Page 13

“Stop trying to keep me safe all the time, when you clearly don’t show the same consideration for yourself.” The chickens cluck nervously as he begins to pace around the barn. “You’re always telling me to stay here, be patient, be protected, but what if that’s not what I want? What if I want to do more, no matter the risk? And you feel like you can just waltz off to the Jewel because Hazel is in danger and expect everyone to understand. Well, I don’t, Violet. I don’t understand.”

“She is in danger,” I say.

“We’re all in danger!” Ash shouts, and Turnip whinnies, shaking her mane. He runs his hand down her long neck to calm her. “Don’t you even see the hypocrisy here? Don’t you get how unfair it is, that you are allowed to risk everything and I am not? The companions are my surrogates, Violet. They are my people and they are hurting, too, but they aren’t special in any way, so who cares? Who cares if they are bright, talented young men being abused and manipulated? They’re pretty little things who are only good for screwing, right? Why should their voices matter?”

“That’s not what . . . this is Hazel, Ash. My sister. You’d do the same for Cinder.”

It was the wrong thing to say and I know it immediately. Ash’s head whips up, his gaze so fierce it makes me shrink away.

“Don’t,” he says coldly.

My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry. I’m just saying we all have people we’re willing to sacrifice for.”

“And who do I have left, Violet? You. Just you.” He takes the bag off his shoulder and drops it on the ground. “But you seem to think you are the only one allowed to make hard choices. And you don’t seem to get that your choices affect other people, including me.”

He stares at me for a few seconds before shaking his head, turning on his heel, and storming out into the night.

WHEN RAVEN STOPS BY THE BARN TO GIVE ME BACK THE arcana, she knows that something is wrong.

I barely even need to explain the fight with Ash. My whispers must have been broadcasting at full volume. She moves aside the straw dummy Ash has her practice things like chokeholds and punches on and pulls me over to sit on a hay bale, wrapping her arm around me.

“He’s scared and angry,” she says. “And he wants to help.”

“I understand, but it’s like he doesn’t even realize the danger he’d be in if he left! I’m not saying I don’t believe in him—”

“Aren’t you?” Raven asks. There is no judgment in her tone but the question ruffles me anyway.

“What do you want me to do, say, ‘Yeah, Ash, great idea, go on off to the Bank and fingers crossed no one recognizes you’?”

“There are people he cares about in this city, too. And here in this house, it’s all about the surrogates. We never talk about the companions. No one does. Not Lucien, not Garnet . . .” She cocks her head. “We all have our own battles. I don’t want you going back to the Jewel any more than he does. I just know you well enough to know when fighting is pointless.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You better take care of yourself. And Hazel. And keep an eye on Garnet for me.”

I smile, though the argument still weighs on me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I wonder what his wife is like.”

“Pretty dull, from what he’s told us.” Garnet generally avoids mentioning Coral if he can help it. Especially around Raven.

She hops off the bale. “So you’ll be a servant again. Hey, maybe it’ll be an advantage. Maybe you can see if there’s any discontent in the royal Houses, you know, and use it for our cause.”

I know she’s just trying to help, to be positive. And I appreciate it. “Yeah,” I say. Then I pause. “Is . . . is he back at the house?”

“No,” Raven says. “I don’t know where he is.”

I give her a parting hug and get ready for bed. I climb up into the hayloft, carrying the satchel with Ash’s things in it with me. I lie down, close my eyes, and wish for sleep. But all I see is the Electress pouring poison into Hazel’s water glass. Or hiring someone to push her down stairs or suffocate her in her bed or . . .

The Duchess never lets Hazel out though, I remind myself. Shouldn’t her confinement be enough to keep her safe?

I open my eyes and stare at the slats in the ceiling, trying to will away my frustration and second-guessing. I always thought doing the right thing would be easy. If not easy to act on, at least easy to identify. But now I’m abandoning my own plan for something rash and half thought-out. I don’t even look like myself anymore.

There’s a creak on the ladder and I sit up.

“Ash?” I whisper. I feel his weight as he crawls over to me. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t—”

“Shhh.” He presses his lips to mine gently and I shiver. I pull him toward me, grateful for his comforting presence, the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin.

“I don’t want to fight,” he murmurs.

“Me neither.”