Before Serina could respond, he stood up and grabbed his pack, returning to sit just in front of her. “I need to change your dressing,” he said, pulling out his aid kit.
Gingerly, Serina drew her shirt off her shoulder.
In silence, Val changed the bandage over the bullet wound and rubbed salve on the cut on her arm.
“Were they caught?” Serina asked softly.
“My mother was taken first,” he said, staring at her arm even though he’d completed his ministrations. “One of the fathers of the children found out his daughter was learning to read and reported my parents, along with his own wife. My father tried to stop them from taking my mother, but they hit him. Knocked him out, right in front of me.”
Serina’s heart seized. She couldn’t bear Val’s story, the way he said the words so matter-of-factly, even as his whole body tensed.
“Two days later, they came for my father. I never saw him again. I think he was probably killed.”
“How old were you?” she whispered.
“Fourteen.” Val turned his attention back to the fire. “It took me two years to find out where my mother was, another year to pay for my new identity. Six months more to get this job. By then, she was gone. That was three years ago.”
Serina could hardly breathe. “Your mother was the one on the cliff. She was the jumper.”
Val nodded.
“How did you find out what happened to her?” Her heart ached for him.
At that, Val smiled. “Oracle told me. She remembered her. My mother was too old to fight by the time she arrived. She was going to teach the Cave to read. They didn’t have paper or books, of course, but she could do magic with a piece of charcoal and a bit of rock. She was going to contribute. But after she watched a couple of the fights, she… she didn’t want to stay.”
Serina curled her arms around her knees and stared into the fire.
“I’m sorry, Val,” she murmured.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “None of the guards know the story. They think I volunteer to bring rations to the crews because I want to prove myself, being the youngest. I’m as gruff and nasty as the rest of them, when they’re around. They never questioned it. I paid a lot of money to erase my connection to my parents and their—scandal.”
“Why did you stay, after you found out about your mother?” she asked softly. “You could have gone back to the mainland. Found another job, a wife…”
Val tapped the end of a stick against the ground. “I kept thinking about the families these women left behind. I started doing rounds, and I convinced a few girls not to jump.” He took a deep breath, his words halting. “It’s hard, watching so many people die. Every time a boat arrives, I think, this time I’ll leave. I’ll move on. But I never seem to do it. There’s always another girl standing on a cliff like my mother did. There’s another girl showing up at in-processing, so scared she can’t breathe.”
He looked up at Serina, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.
“I’m glad you thought I was worth saving,” Serina said.
“I think every woman is worth saving.” Val’s lip quirked. “You’re just especially needy.”
Serina bumped his knee with hers, as she might have done to Renzo when he teased her. But the heat that moved through her belly when she looked at him was wholly different. Val threw his stick into the flames, sending up sparks.
Serina’s hands tightened into fists. She shouldn’t need saving. None of them should. “Commander Ricci knows he’s got a precarious system,” she said. “That’s why he wants to use me as a lesson to the others. If we were to band together, stand against him…”
“A lot of you would die,” Val said.
“Not enough to stop us,” Serina replied. She never would have expected, before she’d come here, that her thoughts would ever run to blood. To revolution.
“Not enough to stop you,” Val echoed.
She looked over at him in surprise. “You agree with me?”
He met her gaze squarely, the firelight warming his skin. “I think the women in this prison—in this country—will rise up eventually. My father used to say that oppression isn’t a finite state. It’s a weight that is carried until it becomes too heavy, and then it is thrown off. Not without struggle, not without pain, but he believed the weight would always, always be fought and overcome. He wasn’t the only one trying to change things.”
Serina thought of Nomi and Renzo, how they balked at the strict dictates of their lives. She took a deep breath. “My sister can read.”
She’d never said it out loud before.
Val leaned toward her.
“Nomi convinced our brother to teach her, when we were growing up. They hid it from our parents, but I knew. Nomi read to me all the time. They asked if I wanted to learn, but I said no.” She swallowed, thinking back to those days, the secrets they shared. “I wish I’d let them.”
“Why didn’t you want to learn?” Val threw another stick into the fire.
“I was training to become a Grace—there was already so much to learn. And… it scared me. It was my duty to uphold the Superior’s ideal image of a woman. Learning to read was in direct opposition to that.” Serina looked down at her scratched hands and deeply tanned skin. She hardly recognized who she’d become.
“I saw your intake papers,” Val said. “I assumed you were a Grace. And your crime was listed as reading. How did that happen?”
“It was a mistake. Nomi had a book”—even now she couldn’t admit that Nomi had stolen it—“a book we’d loved as children. I was holding it, reciting the story from memory, when the Head Grace entered our room. She assumed I was reading, and then everything happened so fast.”
She hadn’t told anyone any of this. Not even Jacana. Oracle knew her sister had been chosen, but she’d never asked Serina why she’d been sent to Mount Ruin. Tears ran down Serina’s cheeks, and her breath hitched in her throat. “I don’t know if I saved her,” she said. “I wanted to help her, but leaving her in the palace, alone, with the Superior and his son… I may have secured her a future far worse than mine.”
