She had changed her favor. It was supposed to be a source of pride for her now, supposed to represent everything she’d survived, everything she’d fought for.
So why did she still feel so small when people stared at her?
She dropped Raven’s hand. A beat of awkward silence passed between them.
“Hey, we made it fifteen minutes in this town before you picked a fight. That’s got to be some kind of record for you, right?” Raven said after a moment, bumping into her playfully.
Aster could tell Raven was trying to make her feel better, but she wasn’t in the mood. “I didn’t even start that fight. Some … grandmotherly type did.”
“Old bat.”
“Mm,” Aster agreed. Something about the old woman’s voice had reminded Aster all too much of Mother Fleur. Aster felt her focus slipping. Suddenly the sun on her neck felt too hot, the chatter on the street too loud. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, trying not to think about the bodies pressing up against her. Marjorie, the Ladies’ second-in-command, had counseled her before on how to pull back from the brink of fear.
That panic you feel, Aster … when a man raises his voice or looks at you the wrong way … when anything happens that reminds you of the welcome house … just know that we’ve all felt it. Your body thinks you’re back in danger, so you have to remind it that it’s not. Count your breaths. Close your eyes. Ground yourself in the present moment.
And what if the present moment is a dangerous one? Aster had asked darkly.
Then remember that you’ve survived danger before.
“There’s City Hall,” Raven said, breaking in on Aster’s thoughts. She pointed ahead of them to a domed white building. The Arkettan flag flew high and proud from its perch, a crimson chevron against a gray field, and the Arkettan national motto was engraved below the roof: GLORY TO THE RECKONING.
In front of the building stood a large wooden stage strewn with streamers. A group of well-dressed fairblood men—politicians, Aster could only assume—were seated on risers behind an empty podium. The grassy courtyard in front of the stage was roped off and packed with people eager for McClennon to appear.
The entire quad was crawling with lawmen. Brandishing sidearms and long guns, patrolling on foot and horseback, sweeping the perimeter with panting hounds.
Raven scowled. “Ripping badges.”
“It’s fine. We expected them.” But not this many—Aster had never seen this level of heightened security for a public event before. Their escape from the welcome house, and again from the McClennon estate, must have put the fear of the dead into the old man. Aster might have gotten some wry satisfaction out of it if it hadn’t made things so impossible for her. She wouldn’t get her shot at McClennon today—that much was clear. Aster sighed, pulling out her guarants and gesturing for Raven to do the same.
“Whoa, there!” the nearest lawman said as soon as he saw them approaching the courtyard. His meaty hand fell to the billy club at his belt. “Who are you girls with?”
“Ourselves!” Aster said brightly. She forced her grimace into a smile. By the dead, she was bad at this. Where was Violet when you needed her? “Mr. Wise was kind enough to let us have an afternoon in the city, and we figured we might as well see what all the fuss was about.”
The lawman narrowed his eyes as he took Aster’s papers from her and looked them over through his lens. He seemed almost disappointed to find them in order.
“And you?” he said gruffly, turning to Raven.
Raven didn’t even pretend to smile, just handed her guarants over wordlessly.
“All right, go on in,” the lawman conceded, handing their papers back. “But no trouble, understand? These are decent folk out here. I hear any complaints about you two, and Mr. Wise’ll have to pick you up from the lawmaster’s office. And that’s a promise.”
“Of course, sir, thank you, sir,” Aster chirped. Bastard.
They joined the crowd.
“Keep close to me,” Aster ordered, focusing on her breathing once again as they made their way toward the front. “We can’t afford to lose each other in this crowd.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not as if I want to get any closer to these rich assholes than I have to,” Raven muttered.
They found a spot for themselves beside a trash bin. Thankfully, the people around them were focused too intently on the stage to pay much attention to the unattended Good Luck Girls in their presence. They just shifted subtly away from Aster and Raven, as if they were part of the rubbish and exuding a bad smell.
