Enne was now in the position to make demands, but she had little idea which decision was the wisest. Certainly, it would be safest to kill someone who wanted her dead.
She pressed the knife against Lola’s throat, and the blood gazer whimpered, all bravado disappearing in a moment.
It was the whimper—not her own murderous thoughts—that startled Enne. Was she prepared to kill a girl no older than herself? Was she prepared to kill anyone at all?
Enne had left her world behind to come to New Reynes, and each new day had revealed a new sacrifice. Her freedom. Her innocence. Her identity. The more the city took from her, the more her resolve grew to protect the remnants of her old life she had left. Her hope. Her self. Her survival.
“I didn’t come to New Reynes for trouble, if that matters to you,” Enne hissed. “There are people I care about in this city, too.”
Lola’s eyes softened. Barely.
“Tell me about my talents,” Enne demanded.
“Your full name is Enne Dondelair Scordata,” Lola whispered, and Enne froze. “Do you see now why I’d call you a threat?”
Enne barked out a laugh. ADondelair?Even in Bellamy, they knew of that family. Every word Lola uttered was growing more and more absurd.
But against all rationale, a part of her wanted to believe it. Despite their infamous treachery, the Dondelairs had once been considered one of the most renowned families of acrobatics, and Enne, who had spent her entire life considered common, hungered to be called exceptional. Just once.
But Lola was right to call Enne a threat. A Mizer and a Dondelair. Either was worthy of execution. If Lola was to be believed, Enne had been a criminal since the day she was born.
“Who were the Scordatas?” Enne asked.
“I don’t know,” Lola answered. “Not one of the royal bloodlines of Reynes. It came from your father’s side.”
Her father. The father Lourdes had claimed was a dancer, from a common family of one of the most common talents. Enne had always assumed Lourdes hadn’t known her father, and Enne had rarely dwelled on him. She’d liked to imagine that he was alive somewhere, that he’d found a happy ending, even if her mother’s had been tragic.
But Lola’s claims meant that both of her parents, beyond a reasonable doubt, were dead.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Enne said. She reached for Lourdes’s rules, for familiar words to recite until she once again felt at ease. But her mouth was dry. Lourdes had lied. Not just about her politics, about her double life, but about Enne’s very identity, and Enne, miles away from her home, a knife clutched in her trembling hand, dried blood crusting her arm, didn’t know how she would ever forgive her. “But I came to New Reynes to save someone, and I’d rather shed tears over her. Not a stranger who wishes me dead.”
Lola bit her lip and lifted her head higher, away from the knife. “Please don’t,” she whispered.
Enne’s choices, as it turned out, were one mistake after another. Tracking down Lola was a mistake—now she had secrets she didn’t want and a blood gazer who could only become a liability. Finding Levi was a mistake—he knew no more about Lourdes’s whereabouts than Enne did. Journeying to New Reynes was a mistake—if Lourdes could never be found, then the only other things Enne had left were in Bellamy, at home. But now, thanks to Vianca’s omerta, she couldn’t even go back.
Not everything she had was in Bellamy, she reminded herself. Lourdes was, hopefully, here. Levi was here. Her answers were here. Her desire to return home was only a desire to forget this place, and Enne was beyond forgetting. She had already passed the point of no return.
“Then give me a way out,” Enne pleaded.
“I won’t tell anyone who you are. I promise.”
“Your promise means nothing. You wanted to kill me just for being who I am.”
Lola glared at her. “Fine. I’ll swear to you.” She made a crossing motion over her chest, the same as the Irons did for Levi.
Enne nearly laughed. Swearing was for cheats like Levi and snakes like Reymond. Enne was simply a girl from a finishing school.
“What good will that do? I’m not a street lord.”
“There’s power in an oath. I wouldn’t be able to tell someone even if I wanted to.”
That didn’t make sense: only talents held power. The concepts of magic or anything more than that came from the Faith, from the stories the Mizer kings told to shape themselves into gods. Like Lourdes, Enne was a pragmatist; there had been no fairy tales and ancient lore in their household growing up. What Lola claimed was impossible.
“That can’t be true,” Enne said.
“Like your talents can’t be true?” Lola countered.
Enne clenched her teeth. Even if the oath’s power was real, that made her no better than Vianca. But it was also the only option they both had left.
