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“Then what did you mean?”
“There’s something about you that they’re fighting against with everything they have, to the point that Jakub is beating himself and Konrad is locking himself in the dungeons for days throwing knives at the severed head of the very man who hurt you.”
“What?” My stomach rolls with nausea.
“Five has spent some time with him down there.”
I shake my head, pushing that imagery out of my mind. “Are you saying I should feel bad for Jakub, for any of them? Thatyoushould?”
Three looks at her hands, picking at a loose bit of skin around her thumb nail. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m trying to say, or why I’m even saying it. All I know is that those men have endured great cruelty. The worst kind possible.”
“And you haven’t?” I counter.
“I didn’t say that.” Three swipes her hair behind her ears, then grips my hands in hers. “I’m just trying to understand how, even after The Collector’s death, they’re still not free.”
“Are you free?” I counter.
She sighs. “No. I guess we never were.”
“Then there’s your answer. If they had any redeeming qualities they would’ve let you go the moment their father died. They wouldn’t have kidnapped me. Leon wouldn’t have whipped Twelve until she could barely stand. Konrad wouldn’t have stuck his fingers inside of me whilst I was under the influence of a drug, unable to fight back, and Jakub wouldn’t have forced Seven to hurt you.”
Three flinches, but she doesn’t try to argue. God knows I’ve had moments when I could see why these men are the way they are. I’ve felt pity andempathydespite their cruelty towards me. So I get where she’s coming from. I really do. Except the difference is they had a choice when their father died. They had the chance to do better, tobebetter and they didn’t take it.
“The fact you’ve suffered like them and haven’t turned into a violent psychopath tells me all I need to know about the type of person you are compared to the men theystillare.”
“Then why did Jakub seek One out to beat him when doing it himself didn’t work—?” Three gives me a sad look, and I know that whatever respect she still has for One, is now slowly trickling away as she begins to see the truth of this place and the woman who has helped to keep it and The Menagerie alive. “Konrad hasn’t just been throwing knives at The Baron’s head either,” she continues. “Five said that he had a discussion with her about the human heart, aboutlove,as though he was trying to understand the concept. Why do you think that is?”
I shrug my shoulders, refusing to answer her. Feeling sick at the implication.
“We all know that something happened to you that night we left you in the Room of Fantasies—”
“This isn’t about me,” I argue, cutting her off. “I came here for you.”
“And whatever that was,” she pushes on, “It has something to do with the fact that Leon hasn’t left your side since. Leon, The Mask we fear above all the others, the most violent of all, is acting like someone who actuallycares.”
“Don’t do this, Three. If Jakub can punish you and Seven the way he did this evening because you showed him an ounce of kindness, imagine what he’ll do if he ever heard about this conversation. Leave it alone, okay?” I begin to draw away, but Three grabs my hands, refusing to let me go.
“Wait…” Three’s face pales, all colour draining from her skin as her thoughts run riot. “That night at dinner Jakub gave us this speech about The Weeping Tree. He warned us not to gossip, to speak of what happened. It bled...” Her eyes widen as she puts two and two together. “Did one of them…? Did you…?”
Did one of them kill me? Did I die?
I meet her gaze, refusing to cry about it, refusing to allow myself to feel anything other than anger. It feels like a lifetime ago, when in reality it’s only been a little over a week.
“Oh God,” she mutters, drawing her own conclusions from the look in my eyes as her tears fall freely now. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. You must hate me for trying to understand them. I’m a fool.”
“I don’t hate you, Three. You're a victim in all of this.”
“What are you going to do?” She asks, pulling me into a fierce hug, so tight I can barely get my next words out. But through gritted teeth I do.
“I’m going to set us all free.”
“How?” she asks.
“Don’t worry. I find a way,” I say, wondering whether she notices the subtle, but meaningful, turn of phrase.
