Chapter 17

They dress me like a sacrifice. Silk whispers over my skin, pale as bone under torchlight. The gown is Vesseran white, layered gauze that clings when I breathe, embroidered with silver moons that catch the fire and throw it back like shards of ice. It’s almost identical to the robe I wore the night my country fell—except now, the hands tying it are foreign. Mara’s fingers tremble at my nape as she fastens the last clasp. “My lady,” she whispers in halting Vesseran, glancing toward...