Stifling anotheryawn, I chuckled.
She stared at me with an intense expression.
Wait, is she not joking?
“You know—you’ve inspired me,” she said quietly, her voice serious. “I want to participate in the massacre and crucible, just like you. All the bullshit in the Houses about preserving heiress honor is so stupid. The men get so mad whenever I bring it up, especially Augustus. But you understand.”
I choked on spit.
I’m not the hero you think I am.
She looked at me with wide emerald eyes, like I was her savior and not a deeply troubled, slightly older teen with psychological, physical, and abandonment issues.
“I think,” I said slowly, “you should s-stay honorable.”
Her face fell, shoulders slumping with dejection.
“Or... not?” I grimaced. “I guess if you wanted to—you could? It’s not that serious,” I lied.
Death and torture should never be taken lightly.
She looked up hopefully, flashing brilliantly white teeth. “You really think I could survive the crucible?”
I pursed my lips. “It’s not just if you could s-survive. It just sucks. Why would you want to?”
“Because I want to prove I don’t need Augustus to look after me.” She gritted her teeth. “He’s soannoying—theyallare. Chthonic men are so overbearing. Like ten times worse than Olympians, especially when it comes to their loved ones. They’re psychotic. And since I’m their only heiress, they act like I’m made ofglass.”
I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t.
Helen leaned closer. “But my power is—dark,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I can do things... bad things, if you get my gist.” She winked.
“Oh,” I said eloquently.
Mental note—stay on her good side.
“Helen, focus!” She hit herself in the face, then dug through a big box beside the rack of clothes. “So obviously, you’re wearing this asyour mask.” She held up what looked like the headpiece of a costume. It was a giant lion’s head.
I was?
Four hours later, I stood in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror as the setting sun set cast golden streaks across the room.
Fluffy Jr. snored loudly on the bed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wear any of the colorful dresses?” Helen asked for the millionth time. She pulled out a sparkly pink strapless dress and held it up. “How about this?”
“No.”
“Ugh.” She pouted. “You’re no fun.”
I shrugged and admired my reflection. A long-sleeved black dress hung to my feet, covering every inch of exposed skin.
It was a little clingy around the torso for my tastes, but compared to the other—plunging—dresses, it was perfect.
Studying myself in the mirror, I frowned as I realized what it was missing. “Helen, I need a bra.”
“No, you don’t.” Her smile was diabolical.
“Yes.” I pointed at my chest. “I do.”
