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Cora considers me for a moment. “I always thought you were a bit on the dim side,” she says. “I’m glad I was mistaken.”

“Thanks,” I say, bristling.

“Of course,” she says, taking a step toward me, “if you double-cross me in any way, or fail to complete this assignment, you will not live past the Auction. I may be unable to kill my mistress myself, but I have no qualms whatsoever about killing you.”

“Understood,” I say.

“Get some sleep,” Cora says. “You’ll need it. There’s a bell by your bed that Coral will ring when she’s ready. One rings in the kitchen too. You must always be up and ready before she is. She takes her breakfast in bed and then you’ll need to pick out something for her to wear. Make sure she looks classy.”

“I remember some things,” I say. “From Annabelle. She always knew what to dress me in.”

A muscle in Cora’s jaw twitches. “Yes. She was very good at wardrobe.” She sits back in the rocking chair, but her posture is tense, her back ramrod straight. “You’re dismissed for tonight. Try not to speak in front of her ladyship; your voice is altogether too familiar.”

“I will.” I stop at the door. “Cora?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any particular . . . way that you’d like me to kill her?”

Her eyes are black stones, dark and cold. “I want you to cut. Her. Throat.”

I slip out the door, my mind racing.

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO WHAT?”

“Kill the Duchess,” I whisper. “More specifically, cut her throat.”

Raven makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cough. It’s muffled through the arcana.

“Don’t worry, I told her I’d do it at the Auction, which, if all goes according to plan, should negate any murder pact I’ve made.”

It’s after midnight. I know I should be sleeping, but I stayed up, hoping Raven would contact me. Sil has an arcana similar to Lucien’s—meaning it can contact all other arcanas. Mine is only a receiver. Garnet’s can only contact Lucien’s and mine.

“So the servant is just as ruthless as the master,” Sil says. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s she like?” Raven asks. I know she means Coral.

“She’s strange. Like an overgrown child. She’s demanding and babyish. I don’t think Garnet likes her much.”

“Oh,” is Raven’s only response, but I can hear the tiniest bit of relief in her voice.

“What about you girls? Are you all packed and ready for the final trip around the Marsh?” This day feels like it has lasted a week.

“We’re more than ready.” I can hear the smile in Sienna’s voice.

“Sil is coming with us, to Westgate and the other facilities,” Raven says.

“What?” I sit up.

“I’m not going to wait here with no idea what’s going on,” Sil says. “The Whistler can take care of things in this part of the Farm. I belong with the surrogates.”

“You do,” I say. “I feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

“You shouldn’t,” Sil says. “This whole plan is like a house of cards. We have to rely on the surrogates at the facilities keeping quiet. We have to rely on the royalty to stay stupid. We have to rely on who knows who to plant the key bombs the night before the Auction. We need to rely on you to send up the signal to set those bombs off. Then we have to cross our fingers and hope that eighty-odd surrogates can break down that wall and that the Society forces are already in place on the Bank side, ready and waiting to flood the Jewel. We could all be marching slowly to our deaths.”

Seeing as Raven and I were already labeled to die being sold as surrogates, this idea doesn’t bother me as much as it should. “It’s like Ash said,” I remind her. “I’d rather die fighting the royalty than serving them.”

Sil snorts. “Brave words. Tell me that when bullets are flying through the air and people are dying around you.”