Page 17

“I know,” I cry. “Wes, I know.” I sniff. “Me too. But it’s all the same to the king and his brother.”

Hedraws a long breath, then runs a hand down his face. When he looks back at me, his eyes are no longer so hard. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

I press my fingers into my eyes. “And I know you always tell me not to grow attached, but you’re the only true friend I have, especially since—since—” My voice breaks again. “Since my parents—”

Wes takes hold of my wrists, so gently. “Tessa.”

When he pulls me against him, I don’t resist, and he holds me for the longest time. We hold each other. This is so different from the other day, when we were pressed into the shadows beside a house, hiding from the night patrol. Now it’s just me and Wes, in the warmth of the workshop, our workshop, holding on as if we can keep out all the evils of the world.

“They’ll be executed.” His voice is so quiet. “At midday.”

I nod against him. “I heard.” I draw back and look up. “Do you think they deserve it?”

He hesitates, and his eyes are shuttered again. This isn’t something we ever talk about. Our conversations revolve around how to avoid detection. How effective the medicines are, and whether a little browning on the petals makes a difference. How frivolous and wasteful the elites are. We discuss the people we lose to the fever, and the people who live.

We don’t discuss what could happen, because I’m right. The king wouldn’t care that we’re stealing to help people. If we’re caught, we’ll be executed right next to the smugglers.

“I think . . . ,” he begins, and then he shakes his head. “I think we’re wasting time. Do you have your mask? The patrols have doubled because of—”

“Wes.” I swallow and catch his arm. His voice was so harsh when he said, I’m not a smuggler, Tessa. “Do you think they deserve it?”

“I think that very few people truly deserve what they get, Tessa.” He pauses, and for the briefest moment, sadness flickers through his eyes. “For good or for bad.”

I think of my parents, executed in the street for doing the very thing Wes and I do. I think of Gillis, dying for lack of medicine, and Kendall, killed to leave an example. I think of the executions to come, and what that will mean for the people left behind.

I think of Weston risking his life to save mine, once upon a time, stopping me from falling to the same fate as my parents. I think of how he risks his life every night to bring medicine to people who need it.

“You only deserve good things,” I whisper.

He gives a small laugh without any humor to it and looks away. “Do you think so?”

I catch his face in my palm and turn his gaze back to mine. As usual, his jaw is a little rough and a little warm, the fabric of the mask soft under my fingertips.

“I do,” I say.

I wait for him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Maybe we’re both shaken. Maybe what happened to Kendall and Gillis has left us both reeling. The air between us seems to shift, and his eyes flick to my mouth. He inhales, his lips parting slightly. “Lord, Tessa . . .”

My thumb slips under the edge of his mask, shifting it higher.

Weston hisses a breath, and his hand shoots out to capture my wrist. I give a small yip of surprise at the suddenness of it.

His eyes clench closed. He lets me go. Takes a step back.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m such a fool. He’s always been so clear about where we stand. About where he stands.

“Put your mask on,” he says roughly. “We’ll lose the darkness.”

I swallow and turn away, digging between the books in my apothecary pack until I find it. I tie it into place over my hair with shaking fingers. When I reach for my hat where it hangs on a hook by the window, Wes catches my arm and turns me around.

I suck in a breath, but he puts his hands on my cheeks to lean in close, and I all but melt into a puddle on the floor. My back hits the wall of the workshop, and my head spins.

Then Wes’s mouth hovers above mine, and I lose all rational thought. His thumb traces my lower lip.

“Not never, Tessa,” he says, and his voice is so rich and deep that he could be speaking straight to my heart. “But not like this.”

I stare into his eyes, wide and guileless and pleading.

And ever the fool, I nod.

He pulls me forward and kisses me on the forehead.

I sigh. “I really do hate you.”

“Always for the best.” He takes a step back, puts my hat on my head firmly, then flicks the brim of his own up an inch. “Eight people will die at midday. Let’s see if we can get enough medicine to spare twice as many this morning.”