Under The Willow Root
Chapter 11

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe

“Pretty Girl, sit,” I say firmly. She sits. “Speak! Good girl! Now, whisper.”

Luca laughs as Pretty Girl utters a sort of closed-mouth cross between a bark and a whine--her “whisper.”

“Very good,” he applauds. “When did you teach her that?”

“We’ve been practicing,” I say with a grin. “When she stays with me.”

Pretty Girl has been alternating between staying with me and staying with Luca so that she doesn’t feel completely abandoned when I have to leave. Mother Wenla was reluctant at first, but once Pretty Girl was completely house-trained, she relented. Now everyone loves her, especially my students. If they work hard during their lessons, I let them spend the last few minutes playing with her. They’ve been very productive lately.

Pretty Girl’s discipline runs out and she leaps up to put her paws on my shoulders. She’s eight months old now, and even more gangly and weird-looking than she was as a baby, but I love it. I melt every time I see her. I can tell she’s going to be absolutely gorgeous in another few months. I just hope I’m still here to see it.

It’s been six months since I first met with Bard and Caris. It’s early spring, maybe April. I’ve been in this world just over two years. The waiting has been driving me insane, but at the same time I can’t help dreading the day they tell me it’s time to leave. It’s exhausting. One minute I can’t stand the thought of leaving, and the next I feel like if I don’t get it over with, I’ll die.

“Has there been any word?” Luca asks, like he can hear my thoughts. Or, more likely, he can see them on my face. “About...you know.”

“It’s getting closer,” I say, rubbing Pretty Girl’s ears. “But nothing specific. My...contacts will only tell me a little. All I know is that it will be before the fire festival.”

“Little more than a moon,” Luca says softly.

“Or sooner,” I say, tears pricking my eyes. “I don’t know how much notice they’ll give me.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fit as much fun as we can into every day from now on,” Luca says, forcing a smile. “Just in case. I wish you would let me take you riding.”

“Definitely not,” I say firmly. “No horses.”

“They’re perfectly safe,” Luca insists, but without much force. It’s an old argument.

I haven’t exactly lied. I am afraid of horses. But I’m more afraid of running into Cimari at the stables. I know from my time as a slave that she’s an avid rider. If things haven’t changed since then, she spends a lot of time at the stables. I don’t need Sadra to tell me that riding with Luca is a completely unacceptable risk.

“The City hall, then,” he suggests. “There’s a public sing tonight.”

“Maybe,” I say hesitantly, but the idea appeals.

I like to sing, even though I’m not that good at it. I’ve heard of the City’s “sings,” but I’ve never been to one. Huge groups of people come together to sing grand, massive chorales. I hear them sometimes from my room in the Temple. I think it would be nice to be a part of something like that.

“Maybe...yes?” Luca says, smiling hopefully.

“Alright,” I laugh. “Yes.”

“You do have a nice voice, you know,” he tells me. “You just need to let it out.”

“You have a nice voice,” I disagree. “I sound like a mouse with a stuffy nose.”

Luca laughs, then covers his mouth. “You do not.”

“Sing me something?” I ask.

“Always,” he says, and kisses me. He sits back and thinks for a moment, then begins,

“Leaves fall, wind blows white

Green on the ground and sun in the sky

In each turn of the seasons, I turn to you

Do you think of me?

I think of you.

Every sun and every moon

Every star in the sky shines for you.

Every star, shining, shining from your eyes.

Do you think of me?

I think of you.”

“That’s beautiful,” I sigh when he’s done. “It reminds me of a song my grandmother used to sing.”

“Will you sing it for me?” he asks hopefully.

“I’ll tell you the words,” I say. I wish I could sing it for him, my weak and wobbly voice notwithstanding. But it wouldn’t work in Common, and singing in Russian would raise questions I can’t answer. “My grandmother sang it all the time when I was little. She was in love with a soldier when she was young, but he died. I think he must have sung it for her, or it reminds--reminded--her of him. It goes like this…

Shine, shine on, my star

Shine, friendly star

You are my cherished one

Another there will never be.

By the power of your heavenly rays

All my life is illuminated

And if I die, over my grave,

Shine on, my star.”

“I’ve never heard it,” Luca says. “I like it.”

“I never did,” I say honestly. “It made me sad. And then for a while, when she got sick, she wouldn’t even talk to me. She’d just sing that song. I wish now I hadn’t let it upset me. It is beautiful.”

“I think everyone wishes a lot of things when a loved one dies,” Luca says, brushing my hair--or, rather, my wig--back. I wish he could see my real hair more often--more of the real me.

“I’m excited about going to the sing tonight,” I tell him. I clear my throat. “I’m glad you thought of it.”

“Maybe if I stand close enough, I’ll actually hear you,” he says with a grin. “And I can judge for myself if you have a little mouse voice.”

“You’ll have to stand very close,” I say playfully. “Like this.”

I lean forward until our noses touch and I go cross-eyed trying to keep eye contact. He chuckles and kisses me, which of course was the idea. I don’t want to think about sad things. I made my choice months ago--all I can do now is make the most of it.

