“I don’t want you to sacrifice anything.”
“Don’t think well of me,” Carwyn said, and smiled his dark little smile, though his lashes were still wet. “Not for a minute. This is selfish too. It’s useless. You don’t need me, and I can’t do anything for you. One day you will be happy, and I will sink even further. I’ll be the lowest scum of the streets and you’ll never see me again, but I wanted you to know that wherever I end up, I will still feel the same about you. If you ever think of me then, I want you to remember me as someone who would cut out his heart to spare yours. This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you. You were always kind to me, even when you did not mean to be, even when you wanted to be cruel. You were angry for me when I would not have thought to be angry for myself, you warned me that cupcakes were too sweet, and you healed my wrist. You treated me like I was a real person, and I almost felt real. Be kind to me again, let me be real to you one more time: I beg you to believe me.”
He was too close to me, his grip not tight enough to hurt and yet somehow still hurting me, as if his skin was hot and his hold on me could burn. I was trembling.
I looked away from him and said in a low voice, “I believe you.”
I was not looking for his reaction and I did not see it. The next moment, the door opened, and Penelope and Marie came through. They were both beaming wildly, their footsteps clattering in a frantic chorus of joy. Someone else walked in with them.
It was not Dad. It was Jarvis. He was holding tight to Penelope’s hand, and he looked gray and thin and old. Until he saw Carwyn. Then he simply looked afraid.
“You’re not Ethan,” he whispered.
“Would you believe I’m Ethan’s twin,” Carwyn asked, “and that they kept me in the attic my whole life because they didn’t want Ethan to be shamed by how much handsomer I was?”
I looked at Penelope and Marie, who were staring in confusion and growing horror. I glanced at Carwyn and saw him smirking, showing no trace of tears nor any sign that he had been making an emotional confession. I didn’t spare any of them more than a glance.
“You knew he wasn’t Ethan,” I said slowly to Jarvis. “You knew Ethan couldn’t be here. So you know where Ethan is. He found you, didn’t he? Where is he?”
“Lucie,” said Jarvis.
“Tell me! Tell me where he is.”
“Lucie, I’m so sorry,” said Jarvis. “He found me. He gave himself up in my place. He told them he’d do whatever they wanted as long as they let me go. He is in the hands of the sans-merci.”
He had accomplished his mission, my hero, my knight. I was sick with terror.
I swallowed. “And where’s Dad?”
“He’s with your aunt,” said Penelope, her face very serious. “But I swear to you, he’s safe. The sans-merci are hailing him as a hero and a martyr. And, Lucie, the sans-merci have commanded you to go to them as well. Your aunt wants to see you.”
Nobody swore to me that Ethan was safe. None of them wanted to lie to me.
I took a deep breath. “And I want to see her.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They had Ethan and I had to save him, and I’d promised Aunt Leila I would come if she asked for me. I did not know what she wanted with me. I did not know what the sans-merci wanted from me. I could not stop hearing them calling for the Golden One, their voices echoing through that great hotel that had become a palace of the dead.
I had spent two years doing what I did not want to do and had to do anyway. Now I made my way up the gentle slope of the streets.
Aunt Leila had given Jarvis very specific instructions. She had told him that I should not head toward the hotel. She had told me to go somewhere else.
Nobody had told Carwyn to come with me, least of all me, but he had insisted, and I had not wanted to leave him with Penelope’s family.