“Perhaps that there is none.” She shifts, glancing at the door, then back at me. “Were you born into a palace family?”
I take the cue to switch subjects. “My mother was an Illusion Base, but my father was a fighter in the Peri. My mother and I moved between the palace and Peri until she became a Scarp in the kitchens and felt secure enough to stay in one place.”
It’s not the entire truth, but it’s an easier one. Even now, I still struggle to understand if she was running toward something, or away.
“You’ve been to the Peri?” Briar stretches out the sheets, and my mouth drops open—a superior making my bed? Tucking the corners under the cot, she asks: “What’s it like out there?”
The memories stumble back. “Sometimes there wasn’t enough food. There was thievery and fights everywhere. But once you were done with your tasks for the day, you could go home. You would just…be.”
“It sounds…”
Nice. It sounds nice.
It had been. When my father wasn’t around.
“Strange,” I supply.
“Strange,” she echoes, then straightens, falling into formality.“Are you ready to take the blood oath to Illusion and the Morella family?”
I nod.
“I must warn you that while night service is always challenging, the Morella family has a rotating door of attendants. More so than the other families in Illusion and even the other Houses.”
“You believe I should decline the blood oath and continue as a Day Crest.”
“No one will judge your decision.”
But I will,I think.I will judge myself.
Jeremee and Benji will collect debt rings as the interest builds, never able to pay enough at once to touch the principal loans. For them, the blood oath, the danger of night, is more than worth it. Kassandra already terrorizes me. May as well make more money off it.
“I will swear the blood oath to the Morella family to perform my duties as an Illusion Night Crest,” I say.
“And indulge their desires?”
“And indulge their desires.”
Briar nods, pulling an item from her pocket. A silver feather quill.
I glance at the door. “Where’s the teller?”
“It is unlike a normal ring. There is no debt attached to it, just the oath. As your supervisor, I will ink it, though it’s a unique process. More painful.”
Holding out my hand, I declare I’m ready. Briar grasps my elbow, pushes up my sleeve to the shoulder. A searing cut across my upper arm. I cry out, jerking away, but Briar holds tight and drags the sharp nib across the flesh.
“Why are you doing this?” I gasp.
Her mouth opens but only a grunt ekes out. She took a blood oath of silence herself.
“I’m sorry,” she grits. “It requires a certain amount of blood.”
I see it now. As the red nib rips skin, crimson sucks up the shaft of the feather, dyeing the barbs and vane from the inside out.
“Must you stain all of it?” I pant. She cannot answer but meets my gaze, as if to sayYes.
For the next few minutes, my new supervisor carves a ring deep into my upper arm. It’s not the normal sting of a knife; it burns and wriggles, as if burrowing into me, worming up my shoulder and neck before settling behind my ear. Blood dribbles down my fingertips and spatters on the ground. The room sways, but she holds me up.
Dark spots blot my vision.
