It wasn’t a nice orphanage. She could tell it wasn’t because he had this perfectly calm expression on his face. She’d seen that same expression on his face when Urow boasted about his family. Now she got it. That’s why he compared everything to the army. He grew up in an orphanage from hell and joined the military right after, and then even they kicked him out. The army was all he knew and it had been taken away from him.
Her aunt Murid had managed to sneak out through the Broken and from there back into the Weird. She’d joined the Louisiana military and served for twelve years before someone figured out she was related to an exile. She had to run home. It nearly killed her, and at the end of every March, on the anniversary of her escape, they had to hide the wine, because she drank herself sick.
William didn’t drink. William hunted Spider instead. He’d probably done things to his body so he could keep up with the Hand. He had failed at the only profession he’d ever had, and he made sure he wouldn’t fail at this one.
“I’m not one to judge,” Cerise said. “I don’t know what your mother’s circumstances were. But no matter how poor or how badly off I was, they would have pried my son from my cold dead fingers. How quickly did she ...?”
“The day after I was born.”
“So she didn’t even try?”
“No.”
There were times when it was best for the child to grow up with someone other than his parents, but William’s mother didn’t exactly give him to a loving family. She gave him to some sort of hellhole. “I’m so sorry.” Cerise shook her head. “You know what, screw her. You can make yourself a new family.”
William spared her a glance, and she found herself on the receiving end of a thousand-yard stare. “Families aren’t for people like me.”
“What are you talking about? William, you’re kind and strong and handsome. There are tons of women who’d climb over razor wire for a chance to make you happy. They’d be insane not to.”
And she had pretty much just admitted to being one of those women. Cerise sighed. She was too tired to think straight.
William shrugged. “Sure, there are women who’d do anything for a steady paycheck or to get out of their crappy life or to piss off their parents. If you’re desperate enough, even sleeping with someone like me sounds good. But those women aren’t looking for a family. It’s much easier to just pay the woman for her time. That way you can do what you need to do and be on your way. That’s the way I prefer it.”
Wait just a minute here. So, the way he looked at it, she was either trying to get out of her crappy life or desperate, and it would be much easier for everyone involved if he could just pay her for her time.
Maybe he didn’t get it. Or maybe he was trying to tell her that she was good enough to screw but not good enough for anything else. Stupid, Cerise. So, so stupid.
Maybe she should stop playing footsies with a blueblood she met a week ago in the damn swamp.
“Well, if you’re hoping for a roll in the hay with me, you’re out of luck, William,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I’m not for sale.”
She urged her horse on, before he could answer.
WILLIAM killed a growl. He couldn’t explain Hawk’s to her, and he didn’t even want to try. He was a blueblood in her eyes. He didn’t want to kill that, not just yet. She’d figure him out eventually and realize that he was a changeling, poor and happy being a nobody. He knew exactly how it would go. In the Weird, women would occasionally come up to him, smiling and inviting, and then, when he explained what he was, the smiles would slide off their faces. Some would walk away without another word. A few nice ones would make some excuses, trying to soothe his feelings, which he hated even more, and then leave. A couple had been indignant as if he’d tricked them, as if every changeling had to wear a sign announcing what he was. Or a chain. That would’ve suited them even better.
He didn’t want to imagine what it would be like when Cerise found out. It would happen soon enough. For now, he needed to stay a blueblood. He had a job to do.
They rode to the top of a hill. A huge house sat in a clearing, two stories high and big enough to shelter a battalion. The ground floor was built with red brick and caged by sturdy pillars that supported the second-story wraparound balcony. The pillars passed through the balcony’s floor, transforming into light wooden collonettes, carved and painted white. A single wide staircase led up to the balcony and the only door he could see.
It was built like a fortress. Maybe the Mars planned to hold off a siege.
Smaller buildings flanked the house, rising on the sides and slightly behind, like a flock of geese led by the largest bird. To the left, a small water tower jutted against the sky. Why would they need a water tower in the swamp? If you dug a six-inch hole, it filled with water in seconds.
“The Rathole, Lord Bill,” Cerise said. Her voice was cheerful, but her eyes had narrowed. He read anger in the tense lines of her mouth. When he told her about himself, the compassion in her eyes was like that ointment she slathered on his wounds—soothing and warm. She dulled the sharp memories, and he was grateful to her for it. But now she was mad at him.
“What did I say?”
She arched her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t do this. What did I say to piss you off?” He had to fix it. It gnawed at him now and wouldn’t let go.
Cerise shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
He clenched his teeth to keep from pulling her off the horse and shaking her until it spilled out of her. “Tell me what I did.”
She turned in her saddle and looked at him over her shoulder, hair spilling down, eyes on fire.
“What?” he growled.