Page 7

Her eyes darken and she signs, “I’m surprised he assigned him to you after last time.”

Cress’s mother was deaf, and she and Cress taught me sign language when I was younger in an effort to communicate better with her during my fittings. It became a way for Cress and me to talk without being overheard.

“He didn’t believe me,” I sign back. “I asked for a second guard to keep him in line, but Viv thought it’d draw too much attention to my whereabouts.”

“Gods, I truly hate her,” Cress says aloud as she ushers me into the only other room in the shoebox-sized shop—a darkened fitting area. The hem of my skirt snags on a sharp prong protruding from another of those dreadful mannequins, and I tug myself free. A soft tearing sound gives my carelessness away, and Cress smiles fondly at me as she taps several witchlights. The room illuminates in a dazzling glow of pastels.

“I know you asked me to treat today like any other fitting,” she begins, kicking aside a few rolls of gauzy fabric, “but I don’t know if I can. You might be resigned to your fate, but I’m not.”

“It’s better if you are, Cress.” I undress behind a partition and huff my hair out of my face before stepping onto the round raised platform adjacent to a gilded mirror. “Trust me.”

In the mirror’s reflection, a pained expression douses her radiant glow as she hands me an ivory gown. “What happened?”

“Well, as I moved through the motions of the rite, I was painfully reminded of how much I still want to do, but there’s never been enough time, and now there never will be. And I just… couldn’t keep my mouth shut when one of the witches said something about the entire rite being this beautiful fucking thing when it’s not. There is nothing beautiful about being secured to an altar and bled like a pig in the slaughterhouse or used as a means to an end.”

Her mouth falls open. “Oh, gods. What did your father do? He didn’t— Did he punish you again?”

“Not exactly.” My fingers brush over several layers of silk as I shimmy the fabric up and over my hips and stomach. “Father was livid, and Viv…” I let out a hard sigh. “It was her cruel idea to use you to keep me in line. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry. You know I would never, ever⁠—”

“It’s okay.” She circles behind me, wide brown eyes meeting mine in the mirror as she gently laces up the back of the dress. “I’m not angry with you for standing up for yourself, Rory.”

My chest caves in at the sound of my name spilling from her lips.

With Cress, I’m Rory. I’ve always been Rory with her. Even when Father introduced me as Sacrifice, the moment he left, she said, “You’re going to be my friend, not my sacrifice, so what’s your actual name?”

“Maybe after—” I lower my voice, hoping Brutus cannot hear me, as I turn around to face her. Silk fans out around my ankles. “Maybe after tomorrow, you should take an extended vacation somewhere that’s not in Adelphi.”

“Maybe,” she agrees tenderly. “But only if you come with me.”

I cut her a sharp look and gesture toward the front door.

She signs, “Even with this one almost here”—she rubs her incredibly round belly—“we’ll find a way to save you. We’ll run away to the ocean so we can live like sirens alongside all the handsome fishermen.”

It’s a thoughtful sentiment, but we both know she’ll never stop the rite from happening, and I’ll never let her put her or her baby at risk. A weak, albeit genuine, smile spreads across my lips. As children, we spent hours plotting various ways to venture to the ocean someday. Only a day’s journey by horseback separates us from the shoreline, yet my father never allowed it. No matter how much I begged or cried.

He has always been too afraid to let me live before I die.

“You know as well as I do,” I say jokingly, desperate to shift the conversation toward safer topics, “it’d take all of five seconds before Tyl tracked us down.”

Out the window, beyond the bustling capitol streets, forests, and fields, several towers perch atop Wall Lilium—the wall built to separate our kingdom from Seagrove and Vandalia. Inside those towers are King Joal’s best trackers—including Tyl, Cress’s husband—renowned for locating those who wish to be found and those who don’t. For the most part. I have no doubt the king’s trackers would’ve been able to find me if I ever made it outside these walls. A shiver skates down my spine at the thought.

Cress shrugs, but it’s half-hearted. “A little bit of poison...”

Right. There are no safe topics with her.

“Cress!” I attempt to chide her as she full-body laughs at her own crude joke. “You can’t keep saying things like that.”

“I’ll stop saying them when he stops giving me a reason to.”

She likes to pretend she doesn’t, but she loves Tyl. Even if he’s a little too much at times. Too tall, too awkward, too kind, and certainly too trusting. What would he think if he knew Cress and I dream of treason in the quiet hours of the night when not even the guards posted throughout the capitol can stop us from fantasizing about long lives and oceans and a friendship that isn’t cut short by a sister destined for greatness?

“Have you been eating lately?” she asks, changing the subject as she pinches and pins areas of the gown that fit well a few months ago. “I need to take your waist in at least another half-inch or so.”

“I had a cherry tartelette a few hours ago,” I say brightly.

She scrubs a hand over her face before she kneels beside me and pins my hem. She makes some notes with charcoal on a piece of parchment. A rumble of thunder rattles the pastel boxes upon boxes lining the wallpapered walls. If I open them, I’ll find uncomfortable footwear meant for ladder-climbing socialites and hideously obnoxious hats wealthy women love to wear while gossiping after one of King Joal’s mandated rallies.

Taxing. All of it.