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Gillian nods, her gaze fixed on Maela. “I thought I could escape.”
I take a small step forward, knowing I can’t let this girl lie to save me. I don’t know why she’s doing it. But I do know the punishment for girls who try to escape. But as I move out of the line, Pryana’s nails dig into my arm and drag me back.
“Very well.” Maela nods to the guards. They don’t shackle the girl. Instead she falls into step behind them, as though she knows exactly what’s expected of her. A shiver races down my neck.
Maela waves off the rest of the group. “You may finish your meals.”
As she turns to leave, her eyes meet mine. The tilt of her head would be imperceptible to anyone else. No one here knows Maela like I do. The message is clear: it’s my move.
When the dinner shift ends, Pryana and I race back to my quarters and we’re barely through the door before I drag her into the bathroom.
“Nice trick,” she says as I turn on the faucets to drown out our conversation.
“I learned how to survive around here. It seems you have, too.”
She shrugs. “We do what we have to do.”
“Including letting an innocent girl confess to treason?” I fight to keep my voice lower than the running water, even as blood pounds in my ears.
“I didn’t see you step forward.”
“I tried to! I want answers!” I demand, losing control over the volume of my voice.
Pryana’s jaw clenches and her coffee-colored eyes flash to mine. She looks away and shakes her head. “Gillian sacrificed herself for the cause.”
“What cause?” I manage. “What cause does the Agenda have that requires suicide?”
Pryana’s eyes roll back. “Don’t play dumb, Adelice. You know what we’re fighting for. Gillian did what she had to do to protect the Whorl.”
“Get out,” I say in a low voice. “Get out and tell whoever else is playing rebel here this: I don’t need protecting.”
Pryana’s eyes narrow, although she doesn’t challenge me. When she leaves, I move to the sink. Placing my hands under the running water, I splash it on my face and watch it stream across my skin. I rinse my face and my neck and my hands until I’m as clear skinned and pure as the girl who stepped forward for me today. But no matter how hard I scrub, I’ll never wash her blood from my hands.
THIRTEEN
A KNOCK SOUNDS AT THE DOOR. No one except Pryana and Amie knocks when they come to visit, and I’m fairly certain they’re both upset with me. People only come to deliver food or clean or check my companel and they never wait for me to let them in. But when I open the door, I know the person is here to see me.
“May I come in?” Maela asks.
I step aside and allow her into my living room. She flits into the space, picking up a vase from the mantel over the fireplace. I half expect her to try to shove it into her pocket. It’s written on her face: these should have been hers. Her quarters. Her job.
Her Cormac.
But that doesn’t explain why she’s here now.
“Can I get you something?” I ask her. “A drink? A map back to your room?”
“It’s lovely to see you, too,” she says. Maela doesn’t take the hint. Instead she drops into a recliner, crossing her legs like she’s getting comfortable.
I give up hope and sit down across from her. “I thought you might visit sooner.”
“Cormac has you under lock and key. I wasn’t allowed,” she explains.
“You’ve never let that stand in the way before.”
Maela sees rules as optional. She showed her flexibility with them more than once during my training—ripping an entire academy, torturing me with razor-sharp thread. It’s not like her to do as she’s told.
“But when I saw you in the dining room earlier, I assumed it was permissible for me to call on you.”
