I glanced at the fabric, and recalled the flags I’d seen at Vannova, the night of the ball. I hadn’t stopped to study them individually, I’d only taken in the splendor of them as a whole. But now that he said it, there had been a red one . . . one with a crimson laurel.
“They must’ve been speaking Gaullish, just like the writing on the map. I’ve never heard it aloud before; I didn’t recognize its sound.” I tried to imagine why these men, these Astonians, would want me dead. Why they would ally with Jonas Maier against me. And then I remembered that Queen Elena had tried to invade our country once before. “You don’t think . . . Elena wouldn’t dare. . . .”
Zafir stiffened. But it was Brook, her jaw tightening, who said the words aloud. “If she’s behind this, then this is war.”
brooklynn
Brooklynn stared into the water at the edge of the pond, watching as the morning sun reflected off the surface and trying to decide what the hell was the matter with her. It wasn’t as if she’d miss him, as if he’d been the kind of father who’d commanded love and respect. He’d done nothing but treat her as a servant from the moment her mother had died. And when she’d joined Charlie at the palace, he’d all but disowned her. She should be rejoicing his death.
So why did she ache? Why did she feel a hollow space where her heart had once been?
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to shed a single tear. She had no use for tears. Not now. Not over him.
“Brook?”
She spun without thinking, without needing to see who was approaching. She’d recognized the voice clearly enough. It was Charlie—her queen.
“Brook, I’m sorry,” Charlie said in a voice filled with sincerity. She still wore the bloodied nightgown, covered only by a thin robe. “I—I didn’t want to . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“Don’t apologize,” Brook said, her own voice flat, emotionless. She turned back toward the water that rippled with bursts of orange and pink and gold. “He doesn’t deserve your apologies.”
She could hear the footsteps behind her, as Charlie came closer, until they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the pond’s edge. “No,” Charlie agreed. “He doesn’t. But you do. You’re my friend, and I wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”
Something twisted in Brook’s gut. I’m not hurt, she tried to convince herself, but she couldn’t say the words aloud. She couldn’t say anything at all to Charlie.
A long silence filled the space between them, and she wondered how long Charlie would stand there pretending that everything was okay between them. That killing her father was acceptable . . . justified or not.
She wondered too, when Charlie had become a killer. Or if it was even Charlie she stood beside now.
The idea that Sabara was in there—inside the body of her friend—made her skin itch.
Sabara who should have died months ago.
From the corner of her eye, Brooklynn saw Charlie move, her hand closing the gap between them, and she withdrew before the queen could touch her. “Brook . . .” Charlie’s voice came out as a plea.
“Don’t,” Brook answered. “Just . . . don’t.”
There was a pause. “I’m so, so sorry,” Charlie said at last.
Brook stayed where she was, forcing her gaze to remain fastened on the water long after the soft, swishing sound of fabric told her that Charlie had left her alone. Long after the sun had risen from its hiding place at the horizon and was climbing the clear blue sky. And long after her tears had dried and her sobs had subsided.
xx
I stripped out of the nightgown I’d been wearing, thinking I should have it burned. I’d had to pass the carnage in the estate hallways on the way back to my room, and it had reminded me, again and again, of why I’d had to do what I’d done . . . to Jacob Maier and to his men.
To Brooklynn.
It didn’t matter, though; I couldn’t worry that I’d made a mistake, or that I’d misused the power Sabara had afforded me. This wasn’t the time for regrets of that sort. They would have killed Angelina.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much of myself had been sacrificed when I’d allowed myself to succumb to Sabara’s baser drives. Had I become a little more like her because of what I was capable of?
Or had Sabara simply revealed the darker side of my true nature?
I was no longer certain where Sabara ended and I began.
And then there was the other question, the one that challenged everything I believed in: Had Sabara been right all along? Could peace in Ludania only be maintained through violence? Through imposed will?
Had the class system kept people in check?
It couldn’t be true, I insisted silently as I pulled a simple embroidered top over my head. The New Equality will work; it just needs time.
I looked up when I heard the door open, and my heart skipped.
“Max?” I breathed, grateful to see him. Grateful that he, at least, hadn’t turned his back on me entirely, the way Brooklynn had seemed to.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. I have so much to tell you, so much I need to explain.” My words rushed out as I struggled with where to start. I prayed I could do this. “That thing . . . last night in the hallway with Niko . . . That wasn’t me in control. I swear it.”
He shook his head, and I wasn’t sure if he was telling me that he didn’t believe me, or that he didn’t want to hear it, but his face crumpled, making him look wounded. I took a breath. “I should have told you,” I uttered. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I was so . . . so afraid. At first, I thought I could handle it. I thought Angelina could help me get rid of her. And then, after time passed, and I realized she wasn’t leaving—that I was stuck with her—I didn’t know how to explain it—how to explain her. Not without sounding”—my chin inched up a notch as I took a steadying breath—“insane. But you have to believe me, Max; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”