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Then I get up.

Irina is already at the side entrance when I arrive, standing beside her car while a footman loads two shopping bags into the trunk. She has brought more things than any birthday party requires, which is annoying but useful. Bags create confusion. Confusion creates opportunity.

“You’re late,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Irina, it is two-fifty.”

“We should have left ten minutes ago.”

“We are not invading a country. We are taking a child to a birthday party.”

Her mouth tightens.

I smile because I need her irritated enough to sound like herself when Kirill arrives, but not irritated enough to ruin everything.

“Where is Anya?” she asks.

“Changing.”

“She should hurry.”

“She’s eight. Hurry is a concept she respects only in theory.”

Irina exhales through her nose and checks her phone.

Good.

I leave her there and go looking for Kirill. I find him near the east corridor, speaking to another guard in a low voice. He stops when he sees me.

“Miss Bennett.”

“Irina is ready to leave.”

His eyes move over my face. “For where?”

“She didn’t tell me,” I say, which is the safest lie because it is mostly true. “She just said she needs the car brought around and wants you there.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Irina.”

He stares at me. I stare back.

After a second, he seems to accept that as a complete explanation, because in this house it probably is.

“Where is Anya?”

“In the library,” I say.

She is. For now.

“Alone?”

“Galina was just outside the room when I left.”