His face freezes. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“We both know you never actually expected me to raise the five million. And saying my Glitter sales at the palace have been outstanding is a gross understatement.” I raise an eyebrow. “My worth to you in the last few months more than justifies a small favor, in my opinion.”
He hawks low in his throat and spits on the ground. “That’s what I think of your opinion, missy. Saber belongs to me, and that’s that.”
“Be reasonable.”
“I’m always reasonable.”
I force myself to keep my voice calm. “I could attempt to offer you more money for him, but I’ve already given you something better. We both know how much you hate Sonoman-Versailles; I’ve handed you the power to make another five million off them with utter ease. Or contact the authorities and send them in on a raid. Do that and you might well topple the entire kingdom, dissolve the pocket sovereignty, and restore the palace to the people of France. I’ve handed you my entire world to do with as you will, and you know it—you almost certainly planned it. All I’m asking is one life. Just one.” My voice cracks at the end, but I haven’t the pride to feel ashamed.
Reginald’s face is inexplicably stony as he leans forward, the acrid scent of stale tobacco filling my nostrils. “And if you want it, you’re going to have to pay for it, just like the next sorry sod, and you ain’t got enough money for two.”
My eyes widen and my mouth is so dry I can’t swallow.
I thought for sure…
I hear the slightest scuff behind me and spin to see Saber leaning against the wall. I feel the blood drain from my face as I realize that if he didn’t hear the entire conversation, he heard enough.
“Here,” Reginald says, holding out several vials of shimmering Glitter. We go through our regular routine of tucking them into the pockets that hang under my skirts as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. The moment we’re finished, I’m itching to get away, but Reginald halts us. “Almost forgot these,” he says, handing an envelope to Saber, who wordlessly tucks it into his breast pocket and continues to Giovanni’s back door.
That’s right. My father’s patches. The force that propelled me into this nightmare to begin with. I’m so disgusted with Reginald that all I want is to get out of his presence. I hate that I need him. I hate that he owns Saber.
The door from the alley closes, and Saber whirls on me. “What were you thinking?”
His anger feels like a blow. “I—how can it hurt to ask?”
“Hurt? You’ve destroyed everything!”
“I don’t see how that’s even possible.”
“I fly under the radar, Danica. I do as I’m told, I never complain, I’m never punished. But now?” He runs his fingers through his hair with a low groan. “That was clumsy at best, but seriously, the worst possible way to go about it with Reginald. Insinuating that he owed you? What did you think would happen?”
I’m feeling my own temper rise as Giovanni comes around the corner, looking concerned.
“I thought he would see how much I’ve done for him. That he would be rational.”
“He’s not rational! He’s the height of irrational. How the hell could anyone rational live the life he lives? Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?”
“I thought it would work. I wanted to help you; to free you.”
But Saber’s already shaking his head. “You think you can just do things and mess with people’s lives without consulting them. That’s your problem—that’s the problem with all of this!” he says, spreading his hands wide. “You think your little life is so important that you can change other people’s futures and it doesn’t matter what they want, or think. And somehow, you’re sure you have the power to make everything all right.”
“Power?” I shoot back, almost yelling. “I have no power, Saber. I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. But I thought that this one thing—this one tiny thing—maybe I could do it and…and…”
“And redeem yourself?” Saber asks. “One nearly useless life for the hundreds you’ve ruined?”
“I wanted to bring you with me,” I shout back, and silence falls over the studio.
“Ah,” Saber says after a long pause. “So even freeing me was self-serving in the end.”
I want to argue with him, but the words catch in my throat in a surge of indignation. I feel falsely accused, and the hurt and anger war into a tight ball of emotions I can’t speak past.
He’s right, of course. I should have talked to him. Not only so that the person who knows Reginald best could advise my strategy, but simply because I should have asked if he even wanted to come. I took his future and tried to shape it to my own liking. The thought that makes the anger drain away and the shame take over is that I treated him like the slave he is.