“Are you telling me to do whatever it takes?” She narrowed her gaze.
I shook my head. “Don’t force her into anything,” I said, though already knowing Evelyn wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t do. “Just talk to her, say whatever you have to say to convince her of her new life, even if it’s nothing but lies—I know you can get through to her.”
“I’ll do my best,” Evelyn said, unconfident.
She paused. “What about the sister?” Then she looked at me sidelong, suspiciously. “Or has she already accepted her fate? It didn’t take the other one long. Petra, I think her name is; she’s already one of the favorites among the men, and she’s only been here forty-eight hours. Is the sister coming around, too?”
I couldn’t look Evelyn in the eyes.
She cocked her head to one side, waiting.
“Atticus?”
“She’s a different case altogether,” I finally answered.
“Maybe so,” Evelyn said. “But if she’s anything like her sister—and I’m guessing she is—how do you plan to keep her alive before Rafe gets back, much less send her to live with Rafe against her will when he does? You’re digging your own grave—you’re digging her grave.”
“I know!” I hissed, getting tired of her being right all the damn time. I glared at her. “Look, I know this is risky, but I think change can happen. I don’t expect everyone to like it or agree with it at first, but the only person who has to agree is Wolf—.” I stopped when I heard the echo of footsteps coming up the stairs.
“I think I can manipulate him”—I spoke more quickly—“into believing it’s in all of our best interests that the women are treated better.” I’d wanted to say ‘equally’, but I knew that’d never happen.
Evelyn looked beyond me toward the darkening hall—it was about the time when one of the other women would make rounds lighting the candles along the steps and in the hallways.
“How the hell do you plan to do that?”
“By telling him the truth,” I said. “They don’t want anyone to start a rebellion. We need to make these women want to be here, to believe they’re as essential as any soldier. Brainwashing creates devoted followers, but slavery creates rebels. And the rebels usually win.”
Evelyn pursed her lips thoughtfully, and had no argument. She couldn’t; my logic was sound.
“You can’t tell me that Rafe and Wolf sleep like babies every night,” I said, “that they don’t entertain the very real possibility that their tyrant ways aren’t going to be what gets them killed—I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”
Evelyn shook her head, still not convinced, nor would she ever be, I knew. Because, deep down, I felt the same way.
“Many women like powerful, tyrant men,” Evelyn pointed out. “That’s why Rafe and Wolf are still alive. And women don’t like to share. Rafe’s wives are content with one another, but they’ve drawn the line, and you know as well as I do they’re not going to share Rafe with anyone else. I give it a few days and that girl you’re trying to protect will be choking on her own blood. I’d tell you to break her in yourself and spare her, but then you’d be the one choking on your own blood, and, well, that’s unacceptable.”
The footsteps were getting closer.
Evelyn stepped up to me, seeking my closeness, and instead of moving away from her this time, I touched my lips to her forehead.
“You’re a dear friend, Evelyn Bouchard.”
Her eyes smiled faintly but it wasn’t enough to show on her lips. I knew she was fed up with my choices despite her attempts to make me see reason; and she probably knew it was only a matter of time I would be dead because of those choices. Unfortunately, so did I.
The door to the stairwell creaked open, and a shadow grew larger against the wall.
“One week,” Evelyn relented in a hurried voice, holding up her index finger. “But after that, Atticus, you’re on your own.”
It wasn’t a threat, but simply the way things had to be. I knew I was putting Evelyn in jeopardy already, and I couldn’t continue to risk her life—I wouldn’t.
As far as Thais hiding out in my room: I had to keep my distance to avoid feeling more sympathetic toward her than I already did.
Keep your distance or you’ll regret it later.
THAIS
I had spent two days in Atticus’ room, two days of his constant absence, and practically talking to myself even when he was there. Not that he had much to say before, but it seemed like he stopped talking altogether. Maybe it was because I only ever talked about Sosie; I wanted him to take pity on her so he might help her. I even asked him to take a letter to her, but I was wasting my breath.
In two days, I had not seen nor heard from the pregnant woman who said she’d help me escape the city. It had been Atticus who brought my food, Atticus who took me to use the restroom, Atticus who took me to bathe; his was the only face I saw anymore.
I was beginning to lose hope.
Then there was a knock at the door, and my head shot up. Atticus, sitting at his desk, his attention buried in his maps and papers like it usually was, heard it as clearly as I had, but he was in no hurry to see who it was. He scanned the paper in front of him a few seconds longer and then slowly went to answer the door.
“De bath is ready,” a familiar voice said.
I craned my neck to glimpse the pregnant woman standing in the doorway. It’s her…
“Surely ya not goin’ to take her ya’self to get a bath?” she said with accusation.
I got up from my cot, setting the book I’d been reading down on the mattress, and I went to the door.
“I won’t be going inside with her,” Atticus said coldly, “if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Well, I’d hope not,” she warned. “My husband ain’t gonna like dat ya’ve had her in ‘ere, alone wit’ ya like dis—it doesn’t look right.”
I stepped up beside Atticus and the woman looked right at me, smiled mysteriously; a dress hung over her forearm, pressed against her rounded belly.
“I can’t help how it looks,” Atticus said flatly. “But I can assure you she’s completely safe in my room. This is the safest place in the city for her to be.” There was something else in his comment other than reassurance; something sharp, accusatory.
The woman smirked, and then she glanced at me.
“De safest, not to mention more appropriate place for Miss Thais”—she looked Atticus in the eyes—“is wit me and my sisters.”
He offered no response, but his rigid body language said things that words didn’t have to.
“Well in any case,” the woman said as she held out the dress “here’s a new dress and a clean pair of panties for ya to wear.”
I took the clothing into my hands.
“Thank you.”
The woman covertly looked at me, and then down at the dress. I thought it strange.
Atticus went to close the door.