“I have a present for you,” he says, and pulls a white, glowing flower from under my shawl. “A star.”

“Where did that come from?” I ask delightedly. I sniff the flower, but it doesn’t smell like anything.

“I made it,” Luca shrugs. He acts nonchalant, but I can tell he’s pleased with himself.

“Made it?” I ask, freezing. “What do you mean?”

“With Light, of course,” Luca says. “I studied alongside the Prince for much of my childhood.”

My hands suddenly feel dirty. I want to throw the flower down and stamp it into the ground, but I don’t want to hurt Luca’s feelings. He just wanted to do something nice for me. He doesn’t know that pretty tricks like that are possible because there are thousands of people like me unwillingly providing him with power. He doesn’t know that every time he does something like that, it takes away a little bit of someone’s strength. For all I know, he just took a couple of minutes off my own life.

“It’s lovely,” I say, making myself smile for him. I tuck the flower into my hair. “Will you sing some more? Pretty Girl likes it, too.”

“You’re going to wear me out,” Luca says, “and then we won’t be able to go to the public sing.”

I don’t wear him out. He sings for us all afternoon. Sad songs, happy songs, love songs, silly songs. When Pretty Girl starts “singing” along, we both wheeze with laughter and try to keep singing so she’ll keep going, too. The gathering in the City hall is wonderful. Hundreds of voices join in harmonies I never would have imagined. Many hold hands. Every face I see looks like it’s lit up inside. This is what I want to remember about the City when I go, not my time as a rich lady’s pet.

It turns out that Luca is serious about having as much fun as possible before I leave. Every day, we’re eating at a new tavern, dancing, attending concerts, making little craftsy bracelets and necklaces, anything we can think of. I push away the knowledge that our time together is coming to an end and pretend that we’ll go on like this forever. It works, mostly, until about a week into Luca’s fun fest.

Luca takes me to yet another wonderful dinner. Afterward, instead of walking me home, he leads me to the very cavern where I cowered in the dark after Cimari’s beating. I slow down and almost pull away, but he assures me that we aren’t going to the Terrace. We’re going someplace else.

“Secret,” he says when I ask him where.

“It always is, with you,” I huff, but I smile.

He holds a sphere of light in his hands and leads me unerringly through the winding tunnels, explaining as we go that most people use the tunnels to visit lovers in secret. Every once in a while someone tries to use them for darker purposes, but those who live in the King’s Terrace value the ability to conduct illicit love affairs in safety and with discretion far too much to tolerate that kind of nonsense. Of course, I think. Sounds totally reasonable.

We pass through tunnels and caverns filled with stalactites and stalagmites until we come to a passage that’s hardly more than a crack in the rock. I can barely squeeze through. I have no idea how Luca makes it, even with some truly virtuosic wiggling on his part and a lot of tugging on my part.

“I was a lot smaller the last time I came through here,” he puffs, laughing at his shredded and grimy clothing.

“When was that?” I ask curiously.

“Ten years ago,” he says. “I was eleven. The Prince--the old Prince, that is, my father--he’d just died and our tutor wanted Costi and me to do some kind of casting for Father’s funeral. I don’t even remember what it was. I just remember wanting nothing to do with it. I went to hide in the tunnels, and Costi came looking for me. He was the only one who had a hope of replaceing me in here back then. Ari--my sister--she probably could, now, but she was only a little girl at the time.”

“Does she use the tunnels to visit her lovers?” I tease.

“Sometimes,” he says, surprising me. He climbs down a small ledge and lifts me down after him. “Anyway, Costi was mad as a boar with a bee-sting when I slipped through that crack--he couldn’t fit, and I wasn’t coming out for anything. They could probably hear him shouting at me all the way back at the palace with the way everything echoed. I climbed down here to get away and just...kept going. I found the most amazing thing, but I didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“You didn’t tell anyone when you came out, you mean?” I ask. “Or…”

He smiles at me, his teeth flashing in the light of the tiny sun in his hand.

“Not ever?” I say skeptically. “In ten years?”

“You’re the first,” he confirms, squeezing my hand.

“Well, what is it?” I demand.

“Secret,” he says.

“Of course it is,” I mutter.

“We’re almost there,” he consoles me.

I cling to Luca’s arm both for physical and emotional support as we keep walking. Stumbling through the bowels of the earth with only a little ball of light is the single creepiest thing I’ve ever willingly done, and the ground is rough and uneven. It occurs to me that if I break an ankle down here, Luca may not be able to get me out by himself. I shudder at the thought of being left alone in the dark and tighten my grip on his arm.

“It’s just through here,” Luca says, sounding relieved. “It was farther than I remembered. I thought we were lost.”

I smack him on the shoulder and he laughs. We duck around a low-hanging rock and emerge into a much larger space. Luca whispers a word and his ball of light winks out. I squeak, plastering myself against him. He puts his arms around me and squeezes reassuringly.

“Look there,” he whispers, gently turning my head with a finger on my chin.

