I look up and find her standing with Death at the foot of the bed. “You,” I bite out, pointing at Death. “You almost killed someone for me yesterday. Even if I wanted your help, I wouldn’t want it like that.”
Death catches at her ever-shifting cowl with an ephemeral hand. “That wasn’t me. I mean, yes, I was there for the boy, but only because he was about to die on his own.”
“So . . . I did save his life?” I pause dueling the sleeve ties. Idon’tlike the idea of being responsible for that. Whatever Emeric does next better be virtuous as a saint, or Eiswald better not hold it against me.
Fortune steps closer. “There are dangerous forces at work here, Vanja, and you are too close to the heart of it all.” She tips my chin up. “Death and I have been talking, and we decided . . . You don’t have to choose between us.”
Any protests die on my tongue.
If I don’t have to choose, don’t have to serve, I won’t need to flee the empire, I won’t need to keep running from them, I couldstay, I could—maybe I could make something like a home—
“You can serve us both,” Death adds. “We agreed. We—”
“NO!” I jerk away as Fortune reaches for the sleeve ties.
Fortune draws back like I slapped her. “We’re trying to be reasonable here, Vanja. Eiswald can’t hold a curse on one of our servants. You can trade off between us, serving me one week—”
“I never wanted to be your servant!” I almost scream. “I wanted to be yourdaughter!”
Silence locks the room.
“All we want is to protect you.” Death sounds hurt. I don’t know why I expected a god to understand. “Please, Vanja. Just let us help.”
I shake my head, willing iron into my spine even as I feel my throat tighten. “You don’t help. You bargain. All you offer has strings attached. If you have nothing to give freely, go.”
There’s no answer. The room falls quiet save for the crackle of the fire, and the afternoon feels colder despite it. They’re gone again.
I hear Ragne sit up, but she doesn’t say a word.
I shove my shoulder back up against the bedpost and go back to the sleeve ties. “Is . . .” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat hastily. “Is your mother like this?”
“No,” Ragne answers. Some part of me crumbles a little. “She is nice, sometimes, and she is cold, sometimes, but she does not expect anything for her help.” She crosses the room and starts working on my other arm. “I do not either.”
I want to yank free and do it myself . . . but the sun is only an hour from the horizon. The guests will be here any minute.
“Thanks,” I mutter instead.
“The Gisele didn’t barter for her help either.”
I frown at her. “When did Gisele help you?”
Ragne deftly cinches an elbow tie. “When I pushed the Emeric Conrad out of the river. The Gisele was crossing the bridge and she ran to help us. She said she was coming to see you, but she helped the boy instead, since it was cold and he was very wet. She didn’t ask for anything in return.”
“Glad she finally figured out how to do that,” I snap. “Don’t trust her to keep it up.”
“I think she might be nice,” Ragne insists. “She was—”
“Then let her help you!” The words explode from me as I shake Ragne off my arm. “Go be her new little pet, and don’t come crying to me when she turns her back on you too!”
Ragne stares at me, red eyes wide as saucers. Then she turns into a squirrel and runs under the bed, leaving the nightshirt in a heap on
the floor.
I—no.
Irefuseto feel guilty.
I finish tying up my sleeves myself. It takes longer than I’d like. Longer than Adalbrecht would like too, evidently, because there’s a knock at the door just as I knot the final point. I check the mirror one last time to make sure the pearls are securely in place, smooth my white-gold curls, and answer.
