“You’re not a princess. You said you were the Herrani queen’s spy.”

“I was her spy.” Quietly, she added, “I still am. I am also her daughter.”

My throat was tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“In some ways, I did.”

I thought of the sigil on her dagger that matched the one on the queen’s card, the symbol of the Herrani family, and how she hadn’t fully answered when I asked whether she stole it, which made me assume that she had. I remembered how when the blue-haired man at the party had suggested she was cousin to the Herrani king, she had denied it … which wasn’t a lie, if she was the king’s daughter. I remembered how she had described the queen, and how she had described her mother. Both women had seemed similar: intimidating, and alike in the power they had over Sid. Yet there had been no reason for me to guess that they were the same person.

“I was truthful about why I left home,” she said. “I hated being a princess. I don’t even like the title. Princess Sidarine.” She cringed in disgust. “So … dainty. And so heavy. I don’t think you can know what a burden it is, how hopeful my parents are that I will marry into Roshar’s family, how my mother seeks to make me into herself. My father says nothing, and just lets it happen.”

“You’re right,” I said coldly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a princess. I don’t know what it’s like to have parents.”

“Please let me explain.”

“You tricked me.”

She roughed up her hair, nervously, then jammed her hands into her pockets. “I had to,” she said. “I didn’t want city officials getting wind of the Herrani monarchy’s interest in this island.”

“I wouldn’t have told anyone,” I said, insulted.

“I believe you, but I didn’t at first. Even after I trusted you, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. I didn’t want you to look at me like you are looking at me now. It was already hard enough, wondering what you thought. If I could … attract you. If I could make you want me.”

“Of course,” I said bitterly. “What would be the point in telling yet one more conquest?”

“You were never a conquest.”

“You would think that a liar, caught lying, would be wise enough to stop.”

“Nirrim,” she said, “I love you.”

My breath caught. My eyes stung. And then I couldn’t look at her. I swore I would never look at her again, at her beautiful, worried face. “I don’t believe you.”

“I love you because you are true and kind, and curious, and clever. I love you because of how you kiss me.”

“Stop it.” My throat closed.

“The letter I wrote in the tavern was to you. I was trying to explain.”

“In a language I couldn’t read. On a page you never planned to give to me.”

“I never actually told you a lie.”

“What you just now said is a lie. You are lying to yourself about what a lie is. You deceived me. Playing games with words doesn’t make you less a liar.”

“You’re right,” she said miserably. “I’m so sorry. Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth.”

I refused to look at her face. I looked at her hands, which she had pulled from her pockets. She was rubbing one thumb against the palm of her other hand, her fingers nervous in a way I had never seen—not when she spread jam on a pancake or played a piano’s keys. Not when she had touched me so deftly.

I didn’t want the anger boiling in my chest. I didn’t want my eyes to sting. I didn’t want to have been made a fool, so easily deceived by her. I wanted to be a wall, to be stone and mortar. I wanted to clear the burn from my eyes. So I focused on that long, thin scar on her hand. It is ugly, I thought.

And dear. I loved its ragged line.

I asked, “Where did you get that scar?”

“From a tiger.”

Which was what she had said before, though I had dismissed it as a joke. “Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I have other scars from weapons training with my father. But the big scar, the one you noticed, is from Roshar’s pet tiger. It’s mostly tame. Roshar brought it to a state function when I was twelve…” She drifted off, maybe because of the fresh anger that must have been plain on my face. I hated to hear the hope in her voice, as if she believed that she could distract me from her deceit by telling me a tale about a tiger among royalty, in a country I had never seen.

“Nirrim, please look at me.”

I shook my head, my eyes brimming.

“Ask me what I thought when I first met you,” she said. “Ask me how I felt when I first saw your face. Ask me how it is to stand in front of you and know how angry you are, how much I deserve it, how awful it is to have hurt you when I have only ever wanted your happiness.”

I couldn’t help it. I looked up. Her face was pale, stricken.

“You have my heart,” she said. “I never knew I could feel for anyone what I feel for you.”

She looked lonely. It hurt me to see her unsmiling mouth, how her body had lost its easy confidence. Sid hated to be serious but was so serious now, and so sad. My anger slipped away. I said, “I believe you.”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile, but her eyes were still hesitant. She waited, but I couldn’t say to her what she had said to me, even as I loved her bravery for saying it. I loved the freckle beneath her eye, the throat I still wanted to press my face against, how she loved her parents even when they failed her. How gently she sought my thoughts. How hard she held me when I asked her to. Her sly glances. Her laugh. I was a coward for saying none of this, but my throat closed over. My anger was gone, but I wished it weren’t. Anger would armor me against the answer to the question I had to ask. “Will Roshar force you to return home?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. But her face was unhappy.

“Are you going to do it anyway?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“But”—I desperately cast about for the words that would make her stay—“we had a plan. You said a month.”

“I can’t.”

“You promised. You swore on your life.”