Earth isn’t exactly a paradise, and the Guild has made sure it’s even less possible every year to inhabit it, by stealing more and more of the planet’s resources. What the Tailors do is monstrous, but deep down I feel sorry for them. I know what it’s like to be caged, to feel like you have no options. The Guild systematically destroyed every option the Tailors had. How could they fight that?
“Dante said Tailors are everywhere in Arras. Medics. Guards. Doctors,” I tell them. “Did either of you know about this?”
“I would have mentioned it,” Jost says, and Erik gives an awkward laugh. At least they’re trying with each other.
“But why would they cooperate?” I wonder.
“Why do Spinsters?” Erik asks. “Given the right incentive, anyone can be bought.”
“Not anyone,” Jost says.
There goes the friendliness.
“I haven’t told you the weirdest part yet,” I interrupt. Taking a deep breath, I reveal my true relationship to Dante.
Erik blinks and Jost frowns. They either didn’t hear me or they’re in shock.
“So your dad is nineteen?” Erik says.
I nod.
“And you never knew he was your real father?”
“Oh, do you mean I never knew my real father was my father’s brother, who left my mother pregnant and escaped to an alternate reality before I was born?” I ask in a scathing tone, hoping the cracks in my voice aren’t too noticeable.
“So you didn’t know,” Erik says.
“I went from being an orphan to having two living parents—”
“Sort of,” Erik interjects.
“Not helping, Erik.”
“He’s your father,” Jost says. The frown has slipped from his face, and he’s far away again.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“He missed everything,” Jost says in a voice so low I barely hear him.
“Sorry?”
“He’s been away your whole life,” Jost says.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know what I was missing,” I say. The second the words launch from my lips I want to take them back.
In my own confusion, I hadn’t even thought of how Jost would take this news. Jost is thinking about Sebrina. Each day we spend on Earth is weeks in Arras. Each second that passes, Jost’s daughter slips further from his fingers. She doesn’t know what she is missing either.
But he does.
“I’m going to digest breakfast,” Erik says, although he hasn’t eaten a bite. Nothing about his tone is casual. He must have picked up on what was going on long before I did. Proof, once again, that the brothers are more attuned to each other than either would like to admit. He slips into the hall with a faint farewell, but I see his eyes turn back to his brother. He wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how.
“I’m sorry, Jost,” I say as the door shuts behind Erik.
“For what?” Jost asks, but there’s an edge to his voice.
“It didn’t occur to me,” I admit. “I didn’t think about Sebrina.”
“It’s not your responsibility to think about her,” he says, but it’s these words that reveal that the edge in his voice isn’t anger, it’s pain. I’ve hurt him. Not by reminding him of Sebrina or of how quickly he’s losing her, but because I hadn’t cared enough to think about it in the first place.
“I was so caught up in what Dante told me,” I say, but the excuse sounds lame. “I didn’t even think about Amie until now.”
“Amie’s a lot older,” he reminds me.
“And very impressionable,” I say, thinking back to how eager she was to be tested. How fascinated she was with the Bulletins, fawning over the Spinsters and their beautiful dresses. “She’s in danger, too. Cormac knows about her and she’s getting closer and closer to the age of Eligibility. We can’t waste time here. We need a plan.”
“Do you think Kincaid can help us?” Jost asks, and I can tell he doesn’t think Kincaid can—or will.
“I think it’s worth finding out,” I say. “We need help. Resources.”
Jost’s head snaps back and he stares at me, his eyes on fire. What did I say?
“Sorry I couldn’t provide for you,” he says in a low rumble.
I’m caught off guard by his reaction. I stumble to find words that aren’t angry or annoyed. “I didn’t ask you to.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Is this some sort of male-ego thing?” I ask. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need you to save me.”
“Maybe I want to save you.” He’s practically growling now. He’s not angry. It’s something else. Something primal. Something I’ve never seen in Jost before, and I understand. He couldn’t save Sebrina, but he wouldn’t lose me.
“That’s noble—”
“There’s nothing noble about it,” he says. His lips are on mine then and they crush so hard that I feel his teeth cut against the soft flesh of my mouth. I’m torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
The latter wins out.
But I don’t let him control the kiss. I push back harder as his arms circle my waist, pulling me roughly to him.
“Romantic,” I murmur through our fighting lips.
“Wow. This is your idea of romantic?” he asks. His grip on me loosens and his hands drop from my back. “I need to work on this with you.”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” I say, drawing him to me. I trace his shoulders, my fingers trailing along his chest until I bunch his shirt in my fists and force him to me. He doesn’t resist. He wants the world to fade away, too. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.
His mouth forces mine open, and my body reacts in interesting ways. First, there’s the tingle in my fingers I always feel when we kiss, but it spreads out, gathering finally into throbbing energy. We break apart, panting, and then I push him back against the fireplace and kiss him again. His body presses into mine, and he flips me around so that now I’m gripping the stone mantel. The stone is cold, sending shivers rippling through me, but I don’t care. His hands twist and grab my wrists, pinning them up over my head as his lips trace the hollow under my jaw.
“This is romantic,” he says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I murmur between his kisses.