“It’s like they’re trying to pretend they can’t see us,” Raven said through her teeth. “Do you reckon this man here would even notice if I swiped his pocket watch right now—”
The crowd suddenly burst into applause around them, drowning out all other sound. Jerrod McClennon was jogging up the stage and striding towards the podium, his hand held up in greeting, his grin bent like a skinning knife. He wore a gunmetal gray suit with a bloodred dustkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. His top hat was angled rakishly atop his head, his long auburn hair spilling out from underneath it. Two armed raveners walked out behind him, their hawk-eyed gazes cutting across the cheering crowd.
Aster stiffened. Being in Northrock was hard enough, but seeing McClennon’s face again, seeing those raveners—
Aster’s hands balled to fists at her side. Her vision fell out of focus.
You’re not in danger. He doesn’t know you’re here. He can’t hurt you.
She counted her breaths again until she regained her composure. By the time she did, McClennon had begun speaking. His honeyed voice rang out over the murmuring crowd. Gooseflesh crept up Aster’s arms at the sound of it.
“—Thank you all for joining me here this afternoon,” McClennon was saying. “After all these long months of campaigning in the Scab, it’s good to be back in Northrock—the city I was born and raised in, the city of a million souls, the greatest city in the world!”
More applause.
“And what makes this city so great is that it represents the very best of Arketta,” McClennon went on, settling into his speech. “It was here, in this very valley, that our armies overwhelmed the last defenses of the Empire. And it was here, in this very building”—he gestured to City Hall—“that our nation’s founders dreamed up a world built instead for the working man: where even the lowliest of us might toil our way to the top and where none of us get any less than what we deserve. The day their words became law was a mighty day of reckoning, and every year since we have celebrated Reckoning Day! Glory to the Reckoning!”
“GLORY TO THE RECKONING!” the audience roared back.
Aster felt a twinge of impatience. This was all pretty typical grandstanding so far. They hadn’t traveled all this way just to hear McClennon talk about his warped view of Arketta—Aster had heard all these lies before in every newspaper and history book she’d ever read. Had she and Raven come all this way for nothing?
But then, after a few more minutes of waxing poetic, McClennon finally came around to the announcement they had all been waiting for.
“… And that is why, today, I am proud to announce the grand opening of the first ever welcome house located outside the Scab, right here in Northrock.”
Aster’s chest tightened painfully. She threw a panicked glance at Raven to make sure she’d heard right. Raven’s honey brown eyes were bright with alarm. The Ladies had been receiving updates for months on a major construction project underway in downtown Northrock. A gambling hall, maybe, or a high-end hotel. But its true purpose had been kept secret from the public—even with their connections, the Ladies hadn’t known the new building was meant to be a welcome house.
Aster tensed as McClennon continued over the applause. “The McClennons and many of the other landmaster families have been working a long time to bring this to you all,” he said. “For the first time in our nation’s history, you will no longer have to brave the dangers of the Scab to enjoy its
most celebrated pleasures. We are bringing the backcountry to you. The doors will open in two weeks’ time, and the housemistress has already taken up residence there. She’s a fairblood, like all the best of us, and so she will ensure that the girls at the Northrock welcome house are the most well trained in the country. I have no doubt she’ll bring a level of refinement to the establishment that is worthy of this great city. So sure am I, in fact, that I’ve brought her here with me today so you all may meet her yourselves.” McClennon’s grin widened in anticipation. “Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce … Violet Fleur!”
No … Aster’s blood stilled in her veins. It can’t be …
There was no way he was talking about her Violet. Her Violet was being held prisoner. Her Violet was presumed dead. Her Violet was …
… walking out onto the stage on the arm of an elegant young man Aster didn’t recognize. A bright blue dress swept around her feet, shimmering as if cut from the sky itself. Her normally straight black hair had been curled and piled atop her head with a white ribbon. Even from this distance, Aster could tell Violet was fairly glowing with health, her white skin blushing in the sun. The last time Aster had seen her, Violet had been fading in and out of consciousness and collapsing into the mud as McClennon’s raveners chased them down.
