunters’ movements. Briar is Hunting in Daradon while Mara is Hunting here, both following leads whose names I don’t recognize. I don’t even know if Mara was really tracking Zeke on the mainland, or if he had just glimpsed her while she was tracking me.”

Keil frowned, considering. “Either way, she wasn’t responsible for the island’s security breach. Which means she can’t get to you before Rheya gives you the Gallery’s protection.”

I nodded distantly, knowing I should be relieved but feeling strangely hollow instead. As Keil cleared the documents away, I asked, “Are there many people like Zeke in Ansora?”

“Irritating people? Yes, we have a few of those.”

A faint smile lifted my lips, but it quickly slipped away. I corrected quietly, “Wielders who hate their specters.”

Keil paused, his expression softening. “We have some of those, too.” He sighed, leaning forward across the counter. “Most Ansoran Wielders are raised to believe that specters are gifts. But there will always be people like Zeke, who have been taught to fear their power because those in authority benefit from their shame. Equally, there are those like the First Emperor Saxon, who believed so fiercely in Wielder supremacy that he destroyed every person he deemed unworthy of their power.”

“He didn’t defeat Queen Piper,” I said. Ever since I’d learned about the Wielder queen who’d been tortured into submission by her Wholeborn husband, she’d taken up space in my mind. Her dark history seemed to bleed into a future I was fighting to avoid.

“Many say that was Saxon’s downfall,” Keil said. “This time hundreds of years ago, he was here on Banarrat, fighting his first battle after Piper’s death. And for the first time, he lost.”

There was an odd, morbid power in that. Being so integral to another person’s strength that losing you rendered them defenseless.

“Have you ever . . . ?” Keil began, and then trailed off, uncertain. But I knew what he wanted to ask: Have you ever hated your specter?

I’d once told Keil I could never be happy as a Wielder. But after being dosed with dullroot in Erik’s cell, after witnessing Zeke’s relationship with his power . . . my old claim felt uncomfortable to think about, suddenly untrue. Because despite the anguish my specter had always caused me, it was irrevocably mine.

And I had therefore never truly hated it, no matter how much it hurt.

“No,” I said softly, in realization. “I have grappled with it and stifled it . . . but I couldn’t be without it.”

Keil nodded slowly, understanding. Then he fixed his gaze on the counter and frowned deeply, as if struggling to recall a memory.