“You’ve been following us since the library,” he says. His voice is calm, belying the anger tightening the skin around his eyes. “Why?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Now that he’s truly looking at me, my terror of being recognized resurfaces. Again memories flash, the glint of molten metal and my own scream in my ears, acrid smoke.
Even if he doesn’t know me, I’m where I don’t belong. There’s Ivan—his blade.
I was foolish, foolish to follow him.
But I force myself to meet Liam’s eyes, willing my face to be smooth and blank and unafraid. I reach into the purse at my waist and pull out the first coin my fingers touch—a month-iron, from the fund that Duade gave me in Crofton. Old instinct screams at me not to part with the money, but I reach out and drop it into Liam’s hand—his palm is bandaged and fingertips stained purple.
“I saw you drop this,” I say, “in the library.” Then, feigning curiosity—“Do you need something for your hand, my lord? There’s witch hazel in the kitchen.”
Liam’s eyes narrow. He closes his fist around the coin and pockets it, never taking his eyes from mine. “I’m sure you know where we are?” he says.
For a moment, I consider lying again—then think better of it, sure that Liam would hear the deception. “The estate vault.”
“And you’ve heard stories about this place. Am I correct?”
Slowly I nod, unsure of what he wants. Liam’s voice is low, and laced with poison.
“Well,” he says. “What have you heard?”
“If anyone besides a Gerling tries to enter, the door will suck all their time out through their fingers.”
He laughs—the sound is harsh, a burr stuck in his throat. “Were you going to try anyway?” he asks.
“No,” I say firmly, quickly, though I don’t know if it’s a lie.
“It does take time to enter—and you never know how much,” Liam says, the threat present beneath the words like distant thunder. “It could be a day, or fifty years. And when it bleeds you, the door mechanism stains your hands, like this.” He holds up his own. “It’s meant to show when someone has accessed the Everless vault—or tried to. But that’s the least of your worries—Captain Ivan will do worse, if you’re found where you don’t belong.”
I hardly hear the warning—my mind is spinning, thinking of the stain on Papa’s hands. So it is true that the vault takes your time. And Papa was nearly out of that. It would explain why he came to the estate, just to die at its walls . . . why the soup I gave him couldn’t save his life.
But no. No matter how desperate he was, my father wouldn’t steal blood-iron or jewels. Whatever he was trying to get from inside was worth dying for.
“What’s your name?” Liam asks.
“Jules,” I mutter, still thinking about my father’s stained hands. Then my stomach sinks as I realize what I’ve given away.
I look up at Liam. I’m close enough to see that the whites of his eyes are ringed with red. Jules is a common name, I think desperately. He wouldn’t make the connection to something that happened ten years ago.
“You were in the library too,” he says. “Another place you don’t belong.”
His tone is casual, like he doesn’t mean it as a threat, just a statement of fact. It takes me a moment to process the danger in it.
“I—I was looking for a book,” I stammer, the truth escaping in spite of myself. I should have said cleaning, but it’s just as well—he would have seen the lie on my face. “I like reading.” I curse my slow-wittedness and take a step back from him, wanting to escape.
“Lord Gerling!” a voice calls down.
I take advantage of the moment to step away farther. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Wait.” He reaches out and catches my wrist. Now his eyes are slightly wild, the black in his pupils spreading into his eyes’ dark irises. Sensing danger, I freeze, hoping he can’t feel my pulse thundering under my skin.
“What book?” he asks, and when I stare in confusion, adds, “in the library.”
“Oh.” I cast my mind around, and the titles of every book I’ve ever read fly out of my head at once. I don’t know what he’d make of the fact I was studying the Queen. “Nothing important—just an old children’s book.” I catch on a scrap of a memory. “The Tale of Elisa—”
“The Traveler,” Liam finishes for me. His eyes are fixed on mine, wild still, too intent, his head cocked to one side. “I knew a girl once who loved that book.” There’s a current of something in his voice that raises the hair on the nape of my neck.
Then, something changes in him. His posture stiffens, and he steps back from me. “Curiosity ill befits a servant,” he says. “If you’re found where you don’t belong again, I’ll report you to Captain Ivan. I advise you not to test me.”
His words are sharp. Even though a moment ago I was trying to figure out how to leave, I can’t help but blink, stunned.
But I say nothing, just turn on my heel and leave.
Rage makes my hands shake as I walk—almost run—through the halls, desperate to get as far away from Liam as Everless will allow me. For a moment, when he remembered the name of that book, I almost forgot who he was—the boy who caused us to be banished from our homes to cover his own cruelty. The root of all our ruin.
I must never forget again.
I duck through one of the small doorways to the servants’ corridors, eager to get out of sight. Unlike the main hallways, with their lush red carpet and sunlight streaming in through the high windows, the narrow, twisting servants’ corridors are dark and protected. They’re familiar, and I have a sudden feeling I want them to swallow me. I don’t see the figure coming from the opposite direction until we collide at a corner, shoulders smacking painfully together. I stumble and almost lose my balance.
“Sorry,” I mutter, hurrying to pick myself up. And then I catch sight of a corner of velvet coat. This is no servant I’ve nearly run over.
All at once, Roan Gerling’s hands are on my upper arms, pulling me upright.
His eyes go wide as he registers my face, and my breath stops in my throat.
Roan’s coat is askew, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He takes half a step back to better see me, his head tilting to one side. Then, slowly, his mouth curves in a slight smile.
I know I should duck my head and flee, but another part of me is shouting at Roan Gerling to see me, really, finally see me, and remember. His face is so crystallized in my mind that it’s hard to believe he can look into my face and not remember my name as well.
“L-Lord Gerling,” I say, my tongue tripping over itself. I drop into a curtsy, feeling my cheeks burning red. “My apologies.”
“No matter.” His chuckle invites me to look up, so I do—it’s hard not to, with his blue eyes drawing mine in like a magnet. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
I blink. “Nowhere, my lord.”