And now she was standing at McClennon’s side, a free woman.
An accomplice.
Aster’s stomach heaved. She braced herself against the trash bin, startling the pigeons perched there. Raven looked at her in alarm.
“Aster? What’s wrong?” Raven asked under her breath, grabbing her by the elbow to help straighten her up. Then she followed Aster’s gaze up to the stage. “… Hold on, that’s your Violet?”
Not anymore.
How many times had Aster dreamed about seeing Violet alive and well again? But this—this was a nightmare.
“Good afternoon,” Violet said, smiling out to the crowd. Her voice was cold and smooth as glass, ringing with that same imperious quality Aster had heard a thousand times back at Green Creek. “And thank you all for joining us today. As many of you may know, I was once pursued by the law for my association with the runaway Good Luck Girls from Green Creek. So let me tell you now what I told Mr. McClennon here once they were finally apprehended: I was never an accomplice to these girls, but their captive, forced to use my knowledge as head girl to help them escape. It was a seemingly never-ending nightmare that nearly killed me—and, indeed, were it not for Mr. McClennon’s mercy in nursing me back to health these past months, I have no doubt I would be as dead as they are now. So consider my work for him now my way of saying thank you, and believe me when I tell you I am the best woman for the job. I know by now how the minds of degenerates work, and I know how to recognize and root out dangerous thinking before it ever takes hold. My girls will be loyal, obedient, and accommodating—and that’s a promise you can pocket.” She turned her beaming smile to McClennon. “It’s been the pride of my life helping you make this dream a reality, Mr. McClennon, and as long as I live I’ll be grateful for the second chance you’ve given me.”
Aster was shaking, struggling to remain upright. There was once a time when becoming a housemistress had been Violet’s dream in life. But Aster refused to believe, after everything they’d been through together, that Violet still felt that way. That she would ever agree to this.
Violet had to be lying. She was just a good actor. She always had been.
“Thank you, Violet. I couldn’t have put it any better myself,” McClennon said, taking up his place behind the microphone once again to address the crowd. “And you all can also rest easy in knowing that my nephew Derrick has been overseeing Violet’s work for me.” Here he gestured to the well-dressed young man beside Violet. “It’s a damn tall order we gave him, taking on his late brother’s responsibilities, and Derrick’s done a damn fine job of rising to the challenge. He’s looking after this welcome house in Baxter’s honor, and those doors won’t open until they have the McClennon seal of approval.”
Aster spared a glance for the lean-faced boy on Violet’s arm—his red hair carefully coiffed, his blue eyes sweeping uneasily over the crowd as he smiled and waved at them. Aster should have known he was a ripping McClennon. She gritted her jaw. She’d known Baxter had a younger brother, but word was that he’d been abroad studying at some boarding school.
And now he’d been called home to take Baxter’s place. By the dead, how many McClennons was Violet working with?
Jerrod went on: “Finally, I’m incredibly excited to announce that the Northrock welcome house will be the first in the nation where the girls’ Lucky Nights will fall on their thirteenth birthdays, rather than their sixteenth.”
Surprise rippled through the crowd, but it soon turned to applause. All of Aster’s emotions then—the anger pooling in her belly, the hurt tugging at her heart—fell away at this final proclamation. She was struck numb as McClennon’s words echoed in her mind.
The girls’ Lucky Nights will fall on their thirteenth birthdays.
Their thirteenth birthdays.
And then, like a wave, her emotions came roaring back, her anger turned to wrath, her hurt to disgust. She looked at Violet—
—and saw her own horror reflected back at her. Violet’s mouth fell open, her eyes shining with shock. She took a half step back from McClennon. An instant later, Violet recovered, and her expression smoothed over to her usual serene smile. But in that moment, Aster was certain of two things: first, that Violet hadn’t known about this.
And second, that she had been wearing a mask this whole time.
