“Of course not,” he whispered, “but if it means that you’re safer for never seeing me again, then how could I say no?”
But Enne couldn’t believe his words.Messy, she repeated in her mind furiously. That was how he saw this contract: a way out.
“Well, if that’s what you want,” she snapped, then she turned on her heels and marched back inside. She threw up her hands. “Fine!” she barked, making the Chancellor and Harrison startle. “Give me a pen. I’ll sign it.” She threw the crumpled contract onto the table and collapsed into her chair.
“Wait,”Grace cut in, just as Enne accepted Fenice’s offered pen. “We want to negotiate.”
“I told you that the relationship is not up for discussion,” Fenice said.
“That’s not the adjustment I’d propose,” Grace responded. “The Mizers used to control and mint all the volts of their kingdoms, but the Mizers are gone, and now we have the technology to do so ourselves. It—”
“Please get to your point,” Fenice said coolly.
Grace ground her teeth. “These stipulations do nothing to ensure that Enne has a role in modern society. She is not just a relic of a bygone era. She’s a person, with a talent that could still be of use. So I propose that you give Enne a position of some power at the National Bank. And that you eliminate the clause about Enne disbanding her gang—many of our associates are counters, all with Enne’s interests at heart. So legitimize us. Let us work together in the treasury.”
The Chancellor’s gaze shifted to Enne, and Enne molded her expression into something unreadable. Grace hadn’t discussed any of this with her, but her logic was sound. Such a role would stop Enne’s existence from seeming archaic. And it would mean, even if she didn’t have Levi, she would still have the Spirits. And that mattered to her.
Fenice took a moment to consider, then she took the pen from Enne’s hand and scratched out the offending clauses. She wrote Grace’s request at the bottom as a final stipulation.
“Very well,” Fenice ceded. “We will grant you and your...associates a department within the National Bank—”
“With actual authority and function,” Grace growled.
“Yes, a department with responsibility. And you will, in turn, agree to our other demands.”
Beside Fenice, Harrison crossed his arms and scowled, but he said nothing.
Enne forced herself to meet Levi’s eyes one last time. If she’d known that those few minutes in the pantry at the Kipling’s Hotel would be their last true moments alone together, she would have slapped him for all the heartache he’d put her through. Or she would have kissed him harder.
Her safety and pardon were no trivial matters, but the two of them had always been in danger, every moment they’d spent together in New Reynes. To so thoughtlessly throw her away now felt like the ultimate wound, one she knew would leave a permanent scar.
Enne looked away, accepted the pen, and signed.
“Then it’s decided,” Fenice declared. “After this disgusting article, it seems appropriate to give the news some time to settle. And then, in one month’s time, you will both stage your falling-out, and the Republic will return to the stability it once had.”
Enne did not cry. Not after signing the contract, not when she and Levi shared a terse goodbye, not in the entire car ride home when Grace cursed Levi to the ends of the Deadman District and back. Crying had always been a release, but Enne could think of no means to ease this pain. After months living out a story so deeply intertwined, her and Levi’s story was over for good.
HARVEY
Harvey was not well at the Catacombs, but he was better. He should’ve been proud of his progress, but instead it only scared him. In the nightclub, his life felt alien, like it wasn’t his own. And he feared that the second he stepped outside its bone-plastered walls, the worst of his illness would return to him, a veil lifted.
And so, even if it was one of his precious few nights off, Harvey didn’t trust himself to leave. He parked himself in a stool by the bar, sipping a Snake Eyes, and watched the night unfold around him.
By now he knew the other staff, but they were too busy with their work to entertain him. He considered scoping the crowds for some other boy looking for company, but he kept stealing glances at Narinder instead, who never afforded himself a single moment’s rest, let alone an entire night off. Even when Narinder occasionally hopped off the stage to dance with the club’s patrons, he did it to make them feel singled out, special. He wouldn’t have time if Harvey asked Narinder to dance withhim.
Oh well. At least Harvey was comfortable. At least he was better.
Or he was—until Rebecca Janus walked inside.
Harvey nearly spilled his drink when he spotted her. She looked well. Her illness was nothing a face of makeup and a fresh pair of kidneys couldn’t fix, at least for a night. Her calculating light eyes scanned the room until they fell on him, sitting hunched and cross-legged on his barstool, wearing an expression as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He didn’t know what that wrongful act was. Being almost happy, maybe.
She started toward him. Even while wearing her own face, she commanded a bit of Ivory’s intimidating presence, a trick she’d mastered over the years of donning her skin like a costume. The dancers gave her a wide berth.
“Let’s talk someplace else,” Rebecca told him, without even a simple hello.
Harvey was still reeling at encountering her here. She wore a black shift dress, which was very fashionable for someone who paid no attention to the passing trends—she’d tried hard to blend in tonight. The only hint of illness she hadn’t concealed with makeup was her lips. They were chapped, but with the color drained out of them, like the ridges of worms.
“I’d rather not,” he said stiffly.
