Political Education

The morning dawned on my second day in the Iron Citadel, and the nightmare was still dressed in indigo silk. I sat on the edge of the enormous bed, hands resting on my knees, trying to find the pulse of myself beneath the weight of Demetrius Klein’s lies. I was the True Luna—a title I wore like a suicide vest.

My survival strategy was simple: I had to be exactly what he needed, and nothing more. I was a tool for the Shadow Canyons. That was my expiration date. But if I ...