As soon as possible, I excuse myself from dinner and close myself in my bedroom. I hadn’t been able to eat. My stomach gnaws and churns. I tried a tiny bite of mashed yams, but it tasted like burnt ash and I’d nearly choked.

  As soon as I shut the bedroom door, I pull the note from my pocket and unfold it.

  Up, bring it.

  ‘It’ can only mean the book.

  I rush to my bed, lift the loose floorboard beneath it, and draw out the stack of papers I’ve been penning as a copy of the book. I flip through the pages, separate half, and shove them into my skirt pocket. Then I lurch for the shuttered window.

  It doesn’t open.

  I feel for the latch in the dim light. My fingers brush metal where only wood should be.

  I bend to the lamp on my desk and quickly light it.

  A metal lock hangs from the latch.

  Clara.

  I’m caged in. Meanwhile, Abel waits for me on the roof. His betrayal and lies still burn, but I have to know what he wants to say.

  The door creaks and I spin around.

  Clara steps into the bedroom and closes the door gently behind her, a long-taloned hand almost caressing the wood. Her other hand holds a steaming mug. She turns a triumphant smile upon me. “Ah, I thought that’s how you were getting out. I knew I’d never quite gotten rid of your feral tendencies.”

  I draw in a shaky breath. It’s hard to even look at the woman responsible for my father’s murder. Clara might well have done it herself. “Remove it. I’ll not be caged.”

  Clara’s smile broadens. “A cage? Come now, Aubrey. You may use the front door whenever you like. Or do you worry Lord Privett might ask where you’re going? Why you’re leaving the safety of his protection at the risk of his reputation? Please, by all means, go explain yourself to him.”

  I snap my mouth shut.

  “That’s what I thought. This ridiculous gallivanting ends now. I’ll not have you drag us down with you.” She thrusts the mug at me. “Drink it.”

  An acrid mix of citrus, floral, and something woody wafts to my nose. “What is it?” Poison? No, Clara wouldn’t resort to such blatant, painless measures.

  “A tea to prevent pregnancy. What else?” Clara presses it into my hand.

  Pregnancy. Skies, I didn’t even think of that. I swallow the lump in her throat. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d—”

  “I’m not interested in your lies. Drink. It.” Clara’s voice rises to a dangerous edge.

  It smells hideous. Then again, everything smells and tastes like death to me ever since… A crippling wave of aching pain joins the echo of Chips’s screams in my head.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “What is it?” Clara snaps, glancing over her shoulder like she can glare the interruption away.

  Mr. Bens eases the door open. “Lady Aubrey, a gentleman is here to see you. Shall I relay that you’ve retired for the evening?”

  Clara’s eyes narrow. “At this hour? Who?”

  “Lord Rael, my ladies,” Mr. Bens says. “He has requested the Lady Aubrey join him for a carriage ride.”

  Clara’s eyebrows shoot high on her forehead. Her gaze swivels back to me. “Well, that’s interesting. Drink up now.”

  I glance at the mug in my hand. Skies. I tip the liquid back and drink. Then I follow Clara and Mr. Bens downstairs.

  Beside Taron and the Foundress, stands Abel. Lord Rael.

  The Foundress laughs and pats his arm. His head lifts and his gaze falls upon me. He watches me descend the stairs, as if he’s forgotten all about the Privetts, as if he doesn’t even see Clara.

  I curtsy when I reach the foyer. “Lord Rael.”

  “His lordship was just telling me how Foundress Gosfeld introduced the two of you earlier today at High Court.” The Foundress’s eyebrows bob and she exchanges a meaningful look with Clara.

  Clara’s suspicion transforms into interest. Clearly the wealthy Lord Rael is a reasonable prospect.

  I want to gag, yet in some small, dark place, a splinter of hope sparks. Lord Rael can make all my problems go away. Lord Rael would be as good—no, far better than Maurus Venon.

  The Lord Rael can give me everything. My father’s estate restored and his honor upheld. And an alliance with the rebels, too. No betrayal to Lilianna—she won’t even have to marry Maurus.

  “I’d hoped you’d accompany me for a carriage ride this evening. I apologize for the hour. I’ve had much business to attend to today.” His gaze grows intense and I want to give in to it. I want to believe him good, just.

