“It’s different,” I admit.

“Because she won’t come between us,” he says wisely.

“No, it’s not that. I can’t be a mother. Amie won’t need me that way.” And they’ll both be safer without me, I add silently.

“I didn’t ask you to be,” he repeats.

“No, you might not have, but, Jost, you’re going to be a father—”

“Ad, I’ve always been a father,” he says in a tired voice. “That never went away.”

But you didn’t seem like one, I want to say. He’s right. I’ve always chosen to ignore how awkward his past made me feel, especially when it came to his daughter. And I’ve denied how things will change once she’s back. I won’t be able to protect her or care for her. Even my being with Jost would be a risk to her.

“I can’t waste time waiting for you to be ready. I won’t be like you and Dante. I don’t want to be a stranger to Sebrina. Maybe we need to focus on a plan for now,” he suggests.

My eyes meet his and I understand exactly what he’s saying, and something twists and snaps in my chest, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. But I want him to say it. I want him to own it.

“Instead of?” I ask quietly.

“Instead of worrying about us.”

I have to push against the raw ache in my throat to keep my voice steady, but I manage to ask, “Like, we’ll figure it out later, or like, we’ll remove the ‘us problem’ altogether?”

“Altogether,” he says in a firm voice.

Why had I wanted to hear him say it? So I wouldn’t have to dissect exactly what he meant by “instead of worrying about us”? Because this wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, even if it’s the one I knew was coming.

I want to crumple onto the floor. Part of me wants to sob and beg, making me feel like a traitor to the person I thought I was. As the rawness builds in my throat, I nod, without a single tear, and turn on my heel. The door feels like it’s a million miles away and with each step I nearly lose my resolve, but Jost doesn’t say anything to stop me and that helps.

The tears sting my cheeks as the lock clicks behind me.

TWENTY-ONE

THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOATS THROUGH THE room as the faucet pours water into my claw-foot tub. As I step into the water, its chill surprises me. It’s warm, but not the hot bath I was expecting. I sink in and feel goose bumps rise all over. I take a deep breath and push myself completely under the surface. My hair swirls around me and after a few seconds of weightlessness, I open my eyes. The world swims before them and the water burns, but I don’t shut them again. I stay this way until my lungs feel like they’ll collapse from the effort of staying underwater.

When I rise from the bath, I feel reborn, and yet my face is still too pale and the scarlet of my dyed hair has finally faded into a recognizable copper. I slip into the same dressing gown despite discovering a tear in the sleeve. The mirror lies to me, offering an unchanged reflection when everything about me is different.

* * *

I don’t leave my room the next morning. I stay in my dressing gown, torn sleeve and all. It’s clean and otherwise comfortable. Someone brings me food, but it grows cold on the serving tray it arrived on. A cart of sweets and delicacies and none of it looks good. There’s wine, too. But I don’t want to drink it. I tried to lose my grief in a bottle when Enora died, but I want to feel this. I want it to tear at me so that my heart is scar tissue when it heals—harder to break and less sensitive to pain.

The truth is, I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel sadness or anger. The numbness is crippling. The only thing that seems true in this moment is that this was inevitable.

How do girls my age in Arras get married? Do they fight with their husbands? I can’t remember my parents fighting. But marriage is different from being in love, I remind myself. It’s permanent—legal and binding. I couldn’t walk out of a marriage like I walked out on Jost last night. He has no claim to me, and I have no claim to him.

I’m still in my dressing gown when there’s a hard rap on my door. I open it expecting to see Jost.

Dante takes in my disheveled appearance and my fallen face, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too tense. Excited, maybe. He looks like Benn right down to the crease forming between his thick eyebrows.

No. Anxious.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me into the hallway.

I clutch my robe together. “I’m not dressed.”

“There’s not time,” he says, dragging me along.

I wrench my arm free. “Okay.”

I retie my robe as modestly as possible while trying to keep pace with him. I’m more than a little surprised when we run through the grand marble entrance and right out the front door. We pound down the side staircase so quickly that I grip its long carved railing to keep from falling down the brick steps. Dante leads me past the drive to the outer road, where a group of crawlers wait. These ones are armored. Their roofs are made of thick metal, but looking closer I see there are holes in the tops. A Sunrunner pops up through one and I realize what they’re for: scouting. Dozens of men are loading up crates and weaponry.

“What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly fearful. We were in Guild territory yesterday; did they track us back here? Is Cormac coming after me?

Kincaid appears over Dante’s shoulder. He’s wearing a thick black vest, not unlike the ones the guards at the Coventry wear. I know they are worn for protection there, but Kincaid doesn’t seem like the type to put himself in harm’s way. Not unless something important drives him to it.