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Why does he care? Even as I wonder, I decide it doesn’t matter. This is easy enough to answer, at least in part. “You heard the Star. I’m from the Dregs. We’ve never had a voice in the Concilium, have never had a chance to divert even the most minute fraction of resources that the Minor Court districts have in abundance. We deserve better.” I’m currently dancing with the other reason I entered the Trials.

It’s difficult to read his face without clearly being able to see his eyes, but something shifts through his expression. “A noble cause.”

“I prefer to think it’s practical.”

“If you say so.” He leads me through another turn. “Ask your question.”

There’s so much I need to know, so many answers that only he has. I swallow hard. As much as I want to believe I’ll get another chance to question him, Judgment’s unexpected death has proven nothing can be taken for granted in the Trials. If I only get a single question to ask Death, there was only ever going to be one option. “Why did you kill the last Moon? The real reason.”

This time, I can put a name to the emotion that flickers across his face. Sorrow. He’s silent for several beats, allowing the music to swell around us. “I had no choice.”

No choice? What does that even mean? The Concilium rules the entirety of Caelria and polices its own members—at least in theory—but they shouldn’t be able to force one of their members to execute another. That’s a Wand’s job. I glare. “That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the only truth I have.”

“I expounded on my answer,” I grit out, trying to keep my temper in check. “Give me the courtesy of doing the same.”

Death chuckles softly, the sound dry and raspy as if he’s clearing cobwebs by showing even a hint of amusement. “You’re a lot like her. She was fierce and ruthless and had no patience for verbal sparring.”

I stop. Or at least I try to. His grip tightens and he whisks me along with him despite my best efforts to plant my feet. I finally raise my gaze to his onyx eyes. I expected to find cruelty there, but the strange sympathy is so much worse. How dare he have sympathy for the woman he killed? He deprived me of a mother, of a life where I didn’t have to steal, hide, and fight to survive.

“I know you’re her daughter. Let’s not insult my intelligence by denying it.” He spins us into another turn that makes the room sway around me. “It’s been a long time, so it took me a moment to place why you look so familiar, but truly, you’re identical in all but coloring.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her,” I bite out. It’s an effort to keep from screaming in his face, from going for the sickles still strapped to my back, from doing anything other than keep dancing like a damned fool.

His lips curve a little, but his eyes maintain a horrible sympathy that borders on pity. “She was from the Dregs, too. We both were.”

Nowhere in the stories was anything to suggest Death was also from the Dregs. If that was true, my mother would have known. Mouse would have known. “Don’t lie to me. If you were from the Dregs, I would have heard about it.”

“Death doesn’t lie.” He shrugs in response to my clear disbelief. “I do mean that literally. I lost the ability when I became Their champion. I’m like a Sword in that aspect now, though I’ve never bothered to learn to speak in circles the way they’re fond of.”

I don’t know if I believe him. It’s all well and good to claim Death’s champions can’t lie, but there’s no way to actually prove it. I can’t trust him. I can’t afford to trust anyone. “If you say so.” The gap between what Mouse taught me and the reality of what I’m facing continues to grow with each passing strike. I wish I could talk to him, could strategize around the magic and updated knowledge I now possess. I want to press him in a way I never dared do before. Did he know Death was from the Dregs? My mother must have. I thought Mouse knew everything my mother did. If he wasn’t aware of Death’s origins … Why would she keep that from him?

“Cautious.” Death gives what appears to be a true smile. “Smart girl. I truly hope you fare better than she did.” He releases me, sending me spinning out away from him. I don’t realize it’s part of the dance until I slam into a broad chest that shouldn’t feel familiar … or wouldn’t if I hadn’t been staring at it as the Sun rose, saving me from Death. I shove off the Tower. “Get away from me.”

He catches me easily, holding my elbows and preventing me from putting more distance between us. “You’re causing a scene.”

From the moment I became the Moon, I’ve been tossed about and thrown from person to person. I’m fucking tired of it. Every time I think I might have solid ground beneath my feet, it crumbles. Death knows my mother was the last Moon. If he recognizes our connection, there’s a better than average chance the Star and the Chariot may as well. I could very well have all the remaining Cinque targeting me tonight. If that happens, I don’t see a path to survival. The odds are too long.

And now the Tower is touching me, confusing me further. “I want to kill you,” I mutter. “I don’t want to dance with you.”

There goes his gods-awful half smile. It makes my stomach flip despite myself. He steps to the side, taking me with him, and we enter the flow of dancers again. “You can’t kill me, Moon.”

“Not yet,” I speak through gritted teeth. “But night is coming.”

“Until then, we’ll dance like they want us to.” He dances well; not as well as Death, but the Tower clearly has more experience with this than I do. I only step on his feet once or twice on accident. The third time is on purpose.

“Ouch,” he says mildly. “I thought you were a better dancer than this. You weren’t stepping on Death’s toes.”

“That motherfucker.” I know better than to let my temper get the best of me, but it’s everything I can do not to crane my head to follow Death like a dog scenting prey. He’s not prey, and that’s a problem. I can’t even beat the Tower; how am I supposed to kill Death? “I don’t know why you wanted him as an ally. He’s awful.”

“He’s one of the most powerful champions.”

“I know that. Everyone knows that.” I glare at the Tower’s broad chest. I thought he was wearing armor like Death, but his clothing is just styled to look like armor, the added structure of his tunic emphasizing his strength and height. “He sent you against Judgment alone. By all rights, you should have died. That was a huge risk to take on your part, with relatively little reward on the other side.”

The Tower is silent for one turn of the dance floor. Long enough for me to think he has no intention of speaking further. Long enough to surprise me when he does. “An alliance with Death is not a little reward, Moon.” The quiet censure in his voice makes me flush. “He set the terms of an alliance and I agreed to them. I knew my strength, and he wanted proof of it. It’s as simple as that.”

“As simple as that,” I repeat. “But—”