He says it as if I haven’t spent the last ten years living in hypervigilance every moment of every day. I know I have to forgive them for over-parenting me. It’s only like this because Holly is gone.

“And don’t let your mother see you all moony-eyed over that girl.”

I wave a hand. “I’m not moony-eyed over her. I’m just trying to assess the best entry point. She was not impressed with my conversation in the garden.”

“What did you talk about?”

I can’t exactly say that we talked about her trying to kill me, so I improvise. “The Divine.”

My father laughs. “Is she devout?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t get that impression, no. But it came up, along with the fact that the rebels are gaining popularity.”

My father leans forward, resting his chin in his folded hands. “That confirms what we’ve heard, which should make it even easier for us.”

“I know you trusted me with a new contact this morning, but it would help if you would put me in touch with whoever has been sending you those doves with coded messages⁠—”

My father holds up a hand to silence me. “I let you meet with that new contact this morning. As far as established relationships go, the less you know right now, the better. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but lines get blurred where pretty women are involved, and you can’t share what you don’t know. We have compartmentalized our knowledge for a reason. I was worried she had a manipulation blessing and would be able to crack you easily, but now I’m worried that she’ll be able to get it out of you without any magic at all.”

I know it’s a wise strategy, but I loathe being treated like a child who can’t keep a secret. Logically, I know that’s not what he’s doing, but I can’t help feeling like he would have told Holly everything if she were here.

“I know what’s at stake,” I say firmly.

“You need to be careful. There is so much more happening here. I know your temper burns hot, but you can’t let it get the best of you. We need to be impeccable and efficient while we’re here.”

I know my parents can’t help themselves. The worry is a reflex now that all their hope rests on me. If I can just do this one thing, maybe I can finally bring my parents and my people some peace. Maybe I can find it myself. Years of restless fear have worn me down. I don’t think I could bear to show my face at Mountain Haven if I fail.

Much as I hate it, I’m a bit at a loss when it comes to Harlow. I know how to charm a woman, but I have no idea how to tame a viper.

“What did she say about the rebels?” my father asks.

I run a hand through my hair. “She shut me out immediately when I mentioned Rochelli.”

A wrinkle forms in his brow, but he says nothing else. He’s done sharing.

I stand. “I’m supposed to meet Bryce and Carter to scout the city gates.”

He nods and runs a hand through his graying hair. “Be safe and subtle.”

I nod and duck out into the blustery afternoon.

The messenger doves flop around on the ground, cooing incessantly, their wings spread and bodies bent at unnatural angles as they press against the bars of their cage.

“What are they doing?” I ask. “They look—hurt.”

My best friend, Carter, leans against the stone wall beside their large cage and grins. “The Dove Keeper told me that they do it because they saw a wounded dove get a treat, and now they all think if they act wounded, they will get an extra feeding.”

The Dove Keeper descends the stairs beside us and looks at Carter. “Message sent.”

Carter nods and hands him a few coins. “Thank you.” He takes a deep breath and tips his face up toward the sky. The movement reveals the clean-shaven brown skin of his neck, and the top of a shiny, jagged scar at the base of his throat that peeks out of his collar.

I’ve turned over the memory of how he got that mark—of how I got the many that litter my body—so many times, but the guilt that accompanies it never lessens.

Carter catches me staring, and his dark eyes flash with recognition. “Don’t go there now.”

I shake my head. “I’m not. Are you ready?”

He nods, and we follow the small lane back toward the center of the city.

It’s been ten years since I’ve been here, and though the walls have expanded a bit wider, the layout of the city is the same as it was when we last visited before the fall.

Lunameade is split into four quadrants: Northeast, Northwest, Southeast, and Southwest. Each quadrant is sectioned off into three fallback points so that if the Drained ever infiltrate the city walls, there are strongholds to defend. It would be easy to get lost here, having not visited in ten years, but once you understand the quadrant structure, it’s easy to find a path to lead you to the center of town and the Blood Well. And for anyone too panicked or directionally challenged to remember, bright sunstone arrows are inlaid on the second story of most buildings in town, directing people toward the nearest fallback gate.

“How’s the wife-to-be?” Carter asks.

I shrug a shoulder. “Pretty. Feisty. Not quite what I expected, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Carter elbows me. “I never had any doubt, but I figured I’d ask because when we meet up with Bryce, his questions are sure to be more vulgar.”

I rub a hand down my face. I’m not looking forward to that. I don’t want to think about my soon-to-be wife’s perfect tits, or her lacy undergarments, or the sound she made when I bit her thigh. She is just a part of this revenge mission, and if she’s fun to take to bed, that’s merely a bonus.

I didn’t wait ten years to get distracted by a tempting woman.

People rush in and out of the businesses ahead of us, carrying bags full of produce and candles and carafes of ale. They certainly don’t seem like they’re struggling for resources. Of course, it’s the wealthier people who live near the center of town since it’s safer farther from the city gates.

When we finally step into the center circle of the maze of streets, it’s easy to spot Bryce. In the afternoon light, his copper hair is like a beacon. He leans against a flower cart, talking to the woman who runs it.

He spots us and smiles at the girl before sauntering up to greet us.

It’s not a surprise that he’s more at ease in the hectic city. While my friends are both trained huntsmen—warriors at home in the perils of the forest—Bryce has always been more invigorated by crowds, while Carter prefers to watch the action from the periphery.

“Eight ways into this Divine-damned city. Why are we even bothering to check it out from the inside? There’s no way they’re all so well guarded,” Bryce says.

We have no intention of laying siege to a city built to withstand it. If all goes well, we won’t need to.

“You tell me,” I say. “You’ve been following the patrols. What have you found?”

Bryce pauses at the window of a bakery, smiling at the shopgirl. He orders something and then turns and nods at the high stone tower to the east. “They work in groups of three. Six-hour shifts, and they typically alternate between the same three posts for the same direction. So, if they cover the east side of the city, they might start their day at Northeast Hold, shift to East Hold after two hours, and then Southeast Hold two hours later. The problem is that every fifteen minutes, a soft bell chimes and they patrol the top of the wall. So, one man stays in the tower to watch the gate, and the other two walk in opposite directions down the wall until they meet their peer from the next tower. Then they turn around and walk back. Any attack would require a minimum of three guard casualties.”

The girl from the bakery returns to the window and hands Bryce a honey cake. He takes a bite and smiles at her appreciatively as he leads us around the perimeter of the center circle.