" Tie the damn thing, Elara. My hands. they will not stop shaking." Abram sat on the edge of the velvet bench in his dressing room, his head hanging between his shoulders. The air smelled of precious cologne and the sharp, chemical tang of the capsules he’d taken to keep the temblors at bay. He looked like a man erected of glass, held together by the seams of his custom- acclimatized tuxedo. I stepped behind him. My fritters brushed the starched white collar of his shirt." Steady, Abram. It’s just jitters. Big day, right?" " Is it?" He looked up into the glass. His amber eyes were sunken, dark murk hollowing out his cheekbones." Thorne is partial-dead. Vane is gone. The Council is downward stropping their shanks. And then I am, playing dress- up." " You’re a Silas," I said, my voice as smooth as the silk of my own gown." You do not play dress- up. You prepare for war." I pulled the black silk tie tense around his throat. For a split second, I wanted to keep pulling. I wanted to
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