Merriweather runs a hand through his tousled black hair. “Before we share any other confidential information, I think we ought to vote on whether to allow Cate and her cohort a say in the proceedings.”

“Vote?” I ask. “I thought we inherited Cora’s seat.”

“The key, perhaps, but not the right to use it.” Merriweather gives an elegant, insufferable shrug. “We’ll let you know our decision.”

He strides back to the table, taking his seat at the head of it, and it’s obvious that we’ve been dismissed.

Elena stands. “How?”

He smirks, reaching for his mug of ale. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you.”

I want to argue, but it will only make me look childish. Instead, I give a curt nod and follow Elena up the stairs into the storeroom.

We’re quiet until we slip out into the freezing midnight air.

“It’s only his arrogance getting in the way.” A scowl scrunches Elena’s pert nose. “We’d be dead useful to him. He’s got to see that.”

“Does he? He doesn’t seem to think very highly of women. We are half the population. The half that no politician has appealed to for a whole century,” I add. “If the new government gave women the vote—”

“Would their husbands let them exercise it?” Elena interrupts.

Around us, the back alleys are deserted. I snuggle into my cloak, wondering where the men who were searching the bins for scraps went. Wondering if they’ve got a warm place to sleep. “I can’t think all husbands would be so small-minded.”

Finn wouldn’t be.

“We could compel Merriweather,” Elena suggests. “If he fell in line, they all would.”

“I don’t want to resort to that. Not if they’re to be our allies,” I argue.

I don’t say what’s in my heart: I don’t want to compel the Resistance leaders, but if Merriweather’s investigation leads him to Finn—if it were the only way to keep Finn safe—I would do it in a heartbeat.

Chapter 5

THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY NIGHT IS THE Brothers’ Christmas bazaar—an annual tradition in New London. Vendors set up booths around the duck pond in Richmond Square Gardens, and the public must buy tickets to enter the gates. The proceeds go to the Sisterhood so that we can deliver extra rations and Christmas presents to the poor.

I’m curled up on my bed, listening to the swish of petticoats as girls run down the hall to borrow brooches or earbobs. They have to wear the black uniform of the Sisterhood, but it’s still a night out. They call to each other in bright, excited voices and help one another fix their hair, though it’ll be hidden by hoods and blown askew by the sharp December wind.

Tess is sitting at my dressing table, arranging her pale blond curls in a pompadour. “Are you sure you won’t come?”

There was some question as to whether any of us should attend this year, since we’re ostensibly in mourning. Wouldn’t it be disrespectful to Sister Cora, whose body was laid to rest only a week ago? But we’re supposed to have a booth, selling hats and mittens and scarves we knitted ourselves, so Inez decided we should go through with it.

“Quite.” I’m not in the mood for a bazaar. “Are you sure you won’t stay home? We’ll have the place almost to ourselves. We can make cocoa and . . .” I cast about for something that Tess would like. “Play chess?”

“You’re terrible at chess.” Tess wrinkles her nose. “I’m not going to lock myself up here forever, Cate.”

“Not forever.” I hug my knees to my chin. “Just until things settle down a bit.”

“That could be years.” She stands, retying the black satin sash at her waist. “I’m going.”

“Fine. But no magic. Not for any reason,” I say, last week’s recklessness still fresh in my mind. “There will be hundreds of Brothers there.”

The National Council meeting was supposed to end yesterday, but they’ve called an emergency extension because of the attack on the Head Council. I felt curiously relieved when I heard of it. Finn’s been working as a clerk for Brother Denisof, but now that Denisof’s lying comatose in Richmond Hospital, what will he do? Go back to Chatham to teach in the Brothers’ school? He might be safer there, but the thought of him being so far away makes my chest ache.

“I know that.” Tess scowls at me. “I just want one night out. I want to shop for little trinkets for Father and Mrs. O’Hare, and walk around with Lucy and Bekah like a normal girl! Like the world isn’t falling in on my head all the time! Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” Chagrined, I press my fingertips to my temple, where a headache is beginning to bloom.

There’s a wild rapping on the door and Brenna pokes her head in, her chestnut hair falling in a tangled curtain to her waist. “I need to talk to the little one.”

“Are you all right?” I ask. Brenna is wearing a dress of Rory’s, though she hasn’t the curves to fill it out properly. The vibrant red velvet seems strange on her, like a child playing dress-up.

I wonder how Rory and Sachi are faring. They should be settled into their safe house by now—a farmhouse in the woods of Connecticut. Will they come back to the convent once they’ve seen the other girls established, or will they opt to stay there?

I never thought I’d miss Rory Elliott’s company, but I do. She has a way of making me laugh when I need it most.

“I had a vision. You told me to say when I had a vision.” Brenna’s all-seeing eyes dominate her narrow face—gaunt from two months of being half starved.

“Yes.” Tess glances at me and then away. “Should we go to your room and talk about it?”

I cross my arms over the green ruffles of my bodice, stung by her secrecy. “You can talk about it in front of me.”

“Something terrible is going to happen,” Brenna says, plucking nervously at her red skirt. “He’ll announce it tonight.”

“What? Who?” I jump to my feet.

Brenna scrunches up her face, squeezing her eyes shut. “There’s a man with a horse face on a stage, in front of lots of people. It’s dark out. He says something and they all gasp and you—you’re there, little one, and you look sad. And you”—she whirls, pointing at me, almost smacking me in the face—“you’re angry.”

I’m angry all the time these days; that’s no surprise. But it seems I will be going to the bazaar after all. “What does the man say?”

“I can’t hear him. He’s underwater, like a fish. It’s like talking to someone in the ocean.” Brenna mimes a br**ststroke. “We used to go to the seashore sometimes, Mama and Papa and Jake and me. Before.”

Before her father turned her in to the Brothers. Before Alice broke her brain.

“The man was underwater, and he has a horse’s head?” Tess asks, clearly perplexed.

“Not a real horse’s head, silly!” Brenna giggles. “A great long face. And a shiny bald head.”

I take a deep breath, trying to stave off my frustration. This is the trouble with a broken oracle: She can tell us O’Shea will announce something terrible tonight, but not what. “Did you see anything like this?” I ask Tess. She shakes her head. “You haven’t had any visions since Zara?”