"Besides, I know the best shops. There's a place that sells this imported wool that's supposed to be warmer than regular wool. Something about the sheep eating different grass."
That does sound interesting. "Different grass makes warmer wool?"
"Trust me."
I go to get the household money—Ruvan gave me complete access, which still feels bizarre, like I'm playing house with actual criminals' actual money. But I only take what I need. Yarn, definitely. Thread because we're low. Nutmeg because how am I supposed to make proper spiced cider without nutmeg? That's not even cider, that's just disappointment in a cup.
Outside, the cold makes my skirts whip around my ankles. Or maybe it's just the wind picking up. The new moon's tomorrow. Weather always gets strange around the new moon, doesn't it? Or is that the full moon? I can never remember.
I'm thinking about whether we have enough butter for tomorrow's baking when Joss steers me down a side street.
"This way," she says. "Better shop down here."
"Really? I usually go to Mrs. Pembleton's. She has that nice green wool that doesn't itch."
"This place is better. Trust me."
I do trust her. That's the thing. After twenty years with Ruvan, of course I trust her. She's been nothing but helpful lately, and why wouldn't she be? We're all Guild together.
We pass the cobbler's shop, which reminds me that Ridge needs new boots, his toes are probably frozen in those worn ones he insists are fine. Then the bakery that makes those rolls Ruvan pretends he doesn't like but I've caught him eating when he thinks no one's looking. The alley is getting narrower, quieter. No more shop fronts. My brain finally catches up.
"Joss? I think we went too far. Unless the yarn shop is really committed to having no signage, which seems like bad business practice."
"No," she says quietly. "We're exactly where we need to be."
Four figures step out of doorways ahead. White robes that glow in the dim alley light, and my stomach drops somewhere around my ankles.
"Joss—"
"I'm sorry, Olivia. But this is for his own good." She's not looking at me anymore, which is rude when you're having a conversation about betrayal. "He's going soft because of you. Losing his edge. The Guild needs him sharp, and you're making him weak."
"You—" The word sticks in my throat like badly made porridge. Twenty years. Twenty years of friendship with Ruvan, and she thinks this is helping him? "You told them my schedule. You made my schedule. Oh my god, that's why you were so helpful with the routines."
"He'll thank me eventually. Once the grief passes, he'll be stronger. Harder. What the Guild needs him to be."
"That's the stupidest—do you even know him at all? He's going to have you killed. Slowly. There will probably be diagrams."
The Radiant Court members move closer. One of them is smiling, serene like we're about to have tea.
"The light must be purified," the smiling one says. "Your suffering will be brief, but your cleansing will be eternal."
"That doesn't even make sense. How can something be brief and eternal? Those are opposite concepts. Do you people even listen to yourselves? Also, you couldn't have done this after dinner service? The vegetables won't chop themselves."
Someone grabs my arms from behind. The basket falls, yarn rolling across dirty cobblestones where it's definitely going to pick up street grime.
"The hat," I say, because apparently that's what my brain considers important right now. "I haven't finished his hat. His ears get so cold. You don't understand, they go all red at the tips and he won't wear anything to cover them because he thinks it makes him look less intimidating but really he just looks cold and—"
"Silence," says the smiling one, though still smiling, which is creepy and probably requires specific facial muscles I don't want to think about.
They're dragging me now, and all I can think about is the yarn on the ground, getting dirty, and I never soaked the beans, and who's going to make sure Ruvan eats lunch? The hat is almost finished. It just needs a few more inches. His ears get so cold in winter, and now the hat will never be finished, and that's somehow the worst part of all this.
Well, that and the whole purification through burning thing. But mostly the hat.
Chapter 24
The kitchen smells wrong.
Not because I'm hungry—I rarely notice hunger anymore—but because Olivia gets this specific face when I skip meals. Concerned but trying not to nag, which somehow makes it worse than if she just yelled.