We continue for a while, laughing and teasing and always kissing, but then he pulls back and his face grows distant. He’s stopping us again.
He doesn’t want you, the voice in my head mocks me. You’re not her. You aren’t his perfect wife.
No. I refuse to believe that. There are more important things than my insecurity right now.
“Jost.” I call him back to me. He doesn’t respond until I take his hand.
Tears pool in his eyes, and I feel the hot prickle of tears in my own.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“We’re going to talk to Kincaid,” I say firmly. “We can’t make a move until we know how to get back to Arras. Kincaid will know how.”
“How can we trust him?” Jost asks.
I understand his hesitation, even more so because we both have so much to lose if Kincaid betrays us. Kincaid was Guild once, but so were we. And if the Guild has done anything nearly as terrible to him as they have to us, I can’t blame him for abandoning them. I can’t blame him for wanting to destroy them.
“We don’t have a choice.”
FOURTEEN
I LINGER IN THE GARDENS THAT AFTERNOON when the artificial lights are turned high enough to feel like the sun, replaying Jost’s kiss in my mind. Even as a memory it pulls me apart, shattering me into a thousand glorious pieces that only he can put back together.
I feel eyes on me first, drawing me back to the present, and when I finally spot the man tucked behind a large statue, he saunters out. His smile is too wide, and as he approaches me, he bows. He’s about my height, but his features mimic Valery’s—a thick sweep of black hair and sloping, brown eyes. The lighting system fades as he gets closer to me, and I start to feel app
rehension ripple through me.
“Scheduled maintenance,” the stranger explains. “You must be our new guest.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes flickering to the doors that lead back into the main house. “I don’t know everyone here yet.”
“No, don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m Deniel.”
“You’re a Sunrunner?” I guess.
“Yes,” he says. His finger traces the air. “But I’m also a refugee from the Eastern Sector. You’re a refugee, too.”
I swallow hard but nod, wanting to keep things friendly. I have no reason to feel so nervous. Kincaid’s estate is impenetrable, but I’ve had little contact with any of the other Sunrunners. I curse the empty-headed romantic reverie that allowed me to let my guard down.
“I saw the Eastern Sector,” I say, recalling my goodwill tour with Cormac.
“There is so much beauty there. No doubt the remains of the culture we brought from Earth.” Deniel’s voice is so low he practically purrs. He offers his arm, and I take it tentatively. Relief floods through me as he leads me back toward the house, and I relax. “I left there long ago.”
“To come here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and pleasant.
“I worked the grey market in Arras until I was forced to come to Earth.” He speaks into the distance, not bothering to look at me.
“You must have left a lot behind,” I offer.
“Yes, but I keep my past close. My ojiisan gave me a piece of ivory. It is very old,” he says quietly. “Your skin is smooth and pure like it. Would you like to see it?”
I agree, but keep my eyes on the doors we’re nearing, counting the seconds until I can excuse myself.
Deniel draws out a smooth, sculpted piece of ivory. He holds it so close to me that I can barely see it. It is flawless, I think, and then he presses it to my chin. As his thumb twitches, I realize the ivory is actually a handle—a thin silver blade extends from it.
“Beautiful and deadly, like a woman,” he murmurs.
In an instant the blade is at my throat and Deniel forces me into the hall of the main house. My skin stings where the blade has slashed a shallow cut near the hollow of my neck. He presses his full weight against me and breathes hot and fast against my ear. I expect him to push me down to the floor, but instead the panel I’m crushed against trembles and rotates back. He drops the knife from my throat as he shoves me through the hidden door.
The room is out of place at the estate, lacking the opulence of the other chambers. It’s spare with cinder-block walls and a long, slick table. I fight the panic spreading through my limbs. It threatens to lock me down and make me an easy target. I turn to see the dark concentration in Deniel’s eyes. The room reminds me of a clinic, like the one where I was mapped in Arras. A realization that does nothing to stem my panic.
“I don’t like dangerous women,” he breathes, lingering in the doorway.
“Am I dangerous?” I ask, locking my gaze on his.
“You won’t be for long,” he says, edging toward me. His eyes bore into me, studying my face and then my body. It makes me want to hug myself protectively, but I stay still, waiting for the right moment.
Deniel inches closer, clutching his knife between us, moving me backward into the room.
“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to fight,” Deniel spits, saliva peppering my ear. There’s a note of amusement in his voice. “Do you think the Guild will let you go?”
The frozen part of me melts at his words. Clearly he doesn’t know me very well.
The blade presses into my throat again and his hand moves to my shoulder. He’s left the panel ajar. I only have to get there and then I’ll be back in the corridor. I feel the tug as his fingers dig into me. But he’s not merely scratching me, he’s ripping me open, tearing into my strands. His touch burns across my shoulder, blazing onto my neck.