  “Of course, your lordship.” Yet… He’s had the potential to help me all along, and he’s withheld it, down to the very last minute. He let me give myself to him, while still concealing himself.

  He lied.

  Abel’s left eye twitches at my use of lordship. But he gives a curt nod and bows his head to the Foundress. “Thank you for pardoning the intrusion, Maggie, Taron.”

  I blink. Maggie? I’ve never heard anyone call the Foundress by her first name, Margarette, much less Maggie.

  “Would you, perhaps, wish me to bring along Mr. Bens as chaperone?” Abel goes on.

  The Foundress laughs and bats his arm playfully again. “Skies, no, Lord Rael, we needn’t burden you. Enjoy yourselves. It’s a beautiful night.”

  Abel takes on that charming, cordial smile. The one he’d used at High Court. It’s like watching an imposter. He offers me his elbow. “Shall we?”

  I swallow and slip my hand over the smooth fabric of his coat sleeve. The finest money can buy.

  Abel leads me out into the crisp evening air, cooler than our last meeting. I can almost smell fall coming. The driver already holds the door open for us. A driver. Abel has a driver. And a coach. A sleek black one that glistens under the streetlamp.

  With his assistance at my elbow, I climb inside. He follows me in and takes the seat across from me. A lantern glows from the ceiling. As soon as the carriage door shuts, he holds his finger to his lips.

  I shut the mouth I’ve opened. Instead, I wait and listen as the carriage driver takes his seat. Part of me longs to throw my arms around Abel, to seek the comfort I once found there. The rest of me balks at the idea of even touching him.

  The horses start forward.

  Abel drops his hand from his lips and rests his elbows on his knees. His body holds a stiff hesitance, like he half expects me to attack him. “Your window is never shut. When I saw it was… I checked it. I considered breaking it. But… Well, this seemed the more suitable solution, considering the circumstances. You must know I never meant to deceive you.”

  I suck in a breath. “Of course you did.” All this time, he could’ve been courting me like this. I squeeze my eyes shut. Not courting. Pretending.

  His jaw clenches and he looks away.

  “To what end are the means justifiable?” I whisper.

  “By whatever means necessary,” Abel says, just as I knew he would.

  “You lied to me.” My voice cracks. It hurts to speak it, to acknowledge how profoundly I’ve been fooled. I never want to be vulnerable like that again. Not to him. Not to anyone. Out the carriage window, our broken, corrupt city flashes by.

  “I never lied.” His voice comes out rough, gravely.

  I swivel back to him and his eyes have grown darker, more hollowed. “You simply forgot to tell me you’re a Founder Lord?”

  “It wasn’t pertinent.”

  “Pertinent?” My hands shake. My tone rapidly nears hysteria and I don’t care. “This whole time, you’ve been playing yourself off as some savior to the people, some rebel living in the woods. When really you’re a Founder? And the wealthiest Founder Lord in the Kingdom, too.”

  He doesn’t react like I want. Doesn’t defend himself. He just stares at me with those fiery eyes.

  “And,” I snap, leaning towards him with the fiercest glare I can muster, “it’s not just me you’ve lied to. You’ve let your Disciples believe you’re one of them, not one of them.” I thrust a finger towards the window, out at the city and the palace glistening in the background like the pristine facade it is.

  “Those who needed to, know who I am.”

  I jerk back. “And I didn’t need to know?” I hate the way my voice sounds. Small. Broken. Like I’m a child again. Locked away by Clara for some shortcoming. I want to scream. Or hit him. Or both.

  His brows knit together and he reaches out, but draws up short. “You, of all people, couldn’t know the most. Not in your position. You’re one of them, too. Have you forgotten?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  But I’m not one of them. I am other. My father was a peasant, a warrior, the High Guard. I am a half-breed pretty face with gold-markings, nothing more. I’m not—never will be—one of those monsters capable of burning a man alive. “How could you let him die?” The words rip from me, unbidden. The only real question that’s mattered since Prince Emory took that torch and every moment after.

  “There was nothing to do, Aubrey.”

  I hate the tears that trickle over my cheeks. “But how could you just let him die?”

  Abel reaches for me.

  I jerk back against the bench, away from his outstretched hand.