“What is it?” I gasp, but after a second I realize it for myself. “Oh…oh, my god.”

“What did you say?” Luca asks curiously.

“Nothing,” I breathe, returning to the Common tongue. “It’s so beautiful.”

In the middle of the cavern, silver lights glitter, contained in a near perfect circle. They’re stars--or, rather, a reflection of the stars and moon let in through the ceiling. But we must be a mile underground at least.

“I think this is--was--a holy place,” he says softly. “Built by the ancients. It has to have been built, don’t you think? For the chimney to be straight enough to let the light in?”

“I suppose so,” I say. “Or maybe it’s natural--a, ah, what is it--a wonder. A…”

“A miracle?” Luca supplies. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a little bit of both--born of the mountain but refined by man. The lake is fed by the waterfall, I think. There are hundreds of underground tributaries and pools, but this is the biggest I’ve found.”

“It’s amazing,” I sigh, leaning my head against his chest.

“It’s...special to me,” he says, resting his chin on my head. “I never came back, never spoke of it to anyone. But I wanted to share it with you. I love you, Sasha.”

“I love you,” I murmur, feeling a rush of joy--and grief. “Luca…”

“Swim with me,” he says, silencing me with a kiss.

“What?” I cry against his lips. I pull away. “In there? The water must be freezing!”

“It is,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s do it anyway.”

I hesitate, then laugh. To hell with it, I think. To hell with everything. Luca loves me, and I love him. Let that be the only thing that matters right now. I step away and let my shawl and dress fall to the ground. I can hear Luca doing the same. We replace each other again, groping blindly, and edge cautiously toward the water.

“It’s easier if you just jump right in,” he advises me. “If you know what’s coming, you’ll never make it.”

“Is it deep enough?” I ask dubiously.

“It’s a smooth slope,” he says. “A little slippery. Just run straight in and, if you slip, slip forward. Ready?”

No, not really.

“Yes,” I squeal, bouncing up and down on my toes.

“Now!” he shouts gleefully, pulling me forward.

The cold is shocking, like a physical blow. For several seconds, I forget how to breathe. Then Luca pulls me against him and I forget everything but his body pressed against mine. He paddles backwards, towing me along with him, until we’re in the circle of stars and the moon shines full on his face. I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

We speak in whispers even though there’s no one but us. I think Luca is right--natural or man-made, this is a holy place. There’s no one but us, but it doesn’t feel like we’re alone. Something else watches us. The mountain, or the moon, or God. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there.

I should maybe feel ashamed or at least exposed when we come together on the shore, but I don’t. I think of nothing but Luca, and I feel anything but ashamed. Afterward, we don’t speak. We barely move. I don’t want to. I want to stay like this forever.

Eventually, though, the cold forces us back into our clothes and out of the cavern. We don’t say a word to each other until we’re in the main tunnels. Luca helps me out of the crack in the wall and takes my hands, bringing them to his lips. I smile at him, thinking I know what he’s going to say. I can’t wait to say it back.

“I want you to stay,” he says, and the smile falls from my face.

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me,” he says. “Or I’ll go away with you.”

“Luca, you can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t understand. Where I’m going...it’s...it’s not...you just can’t. It’s impossible. I’m sorry.”

“Then stay with me,” he urges. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” I say, but there’s no pleasure in it. “But it doesn’t change anything. I have to go.”

“Of course it changes things,” Luca cries. “It changes everything.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “Luca, you don’t understand. I can’t stay. I don’t have a choice.”

“You keep saying I don’t understand,” he says. “Explain it to me. Make me understand. Because you’re right, I don’t. All I know is that you do have a choice, and I want you to choose me.”

“If I stay, I’ll always be in danger and so will you,” I tell him. “I don’t want that for either of us.”

“You don’t have to run away,” he insists. “We can protect you. My brother--”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt. “Prince or not, he can’t guarantee our safety and neither can you. I can’t stay here.”

“I don’t believe that,” Luca says. “I can’t.”

“Well, try,” I beg. “You can’t think that I want to leave you.”

“I don’t think that,” he says, though I can’t help but think he looks unsure. “I know you believe there’s no other choice, but you’re wrong.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

“You’re wrong,” he says again. “You’re wrong.”

“Please, just tell me what’s going on,” Emily begs. I can barely hear her through the door to my room.

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on,” another person says. “I wish I could tell you.”

“But you know something,” Emily argues. “I can tell. You have to tell me what it is.”

“I don’t--I think I know something, but even if I’m right, I don’t know what it means,” the other voice says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“Tell me anyway,” Emily says. “I have to know. Please, Simon.”

“Emily…”

“What, do you think I’m going to sue you if you’re wrong? You should know better by now.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but Emily...I really don’t know how it will help.”

“But it won’t hurt,” Emily insists. “Simon, if you care about me--”

“Of course I do,” the other voice--Simon--says quickly. “Okay. If I’m right...it looks like Sasha’s not always conscious. Even when she’s awake, she’s not completely here. It’s like she’s flickering in and out, but too quickly for us to see just by looking at her. I think that’s what’s causing her neurological symptoms, but I don’t know why and I can’t prove that it’s even happening. I’m sorry.”

