Polis wakes to rumors.
Whispers coil through the market stalls, slither up the Tower steps: Azgeda pulls its warriors back to the border. Nia wants Lexa's head on a spike. There are stories of poison cups, blood feuds, secret alliances with the treacherous clans that still kneel to no Commander.
Kira hears it all as she stalks the alleyways near the main square — the ones where the wall is cracked, where runners slip through when the guards blink.
She knows Azgeda's message: We will bleed you from inside out.
She should be satisfied — after all, she carved the first cut herself. But instead, her hands itch for another blade, another throat. Her wire rests warm against her wrist beneath her bracers, an itch she can't scratch.
✦ ✦ ✦
By midmorning, the war room is a crucible.
Titus stands by Lexa's side, voice low and calm as he names every treacherous chief, every clan elder who might turn tail for a better offer. Indra looms near the door, her arms crossed, face set in stone. Clarke paces — restless, muttering to herself under her breath.
Lexa says nothing. She stands at the table, her hands braced against the map like she could press the whole world back into place if she just pushes hard enough.
Kira watches her from the corner — the dog in the shadows, just where Lexa left her.
Finally, Lexa lifts her head. Her eyes find Kira's first. It feels like an apology — or a threat.
"Kira," Lexa says. "Bring the Azgeda prisoner to the throne room."
Titus stiffens. "Heda—"
Lexa cuts him off with a single look. "Now."
Kira bows. "Yes, Heda."
✦ ✦ ✦
The prisoner is a girl — no older than Adena, maybe sixteen. Freckles on her nose, wolf pelts still heavy on her shoulders. Her wrists are raw from the manacles; she holds her chin high, though her mouth trembles.
When Kira drags her up the tower steps, the girl spits blood on her boots.
"Wanheda's bitch," she hisses. "You'll die screaming when the Ice Queen comes."
Kira doesn't answer. She shoves the girl through the throne room doors.
Lexa waits on the dais, flanked by Titus and two guards in Polis black. Clarke stands near the window, arms folded tight across her chest. Her eyes dart to Kira — a flicker of something like pity that sours Kira's stomach.
Lexa steps down from the dais. She draws her dagger — the one with the polished bone handle, a gift from her first kill.
"Your Queen sends messages on the backs of children," Lexa says, her voice low, almost gentle. "So must I."
The girl snarls. "Nia will gut you like the pig you are—"
Lexa moves fast — so fast even Kira flinches. One heartbeat, the girl is screaming. The next, Lexa's blade is buried in her chest, up under the ribs. The sound she makes is wet, small.
Lexa pulls her close as she sinks to the floor — cradles her like a mother, whispering in Trigedasleng. Kira can't catch every word, but she hears, I'm sorry. Be free.
When it's done, Lexa wipes the blade on her sleeve. She nods to Titus, who signals the guards. They drag the girl's body out — limp, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-curse.
Silence fills the room like water rising.
Clarke's voice cuts through it, ragged and raw. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did," Lexa says. Her eyes never leave Kira's. "And next time, it will be worse."
✦ ✦ ✦
Kira finds Clarke later in the garden, sitting on the edge of the old fountain. Dead vines curl around the cracked stone; snowflakes melt against her skin. She looks like she's about to drown, even though the fountain's bone dry.
When Clarke sees Kira, she laughs — brittle as frost. "Did you come to kill me too?"
Kira sinks down beside her. "Is that what you want?"
Clarke shakes her head. "I don't know what I want anymore." She rubs her hands over her face, smearing tears into her hairline. "Lexa thinks this will hold them. She thinks showing Nia she'll gut a girl will buy us time."
"It will," Kira says. She tries to keep her voice steady, but her throat feels raw, like she swallowed glass. "They need to see she's strong enough. Even when it hurts."
Clarke turns to her — eyes bloodshot, nose red. "And you? Are you strong enough?"
Kira lets out a bitter laugh. "I'm the Knife That Laughs. Aren't I?"
