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But Mama shakes her head insistently. "You still don't understand, Aurora. I bargained with her. Told her she could have you—keep you—as long as you were safe from Nero. And she told me that if she did what I asked, that you could never see the sunlight again, because it would be too dangerous. She told me if I really wanted her to save you, I'd have to agree to your staying with herforever. In darkness, forever." She catches her breath. "I didn't understand, Aurora. I thought she meant…"

"Metaphorical darkness," I supply for her.

She nods. "She took off the tiara and gave it to me and told me to think hard about what I was asking. And she said, if I still wanted her help, to put this tiara on you for your wedding day, as a sign. A signal. And I…I did."

I can feel my heart tightening up as I think all this through. "Yes," I say slowly. "You did. But where is it now? Hadria pulled off my veil, along with the tiara—" Inside, I'm wondering if this is my key to freedom. That tiara could certainly cover fake I.D. and a ticket out of the city—or even country.

"After they took you, your father found it with your veil on the ground outside the chapel," she says, voice trembling. "He had to give it to Nero, since…"

"Since I was supposed to cover his debt, and I was gone," I finish. I let go of my mother's hands. "I see."

It's hopeless. I see that now. It was always hopeless to expect someone else to save me—some unseen spirit, or Hadria, or my mother.

If I want my freedom, I can't wait for someone else to grant it to me.

I need totakeit.

I stand and give a bright smile. "We should go back to the house. I'm sure you're hungry."

But my mother's face darkens as she looks up at me. "You blame me."

"I don't." It's the truth, but Mama doesn't believe me. A strange gentleness comes over me. "Mama, I don't blame you.Youblame you, and you need to forgive yourself. But I'm not angry with you. Now, please, come back to the house."

But the closer we get to the house, the more upset my mother becomes, until she pulls away from me near the door. "I should go."

"You've barely been here an hour," I say, but I already know she's made up her mind. She stares at me with large, wet eyes, and I take pity on her. "Alright," I say. "Come this way, to the foyer. And I'll ask for the car to come around for you."

I leave her there in the foyer as I head to a side room to contact the garage—here at Elysium, there's a fully-stocked garage housing multiple cars, motorbikes, and even a minivan. But on my way back in from asking for a car to take my mother home, I pause, hearing voices drift in from the foyer—Mama's impassioned tone and Hadria's chill timbre.

On impulse, I quiet my footsteps, slide up against the wall, and listen in.

"…thankful that I allow you to see her at all," Hadria is saying.

"But you can't keep treating her this way! She needs more freedom—she needslight." Mama's words are heated, tinged with desperation.

Hadria's cool reply raises the hairs on my arms. "You forget yourself. You gave up any say in her life when you put that tiara on her head."

I creep closer to the door and peek around. Mama has her back to me as she faces off with Hadria. At Hadria's curt reminder, Mama seems to fold in on herself.

"Yes," she says miserably. "Yes…I know. But I didn't know?—"

"Yes, you did. You came to a mercenary seeking help. You always knew that help would have conditions. I was perfectly honest with you, Sylvia, and I will keep my promise. Your daughterwillbe safe as long as she remains here at Elysium. As long as she follows my rules and obeys me."

My pulse thuds in my ears, and then I hear the tell-tale crunching gravel as the town car pulls up in front of the house again.

After a fraught beat, Mama says, "Please give Aurora my love and tell her I had to take my leave. If I stay any longer, I'll try to take her with me…and we both know how that would end."

"Oh, yes. We do." A chill goes through me at the unspoken implication. "I'll tell her you love her. Safe travels, Sylvia."

I creep forward, peering around the doorway carefully. Mama moves toward the front door, shoulders slumped. At the threshold she pauses, half-turning. "Please…keep her light from being extinguished by this wicked world you've built."

Hadria says nothing, but I know her well enough by now to understand that the rigid set of her shoulders indicates irritation. And then Mama goes outside without a backward glance.

The great front doors boom shut, echoing with finality.

CHAPTER 28

Hadria