I stop paying attention. If I’m not always here, I wonder, where am I?

Two days later, I meet Luca at the kennels to see a new batch of puppies. Things have been...different. Not strained, exactly, but definitely different. What we shared under the mountain changed things irrevocably. The way we look at each other, the way we talk to each other, even the way we move around each other is different--in a good way. But the memory of what happened after hovers between us, making everything feel unstable even though we haven’t spoken of it again.

Luca said he has a surprise for me, but I don’t think it’s the puppies. Whatever it is, he’s excited about it. He keeps getting up and checking the door like he’s waiting for something. After the fifth time, I laugh and demand to know what it is, but he won’t tell me. The sixth time, he bounds back with a huge grin on his face.

“They’re here!” he says excitedly.

“Who?” I ask, dread creeping into my stomach.

“My brother and sister,” he tells me.

“Luca!” I cry, aghast. “You promised--”

“Don’t worry,” he says soothingly. “Just listen to what Costi has to say. He can help you, Sasha, I’m sure of it. But if not...I’ve made them promise not to say anything to anyone. I trust them.”

“You promised, too,” I snap. “I trusted you.”

I close my mouth abruptly as the door opens and the Prince walks in with a dreamy-eyed, auburn haired girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen. Both look perfectly friendly and glad to see me, but I can’t help backing against the wall in fear. My heart is pounding and my hands shake, a reaction more to Luca’s betrayal than to any immediate threat.

“Hello,” Prince Miocostin says, holding a hand over his heart. He studies me. “You must be Sasha. I’ve been wondering who’s had my brother’s head spinning all this time. I’m very happy to meet you. This is Arismendi, our sister.”

“You can call me Ari,” the girl says, taking my hands. “I know you might be leaving soon, but I hope we can be friends until then.”

I shoot a furious glance at Luca. I feel like someone has dumped ice water all over me and then dropped a bowling ball on my stomach. I pull my hands away and edge around Arismendi.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t feel very well. I think I should go.”

“Don’t be angry with Coran,” Arismendi pleads. “It’s my fault, really, I--”

“That’s enough,” Miocostin says, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Coran, why don’t you show Ari Petal’s new litter while I set Sasha’s mind at ease?”

“Alright,” Luca says, looking relieved. I glare at his back as he goes.

“Ari’s right,” Miocostin says. “You shouldn’t be angry with Coran.”

“I call him Luca,” I say nonsensically.

“He was only trying to help,” Miocostin tells me. “He doesn’t understand why you were so insistent that I can’t help you. But I do. I understand perfectly.”

“Oh?” I ask suspiciously. “How is that?”

“Because,” Miocostin whispers, leaning close. “I know who you are, Blue.”

I don’t stay to hear anything more. I’m out the window and over the courtyard wall before the Prince can raise a hand to stop me. I run headlong through the streets, not caring that I’m making a spectacle of myself. I just need to get away. Everything Sadra warned me about--and which I insisted was no risk at all--has come true. I feel sick and stupid and completely ashamed.

I want to replace Sadra and confess, but she’s not at the Temple. I hide in our room, nearly jumping out of my skin every time someone passes by my door. Kana brings me a plate of food later in the evening, but I can tell she’s just looking for gossip. I tell her only that Luca did something terrible, knowing that she’ll start all kind of crazy rumors as to what that terrible thing might be. It’s probably better that way--it will keep anyone from trying to replace out the truth. I make her promise not to let Luca in if he comes looking for me.

Sadra arrives the next day, and the whole thing starts spilling out of my mouth before she can even close my door behind her. I tell her everything. I don’t leave anything out, not even the underground lake. I can barely speak, my throat closed by angry, heartbroken tears.

I keep waiting for a big, fat “I told you so.” I know I deserve that and more. But Sadra just listens patiently and holds my hand until I’m finished, then tells me that it will be alright, that we’ll handle it. I believe her. I trust her. I realize that she can do what Luca clearly can’t. I believe that she can--and will--support me no matter what, that she will protect me. She has always protected me.

I kiss her.

After a moment, she kisses me back. It’s both more and less than kissing Luca. When Luca kisses me, my whole body ignites. My head spins and I want to melt into him. I don’t feel that now. But kissing Sadra is like coming home. There’s a warmth, a perfect comfort that isn’t there with Luca.

“Sasha, stop,” Sadra murmurs, pushing me back gently. “We can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My face burns and my hands shake. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sadra says with a shaky laugh. “I used to daydream about kissing you all the time.”

“You did?” I ask, my jaw dropping. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” she says, “you only ever look at men. I’ve always known that. Right now you’re upset and scared and and confused and mad at Luca and I’m the only one who can understand. I’m not going to take advantage of that, or of you.”

“How do you know I haven’t just realized I’m in love with you?” I ask mulishly, but I’m already starting to regain my senses. I feel like an idiot.

