The light was leaving. And then it was gone.
“Good god! Harriet!” The darkness was absolute, a black hole. Alora stretched out her fingers tentatively, and knew by the sudden flurry in her head,This has happened to me before.
But why?
And then she remembered—only a little—but she remembered. A dream of masks and hoods and leather gloves.
“I take light and break it, Miss Pennigrim.”
“A light-breaker and a regenerator.”
Captain.
Bash.
Oh. Oh no.
BashfuckingMerridon.
So much for a potential ally; they were the same man! Alora felt a rising presence behind her, the sensation skittering across her skin before diving further in. She smelled leather andguilt, and it filled her nostrils until nothing else remained. Her fingers found the only thing available to her—a hair pin.Hideous gold, she thought.
“You lied to me,” she whispered, and wondered why the idea of it hurt so much. Of what memory she couldn’t yet find.
“Alora,” said the presence, apologetic. Leather-clad fingers enclosed her own.
If she’d her full capabilities, she would have imagined him maimed, but as it was, she couldn’t even conjure the thought. So, instead, she did the next best thing and spun in her seat. Straight into his waiting chest, she stabbed.
The light returned in an instant. Alora crushed her hands to her temples to avoid falling off the stool. It was disorienting to be catapulted from an impenetrable dark, and she nearly swooned.
“Son of a fucking hellhound,” hissed the voice from somewhere in front. “Can I not go more than a day without being stabbed?”
Alora blinked slowly at the ground, taking in black boots, the hairpin now clattering to the tile, its end coated scarlet. The cold fury she’d seen in the mirror disappeared as she stared at that hairpin, replaced instead with something hot and fierce. She’d been deceived. By someone she cared about. She was so angry, spots danced in her vision. She rose from the stool.
“Again, I’ll ask, do Iknow you?” Alora took advantage of the captain’s preoccupation with finding the puncture wound on his chest. She shoved him.
His hood shifted as he stumbled, focusing on her. “Easy, Alora. I can explain.”
“Please do,” she said, marching forward until her bare feet toed his boots. “You lied to me. I’d love to know why. Is it because I can hardly remember and so you wished to take advantage of that fact? Well, I’ll tell you, I haven’t forgotten everything, and I certainly won’t forget this.”
“We were being watched.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that line before.”
“I’m telling you the truth. We were not alone in that hall. The fairy lights—”
“And we’re alone now? My chaperone is just upstairs!”
“She never made it that far. I sent her away.”
“Did you now? Well, that is just…perfect.” Alora pulsed with anger. And she didn’t want to keep it locked in. For once, she wanted to act rashly. To show how she felt inside on the out.
She knew precisely how Bash stood and precisely where she wanted him to fall. She kicked at his knee, and when it buckled, she didn’t reach to steady him but pushed instead.
Bash Merridon, the master’s dutiful son, toppled into her cold bathwater with a splash that soaked the room.
Silence. Alora could hear nothing besides her own breaths in the aftermath, and that quiet felt charged, prepared to explode.Oh, he is angry.But that suited her just fine; she was angry too. As the captain climbed from the water by slow, exacting measures, his shirt clinging to his skin beneath his coat, Alora backed away. He looked like a grim reaper like this, which was an unpleasant comparison to make when she was incapable of running farther than the front door. He ripped the hood from his head. He stripped the gloves away. The coat he shed without difficulty, pulling it from his arms.
When he lifted his gaze to her, she stilled. Above the mask, his eyes were green but veined by black. Even as she watched, darkness writhed within the whites of them, like it wished to take over and destroy every modicum of light within the room. She swallowed, trying and failing to imagine what he might do to her.
