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“I like you fine,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my ears.
He tilts his head. “I know your secret.”
My heart stops dead. “My secret?”
“You are no third-ringer.”
“Of course I am.”
He shoots me a crooked grin that says,Oh, please.
How much does he know? I blink stupidly at him, my mouth dry.
“You don’t walk with the ease of a third-ringer. You keep pulling the edge of your overdress, as if you’re used to something longer. You’re fascinated by ikondials that no third-ringer would look at twice. But it’s the things you say that give it away. You’re a fifth-ringer.”
I search his soft, curious eyes for any hint of what else he knows. Does he know whose daughter I am?
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Cas.”
“You... won’t?”
“Is that so surprising?”
I can’t think of anything that’d be more surprising, save maybe him breaking into a jig. “You’re right that I’m from the fifth. How could I not be surprised? I know you don’t care much about us.”
His expression shutters, and he grows still and taut.
“Come.” He takes my hand and pulls me across the lushly carpeted hall, through a pair of doors. For a moment, I’m taken in by how he smells; under the scents of leather and metal is a sweet darkness, like honeysuckle and a heady something I’ve never smelled before.
We come out onto a balcony. I suck in a breath. The whole city lies at our feet. The fifth seems so dim and far away, overshadowed completely by the Storm. “I care. But I have to care for more than just the fifth. Look. This is what I have to think of, this is my problem to solve.” He stares straight ahead, at the Storm.
Having said enough, I bite my lip.
A vein in his jaw moves. “What would you have me do?”
Be smart, Vesper. “Nothing. It’s not my place.”
“Tell me,” he commands, and I’m reminded that he has all the power here. “What would you have me do?”
His imperiousness does it. “It’s what you’ve already done. Why would you burn down a home for the stormtouched? They were innocents. Their lives were already bad enough, don’t you think? Without having to go—like that—”
“I’m sorry.” His hands clench into fists as I scrub a wayward tear from my cheek. “You knew them?”
I’ve given too much away. “Everyone in my part of the fifth knew them. She—the home gave us hope.”
A slow shaky breath. I meet his eyes, surprised at the wetness in them that he rapidly blinks away.
My voice is a whisper. “Why did you do it?”
He plucks at that stupid cord around his wrist. “It was my fault. But I didn’t—I wouldn’t—do such a thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told my people to watch the home—there was something I waslooking for. But setting a watch drew attention to the house. Others found out.” He takes a long, careful breath as if steeling himself. “They set the fire.”
His words pummel the air out of me.
“What others?”