  “We’d discussed it.” He lets his forearm drop back onto his knee. “It’s what we’d agreed upon. All of us. Chip knew the risks. Death before betrayal. And perhaps that’s a conversation you and I should have now, too.”

  The late night breeze chills my wet cheeks. “That you won’t save me if I’m compromised?”

  His eyes squeeze shut. “You know what I mean. It’s not an impossibility.”

  My chest aches. I swallow down the pain of his words. The Cause, above all else.

  “Did you bring it?” he asks.

  I pull the stack of papers from my pocket and thrust them into his hands.

  He frowns down. “What is this?”

  “The book. Transcribed.”

  He thumbs through the pages. “All of it?”

  “Of course not. Half.” I lift my chin when his gaze flicks up to mine. “The book for Farnell. I don’t see him here. Half now, half later.”

  The driver thumps on the carriage wall and shouts, “We’re leaving the city, your lordship.”

  Abel returns the knock. “Brace yourself. If we’re to make our journey in a reasonable amount of time, we must make haste. It’ll be a bumpy ride.”

  The driver’s urging call sends the carriage lurching faster. It rattles and jerks this way and that. I clutch the seat. The horses have to be galloping. I’ve never been in a carriage going this fast. Wind whips inside, warm but with the dry bite of coming fall.

  “Where are we going?” I almost have to shout over the rattling carriage.

  “I think it easiest to explain when we get there.”

  More secrets. “Why did you join the rebels, Abel? Why would you die for this?”

  He draws a deep breath. “My father was a cruel man.”

  “As are many,” I say, undeterred and unimpressed.

  “He was the true Lord Rael. Warrior. Founder Lord. He felt that all were beneath him, even the other nobility. And I…” His gaze drops to his hands and his face hardens. “I loved a girl once. She was a peasant. We were young and stupid and reckless.”

  There’s a strange stiffness to his voice. A rawness uncharacteristic of Abel the great, Abel the rebel, Abel the warrior.

  “We were deceived,” he goes on, “and our love told to my father. He gave me a choice. He and his friends would use her and throw her away. Or I could end her myself.”

  My stomach twists. I don’t want to know what choice he made, but I hear myself ask, anyway. “What did you do?”

  “I made the wrong choice. I couldn’t choose. So he chose for me.” Abel clears his throat and rubs his palm, as if he’s remembering what those hands had done, or not done. “I see him in all the Founders now. They would all do the same without remorse. Their way of life is skewed from birth. I was like them once, arrogant and ruthless—until I met her. She taught me that anyone can be brave, anyone can be great, no matter their station. She deserved a better life than the one she had. She’d have done great things, had she been born anything but what she was.”

  My chest clenches. I’ve often thought the same thing of Farnell and Ray for as long as I can remember.

  Abel’s jaw flexes and he raises his gaze to mine. “Your father, Aubrey, was the only one to comfort me. I was sent to serve in the army not long after her death, you see. I was full of hate. Hate for myself and for all those around me. He taught me to channel my anger, to use it as fuel under my control, rather than letting it overpower me. He taught me self-discipline, self-control. But, more than anything else, he taught me a code: Do right, if and whenever you can, however you can. We were soldiers. Much wasn’t under our control, but you’d be surprised how many little things were. We took power and solace from that. Most were of peasant class and joined the King’s army for lack of any other choice, bitter and angry and looking to take it out with a sword. We flocked to your father like moths to a flame.”

  I saw that during my childhood. The way Father’s soldiers looked at him, admired him.

  “He gave us unity. We would have followed him to the ends of the earth, if only to escape our own demons. And so, when he created the Apostate’s Disciples, we became his warriors. We served William Gallant. We always will.”

  I watch as shadows play across his face that have little to do with the rock of the lantern overhead. “How did you all just disappear? How did the King not notice?”

  Abel snorts. “Oh, he noticed. They attributed much of it to the ending of the war. It was typical for many to retire in times of peace. What was the point of rigid training if we weren’t going to kill anyone? So many of us were able to retire with little suspicion. But there were many who had no choice but to desert. That was not well received. The Queen always suspected Will had something to do with it, but the King wouldn’t hear it. Will was his best friend, you know.”

  “How could he be the King’s friend and not make him see reason?”

