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I carefully set down the pistol and all the knives except one, then picked up one more pillow from the bed and slashed through it, sending feathers into the air. I stepped back and smiled before pulling open the curtain. It would’ve been nice if I could break the window to add to the effect, but my father was likely to notice it on our way out. Instead, I cranked it wide open.
I turned around and analyzed the scene.
There was just one thing missing.
I went to the dresser and opened my pearl clutch, taking out the glass jar. No doubt the butcher had been shocked when a grimy Cait showed a Class A rank card and selected his bloodiest cuts of meat, but it had been enough to fill the jar.
Blood splashed onto my hand when I twisted open the lid. Just then, a rhythmic knock sounded on the door.
“Mara?”
I set down the jar and wiped my hand on the bedsheets before crossing the room. A long breath later, I summoned the courage to unlock the door.
I opened it a crack and peered out. “Yes?”
“So.” My father’s voice sounded almost upbeat. “Today’s the big day. I hope you’re not too weak to enjoy it.”
I tried to put excitement into my tone. “No, not at all.”
He looked at me curiously. “So, your bout of, uh, depression is gone?”
“Long gone.”
He smiled widely. “Good. Be ready as soon as you can. We’re expected at the Brennin House in less than an hour.” He turned and began to walk away.
I cleared my throat. “Just one thing.”
He stopped and looked back, a hint of a frown on his face.
“I hired a lady’s maid. I hope you don’t mind. I just figured since I’ll be queen, it was time, you know?”
His gaze drifted over my head and he took a step closer.
“I’ll be ready soon!” I slammed the door and locked it before he could see the disaster inside.
Sighing with relief, I went back for the jar, ready to paint the room red.
ChapterForty-Three
I stoodat the bathroom mirror, weaving a black ribbon through my braided strands. Cait waited in my connected bedroom.
I’d changed into a black mourning gown, which only emphasized the contrast of my pale hair. I’d even put on makeup for the first time in my life—powder to hide my tan, color on my lips, and a liner on my eyes. It didn’t matter if I looked pretty. I just couldn’t look like Bryn Yarrow.
I put on a gold necklace that had belonged to my mother. It felt heavy and uncomfortable on my collarbones. When I could hardly recognize the woman in the mirror, I decided I was ready.
“Wow,” said Cait when I went into the bedroom. “Not bad.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “Oh, and while I’m out, why don’t you go see your family?”
She slumped against the wall. “Will they want to see me? I didn’t exactly make them proud.”
“You might be surprised. Besides, you’ll regret it if you don’t go.”
She gave a tiny noncommittal nod.
“Whatever you choose, watch the clock.”
* * *
