18
ASTRID
My first reaction at seeing Marybeth is confusion. Is this a glamour? Has Queen Tris woven an enchantment so that I see a familiar figure?
But as the girl takes a few hesitant steps closer, her shoulders tensed almost as high as her ears, I know it’s my lady’s maid. This isn’t some glamour conjured to trick me into letting my guard down. It’s Marybeth. The only person I befriended since moving to Fairweather Palace. The only true friend I’ve ever had. I’ve trusted her with things I’d previously only told Father—about my magic, my horrible injury from the horse, the truth about the woman who caused that injury, my dependency on Crimson Malus.
She’s always accepted me. Been kind to me.
What the blooming hell is she doing here?
“Astrid, thank goodness you’re alive.” Marybeth shifts as if to take another step closer, then seems to think better of it and brushes out the folds of her skirt instead. Unlike me, she’s dressed in attire suited to a palace, not an arena. Her tartan skirt and lace blouse are similar to what she wears at Fairweather Palace but are quite travel-worn. Her brown hair is pinned in her usual updo, revealing her round human ears, but loose tendrils stand in disarray around her face. Dark circles hover beneath her eyes, and her complexion is far more sallow than usual. She looks like she hasn’t slept well in days. Her lips flick between a hesitant smile and a frown.
Understanding dawns as I try to piece together how—and why—she’s here. Marybeth stole Torben’s Chariot. She sent the ogre to attack him. It’s possible she could have found out about the bargain Tris made with the Huntsman. She might have been present during his investigation and learned of his weakness to floral aromas.
It all makes a crushing, dreadful sort of sense. She really did come here to save me. Just like she told Madame Fury.
No wonder she’s so flustered. She probably doesn’t know how to treat me after what she did. After hearing that Torben and I are now working together. That I’ve been helping him hunt her down.
This is all just a huge misunderstanding.
My shoulders sag, and I’m not sure whether I feel relieved that I won’t be facing Tris…or disappointed.
Someone makes aboo-ing sound from the stands, reminding me of our audience. This clearly wasn’t the duel our spectators were hoping for. I ignore them as I jog forward to close the distance between me and Marybeth. Her lips stretch into a relieved smile as she extends a hand.
“Astrid,” Torben’s warning tone cuts through the growing sounds of displeasure radiating from the stands, but it’s enough to halt my progress and keep me from taking her hand.
That’s when I notice the silver hexagonal disc in her other palm. I frown at it. Could that be Torben’s travel device? She must have taken it from her pocket when she smoothed down her skirt. I remember him describing the Chariot as small, easily mistakable as a snuff box or cosmetics compact. I’d already reasoned that Marybeth was the one who stole it, but seeing it now, seeing how she angles her arm to the side as if to obscure it from my view, makes my stomach harden around a pit of dread. It makes me wonder if perhaps I haven’t pieced togetherallthe answers.
Torben calls out again. “Yield!”
Another round of boos from the audience. “Fight already!” someone says from the nearest box.
“Yield, Astrid!” Torben says, tone deep and bellowing.
Marybeth’s eyes flick toward the grate he stands behind, and her expression darkens.
I know I should listen to Torben. He’s only reminding me of my own plan. Instead, I ask, “Marybeth, what are you doing here?”
She grins again as her attention returns to me, but there’s a hint of sorrow in the upward turn of her lips. “I came to save you from the Huntsman.”
I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say. I can’t tell her she was wrong to worry over my fate. Torben had intended to kill me. He made a binding bargain with my stepmother that he’d bring her my heart. Marybeth had every right to worry.
My eyes narrow with suspicion. “You came to save me from the Huntsman…by sending a violent ogre after us. He hurt me, you know.”
She wrings her hands. “You weren’t supposed to be harmed. Murtis was supposed to kill the Huntsman. But if you were found in his custody, I ordered the ogre to get you away from him.”
“Why?”
“So he could bring you to me.” She stretches her open palm closer. “Come, I’ll get you out of here. Grab my hand and I’ll take you where it’s safe.”
I stare at her palm, making no move to take it. I may not know how Torben’s Chariot works, only that it allows for instantaneous travel, but I have a feeling that if I touch her hand, the device will activate. Part of me wants to allow that to happen, to let her take me to safety. But an equal part of me tenses with warning. Perhaps it’s only from Torben’s tone as he calls my name yet again.
Marybeth grits her teeth. “Why are you working with him, Astrid? The queen sent him to kill you.”
“Yes, but…he didn’t.” My answer is weak and I know it.
“He still will. He has a bargain to fulfill. I don’t know why he hasn’t carried it out yet, but you must know that he will.”