Clarke stares at her for a long moment. Then she reaches out — her hand gentle on Kira's wrist, her thumb tracing the wire hidden under the leather.
"Who protects you, Kira?" Clarke asks.
Kira's breath hitches. "No one needs to."
"That's not true," Clarke whispers. "And you know it."
✦ ✦ ✦
They don't mean to kiss.
It happens the way storms break — sudden, violent, inevitable.
One heartbeat, Clarke's hand is on her cheek, her thumb brushing the tear Kira didn't know she'd shed. The next, their mouths crash together — teeth clashing, salt and blood and winter chill.
Kira tastes desperation — Clarke's need to feel something good in the ruin. Her own need to forget the monster growing in her chest.
Clarke pulls back first, breathless. "This is a mistake."
Kira cups her face, foreheads pressed together. "Everything is."
Then they're kissing again — harder, messier. Clarke's hands tangle in Kira's hair; Kira fists Clarke's cloak, pulling her closer, closer.
It's not love. Not yet. It's a wound they share — a secret cut deeper than any knife.
When they break apart, Clarke's lips are red and raw. She laughs — soft, sad. "Lexa will kill us."
Kira swallows. "No. She'll kill me."
✦ ✦ ✦
They part before dawn. Kira lies awake on her cot, staring at the rafters. She can still feel Clarke's fingers on her ribs, the way her mouth tasted of ash and snow.
She hates herself for it — the want, the guilt, the shame that tightens like wire around her throat.
When Titus comes to fetch her, she's still dressing. He stands in the doorway, a ghost in priest's robes.
"You think you protect her," Titus says. "But you are her ruin."
Kira doesn't look at him. She buckles her bracers tight, fingers steady. "She chose this."
"She chose wrong."
Titus turns and leaves her in the dark.
✦ ✦ ✦
Lexa summons her before the high council that afternoon.
The elders gather in a circle — old men with scars like river maps, women whose braids brush their knees. Azgeda's throne sits empty. Everyone feels its absence like a phantom limb.
Lexa stands in the center — tall, unbowed, her crown of woven metal glinting in the torchlight.
Kira kneels at her feet when summoned — a blade offered at the altar.
Lexa's voice is thunder and ice. "Tell them what you saw."
So Kira speaks. Of the rider in the night. Of the messages smuggled under the walls. Of the girl who would have opened the gate to Azgeda knives if they had waited one more week.
Every word is true. Every word is poison.
When she finishes, the elders shift like cattle restless for the slaughter.
Indra steps forward. "We stand behind you, Heda."
Titus bows his head, lips moving in silent prayer.
Lexa's eyes find Kira's — a flicker of something human there, gone before she can name it. "You have done well," she says.
Kira's heart cracks like old ice. "Yes, Heda."
✦ ✦ ✦
Later, Clarke corners her in the hallway.
"You told them," Clarke says. She looks exhausted — hair wild, sleeves stained with ink and blood. "You made her look strong."
Kira shrugs. "It's the truth."
Clarke's laugh is a rasp. "You don't get it, do you? The more they fear her, the more they want her dead. You think you're keeping her safe, but you're just—"
She breaks off, fists clenching.
Kira steps closer. "Say it."
"You're killing her," Clarke spits. Her eyes are glassy with tears she won't shed. "You're going to get her killed."
For a heartbeat, Kira wants to scream — wants to wrap her hands around Clarke's shoulders, shake sense into her. But instead she leans in, breath hot against Clarke's ear.
"So are you."
✦ ✦ ✦
That night, she watches Polis sleep again — from the same cracked wall where Kerrik bled, where Adena fell.
She thinks about the blood on Lexa's hands. The warmth of Clarke's mouth. The ghost of a girl she once was, sitting in the dark watching heroes die on a TV screen.
A laugh bubbles up — ragged, broken. She claps a hand over her mouth to choke it down.
Above her, the stars burn cold and distant, uncaring.
Somewhere, far beyond the walls, a wolf howls.
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