“He doesn’t seem so bad,” I say. “Just, like, wounded.”
Helena nods, her face dimming a shade. “He is. But he’s also the smartest, and the one most likely to look out for you if you end up on the wrong side of a prank war. Which is a thing, by the way. Last semester I woke up to every dress I owned replaced with exact replicas, but in neon yellow.”
“Let me guess: Bastion.”
“And Ranier,” she says, almost fond. “Wyatt just documented the whole thing and leaked it to whoever runs Royals Anonymous.”
I shake my head in wonder. “I didn’t even know you could buy that much neon in this country.”
“Money and spite will get you anything.” Helena nods gently toward the painting propped on my desk. “You’re good. Did you study at finishing school, or…?”
“Art degree,” I say.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “You’re having an exhibition soon, right? I heard the pack talking about it. The Council wanted to make a big deal of it in the press.”
“It’s mostly a student thing.” Is that downplaying the only good news in my life? Yes, but here we are. “But the Council wants me to put on a happy face, so… yeah. It’s happening.”
Helena’s voice goes soft. “You should be proud. Not a lot of omegas can say they made it through finishing school and got a degree, let alone an exhibition. I barely survived my first year without throwing myself in the river.”
I study her face. For the first time, she looks tired. Not physically, but in the way that happens when you’re always trying to live up to something you didn’t sign up for.
“You’re the best part of your family, you know that?”
She laughs, startled, then shakes her head. “You’re full of shit, but thanks.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence. I drink the tea. Helena picks up my sketchbook and flips through, lingering on a page with a cluster of angry, abstract faces. She taps the paper. “You ever think about painting these onto the walls? The house could use more color.”
“I’d get executed by dinnertime.”
Helena closes the sketchbook and hands it back. “If you survive the week, I’ll sneak you into the attic and show you where I hid all my old paintings. It’s a secret museum. No one but Wyatt knows.”
“Deal.” I almost believe I’ll make it that long.
She stands, stretches, and fixes her hair in the window reflection. “I should go. The Council is on a group call with my mother in twenty, and if I’m late, she’ll send a search party.”
I laugh. “Do they use hounds, or just the usual drones?”
“Both, if they’re feeling fancy.” Helena steps to the door, then pauses. “You’re doing fine, Emery. For what it’s worth.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Helena. Really.”
She smiles, soft and sincere. “We’re not all monsters here, you know.”
“Noted.”
The door clicks shut, and the house is a seashell again, only this time I can hear the echo of laughter and tea and something almost like hope.
I look at the sketchbook, then at the painting, then at my own hands, stained with blue and red and a little bit of orange. I pick up the pen and draw a single, bold line across the page.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll win Everhart Pack over after all.
CHAPTER 12
Ranier
The sittingroom has always felt haunted to me. Not by ghosts, but by the ancient furniture that’s survived through generations. Maybe that’s why I can’t fully wrap my mind around the idea of staying angry with Emery for what happened at Selection Day. Maybe the status quoneedsa shakeup.
I stretch out on the blue velvet sofa, arms hooked behind my head, and stare at the ceiling and its swirl of plaster roses. What might my life have been like if I’d been born a beta?