Val reached out a tentative hand and rubbed her back.
Val’s comforting touch undid her. She leaned into him and he scooted closer, until they were sitting side by side, his arms wrapped around her. She laid her head on his chest and cried. He hushed her softly, like a child. The last few weeks flashed before her eyes, nightmare after nightmare, too horrifying to be real.
Eventually, she calmed. Her eyes felt gritty and swollen, and her head still ached. Outside the cave, the sky was edging into dawn. Her whole body hurt, bone-deep.
How was it that homesickness could be more painful than a bullet wound?
THIRTY-FOUR
NOMI
“I CAN’T BELIEVE the Heir’s birthday is tomorrow,” Maris said as she and Nomi strolled through the small garden near the palazzo. Ines had allowed them some fresh air; they were both testy and restless, with the celebration the next day. “I hope Cassia gets her wish.”
Nomi hoped so too. Tomorrow would either end with Asa as the new Heir or with her at the whim of his brother, and Serina’s future hung in the balance.
Our plan will work, she reassured herself for the hundredth time. She wished she could see Asa again before everything was set in motion. But he was in Bellaqua today. Maybe speaking to Renzo at this very moment.
And she was still waiting for Malachi’s summons. What would happen if he didn’t request her presence before tomorrow? Asa had seemed so sure that he would. If she wasn’t able to place the letter in his chambers, everything fell into question. The letter was the key to linking Malachi to their plot. Without that letter, there was no proof the Heir had anything to do with it. And then other suspects would be sought.
Nomi’s stomach clenched.
“We’ll survive this,” Maris said, misinterpreting Nomi’s look of concern. “As the years pass and he chooses more Graces, we’ll
see him less. We’ll get a little more space.” Maris wore her grief like an iron collar, always there, always dragging at her. She’d told Nomi she felt responsible for whatever had happened to Helena, and the not knowing ate at her every day.
Nomi took Maris’s arm. “Maybe one day, our lives can be about more than survival.” This was why she was risking so much. Because Serina didn’t deserve to be imprisoned… and neither did the rest of them. “We are not lesser beings, Maris,” she said, her voice shaking. “Someday, things will be different. I know it. I’m going to make it happen.”
Maris patted her hand. “I’ve stopped giving license to fantasies like that. My father used his cruelty skillfully.” But then her gaze sharpened, focusing in on something in Nomi’s face, on the force of her conviction. “You are speaking of fantasies, right?”
“Of course.” Nomi looked away. “It’s nothing. A hypothetical.”
Maris pulled her to a stop and turned to face her. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing,” Nomi said, but she’d never been good with masks. That was Serina’s weapon, not hers.
“No one here is worthy of trust,” Maris said softly. “The Superior’s Graces talk.… There are spies everywhere, people watching everything. Nothing is what you think here, Nomi.”
“What I think is that we deserve more than this,” she whispered. “We deserve to be free.”
Maris looked at her for a long time, the defeat in her eyes slowly bleeding into a desperate, unwilling hope. She shook her head, as if shaking off a dream. “Be careful. Please be careful.”
“Be careful with what?” A new voice intruded, loud and brash.
Nomi started, guilt written on her face clear as day. She turned to see Cassia stalk toward them, framed by the tall green hedges. How much had she heard?
The girl flicked her silver-blond hair over her shoulder. “Careful with what?” she asked again, raising a brow.
Maris recovered first. She arched a brow. “With the Heir, of course. Tomorrow night.”
Cassia licked her lips. “You don’t really think he’ll choose one of you to spend the night with, do you? I’ll be Head Grace, you wait.”
“What do you want?” Nomi asked, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
The girl shrugged, her flowing lavender dress rippling. “The Heir has asked to see all of us today. I’ve gone. Now it’s your turn, Nomi.”
This is it. The final preparation.
Nomi shuddered with nerves.
“Thank you,” she said. She glanced once more at Maris, willing her to have faith. And then she headed inside, trying to convince herself to do the same.
The Heir’s emissary led Nomi down the long tile corridor and opened the door carved with the leaping fish. With a small curtsy and a stomach swarming with butterflies, she entered the room. She gripped a small bag to her chest.
Malachi was waiting for her on the terrace. She moved to a spot along the railing next to him, not close enough to touch. She watched people move through the piazza, weaving between the stalls of the market. She pictured Renzo moving through the street, and couldn’t help but search for his dark mop of hair, his tall, lanky stride.
“You look beautiful,” Malachi said.
Nomi curtsied, her shimmering gray dress swishing. “Thank you, Your Eminence.” She reminded herself to be pleasant, to keep her anger to herself this time. She couldn’t risk Malachi asking her to leave before she’d placed the letter. She couldn’t make him suspicious.
Malachi turned and gestured to the closed door opposite his bedroom. “Please join me,” he said, and led the way.
Nomi gasped when he opened the door. He had his own library, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, windows overlooking Bellaqua, and several deep leather chairs. A low table of polished wood was set with a deck of cards, two frosted glasses of orange juice, and a plate of small, star-shaped cookies with pale yellow icing.
