Klara took the stairs from the cells two at a time and emerged in the southwest corner of the Central Circle. A guard nodded to her as Klara strode by, heading to the barracks.

  If she was honest with herself, it irritated her that Mikhail had actually apologised. She still hurt just as much, but now she had no excuse for the bitterness. To make it worse, she couldn’t write the apology off as just words. His actions over the last two days had proven his determination to win her forgiveness.

  Forgiveness you don’t want to give.

  The truth ploughed into her, and she stumbled, her breath catching. She stood, frozen amidst the flowing life of the Central Circle. She didn’t want to forgive. She wanted to hate Mikhail. But why?

  Because Lokteva died.

  But he had nothing to do with her death. He’d lost her, too. Klara’s mind reeled as she wrestled with the truth: she had been willing to lose her brother.

  She barked out a harsh laugh. Her family didn’t need to fear any external threat, they needed to fear her.

  Well, no longer.

  Klara changed direction, heading to the council chambers beneath the giant gaslamp.

  She reached the chambers and barged in, sure enough, her father sat at a desk flicking through papers. He looked up at her entrance and his frown deepened.

  “Warden,” he said in greeting.

  “Keeper.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “I’m busy. If you need anything, talk to Yefimova.” Sergei returned his attention to the paper in his hand.

  Klara hesitated a moment. Just what was she going to do?

  “Please leave, Klara. I do not have the time nor the inclination to hold this conversation.”

  “I’ll go when you agree to let me attend Mikhail’s trial.”

  Sergei slammed his fist into the desk and glared at Klara. “Are you deaf? I don’t want to deal with you right now. I’m about to put my own son on trial for trying to find my missing wife. And for what? To prove the Sentinels aren’t in league with a dishonoured Alchemist. Because if we cannot satisfy them that we had nothing to do with him being here, then they will cut off our supply of Alchemtek and extracts.”

  Klara recoiled, her confidence melting.

  “And do you know the worst part?” Sergei continued. “Despite every action I take to ensure my one remaining daughter does exactly that, remain, she has her hearts set on dying the same way her sister did! Now please, leave me in peace.”

  “How else am I supposed to honour Lokteva?” Klara asked. “By hiding from what killed her?”

  Sergei’s expression softened. “Klara, sometimes the best way to honour the dead is by learning from their mistakes. Lokteva should never have been at Katavsk. You shouldn’t either.”

  I shouldn’t be there? An avalanche of indignation rolled over Klara. “Why do you think I train so hard? So I don’t make the same mistake, so I don’t freeze up in combat.”

  “You think you’ve trained any harder than Lokteva did?” Sergei laughed. “No amount of training truly prepares you for dragons—especially Nishkuks. If you faced one, you would freeze.”

  Klara itched to defend herself, but no, she hadn’t come to argue. She blew out a sigh, trying to calm her nerves. “Let me go to Mikhail’s trial.”

  Sergei drummed his fingers on the desk as he glared at her. Finally, he said, “Fine. You may attend the trial—on one condition.”

  “Of course.”

  “You will not say a word. You will sit quietly in the back and be invisible.”

  Klara’s jaw tightened. “All right.”

  Sergei studied her, as if trying to coax the lie from her. Apparently satisfied that she intended to fulfil the condition, he said, “The trial begins in an hour.”