I kneel, feeling the sudden urge to touch the plant. The stone path is cold on my skin, even through my dress. My finger brushes the underside of a leaf, and a vivid image breaks into my mind—the ice holly in the same patch of dirt, but growing wildly under flitting sun and shadow. It’s as if I’m watching many days pass in rapid succession.

Dizzily, I straighten up. Caro observes me closely but says nothing. She points out the garden’s unorganized center. “That’s why the garden is like this. The Gerlings shaped it around the ice holly.” She leans closer, lowers her voice. “Ice holly is rare now. The Queen demanded that the Gerlings’ patch be picked immediately. I suspect that Verissa is furious.”

“I see.” I’m not convinced of its magic, but the strange image disturbs me for reasons I can’t explain. I crouch next to her and let her show me how to avoid the thorns, how to pick the holly without damaging the root.

We place the ice holly in a wicker basket Caro has brought. The plant is so small and delicate that the basket will take all morning to fill, but especially after the mava, I don’t mind a few scratches on my hands to pick the beautiful ice holly and listen to Caro’s stream of soft, warm chatter. She reminds me of a bird, with her quick, efficient movements, musical voice, and glittering eyes.

When the basket is a third full, she says, “Roan seems very taken with you.” I stiffen at the words, even as they send an illicit thrill through me. She doesn’t sound judgmental, just curious—but still, her words make me wary.

I almost say, I saved him. But even in my head, the phrase makes me sound like a child, my wishful heart twisting a ten-year-old daydream into reality. Liam pushed Roan toward the fire. Maybe I caught him. Maybe Papa did, and I shaped it into a story of my own, like I used to do with Roan as a child.

“We were friends when we were children,” I say eventually. “When my father worked at Everless. I owe him for suggesting me to you. Lord Liam had assigned me to the mava pile the other day, and Roan got me out of it.”

“Mava!” Caro’s eyes widen in horror. “I did wonder at the marks on your hands. Whatever did you do to deserve that?”

“I might have deserved it, a little,” I say offhandedly, trying to downplay what I’ve said. “I was in a hall I shouldn’t have been in, and of course it was near the vault. Liam found me.”

“Were you trying to get in?” Caro asks plainly.

I shake my head vigorously. The last thing I need is Caro thinking me a thief. “I wouldn’t dare. It was . . . an accident.”

“Hmmm.” Caro considers me, a little smile turning her lips up at the corners. “An accident, for the girl who knows Everless so well?”

I open my mouth to speak, but quickly close it again—before I betray myself.

Caro raises her eyebrows, then plucks a berry from a sprig of ice holly, rolling it between two fingers. “You don’t have to lie to me, Jules.” Her voice is almost wistful. “I’m not a brute, nor as unforgiving as the Queen. I won’t throw you in chains.”

I shake my head, but she keeps looking at me, clearly expecting me to say something.

I let out a slow, careful breath. “I’ve been thinking . . . there might be something of my father’s inside the vault.” I don’t want to tell her I was following Liam, but this is true too. And I’m almost shocked by how easily the confession rolls off my tongue, as though I had always meant to tell Caro. She said the ice holly caused truth-telling, but that couldn’t possibly be true, could it?

“When we moved away from Everless years ago, we left some valuables behind,” I add hastily, by way of explanation. Not a complete lie, anyway. “Maybe they ended up there.” I shake my head. “It’s silly, I—”

“No, don’t say that,” Caro says. “It’s not silly or foolish. Your father is gone, and you want to treasure what little you can of him. But, yes—even under the Queen’s orders, now, it wouldn’t do to have you getting caught doing something like that. The Gerlings are quite protective of their precious blood-irons—Liam especially.” She pauses. “If I can, I’ll look for you. What is it you think might be inside?”

“No!” I exclaim, my voice coming out louder than I’d meant it. I add hastily: “Liam told me that any non-Gerling who tries to get in can die. The door’s enchanted.”

To my surprise, Caro laughs. The sound is musical, louder than her voice; it floats over the garden like bells. “I’m sure it’s a simple time toll,” she says.

“You really mustn’t.”

“I’m leaving with the Queen tonight, for a few days,” she says, brushing off my protests. “We’re visiting a few of the lesser nobles in the north. But when I’m back, I can be discreet, to check for you. Or perhaps we can go together—I’ll take the time toll, and you can be ready with a carafe of years. It might be fun,” she finishes, a wild glow in her pale eyes.

“Please, no, Caro. It’s far too dangerous.” I swallow. All at once I feel foolish—and scared. “I . . . I don’t even know if it’s true. If something of Papa’s is really there.”

“But it seems important.” Caro smiles. “Will you do me a favor in return?”

“Of course,” I say immediately, wanting to turn her away from thoughts of breaking into the vault. “Anything.”

“If you notice anything about Roan’s behavior that seems . . . notable, will you tell me?” Her voice is sweet, her face slightly pinched in concern. The request turns my tongue to sand as I remember the seconds that passed before he dropped my hand from his.

“Yes, gladly. I’m sure that won’t be any work at all.”

“Thank you,” she says, wrapping me in a light embrace. “You’re my friend now, Jules. Ina’s as well. We have to look out for one another.”

In the distance, an estate bell rings. Caro leaps to her feet before I can reply, and thrusts the basket into my hands. “I have to attend the Queen. Can you take this back to the kitchen? They will be preparing the trellis.”

My attention is still snagged on the word friend—I don’t know how it can be, when I’ve known Caro for less than two days, but it feels true. I want to please her. “What should I do?” I ask her. “Will I be accompanying you and the Queen?” My pulse quickens at the thought.

“No,” Caro says quickly. Disappointment surges in me. “We’ll be sorting out a debt owed to the Queen; it’ll be tedious. You should stay here and attend to Ina while we’re gone. She’d like your company. When she doesn’t need you, do what you want. Unless the Queen or I or Ina need you for something, your evenings will usually be free.”

I almost gape at her like an imbecile, but close my mouth and nod—as if the thought of a night off isn’t a precious gift, as though I don’t want to weep with gratitude at the prospect. A flash of happiness goes through me, different from the tainted, vengeful thrill I felt yesterday at my new appointment. This feeling is different, purer. Born of nothing more complicated than the thought of an evening to myself, and of a friend.





17