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He doesn’t respond. Just comes up behind me, eyes downcast as he reaches for the handle himself. And this time, I’m prepared for the sparks, the briefest of heat and almost pain, when our hands briefly touch.

We remove the lid.

My first thought is that the roasted bird on the plate is a goose.

But it’s not the right shape.

And the white feathers, placed decoratively around the plate, are different. Larger, longer, sharper.

I drop the lid, which falls to the mosaic floor with a clang.

Swan. They’re serving us swan.

The sacred national animal of Rhavna.

CHAPTER 13

The Swan Test

I’d spent all evening scratching my skull as to why Dezeeves might want all Rhavnans together in one room like this.

Now I see this dinner wasn’t an attempt to show off how effective his conversion work has been to his most senior officers. Maybe it wasn’t even an attempt to test Drake and me, for our own Integration.

Maybe the only reason we are all here is to be mocked.

To kill a swan, let alone skin it, roast it, and eat it…

In Rhavna, it would be seen as the highest form of treason. As if you’d killed and eaten the Queen herself.

My eyes flicker around the room as I try to grasp what’s happening here – why there haven’t been mass outbursts of hysteria and outrage from the Rhavnans. Had they already known what was under the lid?

The young Rhavnan woman I’d noticed now has her head rested in her hand. She’s relaxed, watching this with almost humour.

Is this funny to her? What kind of conversion would make such an act against the country of her birth amusing?

Rike, at least, looks unhappy by what he’s seeing. I get the feeling he’s trying not to look.

But why does no one feel the same rage I feel? It’s bubbling through my veins. I fight off white lights in my vision, the buzzing that is awakening in my head. I hadn’t felt that in a while. Now, it’s cresting like a wave. Might knock me right over.

“Swan,” Dezeeves says, as if we hadn’t already realised. “Not an easy bird to find, these days. But we managed it. You will find the carving knife to the left. In a gesture of trust, we welcome you to make the first cut.”

I study Drake. There’s a curve in his broad back. He’s watching Dezeeves intently.

It’s just like how he’d looked before pouncing on Cosmer on his ship – and earlier, on the mat.

He looks down at the silver, engraved knife right in front of him. I stare at it, too.

The blade is long and sharp. Reflects the light as if emitting its own.

We could cut the meat.

Or we could use it as the weapon it is.

My body tenses. An image forms in my mind so fast it momentarily blinds me.

An image of the knife flying, hitting Dezeeves in the chest and lodging there.

I look up. Drake’s eyes are already on mine. They seem to gleam. I never knew dark eyes could be so bright.