Ensnared by the vicious beauty of Miles Cross, my peers barely stir as I shuffle toward the back of the group. From there, it’s a stone’s throw to the tunnel, the darkness cloaking me from sight.
I walk with haste. I do not run, for the sound will draw attention. Back straight, chin high. I’m nearly to the end.
“Brielle.”
My hand spasms around my dagger. The mental image of what awaits me beyond the cave slams shut as I gird my stomach for a difficult conversation. Tucked inside my pocket, the roselight pulses erratically.
Reluctantly, I turn. Harper steps forward, hood pushed back, bright blue gaze searching mine. “What did I tell you about speaking names aloud?” I whisper.
She stops, clearly taken aback by my admonishment. Then her eyes thin. She peers left, right, ahead, behind. Slowly, so as to make a point. The tunnel is deserted. We are alone.
“No one is around to hear us,” she states.
“That we cansee.”
Harper’s attention shifts to my blade. “What are you doing?”
She knows. And I know. There is little point in voicing it aloud.
“There’s not much time,” I murmur. “As it is, I’m afraid I’m already too late.”
“You’re going to find Zephyrus.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to deflect, and nod. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Once I leave the safety of Miles Cross, I forfeit Mother Mabel’s protection.
All I know is this: I cannot go on living a lie. Ten years I have dedicated my life to Thornbrook, but lately, my heart has yearned for something more. I have grown to care for a man. He lied and he deceived and he betrayed, yet something compels me to find him.
Harper glances over her shoulder before striding closer. “I understand you want to help him, but if you leave, we won’t have enough women to complete the tithe. You would leave us vulnerable?”
I bristle at the implication, yet hold my tongue. If our positions were switched, I would demand the same. “The Orchid King said twenty-oneDaughters of Thornbrook, right?” She nods. Harper is correct: without my presence, the total number of volunteers to gift their blood would fall to twenty. However—“Mother Mabel is a Daughter, too.” Granted, she has achieved the highest station one can attain, but she is still a Daughter nonetheless.
Harper considers this detail with pursed lips, then rubs her forehead hard enough to leave a mark. “She will notice you have gone. She’s too observant.”
“Not right away.” The abbess has Pierus to contend with, and I’m certain she will track his every motion with her hawk-like gaze. As for my disappearance, she will not notice it because she will not expect it.
“What about the grassy path?” Harper gestures to the ground—bare, shadowed rock. “How will you get back? How will you know where to go?”
“I don’t know.” Hoarse laughter punches out of me. It’s not funny. It’s the farthest thing from funny. “You were right. Is that what you want to hear? Zephyrus is a wretched, manipulative ass. He cannot be trusted.”
“But you care for him. Maybe even more than care for him.”
I will not consider the depth of my feelings. I’ve already questioned too much. “I know it’s wrong,” I whisper, “but something about him calls to me.” It’s time I accepted that. “I’m tired of fighting its pull.”
At once, her expression softens. How young she looks in this moment, and how comfortable in her own skin. “What do any of us want in life? Love, security, acceptance. There is no shame in desiring such things.”
Except Zephyrus does not offer me these things. He offers me only the promise of the unexpected and brokenhearted. I must be absolutely out of my mind to help him.
Harper crosses her arms, looks me up and down. “Give me your cloak.”
Following her instruction, I pass her the white fabric. She passes me the red. The cloak, warm from Harper’s body, settles across my shoulders. I draw up the hood, and she does the same. Harper is muchsmaller than I am, but Mother Mabel is so preoccupied with the tithe I doubt she’ll notice a difference. “Thank you,” I say.
“I should have done this a long time ago.” She fiddles with the trio of knots at her waist. “Been your friend, I mean.”
We are human, and as such, we make mistakes. I’ve seen a change in Harper, and I know it to be true. I’m ready to let go. I’m ready to heal this wound.
“I forgive you,” I tell her. “For all the hurt you have caused me, I forgive you.”
The loveliest sheen coats her eyes. “Will you return?”
