I pull back to look up into his face. “There could be a lotmore trouble coming even after I’m out of danger of murder. Are your parents really going to be happy about you having a match with a questionable family history? I don’t know enough about my mom’s side to say what they were like, but my dad’s parents didn’t approve.”
Will Byron’s, even with my confirmed Devine heritage in the mix?
Byron lets out a soft chuckle. “Honestly… knowing a little more about your mother will probably be a good thing. Did the other me ever tell you the Worth policy on matches?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Not that I remember.” There wasn’t much to explain about why they’d disapprove of him being matched to an outcast with unknown, undignified origins.
He tucks his arm around mine and guides me in a stroll past the shops. “Apparently my great-great-great-grandfather’s sister sparked her match with a white man, who rejected her so callously she killed herself. Since then… Black, brown, Asian, Native—that’s all fine. My second father’s background is Bolivian. I’ve got an uncle who’s Vietnamese and a great-aunt who’s only Ethiopian on one side. But fully white… when that’s happened again, the Worth involved refused the match. It’s been a few generations since the last time. We figure Fate got with the program.”
“Oh.” The clammy sensation turns chillier. “Then at first… When you only knew about me as a Devine…”
Byron’s voice tightens. “I wasn’t looking forward to telling them. There would have been pushback. But I figured it was time to give it a chance. That Fate wouldn’t have given me a match like this, with such a large union, if it wasn’t for the best. But it turns out it wasn’t going against our policy after all.”
He offers me a wry smile that I find myself returning. Behind it, my gut staysknotted.
“Will your family accept that you’re not the core of your union?” I ask. “In… in my old reality, they insisted you reject the match partly so you could stay on as the heir to the Worth name. When you stuck with me, they disowned you. Left you with nothing.”
Byron’s eyes widen. “I hope my versions of my parents are more generous than that. But—you said you were seventeen when you sparked that first match?”
I nod.
He squeezes my hand. “That’s partly why it went so badly. I got full access to several accounts and investments in my name when I turned eighteen. Even if they pitch a fit and kick me out of the family, I’ve got plenty of my own resources now. It won’t be enjoyable having them turn their backs on me… but even if it comes to that, you don’t have to worry about how I’ll get by.”
I don’t like the thread of pain that winds through his voice when he talks about losing his family’s support, but the knowledge that he won’t be left penniless brings a whiff of relief. He wouldn’t be left squeezing in whatever work he could get around classes and sacrificing every comfort just to cover his Luminary tuition.
Even I have far more resources here than I did before. It’s not as if Other Elodie will be using her bank balance.
Byron takes in the colorful storefronts, a smile returning to his face. “What’s your favorite part of this neighborhood—or the closest equivalent to the one you knew? Give me a little more of the Elodie experience.”
My own lips curve upward, but my heart still feels heavy. There are so many other downsides to our match… The clash between our glim types, the way the union would tie him to other families like Salvatore’s that could affect his future prospects…
I can’t bring myself to mention any of that, not when he’s working so hard to lift my spirits. Just for now, in this oneway, I can give him some happiness rather than dragging him down with me.
And who says I can’t spoil my match a little after all the ways he’s comforted me today?
Asher’s comment about his little “missions” weaves through my thoughts.
I tug Byron toward a shop by the corner that’s almost identical to the one in my memories. “Then we’d better head to the grocery store. I need a proper tea blend for chai—and I think I remember them carrying gummy candies in the snacks aisle, if you’re still a fan of those?”
Byron ducks his head with the same embarrassment he showed when I first uncovered his sweet tooth. I guess even if his parents aren’t the disowning sort here, they’re still the type to frown at “lower-class junk food.”
“Can’t wait to try some new flavors,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle my hair. And I try not to wonder if I’m only tangling him deeper in a mess he doesn’t deserve.
Thirty-Eight
Colson
At the end of Friday’s 15th-year class, I make a point of calling a few students over to comment on their most recent assignment rather than singling out Elodie. She waits by the nearest row of desks, her expression impassive, while I point out areas for improvement to her classmates.
She manages to look totally unconcerned other than a brief fidgeting with the hem of her gloves. I catch a glint of silver that tells me she’s wearing the bracelet Asher gave her, which eases my own concerns a little.
When the last of the other students leaves, she approaches my desk at a casual pace. I’m struck again by conflicting emotions: chagrin that I didn’t realize just how different she was from the first moment this Elodie arrived in my classroom, awe that she hides it so well no one else has suspected.
Something in this Elodie Devine’s original life taught herhow to tamp down all her feelings and present only a disaffected front, an act that’s served her well.
How hard did she have it in her former reality that it prepared her to face mysterious factions out for her blood?
And how can I convince her that she doesn’t need to put on a front with me?
