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“Insane, as it always is when the Auction approaches,” he says. “Of course, it’s worse this year, since the lower circles are in such turmoil. But you’d think the royalty don’t read the papers. The Lady of the Hail can’t stop boasting about her post-Auction night dinner—it sounds like she’s preparing twenty courses, if you believe her, which I don’t. She’s sent the Electress a hundred invites. And now I have to oversee a shipment from the House of the Flame. Spiced meats, some saffron, and fresh cream from their dairies in the Farm. It’s due to arrive tomorrow. As if saffron is something I need to be worried about right now. Meanwhile, there have been three more arrests in the Bank—one was quite a close call, I thought they’d captured one of my associates—and another bomb went off in the Smoke, which I certainly didn’t sanction—it was poorly made and full of shrapnel so now that quarter is being levied with food restrictions. Even the Regimentals are feeling the pinch. And meanwhile—”

“How’s my sister?” I interrupt.

He pauses. My heart stops as he doesn’t say anything.

“Lucien,” I say, “what is happening?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing I feel you need to worry about.”

Raven is sitting up, her dark eyes fixed on the arcana. Sil has put down her whiskey.

“Why don’t you let me decide what I need to worry about,” I say.

“I have a . . . suspicion. It’s not confirmed but I feel that the Electress is planning an . . . accident. For your sister.”

“What?” I jump up as if I can run to Hazel right now, as if I could protect her. I have to protect her. “You work for her, find out what she’s planning and stop it!”

“I do not know if she is even planning anything,” Lucien says. “All I know is that the more enthusiasm the Exetor expresses for this engagement, the more furious she becomes at it. She has made some comments that lead me to believe—”

“She’d do it just out of spite,” I say. “She’d do it to get back at the Duchess.”

“Yes, but you see—”

“Ugh, these people!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “Don’t they get that she is someone’s sister, someone’s daughter, someone’s friend?”

“No,” Lucien says dryly. “And I think you’d understand that better than anyone.”

His words cut but not as deeply as the thought of Hazel being assassinated. I thought I would have time. Time to get to her, to free her. Time to explain, time to apologize.

Lucien can’t save her. He can’t watch her twenty-four hours a day. He has other priorities, and as much as he cares for me, he would sacrifice Hazel if it meant saving the city.

“I’m going to the Jewel,” I say. “Now. Tonight.”

“Violet, don’t be—”

“I’m going,” I snap, cutting him off. “What would you do if it was Azalea? It’s my fault Hazel is there at all. The Duchess took her to get to me. I know it, I feel it. If I can’t protect her now, I . . .” My voice trails off because I can’t finish that sentence.

“And how exactly do you plan on getting here?”

“I’ll take a train to the Bank. I can burrow under the wall surrounding the Jewel as easily as Southgate.” Okay, maybe not quite as easily, but it’s the same general idea.

“Not only is that a foolhardy plan that could give the game away, but what do you intend to do once you are in the Jewel itself? Walk up to the Duchess’s palace and ring the doorbell? Think, Violet. There are bigger things at stake here than personal struggles.”

“And if I don’t try and save Hazel now, then I don’t know what I’m fighting for at all,” I say.

“You would be recognized,” Lucien says. “It’s too—”

I gasp, an idea occurring to me—a crazy, rash idea that I’m not even sure is possible. But I’m willing to try anything at this point. Without another word I turn and run upstairs, ignoring the shouted questions from Sil and Raven, Lucien’s tinny voice demanding to know what’s going on.

Ash and I sleep in the barn together, but we keep our clothes in Raven’s room. There are other clothes as well, which Sil has collected over the years. One dress I remember distinctly, because it reminded me so much of the servant’s dresses Raven and I used to disguise ourselves in the Bank. I comb through the closet, find it, and yank it off the hanger—it is plain and brown, a little small across the chest but it will do. I pull it on and look at myself in the mirror. Slowly, I raise a hand and knot it in my hair.

Once to see it as it is. Twice to see it in your mind. Thrice to bend it to your will.

My scalp tingles as my hair turns from black to gold. The headache that comes with performing an Augury throbs at the base of my skull. This is how I disguised Ash when we sneaked into his companion house. It’s strange to use it on myself. I turn my head back and forth, examining the unfamiliar strands of blond.

But it’s my eyes that are the real problem. If I can’t change them, the Duchess will spot me instantly.

I close them now. I think I can do this without physically putting my fingers on my eyeballs—the thought gives me the creeps. I just need to focus hard enough on what I want. The picture forms crystalline in my mind.