“Is the Society trying to kill me?”
At the word Society, Karina shivers like someone just walked over her grave. Noah goes and slides an arm around her, leads her to the other side of the barn.
“Are they?” I persist when Ms. Chancellor’s silence is too much.
“The Society is not why I’m here. Or not precisely.”
“Then why?”
As soon as I’ve said the words, I regret them. I can see it in Ms. Chancellor’s eyes. Good news never brings anyone to my door.
“Grace, your grandfather …”
The barn doors are open, but it’s like her words suck all the air from the room. I can’t stop myself from swaying, unsteady. Alexei’s arm slides around my waist, anchoring me to him while Ms. Chancellor goes on.
“Sweetheart, he went to the palace, and …”
“They killed him,” I finish for her, but Ms. Chancellor hurries to shake her head.
“No! He’s alive. But they say he had a heart attack. He can’t be moved, or so they claim. I haven’t seen him. They won’t let me see him.”
Ms. Chancellor is always calm, always cool. But it’s like her chocolate-colored eyes are starting to melt, and for the first time I realize what I’m seeing. This isn’t a concerned member of my grandfather’s staff. This is the woman who has been with him for decades, working by his side, living under his roof. This is the woman who loves him, and my heart breaks just a little more.
“Why are you here?” I ask again, my voice softer.
“The Society has brokered an … arrangement.”
The last time I saw the Society, the central question seemed to be whether they should kill me or just step aside and allow the royal family to do it. I don’t have to hear about their arrangement to know that I won’t like it.
“There may be a … solution,” Ms. Chancellor says. “The Society would like for you to return to Valancia. They would like—”
“To kill me?”
“To end it,” Ms. Chancellor says. “I told them where they could shove their offer, but then your grandfather …”
She can’t finish, and I can’t blame her.
“What kind of arrangement?” Alexei asks, and for the first time Ms. Chancellor seems to realize we’re not alone.
“I’m not certain of the details, but Prime Minister Petrovic assures me that they have arrived upon a … compromise. They consider it something of a truce.”
“This is the same Society that was perfectly willing to let me die just to keep the status quo in Adria,” I remind her.
“Yes, dear. I know.” Ms. Chancellor sounds like a woman who knows entirely too well—who’d give anything to forget.
“I don’t trust them,” I say.
“Oh, neither do I,” Ms. Chancellor agrees.
It’s too hot in the barn. There are too many people watching, too much riding on one more-screwed-up-than-average teenage girl. I want to go back to when my biggest worry was whether I could trust the Scarred Man. I want to go back in time, but I can’t. So I settle for going outside.
The rain has turned to a hard, wet drizzle. Water’s not really falling from the sky anymore; it simply fills the air. It’s like walking into a cloud—or a fog. In a way, it’s how I’ve been feeling for ages.
Megan’s jacket is hanging on a nail by the door, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to pick it up and slip it on. Outside, water clings to me, soaking my hair and chilling me to the bone, but I barely feel it. It’s like I’m already numb as I ease farther and farther from the open barn doors and the light inside. I stand under the overhang of the barn’s roof, staring at the wet night, thinking. And then I want to scream. I want to fight and kick and claw until the rest of the world hurts as much as I do.
I want to make it bleed.
But I can’t. So I do the next best thing.
Megan’s phone is heavy in my hand when I pull it from the jacket’s pocket and dial the number that I wish I could forget.
As soon as the voice says hello, I know it’s a mistake. But I’ve always been my own worst enemy, and that, of course, is saying something.
“Where is he?”
Princess Ann’s cold laugh fills the line. “In a hurry, Grace? I suppose that makes sense. It’s foolish of you to call, you know. This can be traced. You’re being careless.”
My carelessness is the least of her problems, and of mine.
“If you hurt him, I will kill you,” I say. My voice is calm and even. “And, just so you know, that’s not a threat. This isn’t the frantic ranting of a delusional girl. I’m not talking crazy, Your Highness. I am crazy. And if you harm my grandfather in any way—if even one snow-white hair is out of place, I will hunt you for the rest of my life. And I will kill you.”
At the other end of the line, Ann giggles. For a moment, she sounds like the girl who used to be my mother’s best friend. She seems like the person in the photos that my mom kept all those years. But just that quickly, that girl is gone.
“Oh, Grace—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“And then I’ll kill your son.”