“He’s fine,” Row murmured into her ear. “He always was fine, Katie. He doesn’t need you. Why not have a moment for yourself? No one has to know.”
He tugged on her hand again, and Katie followed him, past Mrs. Harris’s gingerbread stall and into the trees behind. The trees closed in around them, and Katie felt a moment’s alarm—so much dark here!—before she remembered her knife. Row was trying to tug her deeper into the woods, but she halted, pulling free of his hand.
“What do you want?” she repeated.
“You stole something, Katie.”
“And what would that be?”
He put a hand on her waist, and she jumped.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, trying to keep her thoughts veiled. She had buried the crown in the woods behind the town park, several feet beneath the roots of an old, dry oak. No one would ever find it unless they were looking for it, but Row had been able to peer inside her mind before. A twig snapped as he stepped closer, looming over her in the dark. She thought of that other night, so long ago, and a chill went down her spine. How had they gone from two children sneaking through the woods to this? Where had the rot sunk in? His hand was still on her waist, and Katie removed it, pushing his fingers away.
“Don’t play with me, Row. I’m not one of your church fools.”
“No, you’re not, but you have been conned. We all have, by Tear.”
“Not this again.”
“Think about it, Katie. Why keep everything such a secret? Why hide the past?” He grasped her arm, moving out of a patch of shadow, and Katie saw that his face was pale, his eyes wide and febrile, almost red in the moonlight. For a terrifying moment he reminded her of the thing she had seen in the woods that night, and she stumbled away, nearly falling against a nearby tree. But when she looked up, he was only Row again.
“I know why he hid the past, Katie. He didn’t want us to know that there was another way it could be. Each according to their gifts . . . the smart and hardworking rewarded, and the lazy and stupid punished.”
“That may play with your congregation, Row, but not with me. I don’t need to take your word for history. I read, Row. Your paradise is a nightmare.”
“Only for the weak, Katie,” Row replied, a smile in his voice. “The weak were pawns. But you and I could be anything.”
He pushed her up against one of the trunks, his hands groping roughly at her clothes, and Katie found that she didn’t want to stop him. She was drunk, but the culprit wasn’t alcohol. It was oblivion. She remembered that night, years ago, Row standing at her window, beckoning her out into the night world. She hadn’t known why she went then and didn’t know now . . . except perhaps that she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it was just that. She didn’t love Row, thought she might even hate him, deep in some dark place where love and hate were closer than kin. But hate was its own aphrodisiac, vastly more powerful, and she hooked her fingers into claws and tore her way down Row’s back.
He shoved inside her and Katie came, not even expecting it. Bark dug into her back, but she didn’t mind; the pain seemed to fit everything else. Row was fucking her now, fucking her the way she’d read about in books, and the pleasure of it was so unbelievable that Katie jammed her palm across her mouth to keep from screaming. Only a hundred feet away, the festival went on, people talking and laughing. She tried to think of Jonathan, but he was far away, in the light-filled universe beyond the trees. Row’s mouth was on her neck, her breasts, biting at her nipples until she thought they must bleed, but the pain fed the thing inside her. Part of her wished that this could go on forever, that they would never have to go back to town, where they were only enemies now. She was working on her third orgasm when Row stiffened, shoved deep inside her and held for a long moment, then collapsed, panting, against her shoulder.
“It’s not too late, Katie,” he whispered. “We could be kings.”
She stared at him, feeling the break inside her seal back up, returning her to herself. She was twenty years old, Jonathan was nearly twenty-one, Row was twenty-two. She couldn’t make excuses for any of them anymore, including herself.
“Kings,” she repeated, pushing him off, wincing as he withdrew. “I notice you only made one crown, Row. Was it for me?”
“Katie—”
“Of course not. You’re not built to share, so don’t bullshit me. But this isn’t your town. It belongs to the Tears.”
Row laughed. Katie felt as though she were missing some vital piece of information. For perhaps the hundredth time, she wondered why William Tear hadn’t killed Row long ago. Surely he had seen this coming.
“I’m giving you a last chance, Katie. Come on board with me.”