“Oh, I know you love me, and I love you too, of course,” she says, squeezing my hand. “We’re soul-friends. Kinspirits. But it’s not the same.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” I groan, rubbing my still-flaming face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says again. “It’s easy to mistake one kind of love for another. Believe me, I know. I really did fall in love with a girl once, and I thought she loved me too. I was fourteen, and didn’t know what to do about it. So I did what you just did, and she was horrible to me. I would never do that to you.”

“But…” I take a moment to process what Sadra just told me. “Sadra, is--is that why you’ve been helping me all this time? Because you--”

“No, of course not,” Sadra rushes to tell me. “Or maybe at first, but not anymore. I’m helping you because you’re my friend and because it’s the right thing to do. How could I live with myself if I turned my back on you, knowing what I know?”

“So you don’t…”

“Not anymore,” Sadra assures me. “I wouldn’t risk what we have. Not for anything.”

“That’s good,” I sigh. “I’m still sorry. About this...about everything. I should have listened to you.”

“Maybe so, maybe no,” Sadra says with a shrug. “Who knows? No one has come to kill you or arrest you yet. Maybe the Prince really can help. In any case, we need to meet with him and replace out what he knows.”

“How are we going to do that?” I ask. “I don’t want to talk to Luca…”

“Leave it to me,” Sadra says firmly. “I’ll be at the palace tomorrow, anyway. Do you want me to put fire ants in Luca’s trousers while I’m at it?”

“Is that a serious offer?” I giggle, sniffling.

“It can be,” she says solemnly. “Other options include itching powder in his laundry or bloody nightmares for a week.”

“You know what? Yes. I would love it if you put fire ants in his trousers,” I tell her. “Who cares if it’s petty and vindictive? Do it.”

“Dear one, ‘petty’ and ‘vindictive’ are just nasty words for ‘harmless’ and ‘cathartic,’” Sadra says with a grin. “Consider it done.”

Sadra leaves again the next morning, and I can’t help but feel relieved. No matter how many times she tells me not to be embarrassed about what happened, I can’t help the urge to slap myself across the face that overtakes me every time I think about it. I feel like everyone who looks at me can somehow tell, like I have a sign on my forehead that reads, “I macked on Sadra,” in huge glowing letters. Or possibly, “I thought for a second I was a lesbian, but luckily Sadra knows better.” Sadra always seems to know better, I reflect sourly.

When she comes back, Sadra reports that she actually went through with her plan. Cackling all the while, she tells me all about how she snuck into Luca’s quarters and hid in the closet while he jumped around the room, yelling his head off. We laugh and it makes me feel better for all of thirty seconds. Then I just feel guilty and small and miserable. I miss him, and at the same time the thought of seeing him makes me sick. I wish I could just stop feeling anything.

Sadra tells me she passed a message to the Prince through Luca, and within hours we receive a note instructing us to meet one of the Prince’s personal guards at the tunnel entrance. Said guard has been instructed to bring the Prince’s “female companions” to the palace with all due haste and discretion. Ick. Sadra points out that it’s perfectly plausible and will guarantee privacy without drawing attention, but still.

Ick.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Miocostin says when we arrive in the very rooms where he used to entertain Ismeni. “I know it can’t have been easy for you.”

“We’re still not sure it’s a good idea,” I say, refusing to look at him. His eyes are just like Luca’s.

“How did you know who Sasha was?” Sadra asks, getting right to the point.

“I never forget a face,” Miocostin says. “As Gifts go, it’s a useful one for a Prince.”

“Does Ismeni know? Have you told her?” I demand.

“No,” Miocostin says. “I haven’t even told my brother.”

“Good,” I grumble.

“I won’t deny it was a foolish thing he did,” Miocostin says gently. “But it hasn’t done any harm. I want to help you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“How?” asks Sadra. “I don’t mean to offend, but what can you do? Half the Council is funded by the House of Light and Shadow and the whole world believes their lies. You’d sound like a crazy person if you told the truth.”

“Do you know what the truth is?” Miocostin asks, taken aback. “I’ve long suspected--and now I know--that thralls aren’t simply vessels. But that’s all.”

“That’s all you need to know,” Sadra says firmly. “Now, how exactly do you plan to help Sasha?”

“By protecting her, to start with,” Miocostin says. Turning to me, he continues, “And, after I make the arrangements, we can show the whole Council what you are--have it verified by University mages unaffiliated with the House. We can change everything. You can change everything.”

“And she can also get a knife in the back for her trouble,” Sadra scoffs.

“Sadra’s right,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to announce myself to the House and invite them to kill me.”

“I will protect you,” Miocostin says again. His dark eyebrows, so like his brother’s, draw together in irritation. “I’ll put all the strength of the Empire between you and the House.”

“And how much of the Empire’s strength is the House?” Sadra asks pointedly. “Our answer--to that--is no. Now, if you have any thoughts on helping us leave the City safely, we’d like to hear them.”

“Strictly speaking, I don’t need your permission,” Miocostin says mildly, though his lips are tight. “I am the Prince.”

Sadra and I look at each other. This conversation isn’t going at all the way we thought it would.

