Page 76 of Pretty Savage: Defy

The mark Carrson never chose.

“They call it an initiation into manhood,” she continues. “A lesson in obedience and endurance.”

“It sounds like abuse.”

“Often, tradition is simply abuse that has survived long enough to earn a more respectable name.”

The answer surprises me.

“Then why are you helping them continue it?”

“Because understanding a system and pretending it doesn’t exist are not the same thing.” She lifts one of the towels and places it beside the robe. “I have spent my life learning which traditions can be changed, which can be used, and which ones will crush you if you ignore them.”

“That sounds like something Carr would say.”

“Carr and I learned many of the same lessons. Often side by side. We didn’t always reach the same conclusions.”

“So you were bonded once?”

“Worse,” she says, “we were in love. We still are, but something you’ll realize as you grow older is that love isn’t always enough. Not unless you choose each other above all else.”

Rebecca pulls aside the neckline of her blouse, exposing the brand high on her chest. The cross of The Order. Beside it is another scar, rougher and less precise, shaped like a jagged crescent.

I lean forward. “Is—is that a letter C?”

Color rises into Rebecca’s cheeks, and I don’t think the steam is entirely responsible. “In my defense, Carr has one too. A B, for Becky. That’s the name I used when I was younger.” She pauses. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

I nod.

“Never give a man anything he wouldn’t give you in return. Always make sure it’s even.”

Before I can respond, she lets her blouse fall into place, then walks to the far side of the chamber and turns away from me. “You may undress. I won’t look.”

I don’t move.

Rebecca waits without turning around.

“What exactly am I washing off?”

“The Order calls it purification. I’ve never cared for that word. It suggests a girl arrives here unclean.” She looks up at the carvings on the wall rather than toward me. “I think of it as crossing a threshold. You enter as a child. You leave knowing what membership requires.”

“What does it require?”

“I’ll explain while you bathe.”

I look at the stairs. I could leave. Rebecca said the choice was mine, and so far, she hasn’t done anything to stop me. Too bad for me, I’ve never been good at walking away from unanswered questions, especially when they concern Carrson Ashford.

I undress.

The chamber air brushes cold across my bare skin. Rebecca keeps her back to me as promised, her attention fixed on a Latin inscription carved into the wall. I stare at it too, wishing Carrson were here to translate, although I know what he’d do if he saw me standing here. He’d demand I leave. Drag me upstairs himself.

I lower myself into the bath.

The water is hotter than I expect. Heat climbs my legs and gathers around my waist as I sit, sending the flowers drifting toward the bronze edges. The bath is deep enough that the water reaches my chest.

Rebecca points to the silver bowl without turning.

“Use that to rinse your hair. The soap contains rose, honeysuckle, and myrrh. Different families add their own ingredients, but those three have been used by the Ashfords for generations. I added magnolia for the Bellefleurs.”