Page 93 of Gilded Locks

The glass-walled sanctuary overflowed with impossible greenery and radiant blooms that somehow thrived despite the Arctic climate outside. Orchids preened in beaming jewel tones, so vibrant she had to touch petals to assure herself they weren’t fake.

“They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

Spinning sharply, Marigold gasped in the sweet, humid air and backed into a large palm. “Who are you?”

The girl—because that’s what she was, barely past her teens with features that belonged in a Renaissance painting—sat curled in a white wicker chair, a book forgotten in her lap. Dark hair fell like a curtain around her face, with eyes the same emerald green as Stone’s, flecked with molten gold that dimmed and brightened with every emotion.

“I’m Katya Volkova. And I assume you’re her.” There was a touch of wonder in her voice.

She moved closer, drawn in by her the fragile grace. “I’m Marigold. Though I suppose you already know that.”

“My brothers warned me that you were beautiful.” Her smile was tentative, like she’d forgotten how to use it properly. Brief and gone before truly there. “They also told me who your brother is.”

“Half-brother.”

“They said you’re estranged now, that he sent you away and you managed to escape.”

Marigold nodded. “That’s right. When I tried to stop him from hurting someone, he had me committed.”

“Because you knew what he was.”

Another nod paired with a small step forward. “He’s evil. What he did to you…”

She held up a delicate hand, so small and fragile. “I’m stronger than people realize.”

“Still. No one should have to suffer that way.”

“True.” Such a small word to carry so much weight. She waved a hand, inviting Marigold to settle into the chair across from her. “I come to this room to read, and to escape. Winter can be quite a prison around here. The solarium helps me remember that change will come.

The humid room buzzed with hidden sprinklers and small insects. It was as if they trapped a tropical summer within a bitter tundra. “I suppose this is where the flowers come from.”

“And the produce.” She pointed past the archway lined with draping wisteria. “There are more gardens that way. Everything we serve is farm-to-table, regardless of the season.”

Marigold leaned forward, angling her head to see the next room, but trusted Katya’s word. An awkward silence expanded between them. She folded her hands on her lap, no doubt wondering what they might have in common.

“Why did you escape the facility?” Katya finally asked. “Was it simply because you didn’t want to be locked away, or were there other reasons.”

“There were other reasons.” A knowing look passed between them.

Katya nodded. “I was sent away, too. But I had a choice in the matter.”

“How long?” she asked gently then said, “Do you mind talking about it?”

“I don’t mind. Six months. It was a private facility in Switzerland. Very discreet, very exclusive.” Katya’s laugh held no humor. “My brothers wanted the best care money could buy for their broken little sister.”

“You’re not broken.”

The words came out with more force than Marigold had intended, but she didn’t regret them.

She’d heard that particular lie too many times, had it whispered in her ear by orderlies who thought emotional damage was something that dehumanized a soul, as if her values could be medicated away.

“You sound like my brothers.”

“Well, that’s because I hear it from them too.”

“Before... everything... I used to love the gatherings,” Katya said softly. “Not here—my brothers kept me away from their business. But I’d attend the masquerades on Isola Verde.” Her laugh was bitter. “Their parties were beautiful on the surface. Venetian masks sipping poisoned wines, secrets traded like currency.”

“You’ve been to the other islands?”