“You would do that?” I ask. “Treat me like one of your menagerie animals? Order me around like a thrall?”

“I would ‘order you around’ like I would any one of my subjects,” Miocostin corrects me. “But I don’t want to force you. I would much rather you do this willingly. There are thousands like you who need justice. Would you really turn your back on all of them?”

“This is not my fault!” I cry. “And it’s not my responsibility--this is your mess to clean up. If you’re as powerful as you say you are, you don’t need me.”

“Sasha, hush,” Sadra says, looking anxiously at the door.

“You will remain here at the palace,” Miocostin informs us. “As my guests. I will send for you when all has been arranged. In the meantime, you will be provided with anything you require. You need only ask.”

“Ask who, exactly?” I say coldly, already knowing the answer.

“A thrall,” the Prince says firmly. “Let it be a reminder to you of what you should be fighting for. You will, however, be provided with whatever you desire.”

“Whatever I desire?” I ask.

“Whatever is reasonable,” Miocostin says cautiously.

“I want to see Luca,” I say, trying not to look too annoyed about it.

“Is that all?” Miocostin laughs. “Alright--but be nice to him. Despite what you may think, he’s not stupid and he’s not deceitful. He obviously has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to you, however, so I leave it to you whether to tell him the truth or not.”

I grit my teeth and nod. Seeing Luca’s stupid, traitorous face is the last thing I want right now, but it’s what I need. Someone has to warn Caris. I’m not completely sure how that’s going to happen, but Luca’s my best chance at getting it done.

“Shadow and blight,” Sadra spits once Miocostin is gone. “This is bad, Sasha. This is so bad.”

“I know,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me.”

I grip the back of a chair to keep my hands from shaking. It makes no difference that the Prince only wants to do the right thing--and it probably is the right thing, I admit. Someone needs to stand up and tell the truth. But it’s my neck he’s putting on the line to do it. He might as well be planning to dangle me over a pit of angry vipers.

“What can we do?” Sadra mutters, rubbing her face with both hands. “What...what?”

For the briefest of moments, I consider going along with the Prince’s mad plan--standing up for justice, fighting the good fight and all that. Maybe he can protect me. Maybe we can change things. Maybe the House of Light and Shadow will fall, and thralls will be freed. I would be a...a hero. Freaking Martin Luther King. Then I remember what usually happens to heroes.

They die.

I have no interest in being a martyr. Like I told the Prince, this is not my fight. This world’s atrocities are not my problem, my responsibility, my duty, my anything. My duty, if I have one, is to Emily and my friends and the life my grandmother worked so hard to prepare for me.

“We’ll get Luca to help,” I tell her. “He can get word to Caris and then...I don’t know. Something. We’ll figure it out when he comes.”

But he doesn’t come. Judging by the food and drink that thralls bring periodically, two days have gone by with no word from Luca or the Prince. Of course we try the door, but it’s locked. I can’t tell if there are guards outside all the time or only when we’re brought food. If there are guards out there, they haven’t made a peep, no matter how long we pound on the door or how loudly we demand to be let out.

I can’t stand the sight of the thralls who bring us food. Just as Miocostin intended, their soulless, empty eyes fill me with shame and make me doubt. Is helping the Prince bring down the House of Light and Shadow a moral obligation? And, if so, does being a victim myself make me more or less tightly bound by that obligation?

Unable to answer such questions, Sadra and I spend our time dancing together like we used to in the garden. No matter what else is going on, I can’t neglect my exercises. I need to be clear-headed for whatever is coming, though I try not to think about the specifics of what that “whatever” might be.

On the third day, we start seriously discussing possibilities for escape and come up with absolutely nothing. There are no windows, and no hidden passageways that we can replace. The only way out is the locked door, and we’re sure there must be guards on the other side. We could try to break down the door and fight our way out, of course, but we’re not stupid. The odds for success are vanishingly small.

Eventually we accept that we simply have to wait for something to happen and hope that an opportunity presents itself. We accept it, but neither of us likes it. I haven’t felt this peculiar mixture of boredom and fear in more than two years, and it’s just as uncomfortable and draining as I remember.

I usually think of Sadra as the more level-headed one in our partnership, and certainly she always seems to have a solution to whatever problem arises. But I begin to suspect Sadra’s never been in a situation she couldn’t talk, buy, or sneak her way out of. She seems wholly unfamiliar with the feeling of being trapped in the literal sense. She barely keeps it together.

Late that night, I’m dreaming of sad voices begging me to wake up when Sadra wakes me. It’s too dark to see her face, but I can hear her voice trembling--with fear or excitement, I don’t know.

“Something’s happening,” she says urgently, pulling me to the door. “Listen.”

I put my ear to the door and hear footsteps approaching and receding and approaching again as well as low, tense muttering--from the guards, I guess. I can hear a lot of shouting, but it’s faint. It must be coming from some other part of the palace. Something is happening. Something big.

