Sophie assumed Oralie was going to brush dirt off her face. But Oralie’s fingers lingered, and she closed her eyes, her forehead crinkling as she read Sophie’s emotions.

“Looks like it would be wise for me to sit down,” she said when she let go. She led them down a crystal hall without another word and into a diamond-shaped sitting room with overstuffed pearl-trimmed pink armchairs, pink chandeliers, and pink crystals cut into the walls in floral patterns.

“This is pretty much Biana’s dream room,” Fitz said as he sank into one of the throne-size chairs and propped his feet on the jeweled footstool.

“She’s welcome to visit anytime,” Oralie told him, taking the chair across from Sophie.

“Wow, really?” Fitz asked.

“Why not?”

“Because . . . you’re a Councillor. I didn’t think you guys were open for visitors.”

“Most of us aren’t. I’ve gotten many lectures about my lack of constant security, and how I leave myself too vulnerable. But I think it’s important that we make ourselves available to our people. After all, we never know what we’re going to learn.”

She raised one eyebrow in Sophie’s direction and Sophie took the cue, choosing her words carefully.

“We . . . need you to set up a meeting with Gethen. And I know he’s in Lumenaria, and that it’s on lockdown because you’re prepping for the Peace Summit. But we need to talk to him.”

Oralie frowned. “You weren’t hoping to meet with him today?”

“Is that possible?” Fitz asked.

“No, definitely not.”

“What about soon, then?” Sophie pressed.

“I . . . don’t know.” Oralie’s jeweled heels clicked across the crystal floor as she moved to the room’s furthest corner and stood silhouetted by the sunlight, looking so elegant and regal in her pink ruffled gown that it made Sophie wish she’d shaken the dirt out of her hair before she’d come inside.

“I assume you won’t tell me why there’s such urgency?” Oralie asked.

Sophie glanced at Fitz.

“Your call,” he said.

“You . . . might want to sit down again,” Sophie mumbled.

Oralie lowered herself onto the arm of the nearest chair and nodded for her to continue. So Sophie did—telling Oralie the whole story, right down to the ogres searching the Silver Tower, Wylie’s fears about his mother, and Mr. Forkle’s decision not to tell the Council.

“Please don’t make me regret telling you,” she begged when she’d finished.

Oralie cleared her throat. “I won’t. And . . . I’m so deeply sorry to hear about Wylie. Does he need anything?”

“Yeah,” Fitz said. “He needs us to find out what happened.”

Oralie smoothed the ruffles on her gown. “I fear you’re overestimating my power. I’m only one vote of many—and hardly a popular one at that.”

“You were the one who fixed Exillium,” Sophie reminded her. “And you did that without getting the support of the other Councillors.”

“Yes, but that was a problem I could solve with money. This is something else entirely.”

“I know,” Sophie said. “But there has to be a way.”

“Not without my telling the rest of the Council—and I do not believe that would be wise. I’m sure some of my fellow Councillors would call for my circlet for saying so, but fear has inspired some of our worst decisions. And there are some who feel drastic measures are the only solution.”

“Drastic how?” Fitz asked.

“You’ve already seen the beginning of it. Policing in our cities. Defense training for our citizens. I’m not saying those are bad things. Sadly, they’re incredibly necessary. But where do they lead? Stricter crystal restrictions to further regulate where and when people can leap. Curfews. Much more invasive monitoring of our registry pendants. When rulers stop trusting their citizens, freedom is always the cost. And I can think of several Councillors who will see what happened to Wylie as proof that control is the answer.”

“And what do you see as the answer?” Sophie asked.

Oralie sighed. “I honestly don’t know. But . . . I think it starts with people like you. People asking hard questions and taking risks and never letting anything stop them—not because they want power or glory. Because they know it’s the right thing to do.”

It was a prickly sort of compliment. The kind that made Sophie want to throw her arms around Oralie to thank her—or run away screaming, I don’t need that kind of pressure.

She settled for staying focused. “Does that mean you’ll help us?”

“It means I’ll try. But it’s going to take time. I understand your haste—but this is not something I can snap my fingers and make happen overnight. Please don’t let the passing days convince you that I’ve changed my mind. You have my word that I’ll do all I can to help Wylie. His life—and the nightmares he’s endured—is proof of my many failings. He deserves a much safer world than the one I’ve given him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sophie told her.

“No. But I’m not blameless, either.”

Oralie’s eyes met Sophie’s, so bright and blue it took Sophie a second to realize they were welling with tears.

“I also need you to promise me you’ll notify me if Wylie has any further problems.”

“That may be tricky,” Sophie said. “The Imparter you gave me before we fled to the Black Swan was conveniently missing from my bag when they sent home my things.”

“That sounds like them,” Oralie said, half a smile curving her lips. “But I can authorize any Imparter. Do you have yours with you?”

“Can we use mine?” Fitz jumped in, pulling the silver gadget from his pocket. “Sophie’s is . . . well, it’s kind of a long story.”

Oralie took the Imparter and held her finger in the center of the underside. “I suspect you both have quite a few long stories that never make it to the ears of the Council.”

A green light flashed and she held the gadget close to her lips, whispering, “Permission granted,” and making the Imparter flash blue.

She handed it back to Fitz. “Perhaps this will allow us to keep each other better updated on many things. I’m not asking for all of your secrets. But there is one thing I need to know.” She turned to Sophie, taking one of her hands as she whispered, “Where’s Keefe?”