Her father’s hands find her shoulders, then her neck. He cups her face again. “You have done so much, so well.”
“Not enough!” she says viciously, spiking with fury. She tears away. “I have to save you.”
“You can’t save everyone, kitten.”
Back turned to him, Iriset hugs herself, gripping her own elbows tightly through the belled sleeves. She cannot look into his eyes now, not when they both think of her mother.
“Can you even imagine what she would say if I allowed you to do this for me?” Isidor asks gruffly.
“She wouldn’t want you dead, either,” Iriset grinds out through her teeth. This can’t be happening. How dare he reject her rescue.
“No. But she would choose you.”
“Dad.”
“You cannot make me don your mask. You will not win this argument.”
Iriset holds herself tighter.
“Make me proud instead, Iriset. Make your mother proud. Do something with this position in which you have found yourself. Make a mark, or change something. Anything. The whole empire. If anyone can, you can. I’ve seen what you are capable of doing when you decide.”
“Dad.”
“You challenged Aharté herself, and won, when you were ten years old. What can the Vertex Seal do against that?”
Iriset stares, lips parted, and feels like—nothing. Nulled, as if the wires bind her wrists again, or a thick collar clenches her throat. She’s choking on nothingness. She can’t accept this. Her knees give out and she sits abruptly on the floor, knocking her tailbone hard.
Her father kneels beside her, pulling her close. “I love you, kitten. Iriset, my Silk. I will die your father, rather than earn the appellation of villain in my own core.”
“I’ll find another way,” she whispers. “Beg for your life on the Days of Mercy. Is Bittor alive, do you know?”
“As far as I know, he was not killed or imprisoned.”
“I’ll get a message to him.” She’ll find a way. If the undermarket isn’t checking the old drops, she’ll find a new one. “Bittor will get cousins to the execution, and we’ll rescue you. I will find all the flaws in their security. Be ready.”
“As long as you do not show your hand. And if you ever must flee, there is money and a cache of jewels in the Violet Break.”
“I know.” It’s a small crevasse in one of the catacombs where they’ve hidden things only Iriset (or some similarly skilled designer who happens to know the exact location and engagement sequence) can get to, with a careful application of forces. “I am sorry about Paser,” Iriset whispers.
“Her family is well cared for.”
Iriset quietly asks after the rest of their cousins and courtiers, and Isidor tells her what he can of who is free, who captured, who killed, who sent to work camps already, and who likely will be executed at his side in twenty-six days. They move to the wall and sit with shoulders pressed, hands together. Iriset listens to her father, to the liquid words, his charm as he tries to give her some comfort, to convince her he’s well enough and proud and will go to his death with no regrets. She tries to listen, not letting her thoughts wander to contacting Bittor or asking Shahd or Amaranth for aid. These moments are precious and she has to be in them. A new plan can come later. Tonight.
Her father asks for stories of the palace. “I’ve never explored it, you know, kitten. I made it to the Silent Chapel once, but never into the palace itself, nor the Moon-Eater’s Temple.”
And so Iriset describes the temple to him, and the fossil teeth, even tells him what Amaranth said about them not belonging to the Moon-Eater. “But she feels him, or something, Dad. I did, too. A connective knot. And all the palace complex is woven together, architecturally, into a great array. It’s like an organism, a massive one—not just like the Holy Design of Moonshadow. The design of the palace is ancient. Apostatical design, though I’ll be careful to whom I say such a thing.”
She tells him about the star-eye windows in every room, about the feather dragons prowling the gardens like cats for skinks and rats, and the flowers that turn their faces to the strongest force. He asks about the food, and she’s extravagant with her report, because he’s hungry, and it helps assuage the longing to imagine in extreme detail.
“Now tell me about this favor asked of you by the Vertex Seal himself.”
“He asked me to learn as much Ceres as I can, quickly, in order to be a friend to his newly arriving wife. He believes she will be comforted with some handmaidens knowing her home tongue.”
“Thoughtful.”
“If we needed to, Dad, we could run to the islands. The ambassador might help me—and I already know some of the language. They might not expect that, thinking you would head for the Cloud Kings.”
Isidor is silent for a moment, then takes her hand again, weaving their fingers together. “You might run there, then. Do not think of me.”