We both keep our faces plastered to the door, hoping that we’ll hear something to tell us what’s going on. I think the guards have left. We heard someone come and bark at them, anyway, and there wasn’t anything else after that. When the door opens, we both fall forward and sprawl at the feet of the person on the other side.

“Arismendi,” I gasp, and scramble to my feet. “What are you doing here? Where’s Luca? What’s--”

“You need to come with me,” she says curtly, then sighs. I see her face is streaked with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m--not myself. Please, we have to hurry.”

“But what’s happened?” Sadra demands.

“My brother is dead,” she says, choking on the words. “Killed.”

“Luca--” I gasp. My heart nearly stops.

“No,” she says. “Costi. He told me if anything were to happen I was to fetch you both and get you away from here. So that’s what I’m doing. Keep up, now.”

I don’t know how she can move as fast as she does and still manage to look like she’s floating. Arismendi is no taller than either of us and she hasn’t obviously lengthened her stride, but she zooms along like she’s on wheels. I guess it must be a royalty thing.

“Was it the House?” I ask tightly.

“It was,” Arismendi says, her voice hard. “I’m sure of it. But it would be almost impossible to prove. Councilor Orean has--well, you’ll see. Come on.”

We follow her through the twisting hallways and tucked away staircases until she motions for us to stay put. Sadra and I glance at each other uneasily but obey as she slips around the corner and delivers a flurry of orders in the most commanding tone I’ve ever heard. It’s even better than Ismeni’s. After a few moments, though, Arismendi’s tone changes. She sounds furious, and so does whoever is arguing with her. It sounds like nothing so much as a pair of spitting, hissing cats.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Sadra, trying to peer over shoulder and around the corner at the same time.

She swats me away and pokes her head out into the corridor, only to immediately flatten herself against the wall.

“It’s Cimari,” she hisses. “Move! We have to get out of here.”

But it’s too late. Cimari rounds the corner before we move more than a few steps. Arismendi is right on her heels, fizzing with indignation.

“Ah,” Cimari says, her eyes lighting up as they fall on Sadra’s face. “I knew it. Of course it was you.”

Sadra says nothing, her face completely impassive. But I know her well enough to see that she has no idea what Cimari is talking about. She keeps her eyes on Cimari, carefully not looking at me. I stand frozen, afraid that the slightest movement will draw Cimari’s attention. Her eyes flick my my way despite--or maybe because of--our efforts, and I back away.

“You,” Cimari breathes. She looks at Sadra. “And you. But why...the thrall?”

“You have no authority here,” Arismendi jumps in, glaring at Cimari.

“I am a member of the House,” Cimari says, her eyes still burning into mine. I hold her gaze, though my insides are quivering like jelly.

“The House of Light and Shadow does not rule the Empire,” Arismendi snaps. “Or the Garden, or the palace, or me.”

Cimari laughs unpleasantly, an ugly sneer on her lips.

“But it does,” Cimari says with a smirk. “It always has. You were only too stupid to see it--and too stupid to see what’s right under your nose, it seems. Run along, now. This one comes with me. It’s caused me enough trouble.”

Cimari grabs me by the arm, only to stumble backwards and fall to the ground as if tased. Ari lowers her hand, a self-satisfied look on her face. I look closely and see that a glimmer of light sparkles around her fingers.

“Stars above,” Sadra says, prodding Cimari’s body with her foot. “Did you kill her?”

“No,” Arismendi says, almost regretfully. “Come on--quickly, before she wakes up. I hate to say it, but she’s right. With Councilor Orean in charge, the House Premier might as well sit on the throne.”

Arismendi leads us down the hall and gestures for us to enter a chamber. Sadra and I step through and she closes the door behind us. When I see who sits stiffly in a chair facing us, I gasp and instinctively reach for the door handle. Arismendi stops me.

“You!” Ismeni gasps, staring at Sadra. She doesn’t even look at me. “You helped him, didn’t you! You horrible girl--”

“Why does everyone think I’ve done something?” Sadra cries exasperatedly. “And what is it I’m supposed to have done?”

“Don’t bother pretending,” Ismeni says. “As if trying to ruin Cimari’s career wasn’t enough--”

“What in the ten hells are you talking about?” Sadra demands.

“There’s no time for this,” Arismendi says briskly. “We need to leave. Now.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Ismeni sneers. “Even you can’t just dance out of the palace with a condemned assassin.”

“Actually, I can,” Arismendi tells her. “But we’re not going out through the palace--we’re going under it. I had them put you in here for a reason, my brother’s inexplicable beloved. Look.”

With our help, Arismendi shifts a heavy chest aside and pushes a stone block into the wall until it reveals a hole large enough to crawl through. It must lead into the tunnels, I realize. Luca said that his sister is the only one who knew them as well as he does...aside from the Prince.

“Go on, then,” Arismendi says, gesturing to the hole.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Ismeni says, looking at the hole with incredulous distaste.

“I assure you, I am,” Arismendi says coldly. “Unless, of course, you would rather be put to death for my brother’s murder. If that’s the case, we will bid you farewell and good riddance and be on our way.”