Nomi drifted to the nearest bookcase. It was filled with leather-bound volumes with titles like Festival of Corpses and The Foibles of Finnigan Hawk.
“Care for a game of Saints and Sailors?” Malachi asked mildly.
She whirled toward him, her cheeks reddening. “Oh, of course, Your Eminence. I would love to.”
Malachi laughed out loud. “You have never wanted anything less.”
Nomi bit her lip. She’d never heard him laugh before. It softened the harsh lines of his face and the dark glint of his eyes. He looked younger when he laughed.
“If I hadn’t suspected before, I certainly would have now,” he said almost gently. “Don’t let anyone see you around books. Your yearning gives you away.”
Nomi took a deep breath, panic unfurling in her chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Malachi’s smile faded. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m sorry, I—I—” she stuttered. Asa’s warning echoed in her ears.
The Heir moved closer to her. “You lie because you are afraid. But I will not punish you for this, if you tell me the truth.”
“Like you punished my sister?” she asked, fire igniting in her chest.
“She was not my Grace,” he said, adding, “and that was my father’s decision. I had no say.”
“But wouldn’t you have done the same?” Nomi’s pulse pounded in her temples. She wanted to rip him apart. “You left that book to trap me. You wanted to—”
“It was a test, not a trap.” His dark eyes held an expression she didn’t understand.
Nomi couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “You gave me a book about women ruling this country. About a history none of us are ever taught. Why would you do that?”
“Ah,” he said, and his face relaxed. “I thought that might draw you out.”
Despair burned through her. She’d risen to the bait. Now he knew she’d read it. With a breath, she braced for his wrath.
She was not prepared for his smile.
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you want me to be able to read?”
His expression softened. “I thought, if you could read, that would confirm something I suspected about you.”
“What?” Her heart clamored in her chest.
“I thought you were daring. Persistent. Now I know I was right. Maybe you won’t believe me, but I admire your nerve.”
Nomi flushed, disbelief radiating through her. Asa had said his brother was incensed by her defiance, not attracted to it. “Are you going to tell your father?”
“Of course not,” Malachi said. “But I know now, and that knowledge gives me great pleasure.”
Nomi could think of nothing to say.
He cocked his head at the bag she held. “More gifts?”
Nomi shook her head. “Your book.”
“You could have given it to the Head Grace,” Malachi said. “She’s the one who left it for you to find.”
“Ines? Your mother?” The woman who’d warned Nomi to follow the rules? The woman who’d turned Serina in for the very same thing? The thought of going to her with the book nearly made Nomi laugh in disbelief.
Malachi looked away. “Yes, my… mother.”
The pause caught Nomi’s attention. She thought about what Cassia had said, about Graces not raising their own children. “You don’t think of her like that?”
“As my mother?” Malachi’s hands clenched once, briefly, before relaxing. “No, not really. But… but I do trust her. She would not tell my father about the book.”
The book in the bag Nomi still clutched to her chest. Heart in her throat, she asked, “May I return it to your shelves?”
He gave her a casual nod and sank into a chair by the table, with his back to her. For an instant, she stared at him, confused beyond all measure. He’d just confirmed she could read, and… that was it? Was he truly not going to call the guards?
Remembering herself, she seized her chance, scrambling to remove the book and the letter from her bag. She slid the book onto a shelf, and the letter betw
een two books on the shelf above, the edge of the letter peeking out the tiniest bit. Not enough for Malachi to notice, hopefully, but enough for Asa to, when he brought the guards to search Malachi’s chambers.
Nomi took another deep breath as she turned away from the bookshelf. It was done.
He shuffled the cards. “So, a game?”
“Of course,” she said, forcing her muscles to relax even though she desperately wished for an excuse to leave, now that her task was complete. She sat down across from him as he dealt the cards, patterned side up. The other sides varied, with pictures of warty, crooked-nosed Sailors, red-lipped Sirens, uniformed Soldiers, and serene-faced Saints. The deck also had two cards where all the characters entwined suggestively. If one was played, the game reset. Cassia called them the “orgy” cards.
The objective was to end up with only Saint cards or Sailor cards. All Saints was better.
Nomi admired the cards in her hand. She’d never seen a set with such skilled illustrations. The images on the deck Renzo had were simplistic and crude. This set was beautifully detailed, the Siren’s eyes filled with murderous seduction, the Saint’s face beatific, his gaze turned upward.
The Saint didn’t look like he knew all the answers. He looked like he was still searching.
Nomi kept sneaking glances at the Heir. He’d gone to such lengths to confirm that she could read, just as a point of personal satisfaction? Was this part of his manipulation?
Her position felt more precarious than ever. There was so much she didn’t understand.
“I want to teach you to ride,” he said suddenly, shocking her again. Malachi played a Siren without looking at her, a red flush creeping up his throat.
“I don’t know, Your Eminence,” she said haltingly. “Those horses in the race, they were so large. I found them quite terrifying.”
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