Glenn lets out a hoarse laugh. “He didn’t.”
“But perhaps he would’ve chosen you instead, if he could. If it were allowed.”
“I don’t know.” His voice breaks. “You should hate me.”
“I don’t. Do you hate me?”
“No. You understand what it was like to be loved by him. And how large a hole his absence has left behind.”
The scrap of Glenn’s shirt is damp in my hand, and I clear my throat, my body weary, my heart heavy. “When I’m paid, we can meet in private for Benji’s coin so as to not upset the others.”
He nods, looking away. “I am sorry, Avery.”
Before I can say I am sorry, too, the door closes and I am left alone in the corridor. With the absence of light, of company, of possibilities, I do not know where to go, what to feel, or even which faith to follow. All I want is to curl up in a ball and call out for my mother.
Instead, I make my way through the chattering and chaos of the Nest, swiping up a small plate of food. Climbing the stairs, Ireach the servants’ hall outside Kassandra’s apartments. The mistress whose fate I am tied to. Who leveled a complaint against Jeremee, which Benji now carries. Who used me to arouse herself for the king. My loathing for her returns.
I could go back to the Pith, but there is nowhere to sleep, no one I feel like explaining myself to, not even Lila and her kindness. Staring down at my plate of chicken and bread and beans, I feel ill. It is too much of what I do not want. But it is not all for me.
I wrap up the pumpernickel roll in the cloth napkin and leave it outside Briar’s door. I knock but do not wait for an answer. When I reach my room, I strip off the silk and work out until I am covered in sweat, my muscles aching, then sit on the scratchy blankets of the cot and eat in silence. Eat to keep up the strength of a body I would like to retire from, just to feel free of the weight of grief. I finish the meal in this newfound loneliness disguised as privacy.
Brushing away the crumbs, I throw on a loose tunic and slip on the golden moth ring once more. Every constant in my life has been stripped away, everything and everyone but the vital organ with which I was born—my genius. It is mine, not just a tool for service, and it’s stronger than most. So is the desire to disappear.
So I lace.
I lace back to the Pith, the sparks of laughter filling my ears.
I lace to the hallways outside the Nest.
I do it again, reveling in the transmutation, the act of dissolving only to be violently remade, shoulders slamming stone, knees scraping, body shivering and mind numb. Again and again, I become nothing, then something.
I lace back to my room, sweaty, exhausted, buzzed. When I close my eyes to the pink light of dawn, I welcome the fatigue and become nothing once more.
—
The next morning,Lila collects me and laces us to the Pith, my genius still spent.
“You’ll get used to it,” she says. “Soon, you may be able to lace a few times a day.”
“I thought my genius was done maturing,” I reply.
She shrugs. “Maybe it needed more of a challenge than just cleaning.”
A week passes while the fog of loss remains. It turns out the king has many duties that take him away from the palace. As a smaller House, yet the most powerful, Reign requires less work compared to Illusion. The Pith feels almost overstaffed. There are messenger faeries, packers, dishers, moppers, food runners. It’s as if any duty a Scarp may perform in Illusion has several designated roles in Reign. In the downtime, Lila offers me new soaps for my skin, and even a little pot of cream for after the bath.
“It’ll soften calluses,” she explains.
“A servant with soft hands?” I almost laugh.
“I suppose the royal family doesn’t view us like servants. More like…”
“Pets?”
Lila grimaces. “They still pamper their pets?”
I take the soaps. Lila redirects me to Fern to help nurture my wavy hair, for hers is coiled.
“We have different soaps for different hair.” The cook rummages through a box of extra items. She hands me a rosemary-scented bar. “Give it a try.”
