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TWENTY-ONE

THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOATS THROUGH THE room as the faucet pours water into my claw-foot tub. As I step into the water, its chill surprises me. It’s warm, but not the hot bath I was expecting. I sink in and feel goose bumps rise all over. I take a deep breath and push myself completely under the surface. My hair swirls around me and after a few seconds of weightlessness, I open my eyes. The world swims before them and the water burns, but I don’t shut them again. I stay this way until my lungs feel like they’ll collapse from the effort of staying underwater.

When I rise from the bath, I feel reborn, and yet my face is still too pale and the scarlet of my dyed hair has finally faded into a recognizable copper. I slip into the same dressing gown despite discovering a tear in the sleeve. The mirror lies to me, offering an unchanged reflection when everything about me is different.

I don’t leave my room the next morning. I stay in my dressing gown, torn sleeve and all. It’s clean and otherwise comfortable. Someone brings me food, but it grows cold on the serving tray it arrived on. A cart of sweets and delicacies and none of it looks good. There’s wine, too. But I don’t want to drink it. I tried to lose my grief in a bottle when Enora died, but I want to feel this. I want it to tear at me so that my heart is scar tissue when it heals—harder to break and less sensitive to pain.

The truth is, I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel sadness or anger. The numbness is crippling. The only thing that seems true in this moment is that this was inevitable.

How do girls my age in Arras get married? Do they fight with their husbands? I can’t remember my parents fighting. But marriage is different from being in love, I remind myself. It’s permanent—legal and binding. I couldn’t walk out of a marriage like I walked out on Jost last night. He has no claim to me, and I have no claim to him.

I’m still in my dressing gown when there’s a hard rap on my door. I open it expecting to see Jost.

Dante takes in my disheveled appearance and my fallen face, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too tense. Excited, maybe. He looks like Benn right down to the crease forming between his thick eyebrows.

No. Anxious.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me into the hallway.

I clutch my robe together. “I’m not dressed.”

“There’s not time,” he says, dragging me along.

I wrench my arm free. “Okay.”

I retie my robe as modestly as possible while trying to keep pace with him. I’m more than a little surprised when we run through the grand marble entrance and right out the front door. We pound down the side staircase so quickly that I grip its long carved railing to keep from falling down the brick steps. Dante leads me past the drive to the outer road, where a group of crawlers wait. These ones are armored. Their roofs are made of thick metal, but looking closer I see there are holes in the tops. A Sunrunner pops up through one and I realize what they’re for: scouting. Dozens of men are loading up crates and weaponry.

“What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly fearful. We were in Guild territory yesterday; did they track us back here? Is Cormac coming after me?

Kincaid appears over Dante’s shoulder. He’s wearing a thick black vest, not unlike the ones the guards at the Coventry wear. I know they are worn for protection there, but Kincaid doesn’t seem like the type to put himself in harm’s way. Not unless something important drives him to it.

Kincaid slithers up to me and watches the men. His eyes glint in the false daylight of the artificial lighting system.

“We’re going on a mission,” he tells me. The omnipresent glee is in his voice. All around us men test rifles and pull on vests, but you’d think Kincaid was going camping.

“What?” I put my question to Dante this time, unsure I’ll get real information from Kincaid. A Sunrunner dashes past us, knocking against me slightly and pushing me into Kincaid.

His gloved hands catch me, but he releases me as soon as I’m steady. His eyes flick to the offending man, and I wonder what punishment is in store for him.

“We have info on the Whorl,” Dante says. “One of our scouts found some information in the Heart.”

“The heart?”

“Heartland, middle of former America. It’s in the dead center of the Interface’s cover.”

“I thought it was mostly abandoned,” I say.

“It is. There are a few outposts though,” Dante says. “Kincaid’s intel indicates the Whorl may be hidden in one of them. They’re heading to check it out.”

“I want to go, too,” I say.

“Impossible,” Kincaid says, his focus remaining on the flurry of activity surrounding us. “I want you to stay safely on the estate.”

“Not a good idea,” Dante says to me. “It’s several days of travel and rough company. I’m staying behind with you—”

“I’m not a child,” I say, feeling a bit petulant despite my claim. But as soon as the words escape my lips, I spot Jost loading a bag into one of the crawlers. “He’s going?”

I don’t know how the question comes out because I feel the familiar paralysis of last night in my chest.

“Yes, he was the first to volunteer. He’s very single-minded,” Dante says. “They’re leaving quickly, and I didn’t want you to miss saying goodbye. I know you want to go with him, but—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “You win. I’ll stay here. Bye.”

“I knew you would see reason. Which is why I’m sure you won’t mind staying on the estate during our absence. Under no circumstances are you to leave. I’ve informed security,” Kincaid says.

“What?” I ask, my voice breaking. I clamp my mouth shut to stay the tears rising in my throat. I won’t let them see me cry. The Guild knows we’re here, and the answers I’ve been searching for aren’t here on the estate. Kincaid is putting me in a purported net of safety, but I feel trapped, like bait dangling from a snare.

“It’s for your own security,” Kincaid assures me. “I would hate to see you fall into the wrong hands. Dante is staying as well. It will give you a chance to get to know each other.”

The prospect of growing closer to a man who doesn’t hide his disapproval of me is small comfort.

“Valery will be traveling with me, but I’m leaving Jax behind. He should be able to maintain grid operations in an emergency,” Kincaid says to Dante.

While they are distracted, I dash off. Dante calls out after me but he’s swept back into the conversation before he can stop me. I don’t stay to watch the preparations. I gather up the hem of my robe so I don’t trip over it and flee back to my room.

Sensation is creeping through the blessed numbness—a horrible clawing that rips at my chest. But before I can shut the door behind me and figure how to feel about this, a hand pushes it open and Jost ducks in. His eyes are flat and cold, but the trance melts as we stare at each other. I’m glad we’re not immune to each other’s presence.

“I’m leaving,” he says. His tone is clipped. Formal.

“I heard … saw…” My words stumble out of me, and I want to sink into a puddle on the floor from embarrassment. Where is the girl who sat in her room, not crying, not feeling now? Why has she abandoned me at this precise moment?

“They have info on the Whorl. If they find it, I need to know,” he says.

“Why? You can’t do anything with it,” I point out.

“We could control Arras and if we do, I won’t rely on anyone else to help me get to Sebrina. Every second we waste here, I lose minutes with her! I don’t trust any of them to care about that,” he says. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I do understand.” The words explode from my mouth.

“I thought you did, but I can’t expect you to care about Sebrina the way you care about Amie or your agenda. If you want to get caught up in their war, so be it. I’m going after my daughter.”

He’s drawn a line down the room, the edge from our argument last night creeping into his voice. It’s a line I’m not welcome to cross.

“Leaving doesn’t change anything,” I say.

“I know,” Jost says coolly. “I don’t want it to.”

Okay, that hurt.

“To be clear, I want you to rescue Sebrina, too,” I say.

“I know that, Ad,” Jost says, “but you aren’t willing to fight to help me.”

That hurt, too.

“I’ve never stopped fighting,” I claim.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You aren’t responsible for her.”

“Sooner or later, you’ll have to let someone else in, Jost Bell,” I say.

“Why?” he asks.

I hesitate.

“I never wanted it to be like this—” he begins.

“You should go,” I say, cutting him off. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Jost reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I shatter, falling piece by piece back to the dome of safety in Arras. Back to stolen kisses. The memories mix together, muddling into something black and viscous, and the words I should say die on my lips.

“No, I’m not saying goodbye.” He walks out, sending my world spinning.