He looked over at me and smiled, his eyes solemn and tired. He shrugged. “What’s a name? I’m the Knife. The Butcher.”
“You aren’t?—”
“I am.”
We both knew it was true.
He held me tightly against him, his fingers stroking comfortingly over my back. How many times had he held me like this? How many years had we sat side by side? I could count the years, but I couldn’t count the moments.
“You’ve been a mine for years,” I said, remembering the morning he died and the weeks after. “How have you survived?”
His hand stilled, his fingers caught in the slow, silky fall of my hair. “By being ruthlessly brutal.”
“And?”
“That’s all. By being ruthless with myself.”
“It’s funny. I can always tell when you’re lying to me.”
He laughed. “Maybe I don’t want you to know the things I’ve had to do to survive.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I think it’s because you have a bit of light left. Something you’re hanging onto. Something keeping your heart alive.”
“I do what Jagger asks. If you’re smart, you won’t fight it. He lets me fight, but I think he’ll kill you if you fight him. I really do.”
“I don’t want to see a rag man with the face of your dreams. So don’t let your light die. Don’t let your hope?—”
“I’m sorry.” He gripped my hand and stared at me, his gray eyes intent. “Mari. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know if he wanted to grab the knife from the soil and stab me or if he wanted to kiss me again. His expression held both futures in equal measure.
I tensed.
Justice didn’t know about Finn.
He didn’t know about my other life.
He’d never known, and maybe he never would.
It all depended on whether or not I could break free.
“It hurts,” he whispered, but he wasn’t talking to me.
Last night, I’d thought Jagger had slotted me as Justice’s executioner. But in that strained, breath-held moment, I’d realized I probably had it wrong. I think Jagger had set us up. While I was meant to kill Justice if Jagger asked, Justice was probably meant to kill me. He was warning me, wasn’t he? If I said something, did something, gave some sort of indication, Justice had likely been told to send me to my final death. We were two loaded guns, permanently pointing at each other.
Jagger’s leash was always short, but now, the leash had been shortened to a choke chain.
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Justice, holding him in a tight hug. “It’s all right,” I whispered.
“It’s not,” he said, “but that’s okay.”
I looked up, my arms around Justice, to find Roumelade stalking across the grass. “You two,” she called, “what are you doing? Justice, you need to be in bed. Mari, Jagger’s sent me after you because you can’t manage to come home when you’re supposed to. Breakfast is delayed because you wanted to kick around in the river. Which I appreciate, I do, but it’s a new day, and Jagger has plans. Plans, Mari. By the way, Griff’s gone and died. Fool child.” She sighed and wiped her hands on her flour-dusted apron.
It was then I remembered the wind’s warning.
Innocence is dead.
Griff died?