“She doesn’t want to work with them,” Aster breathed, so relieved the words fell out unbidden. The tension in her shoulders loosened. “McClennon’s making her do this.”
Raven didn’t seem to hear her. Her lip curled in a snarl. “Ripping hell,” she swore under her breath. “Thirteen? Your friend’s a damned traitor.”
“No, she’s not,” Aster whispered back. “She’s just playing a part. She’s always been good at that. But did you see her face just now? This was a surprise to her.”
“So what?” Raven hissed. “How can she work with them at all? I would have let them kill me before they paraded me out on that stage.”
For a moment, Aster was tempted to agree. But then surety settled in her stomach. It had taken her a long time to understand Violet, and an even longer time to learn to trust her. Violet had earned Aster’s faith in her by now.
“She wouldn’t be doing this unless she had no other choice,” Aster said, shaking her head slowly. “They must have some kind of leverage over her—maybe she’s only cooperating to keep them from doing something even worse. She needs our help, Raven.”
Raven crossed her arms. “Our?”
Aster scowled. If even Raven couldn’t be convinced, how was Aster going to manage to persuade the rest of the Lady Ghosts?
But seeing Violet’s forced smile as Derrick McClennon led her offstage, Aster knew she had no choice but to try.
* * *
“Lucky Nights at thirteen?” Marjorie echoed, her voice low with anger and disbelief. She and Aggie sat on either side of Priscilla, who, through the entirety of Aster and Raven’s report so far, hadn’t said a word. The five of them had gathered around a table in a room the Ladies affectionately called the captain’s quarters, a storage space converted into an office that the three leaders shared. It was where Priscilla briefed new recruits, where Aggie prepped girls for borderjumps, where Marjorie listened to and counseled anyone who needed to let out their anger and sorrow and fear.
And now, it was where Priscilla and the others would decide how best to respond to the devastating news Aster had brought them.
Priscilla leaned forward in her chair, the wood squeaking as her weight shifted. Her brow knitted with clear distress.
“When does this new welcome house open?” she asked quietly.
“In two weeks,” Aster said. Her hackles raised jus
t thinking about it. “It’s not much time, but if we hurry we can come up with a plan to break in and get Violet out of there—”
“Steady now,” Aggie said, holding her hand up. “I thought you said Violet was going to serve as the new housemistress? Sounds like she’s chosen her side.”
“No, that’s just it—she hasn’t,” Aster said urgently. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see her face. She had no idea McClennon was planning this.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s still working with him,” Marjorie objected. “I know you two were close, Aster. I know how much it must hurt to see she’s betrayed you after all you went through together. But we can’t let our emotions cloud our judgment, and the truth is that Violet does not deserve your trust. Not anymore.”
Aster gripped the arms of her chair, nails digging into the wood. “You don’t know anything,” she murmured darkly. “You can’t have any idea what McClennon put us through. What kind of torture he might be subjecting Violet to even now to get her to go along with this. She’s not his partner. She’s his prisoner.”
Finally Priscilla spoke, her voice gentle but firm. “Even if that were true, Aster, what you’re suggesting—that we break into this welcome house and rescue Violet somehow—it’s simply not possible. That’s not how we operate. We work within the law. You know that.”
“But there isn’t time to do it the right way,” Aster said, her frustration slipping through. “To raise the money for guarants, to get them made, to come up with a story that even Jerrod McClennon would believe…”
“… is impossible,” Priscilla repeated. “I’m sorry, but Violet’s profile is simply too high. She’s beyond our help now.”
“Forgive me, ma’am, but I just can’t accept that. And besides, if we get Violet out of there, it delays the opening of the welcome house. For all those girls’ sakes, we have to do this—”
Priscilla stood then, the legs of her chair scraping against the stone. She braced her palms against the table.
“That’s enough,” she said quietly. “We want to do something, Aster. Don’t for a moment insinuate that we don’t. But part of being in this line of work is making hard decisions. I will not risk our entire operation for one girl who may not even want our help.”
The Sisters of Reckoning Page 3