Page 3

He considered my proposal, and then he smiled. “Yes, all right.”

“I will count the eggs and tell you how many there are!” I was already scrambling up the trunk, wishing my feet were bare but too aware of myself to take off my shoes.

“No, bring the nest down.”

I paused, halfway to my goal. “But if we move the nest, the mother may not be able to find it.”

“You said you would show me a nest. Did you lie?” He looked so angry at the idea that I had deceived him. Especially that first day, I would have done anything to make him smile.

“No!” I said, my breath catching in my chest. I reached the branch and scooted along it. Inside the nest were four tiny, perfect eggs of pale blue.

As carefully as I could, I worked the nest free from the branch. I would show Victor and then put it right back. It was difficult, climbing down while keeping the nest protected and intact, but I managed. I presented it to Victor triumphantly, beaming at him.

He peered inside. “When will they hatch?”

“Soon.”

He held out his hands and took the nest. Then he found a large, flat rock and set the nest on top of it.

“Robins, I think.” I stroked the smooth blue of the shells. I imagined they were pieces of the sky, and that if I could reach high enough, the sky would be smooth and warm like these eggs.

“Maybe,” I said, giggling, “the sky laid these eggs. And when they hatch, a miniature sun will burst free and fly up into the air.”

Victor looked at me. “That is absurd. You are very odd.”

I closed my mouth, trying to smile at him to let him know his words had not hurt my feelings. He smiled back, tentative, and said, “There are four eggs and only one sun. Maybe the others will be clouds.” I felt a warm rush of affection for him. He picked up the first egg, holding it to the light of the sun. “Look. You can see the bird.”

He was right. The shell was translucent, and the silhouette of a curled-up chick was visible. I let out a laugh of delight. “It is like seeing the future,” I said.

“Almost.”

If either of us could have seen the future, we would have known that the next day his mother would pay my cruel caregiver and take me away forever, presenting me to Victor as his special gift.

* * *

—

Justine sighed happily. “I love that story.”

She loved it because I told it just for her. It was not entirely the truth. But so little of what I told anyone ever was. I had ceased feeling guilty long ago. Words and stories were tools to elicit the desired reactions in others, and I was an expert craftswoman.

That particular story was almost correct. I embellished some, particularly about remembering the villa, because that was critical to lie about. And I always left off the ending. She would not understand, and I did not like to think about it.

“I can feel its heart,” Victor whispered in my memory.

I peeked out the edge of the curtain as the city of Ingolstadt swallowed us, its dark stone homes closing around us like teeth. It had taken my Victor and devoured him. I had sent Henry to lure him home, and now I had lost them both.

I was here to get Victor back. I would not leave until I had.

I had not lied to Justine about my motivation. Henry’s betrayal stung like a wound, fresh and raw. But I could survive that. What I could not survive was losing my Victor. I needed Victor. And that little girl who had done what was necessary to secure his heart would still do whatever it took to keep it.

I bared my teeth back at the city, daring it to try to stop me.

DARKNESS FROM THE STORM had already claimed the sky, rendering the sunset a moot point. But it could not have been much past nightfall when we reached the lodging I had hastily written ahead to arrange. I did not know whether Victor was allowed guests in his rooms here, or what state those rooms would be in. Though we had lived in the same house until he left, assuming I could stay with him here felt too risky. The Victor who had left two years earlier was surely not the same now. I had to see him again to figure out who he needed me to be. And Justine certainly would not approve of us staying in a young, single student’s rooms.

Thus it was we found ourselves standing beneath umbrellas in the drearily persistent rain, knocking on the door of Frau Gottschalk’s House for Ladies. The carriage waited behind us, the horses stamping their impatience on the cobblestones. I wanted to stamp alongside them. I was finally here, in the same city as Victor, but I would not have time to seek him out until the morning.

I pounded until my fist stung beneath my glove. The door cracked open at last. A woman, lit in yellow lamplight that made her look more wax than human, glared at us with startling ferocity.