Ismeni glares at her and gathers her skirts up with great dignity before crawling through the space. I go next, then Sadra, then Arismendi. I replace that there’s room to stand a few feet in. Ismeni waits for us with a ball of light in her hand, tapping her foot impatiently. I wonder if she’s scared. She doesn’t look it--she just looks irritated.

“Where are we going?” Ismeni wants to know once we’re all through. “Is there a second part to this grand escape of yours?”

“It’s your escape, not mine,” Arismendi points out. “I only promised my brother I’d get you all out--what you decide to do after that is up to you. Throw yourself off a cliff if you like. Let’s go. It’s not far.”

“Why do you hate her so much?” I whisper to Arismendi as we creep through the tunnels. “I thought you said it was the House that killed the Prince?”

“I don’t know,” Arismendi sighs, laughing a little. “I’ve never liked her. I get...feelings, sometimes, and they’re nearly always right. Which reminds me, I must ask for your forgiveness. I convinced Coran to tell me--and Costi--about you. I knew he was hiding something important. I knew--I know--you are important. We’re all wrapped up in it together--it’s hard to explain. And now...now I wonder if I had it all wrong. If I hadn’t said anything, would Costi…”

“Don’t think that,” I say, squeezing her arm. “It’s the House’s fault and no one else’s.”

But what she says gets me thinking. If she hadn’t said anything, Luca might have kept my presence a secret and we wouldn’t be in this situation. This is true, though I would never say that to her. But what if I had said something? What if I had trusted Luca enough to tell him everything? He would have understood why I couldn’t involve his brother. He would have understood why I had to leave.

What if this is actually all my fault? I try to take my own advice and put the blame where it really belongs, but it’s hard, especially since a nasty little voice in my head still insists that it was the Prince himself who ruined everything. I was so close to leaving…

“Coran!” Arismendi calls, and runs forward.

Luca catches her in his arms, dripping water all over her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She clings to him, her slim shoulders shaking. Luca holds her tightly, tears glistening in his eyes. I look away. Their brother is dead because of me. Finally, Arismendi steps away and wipes her eyes.

“Lucoran will guide you from here,” she says. “I have to go. Guards are coming, and they can’t replace me with you. As it is, it will be my word against Cimari’s and I honestly don’t know whose counts for more.”

“Goodbye,” I say softly.

“And thank you,” Sadra adds, touching Arismendi’s arm. “We won’t forget.”

Arismendi smiles at her. “I know. Goodbye for now. We’ll meet again one day.”

“Ari, you have to go,” Luca tells her. “Be careful.”

“You be careful,” his sister retorts, but she hikes up her skirts and dashes away into the darkness.

“Let’s go,” Luca mutters to the rest of us. “We need to hurry.”

“Why are you all wet?” Sadra asks suspiciously as we follow Luca further into the tunnel.

“You’ll see,” he says cryptically. “Be quiet.”

“Secret,” I murmur. Luca’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t look back.

Soon I can hear rushing water, though I can’t see anything but the damp stone of the tunnel walls. I realize with a stab of fear that I also hear voices echoing faintly in the passage behind us. I exchange a wide-eyed glance with Sadra and walk more quickly.

“Here,” Luca says finally. His light falls on the edge of a lake much like the one I still think of as ours. “Get in.”

“And go where?” Ismeni demands.

“There,” he says. He points to a space between two bulges in the cavern wall. “There’s a passage beneath the surface. You need to go through it to the other side.”

We all stare at him in horror. He can’t mean it.

“It’s only a few feet long,” he says impatiently. “You’ll be fine.”

“This is absurd,” Ismeni snaps. “There must be another way--”

“There isn’t,” Luca says. “Now, go!”

“But--”

“Go!” Luca roars, and turns to meet the three guards rushing toward us.

Ismeni’s eyes widen and she plunges into the water without further protest. Sadra and I follow, and the three of us grope our way along the cavern wall, trying to replace the passage. Luca’s light doesn’t reach us. It floats above his head as he moves away from the edge of the lake and onto the flatter ground of the tunnel.

I stifle a gasp as a knife flies from Luca’s hand and into the throat of one of his rapidly approaching attackers. I didn’t even realize he had the knife. Sadra tugs at my arm, hissing at me to keep moving. I follow her blindly, my eyes fixed on Luca as he scoops up a rock and flings it right at the second guard’s eye. He ducks under the guard’s sword and smashes his head into the man’s chin, pushing them both into the path of the third guard.

“Sasha,” Sadra says urgently into my ear. “You go next--Ismeni’s already gone. Sasha!”

“You go,” I tell her, tearing my eyes away from Luca. “Go! I’ll be just behind you.”

“You’d better be,” she warns me. “Or I’m coming back and dragging you by your ears.”

Sadra takes a deep breath and disappears beneath the inky surface after one last, stern look. I turn back just in time to see Luca snatch his knife from the body of the first guard and plunge it into the stomach of the third. He crouches over the body, panting. His eyes glow like an animal’s in the dim light.

“Go,” he says harshly. “Go now.”

I go.