Ruth helps me dump the rest of the petals and oils and salts into our baths. We turn around as the other undresses, slipping out of our evening attire and into the hot, floral-scented water.
We talk about everything as we soak and lather our hair in butters and creams. I tell her about Chekiss and Niles—explaining their hardships and what makes them special to me. I share the horrors I’ve seen and the treatments that left me breathless. And for the first time, I let myself fall into a conversation about Scarlett and how she wanted to change everything at the asylum, about how I promised her I would do everything I could. But my first lie to Ruth is when she asks me how Scarlett died, and I tell her plainly that it was an accident, and there was a fire, and I could not save her.
Oh, how that lie cracked my bones and left me writhing.
It wasnotan accident.
I killed my sister.
But Ruth is kind and safe and sweet. How could I tell her that I am worse than any patient she will see? I have a secret that will rot me from the inside out.
But then she wants to talk about Dessin, which lights me up like a torch at midnight. “There’s something interesting about him. He reminded me of those knights from the fairy tales my mother would read to me at bedtime.”
“He’s a genius. I suppose that will never not be interesting to me. But yes—he looks like a prince and a warrior merged into one body.” I shrug, sinking deeper into the warm tub.
Ruth giggles, swishing around in the water. “Yes! I had trouble forming words when he looked me in the eyes.”
Just wait until that stare makes you stumble, stutter, and trip.His eyes are a universal blessing to this world. They’re my favorite.
“But he’s dangerous. And manipulative. I can’t tell if he’s truly my friend or if he’s using me for a grander plan.” That thought still bothers me. It makes me paranoid and insecure. What if this is all a mass manipulation? I’m his pawn that he’ll use to take out a queen.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not with the way he looked at you. Didn’t you see the sun rising in his eyes? A man cannot fake that.”
This notion gives me electric vibrations that whirl through my veins. What way does he look at me? His stares are intense, yes, but anytime he looks at anyone, it’s always intense. Why would he look at me with the sun rising in his eyes?
Ruth dunks her head underwater to wash out the layers upon layers of soft hair masks. I do the same, running my fingers across my scalp, feeling the thick cream dissolve around my naked body.
We take a breath in at the same time, our heads breaking the surface of the creamy water, wiping the residue from our eyes.
“I’m hungry,” she whispers as if it’s a crime to want to eat.
I look over at her, my stomach clenching as it grumbles to confirm her statement.
“Me too. Want to sneak food up to our room and stay up all night eating?”
Her face beams, and we rush out of our tubs to dry and lather and dry some more.
It’s a mission to sneak to the first floor, gathering a bag of cookies, iced custard from the ice chest, bread, pastries, and wine—the sweet, pink kind that Aurick would never let me have due to the extra sugar.
We slip along the walls, careful not to disturb the creaking floors.
Our entire night is spent on my floor beside my bed, with the window open in front of my fireplace. We stuff our mouths with sugary treats and savory slabs of meat, laughing at the stories she tells me from her childhood sneaking around behind her parents’ backs. She tells me all about the boys she’s kissed and how they’re all the same—lanky, pale white, and lacking a sense of humor.
And on this night, we bond, the way raindrops merge into the soil. Ruth becomes my friend, and I become hers, introducing our newest term of endearment.
Soul sister.
42. Diversion
“Oh my, don’t you cleanup nicely?”
A stranger’s voice stops my hand at mid-stroke; a fluffy makeup brush with a sprinkle of pink powder hovering over my cheekbone.
But it’s not a stranger—not quite.
Masten.
Ruth snuck back home at sunrise, only achieving an hour of sleep. She didn’t want her parents to wake and find her bed empty. If she were still here, I might not be so afraid.
