Her gaze slid past him to the guards. Unlike the Malik from earlier, they didn’t look away, but neither did they step in. They wouldn’t unless Dessen seriously threatened her. Kasira had dealt with plenty of powerful men in her life. Boys on the streets who were bigger than her. The priests in the orphanage who sought to burn her sins from her flesh. Thane Ryarch, who had given her and Loraya a home, and thought himself entitled to Loraya in return.
She had dismantled every last one of them, and she would do the same to him.
When she met his gaze, she said only, “I told you that you were making a mistake.”
He reared back, dropping her chain just as the tent flap parted to let in the morning light. Ambassador Vera entered with a Lieutenant at her side and Revna a step behind them. She looked nervous, but she was here, and that was enough. Even Kasira had not planned for the Ambassador’s presence. Without it, her scheme wouldn’t have worked, the Lieutenants too loyal to the Commander.
“Commander Dessen,” Ambassador Vera said. “I’ve been informed of reports of persistent theft in your battalion—”
“A minor nuisance,” Dessen said with a dismissive wave. “I’m handling it.”
Vera’s lips drew thin at the interruption. Dessen must have been drunker than Kasira had realized to speak so brazenly. “It has been suggested that you are responsible.”
“I—what?” Dessen hiccupped, then lashed out a hand to the nearest chair for support.
Revna pointed at an ornate trunk tucked into the corner of the tent. “I think they’re in there, Your Excellency.”
“Nonsense,” Dessen said. “That trunk stores only clothes.”
Which was what made it the perfect hiding place. Dessen was the type of man who lived in his uniform, clinging to the authority it granted him. He hadn’t noticed when the fine layer of dust coating the trunk had been disturbed.
“Lieutenant,” Vera commanded, and the Malik who had entered with them strode forward. Dessen made as if to intercept him, but the palace guards closed ranks before him. One placed a hand on his shoulder, and his knees buckled, dropping him into the chair.
The Lieutenant opened the lid and removed the layers of clothing. Without the weight of them, the intentionally ill-fitting false bottom Kasira had laid there weeks ago shifted audibly. As Dessen watched slack-jawed, the Lieutenant removed a thin sheet of wood, followed by a series of items: an engraved flask with a gold cap, the vylor knife Revna’s father had gifted her when she joined up, a silk pouch that jingled with coins, the silver hairpin that amounted to all of Kasira’s worldly possessions.
Item after item gathered at the Lieutenant’s feet, along with a bottle of mylak, when at last Dessen found his voice. “None of that is mine!” he protested. “This is some sort of trick.”
“Seize him,” Ambassador Vera ordered.
The guards obeyed, forcing Dessen to his feet as he struggled. “It’s not true! I am not a thief. I am not—her! She did this. She is responsible!” He jabbed a finger at Kasira, who watched silently from her seat on the floor as he was dragged from the tent.
“Lieutenant, take this soldier’s statement, then see me after the Burning,” Vera ordered. Revna cast Kasira a sly look as the Lieutenant escorted her from the tent, but Kasira betrayed none of her own satisfaction. Dessen would be severely reprimanded for being drunk, and he would be demoted for the thefts and possession of magical contraband, but people like him always found their way back. The world was built to lift them up.
Ambassador Vera plucked free her snow-white gloves one finger at a time. “Did you get what you need?”
Kasira gathered up the papers on Eirlana and the Librarian. “I could use several more days to study these.”
“You have five more minutes. Those files will be leaving with me, and we will be departing after the Burning. Will that be a problem?”
It wasn’t the sort of question that wanted an answer, so Kasira didn’t provide one. One of a con artist’s most important skills was the ability to rapidly absorb and retain large amounts of information. So often a con came down to how skilled one was at observing, categorizing, and reacting to one’s mark.
Take Vera. She had calloused hands that suggested skill with a blade and a determination in her gaze that promised the will to use it. More importantly, every element of her appearance was meticulous, from her neatly braided hair to the clean lines of her clothes despite the early hour. She controlled every aspect of life within her reach.
Which was how Kasira knew that if this went wrong, she would be entirely on her own. Vera could have no ties to it. A deception of this magnitude was not only a sin of the worst kind, but liable to corrupt her image in the public eye. It would weaken both her and the Paratal’s positions, and they would have no choice but to disavow her, a move Vera was entirely prepared to make.
Kasira slid Eirlana’s papers back into their file and stacked it upon Allaster’s. “You still haven’t told me what exactly I’m meant to do with this information. So I become Eirlana Corynth and arrive at the Library as the new Assistant. Against all odds, I win over Allaster St. Archer, convince him to grant me magic, and solidify my position there. Then what?”
Vera tucked her gloves into her pocket. “Are you familiar with the Conclave?” At the shake of her head, Vera continued. “It’s a gathering of the nations’ leaders that occurs when one country has sufficient evidence the Library is misusing its power. The Conclave has the authority to remove the current Librarian and replace them with their successor.”
“You want me to provide you with that evidence,” Kasira concluded.
Vera smiled. “If the Conclave votes in our favor, your mission will be considered complete. Should they not, I will escort you back to Belvar myself.”
THE ENTIRE BATTALIONhad gathered for the Burning.
Always executed at dawn with the rising of the light, the igniting of beast corpses was a holy event, the final step of a sin’s destruction. Often presided over by prayers and followed by a small celebration, the responsibility of lighting the pyre was highly coveted. But with the presence of the Paratal, who would set the flame himself, it had become something else entirely.
All eyes were on the beautiful boy standing before a mound of corpses, Ambassador Vera at his side. Hands clasped in supplication or reached for him from afar, more than one Malik falling to their knees with their heads bowed. The Paratal’s melodic voice carried easily over the crowd, enthralling whosever’s ears it reached.
