She was still in Arjevica. If she could just get out of this wealthy, too-quiet neighborhood, find somewhere with lights and people . . .
Cathrynne hurried around a corner and realized that she’d hit a cul-de-sac with no way out. At the end stood a house with a blue-painted door and gargoyles crouching below the turrets.
She froze, wondering if it was a hallucination. Twenty years had passed since she’d last seen that door.
“Cathrynne!” Markus’s voice drifted through the darkness. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. We can still work things out!”
All the pain she’d ignored came crashing down. She was pretty sure her ribs were cracked because every breath felt like she was being poked with a knife. Taking shallow, panting breaths, she unlatched the garden gate and limped up the path. The old familiar scent of a white rose variety called Polar Star perfumed the air. She felt delirious, as if it were all a fever dream and she would wake in that tiny room again.
There were no lights on at the house. Cathrynne’s hand shook as she banged the owl-shaped knocker against the front door. She remembered that, too.
Please be home, please be home.
Were those shadows moving at the gate? She banged the knocker again, pounding it frantically until the door opened. A young servant in a nightcap stood on the other side. Her eyes widened.
“Who is it, Mary?” a voice called from within the house.
The door opened all the way, revealing a woman in her middle years with thick, straight brows and strong features. She wore a belted silk dressing gown, black hair streaked with gray loose around her shoulders. When she saw who had come to her doorstep, her face drained of color.
“Please, mother,” Cathrynne pleaded, “let me in.”
Chapter 26
Kal
It was almost the midwinter Caristia holiday and festive strings of white lights decorated the trees in Lavro Park. The air held a crisp edge that promised snow flurries, and a vendor did a brisk business selling hot cider with cinnamon sticks in paper cups. Couples strolled arm in arm along the gravel pathways, heads bent close. Everyone seemed to glow with happiness.
Kal envied them. She’d forgotten what it was like to lead a normal life. To be called by her own name and not be constantly looking over her shoulder. Her brother Bastian would be sick with worry by now, but without an identity card she was stuck in Arjevica.
Nerves made her low-heeled shoe jink a fast rhythm against the park bench. It was a risk meeting Levi again. She had everything to lose and nothing to gain. She knew that.
But something drew her to him. He dressed like a rich boy, but he didn’t act like one. In a way, he reminded her of Durian when they first met. There was something different about Levi, like he didn’t quite fit in with other people. She sensed a fierce intelligence, but also loneliness. He had secrets. Yet she felt safe with him and her instincts were pretty good.
“Plus he’s gorgeous,” Durian remarked. “Just saying.”
Kal rolled her eyes. “You’re so shallow.”
He chuckled. “Takes one to know one.”
Sadly, Durian had her number. Kal’s heart beat a little faster when she saw Levi enter the park. He wore a gray wool coat and flat newsboy cap, his short-cropped chestnut hair brushing his nape. One arm cradled a bottle. He grinned when he saw her.
“You came,” he said in that quick, musical accent she couldn’t quite place. “I was bracing myself for rejection.”
“Oh, really? But you’re the one who’s late,” she teased.
“Only by three minutes,” he protested. “And that’s because the line at Falin’s was out the door.” He shook his head. “The Caristia crowds.”
“How dare they have fun?” Kal said in mock outrage.
He frowned. “I suppose they have as much right to as we do.”
She shook her head. Levi was very literal-minded. “I was joking.”
“Ah.” He took out a corkscrew and deftly twisted it into the bottle. The cork came free with a soft pop. His blue eyes twinkled. “Ladies first.”
“Oh, I get it.” She cocked a brow. “You’re testing it out on me to see if it’s as gods-awful as last time.”
“Is it that obvious?”
