I ring the doorbell. The housekeeper looks startled by my appearance, before she seems to recall that I am the twin of her mistress and not Mercy.
The maids race through the foyer on sprightly legs. Some carry boxes of candy-colored pastries, and others hold feather dusters like swords, drifting them along the walnut banisters until it shines.
There is a short woman in a grape-colored suit with a clipboard, barking orders at the staff, and trailing after them like a ghost. Wrinkles line her mouth, and her beady eyes flare in displeasure as she marches across the house like a drill sergeant. Clipped remarks escape her as she critiques the appearance of the servant’s white uniform and ushers the caterers into the kitchen.
This must be the assistant that Mercy said was hired to help with the preparations for both the engagement party and the wedding celebration.
Her cloud-gray eyes fall on me, and her mouth drops in surprise.
“Mercy Warrick, is it?” she asks, before I have a chance to speak. “You both look eerily alike.”
“That’s what being a twin means,” I say, unable to resist being a smartass.
Mercy doesn’t like this lady. Not one bit. So, I immediately dislike her.
“You’re late,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as a whip. “My name is Tasmin. I was hired to coordinate all the events associated with the wedding. Your dress is in your sister’s room. She has refused to let the professionals style her hair and do her makeup. Perhaps, you can talk some sense into her.”
Tamsin talks a mile a minute. Her words fly past me like a bird hunting its prey.
She quickly climbs upstairs and knocks forcefully once we reach my sister’s bedroom.
The door cracks open, the slightest bit, and Mercy pops her head out. She looks half-afraid at the sight of the woman, but when she notices me, her face eases.
“Can we have a moment alone?” I ask Tamsin, who lurks in the hallway.
For a second, I fear she will refuse, but after what feels like an eternity, she nods.
“I’ll be back to check if you’re ready in twenty minutes,” she warns. “People will be here soon.”
Mercy grabs my wrist and yanks me inside, locking the door shut behind me.
“You’re late,” she says, chewing her lip. “What took so long?”
I hesitate. I’ve been in bad shape since the Kaia ordeal. Last night, when I closed my eyes, I saw Kaia’s pleading, pain-stricken face, and I awoke to the recoil of the gun. I may not have known or even liked the girl, but I put a bullet in her head rather than defy Ender’s orders. And to make matters worse, she is not the first person I killed. I promised Prue that I would help the Resistance, but with each day that passes, I worry that I’m losing a piece of myself. Terror fills me at the thought of what Ender will put us through next. He is a cold-blooded killer. One who fears nothing and no one.
“Training ran longer than expected.” I lie. I can’t tell her how sick I was, how I almost stayed behind. “What’s that woman’s deal?”
I can’t confide in Mercy about the happenings of the Forge. She doesn’t deserve to feel a lick of guilt for switching places with me when it wasmyidea.
“Tamsin is the worst.” Mercy groans. “Ender hired her to punish me. I’m certain of it.”
I giggle, collapsing on her bed and sinking into the thick mattress.
“Sounds like Ender,” I say. “Are we sure Tamsin isn’t his mother?”
Mercy snickers and grabs my hand, forcing me to sit upright.
“We don’t have much time,” she says. “You have to get into your dress.”
I stare warily at the monstrosity that is hanging from a mannequin. It’s a cream ball gown with a lace bodice decorated with pearls. The skirt is made of a tulle so thick I fear it will drown me. It is a contraption. One that may very well be the end of me.
“No.” I shake my head. “No way.”
“It’s lovely,” Mercy says.
“It doesn’t have a slit, and my breasts are fully covered.”
“It’s an engagement party, and you’re pretending to be me, remember?” Mercy pauses. “No, you’re pretending to be you, pretending to be me, pretending to be you?”
