Page 76 of Silvercloak

Of course, this last part wasn’t true—she had a very clear way out.

But as for the rest … the dread clawing up her throat was real, the phantom collar around her neck suffocating, unyielding, an almost physical force.

The threads tying her to the people she loved felt like garrotes.

I’m sorry, Nissa. I’m so sorry.

Levan said nothing, but as they entered the warded tunnels, he laid a gentle palm on her shoulder. The touch sent a curious frisson through her, both warm and shimmeringly cold, and he tugged slightly, willing her to stop marching for a second. She did, but she couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t let him see the tears she was only just holding back.

“I’m sorry it came to this,” he said. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Saffron scoffed. “Why do you care?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Because I know what it’s like to feel like every choice you make is the wrong one. To understand that the world can come crumbling down with a single wrong move. My apology might not change anything, true. But you’re not alone, Silver. And if you’re anything like me, which I think you are, then that means something.”

Saff’s breath caught in her throat, surprised by his outpouring.

It seemed so …genuine.More genuine than anything he’d ever said to her before. The careful mask he always wore had dropped, and his expression was a little pained, as though embarrassed by his own unabashed honesty. His piercing blue eyes had crinkled at the corners, and there was a kind of urgency to his gaze, so at odds with his usual aloofness. Soft lanternlight danced over his face, and in that moment, he looked soreal.There was a beauty to him that even Saffron, with all her worldly hatred for the Bloodmoons, could not deny. Could not tear her gaze away from.

But why was he so openly—

Of course.

He was under the influence of truth elixir. It’d be in his system for the next six hours.

The kingpin had just handed her one hell of an advantage.

THE NIGHT WAS BITTEN WITH A CRISPER CHILL THAN THEprevious week. The inky sky was flecked with stars and the pleasurehouses were in full swing, the streets ringing with moans and music, clinking glasses and pops of laughter against a backdrop of jewel-toned awnings and gilded obelisks. Woodsmoke hung on the air, and Saffron tried not to think of the incinerator, of the spark andwhooshKasan’s body made as it caught.

Her mind focused instead on all the things she might ask Levan while he could not help but tell her the truth. She couldn’t ask outright about the lox shipment schedule—it would be far too suspicious—but shecouldchip away with seemingly innocuous conversation.

“Why do we go everywhere on foot?” Saffron asked, easing into matters. “Since there’s aportarigate at our disposal.”

They passed an Augurest temple, where evening worship was in full swing. A low litany of chanting floated up through the domed purple ceiling, and Levan glanced at the eye-shaped building with thinly veiled loathing. He had Timeweaver blood, after all, and the Augurests were praying for his eradication.

“My father’s insistence. He doesn’t trust that the gates aren’t being watched by the Silvercloaks. We only use it when we absolutely have to.”

Saffron didn’t think the Silvercloakswerewatching. Aspar surely would’ve briefed her on the unregulated gate, if so, classification level be damned.

“Your father also said you hated Vogolan,” she said carefully, picturing the enormous case file she would eventually drop onto Aspar’s desk with a satisfied thud. “Why?”

Levan stared straight ahead. The towering marble and creamstone of Arollan Palace stood at the end of the Mile, lit from below and glowing pale in the moonlight. Crenels stood out like teeth against the night. A row of flags sat upright in the breeze: one rich purple for Vallin, one a gold chalice and laurel wreath against a burgundy backdrop for the patron saints, and one navy blue with a crown of silver stars for House Arollan.

At last, Levan replied, “He killed someone very important to me.”

Saffron’s heart skipped. “Your mother?”

Nobody outside the Bloodmoons knew how Lorissa Celadon had died.

“No.” The syllable was a hammer striking an anvil. A warning edge to it, as if to sayIf you keep pushing this, you won’t survive long enough to hear the truth.

She tried a gentler tack. “To me, Vogolan seems evil just for evil’s sake.” She was careful to use the present tense—she shouldn’t know for certain that he was dead.

“Yes,” he agreed, a thin line of steel in the word.

The silence between them hovered on a blade edge. Saff knew she had to press this advantage—how often would she see Levan even the slightest bit vulnerable?—but it felt treacherous. She couldn’t ask anything that would make her seem like a detective.

Yet they only had a few minutes until they reached the Jaded Saint, and by the time Saff reemerged from her meeting with Nissa, the elixir would be nowhere near as potent. His body would’ve already started to flush it out.

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