  Abel shrugs his shoulders and lets out a sigh. “I asked him the same question, many times. He said it was complicated. That I wouldn’t understand. They both served in the guard at the same time as boys. They grew up together. I’d always assumed that’s where the friendship came from, but it was long before my time.”

  I nod. My anger has long since waned to numbness. Emptiness. Sorrow at Abel’s loss, at my own loss. I try not to think of Clara. Of how Clara is responsible for robbing us both of my father.

  “Look outside,” Abel says.

  We pass crop fields on one side and a small village on the other. Then warehouses, more fields, another part of the village. In the twilight outside, villagers wander this way and that—but with a decidedly different air than I’ve seen at other estates. They hold their heads up with pride. They smile and wave to one another. And, though they cut furtive glances at the carriage, they don’t cow away.

  “This is why I have to hide my identity. This is my father’s land. I’ve made it… a sort of sanctuary for the freed peasants. I wanted you to see it. When I told you no peasants were harmed in the warehouse fires, I didn’t lie to you. Anyone capable of fighting joined our camps in the forest. We have many of those, but not enough to hide the untrained women and children and elderly. Those have taken refuge on these lands. They help produce food, weapons, and materials for our army. They live here freely in communities of their own making.”

  “How many?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe a thousand or more now.”

  “And you trust all of them to keep your secret?”

  He shakes his head. “They believe I am an absent lord, interested only in my own affairs. It is well-assumed. I do my best to never be there. They believe they are hiding in plain sight—and they are. But that, Aubrey, is why I never told you. It’s not just my life I risk, but theirs. If I am compromised, if the truth about my lands gets out, they’ll be slaughtered without a second thought.”

  I draw in a strangled breath. I cannot hate him for protecting these people. If I had the power to do the same, I would lie to the whole world for that, too.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says in that easy, low rumble that I’ve grown to so adore. Those green eyes bore into me as he lifts a small bundle from the floor and holds it out to me. “I got you something.”

  I take it and unfold the rough cloth as surging waves of emotion wrack me: a swelling in my chest that makes me want to cry, a wave of heat that makes me want to kiss him, a burning of dread in my gut for what’s to come in the approaching days, weeks, months. The unfolded cloth reveals a tightly folded fan on my palm. I lift it into a ray of moonlight and flick it open.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. It is. Swirls of gold on white loosely form the silhouettes of wyverns. At the same time, though, I find myself strongly disappointed. A pretty gift, for a pretty woman.

  “May I?” he asks, then places his rough hand over mine. A familiar tingling warmth creeps up my arm.

  Gently, he guides my fingers to close the fan, then moves my index finger to a small raised bump on the side of the base and, with a little pressure, a blade shoots from the handle. Long, thin, sharpened to precision.

  “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing and easy for you to hide.” He shows me how to slide the blade back into hiding, fingers again brushing mine in ways that feel intimate, secret, sensual.

  “It’s wonderful,” I say and my voice breaks as I stare at it. That familiar ache in my chest is back, that unseeable force that grips me behind my navel and pulls me to him.

  “As are you.” He clears his throat and turns his face away, as if he didn’t mean to say such a thing out loud. “It’s for… Well, I thought you should have it.” He shifts and pushes back stray hairs from his face.

  “Thank you.” I hold the fan against my chest, wishing it means more than it does. Wishing it means we have a future. A future I now can see. An estate of peasant refugees. The growing rebel army in the forest. Him and I between it all.

  “I can see what a toll this is taking on you.” He touches my cheek. Runs his thumb along the shadows I know lie under my eyes. “You look tired. You look thinner.”

  I force a smile. “I’m fine. The ball tomorrow? The plan for Farnell?”

  His throat bobs. “Still, as planned.”

  “I wish I could go with you.”

  His fingers tighten on my chin. “You’re much safer up in the ballroom.”

  “Am I?”

  He holds my gaze and doesn’t answer. The moonlight sparkles in his eyes.

  My chest squeezes when he looks at me like that. Skies, I’m in love with him. I can’t imagine a life without him in it. Despite the lies. Despite who he is. Despite the ugliness of the world around us. I want to know we have a future. It’s a life I can love. A life I can almost almost taste. “I…” I love you. “Lilianna is engaged to Maurus.” The words spring from me, unbidden. Coward.