The strands of the room come into focus—brilliant and tempting—and as my eyes fly to Deniel’s face, I realize I can see him and the shimmering threads that comprise him as he must see me now. His strands aren’t bright and golden, they’re tarnished brass and pulse with a near-crimson light. Without thinking, I claw at his shoulder, rending the tightly knit threads there, and the skin ruptures in the spot, blood spewing from the laceration. Deniel pulls back with a shriek of agony, clutching his wound. For a moment he looks like he may pounce again, but I raise my hands defensively, feeling his blood dripping down my long fingers. His shock and outrage mirror the raw anger I feel. His eyes slide to my fingers and the calculating look returns. Obviously he’s estimating how much damage I can do to him before he can stop me. But rather than attack, he laughs, shaking his head, his knife still raised.
I scream as loudly as I can.
It startles him, but he jumps at me, lunging to cover my mouth and losing his knife in the process. I know he can do plenty of damage to me without it, so I kick him hard. It only makes him angrier. I’m reaching to tear at him again when a guard bursts into the room and tackles Deniel.
Erik rushes in behind him and pulls me up from the floor, ushering me away from the mayhem as more of Kincaid’s men appear. The tears come then. They spill heavy and hot down my cheeks, washing the fear from my body and leaving me to tremble over what’s happened.
I watch as Kincaid’s men lead Deniel away to a fate worse than what he’d planned for me. I’m sure of that much.
“Are you okay?” Erik asks, taking my shoulder. When I don’t respond, he pulls me into a hug and I let him. I count his heartbeats, trying to breathe in rhythm with him, but his heart is racing too fast to calm me.
He takes me to my room and pulls a dress from the wardrobe. I look down and realize mine is torn. It flaps at the shoulder, ripped in the attack. I reach for my zipper and start to pull off the damaged gown. As I do, Erik throws his hands over his eyes.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice muffled by his hand.
“Are you covering your eyes?” I ask in disbelief. The gesture surprises me.
“I’m being a gentleman,” he says, still looking away.
“That would be a real first,” I tell him as I slip the dress over my head.
“I guess I’m a changed man,” he teases.
“You can turn around now,” I say after I’m sure that I’m completely covered.
When he does, I can’t help but notice that his cheeks are a little pink.
“Zip me up?” I ask. My hands are still shaking too hard to manage the last bit of zipper on the back of the dress. I pull my hair up and Erik tugs at the slider in a slow, gentle motion, one hand on the small of my back.
“What’s going on?” Jost asks, coming into the room. I pull away from Erik and fall into Jost’s arms while his brother explains what’s happened. Jost’s eyes travel between our faces, growing darker until they flame with anger. He jerks away from me and heads down the hall, forcing Erik and me to follow after him.
“Where are you going?” I call, but he doesn’t respond so I sprint to keep up with him.
“I’m going to have a little chat with Kincaid about his men,” Jost says through gritted teeth.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I murmur. “We’re his guests—”
Jost cuts me off. “And one of his guests was attacked. He needs a lesson in hospitality.” He whirls to face us, but I can’t think of anything to say that will stop him now that he’s reached this point.
“You don’t think he’s going to do something about this on his own?” Erik points out. “I doubt Kincaid will be happy to hear this has happened.”
“I think Kincaid is the one who sent him,” Jost says.
“Why? What purpose would that serve?”
“Everything serves a purpose,” Jost responds. “We can’t trust him. Do I have to remind you that he was Guild? The only thing we can trust is that he knows how to lie.”
“Maybe we should get Dante,” I suggest quietly, trying to draw down the volume of Jost’s voice so we aren’t over
heard.
Before we can talk Jost out of it, he’s bounded down the stairs to the main floor of the house. It doesn’t take long for us to hear the shrieking castigations coming from the assembly room.
“Yes, sir,” a guard says.
“This is poor form. What will my guests think?” Kincaid squeaks.
“He’s prepared to make amends for his … mistake,” the guard says.
“Oh, amends will be made,” Kincaid says.
For a moment we hang back, but something pushes me forward.
“Adelice,” Kincaid croons when I get close enough for him to see me. “I have been informed of what happened. In fact, I was about to send for you.”
“I’m sorry for interrupting. It was rude of me,” I say, “but I was hoping you had learned why he attacked me.”
“The boy is new, came in with a refugee group only a few weeks ago,” Kincaid says. “He had an introduction letter and everything. Standard protocol for someone who has come in through our contacts in Arras.”
“You should reconsider your contacts in Arras,” Jost says.
I put my hand on his arm as much to calm him as to warn him to be careful what he says to Kincaid.
“Deniel,” Kincaid says, “is going to be seriously punished.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’d like to know why he did it, but I don’t want him to be hurt.”
“I want him to be hurt,” Jost says.
“You should listen to your friend,” Kincaid says. “It’s not sensible to allow a man like this to prowl around.”
“And”—comes a voice to my left—“it’s important everyone gets the same message.”
I turn to Dante and stare at him. “Which is?”
“You aren’t to be touched.”
I follow Dante’s gaze to see it burning into Kincaid. His words are fiercely protective, and it feels strange. It’s not something I welcome exactly. Jost might treat me like I’m breakable, but his actions are rooted in his loss of Rozenn, something I’m only beginning to understand. Dante barely knows me though. He can’t turn on fatherly emotions like that. I don’t want him to.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Kincaid says from behind me. His voice is low and even, not his usual airy, bouncing tone. “None of my guests are to be touched…”
Altered Page 10