“But she did,” I said bitterly.
“She talked to me. She told me I was wrong to keep my plans from you. I was able to convince her I had … rethought my position.”
“Yes. You’re good at that. And how did you get here?”
“I followed you. Through the shadows.”
“Of course,” I said flatly.
“I ran into a friend of yours as he was leaving and gave him safe passage to the palace. He told me that the Pontiff had imprisoned you. But you broke out.”
“The Pontiff has had the book all along,” I said. “It was his men that attacked the Tower. Mother did sell it to him—why, I don’t know.”
I explained quickly what the Pontiff had told me about the spellbook, and how he had wanted me to free Mother from it.
“So that’s why I am here. But why areyouhere?” I spoke with some venom.
Patrick flinched at my tone. “I know you are angry with me.”
I said nothing.
“I haven’t always been honest with you. I know that.”
I hated how my throat tightened, how part of me wanted to believe him. I gripped the book. “I don’t need your help,” I whispered.
“But you do. You can’t read the book, Netta. I can.”
He was right, of course. I hesitated, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Why would I trust you now? After everything?”
He spread his hands. “I honestly …”
I snorted.
“…honestlythought I was doing the best thing for the kingdom. I thought I could … just move you into place. I thought I could control everything—manipulate the board, move the pieces—but you’re not a piece. You never were.” He indicated the book. “You can’t do it alone.”
Ididneed someone to read for me. I hated him a little bit more for saying it out loud. The catacombs breathed around us; hollow eyes watching, listening.
His voice was low. “Netta. Let me help you with it.”
“Help me?” I snapped. “You mean control me.”
The dim light painted the lines of his face. I could almost imagine he looked remorseful. “No. You don’t know what you’re unleashing. Neither of us do.”
“I’d rather walk blind,” I whispered, “than put my trust in you again.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he’d leave, but instead he came closer, close enough that the edge of his shadow brushed mine.
“Then don’t trust me. Trust instead that whatever else I havedone, I don’t want to see you destroyed.” His voice was rough. “Whatever’s in there … you shouldn’t face it alone.”
The bones listened for my response.
“You always have an answer,” I spat, voice too loud in the hush of the catacombs. “Always so smooth, so certain.”
Something shifted in his expression—slightly, but enough to throw me off-balance.
“Maybe that’s true,” he said, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “I’ve … hidden things. Told half-truths …”
“Lies.”
