Page 145

The five of us stand here, still and quiet, submerged in the shadowy orange gleams of the lanterns. A loosely threaded circle of twisted faces, closed eyes and wringing hands.

Then, Tris takes a step back, and the poufy dress rustles around her. “I’ll make tea.”

No one answers. No one stops her.

The silence stays.

Tris returned with what she promised and more.

She set the tray of teapots, empty cups and some biscuits on a round table. Another slave, the male human I don’t know the name of, came with her—and brought chairs from the kitchens.

Now, those chairs are pushed up against the wall.

I sit on one, alone.

Perched on the edge of a sideboard, Dare picks at his nails with the tip of a pocket-dagger. He watches Rune pace back and forth, back and forth.

Tris fusses with dusting and re-aligning frames on the wall, and I would bet my tongue that she’s only pretending to be busyso she can stay in the corridor without one of us sending her back to the kitchens.

I wouldn’t do that. I don’t think any of us would, except maybe Samick—and even then, I don’t know.

In a pocket of darkness, Samick is an ice statue down the corridor, near the landing, hidden from the gleams of the lanterns.

The teas and biscuits are untouched, gathering secrets and dust on the little round table that no one so much as glances at.

Time is slow to pass in the corridor.

No sound comes from the bedchamber. Hemlock House keeps that moment private—and I’m certain it can silence the going-ons in a room from the rest of the home.

I slump in the chair with a quiet huff.

My heel bounces impatiently on the floor.

It’s taking everything in me, everything, not to push my way into that bedchamber and…

What?

What would I do?

Shake Aleana until she wakes? Shout at her to not be so damn selfish and leave me?

Or would I fall onto the bed with her and pull her into my arms and steal this moment from her family?

There’s a conflict in me.

Respect that this moment isn’t for me. But there’s guilt pooling in my gut, too.

My face twists with a frown and I cut my gaze down to the rumpled mess of my chemise. The hem is caught around my knees, a slight tear at the seam.

The seam…

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, as though I can shake out the reality that she’s dying beyond the wall, my sister of the soul…

And I hate that we are just letting it happen.

I’m yanked out of my darkening thoughts.

The front door creaks, loud. The house is announcing someone. Then it slams shut, and I decide that whoever it’s announcing, it does not like.