  “I heard.”

  I draw in a shaky breath. “What does the monarchy do with unmanageable Golds?”

  His lips part, then shut. His jaw ticks. “You’ve a lot of time before that, Aubrey.”

  “What if Emory picks me?” I’m the problem, Nicoletta said. The Prince is obsessed with her again. I want to believe that’d been a fleeting whim, yet it nags.

  Abel frowns. “What?”

  “The Queen said he’s made his decision. What if it’s me?”

  He drops his gaze. His fists clench and unclench. “If we have any hope of changing this country without Pachuate invading, we need one of us beside the throne. You could do so much good. You must understand that.”

  “The Prince is a monster.” The words burst from me like a punch to the gut. I close my eyes against it. “He attacked me. He sent my cousin to die in the Pits. I’d rather die than lay with that man. If you won’t help me, that’s fine. I’ll run all on my own, but I swear I will not be part of that horrible place. I will not be complicit. I will never be one of them.”

  Abel blows out a breath. “I don’t know if it’s you or Nicoletta. I shouldn’t say this, but the plan is to cause a disturbance in the ballroom just before midnight. He won’t get the chance to choose anyone tomorrow night, but the next day… if you want the throne, it will only take a word from you.”

  “I don’t love him,” I say, so quietly I almost can’t hear my own words. I love you.

  He pushes off the bench to kneel on the carriage floor at my feet. “You and I don’t have the luxury of love.”

  I close my eyes against the pain of it. The truth of it.

  His hand brushes my shoulder and slides around the back of my neck. His body presses between my legs, bunching my skirts and pulling them taut across my knees. “I want to be someone you can count on. But I… am what I am, Aubrey. I am a fighter. I cannot promise you a home, a life, any sort of dignity. This is all I am.”

  I open my stinging eyes and lay a hand on his cheek. “This is all I want.”

  His jaw twitches under my fingers, but his eyes never leave mine. He brushes a thumb across my bottom lip. “I warned you not to get attached to this, or me. I could lose everything, all of this, at any moment. I can’t promise you a future or protection. I can’t promise you anything.” His fingers splay down across my throat, almost as if to hold me back.

  “I don’t want your promises. I don’t want to be anyone’s responsibility anymore. I only want to be me. My choices.”

  He brushes his lips against mine.

  I break under that kiss. My fists curl into his lapels and I cling to him with no shred of defense. Raw and exposed for the kill. He will be the death of me, one way or another—that at least I understand, and I don’t even care to prevent it anymore.

  “Tomorrow,” he murmurs against my lips and draws back slightly. “If we’re both alive and free when it’s all over, I will ask for you.”

  My heat swells and I give myself to him. My heart, my everything. A promise for a future, one I can taste on his lips. A life worth living. Tomorrow. It all ends tomorrow.

  When the carriage returns, Abel catches me by the arm. “We can’t have your stepmother thinking I’m the man you’ve been sneaking out to see. I doubt she’ll miss the coincidence of your locked window and my arrival to see you. So I think it wise we lead her to believe this ride… did not go well. Can’t let her think I am someone you might want.”

  I raise my brows. “What do you suggest?”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  Sure enough, eyes peer through the gaps in the drapes of the Privett’s front window as I step from the carriage.

  I set my face to stoic, storm out onto the porch landing, and rip my elbow from Abel’s hand. Then I spin on my heel and slap him as hard as I can across the face.

  Abel’s eyebrows shoot up. He massage his jaw with a hand to hide the smile twitching his lips.

  “Good night, Lord Rael,” I say with as much venom as I can muster. Then I march up the steps and back into the Privetts’ brownstone, suppressing my own smug grin. He was impressed. And, Skies, it felt awful good.

  Inside, Clara stands in the doorway of the sitting room, her mouth slightly ajar. “Did you just slap a Founder Lord?”

  Behind her, the Foundress doesn’t even attempt to hide her wide eyes and delighted smile. Maybe she’s impressed, too.

  Taron barks a laugh. Lilianna stares like she doesn’t recognize me.

  “Yes, and now I’m going to bed.” I turn away from them and hurry upstairs. I’m ready. Ready for this era to end. Ready for the final ball of the season.