It’s a strange and uncomfortable thing to be back among the kitchen servants but not be one of them. To be honest, even before being chosen as Ina’s servant, I felt set apart—I was new to Everless though I was not new at all, a secret walking the halls of the Gerling estate. Then in my fog of grief, the wedding preparations were the furthest thing from my mind and I barely spoke to the people surrounding me every day.

In a back room off the kitchen, a group of servants weave ivy and a thick, silver ribbon into the latticed wood of the trellis. Deni, a young girl with a crown of braids, takes the basket from me and begins to spread the ice holly on a long table; a boy I don’t know unspools a thin wire in his hands.

Bea appears beside me. She reaches out to pluck a glittering branch of holly from the table, begins to weave it in with a wire. “So what’s it like?” she says to me. “Working for the Queen?”

Three other girls at the table look up to hear my answer. I am mindful of Caro’s words yesterday—I am not to speak of the Queen or what I learn of her. “I haven’t seen much of her so far, to be truthful,” I tell them. “I hope to—soon.”

“Not if you know what’s good for you,” Ingrid comments. She rolls a berry between her fingertips. Worry gnaws at me as the others murmur in agreement. “She’ll turn you out, Jules, like she did Addie.”

“She’ll turn you into a coin!” Deni blurts out.

“Don’t mind them,” Bea says, shooting Deni and Ingrid a sharp glance. “Lot o’ fearmongers, if you ask me.” She turns back to the group. “My father’s father served the Queen as a boy, and she saw to his education—”

“Is that why you’re here?” Ingrid snorts. Bea furrows her brow, clearly stung, and turns back to the ice holly spread on the table. “I’m sorry, Bea,” Ingrid says. “But it’s for your own good, both of y—”

“I’ll be fine,” I cut in, though every fiber of me screams that I won’t. I nod to the silvered leaves on the table, ready to be pierced and hung. “You all have more important things to worry about than me.”

Ingrid looks like she’s about to protest, but a small figure appears in the doorway and waves to me before a word escapes her mouth. I haven’t seen Hinton in a long time—at least it seems so. He darts through the girls, to my side. I bend down and hug him, but he seems nervous, stiff and fidgeting in my arms.

“Someone’s here to see you, Jules,” he says quietly. “Out in the hallway.” He grabs my sleeve and tugs me out of the group, toward the door.

To my shock, it’s Liam, leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his coat pockets. He looks in a foul mood, his brows drawn low over his face. He tosses a coin to Hinton, who catches it and vanishes into the kitchen like a rabbit into its den.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. I have less reason to be afraid of Liam, now that Roan and Caro are on my side—but the old fears run through my blood, and I can’t silence the alarm bells that crash in me at the sight of him.

He withdraws a slip of paper from his breast pocket and holds it out. “Ina demanded that I deliver this to you.”

I smile, thinking of Ina’s impression of Liam during the dress fitting—it seems that she can’t resist the urge to remind him that despite his birth, she outranks him. I take a measure of petty satisfaction in his discomfort. Liam glowers at me as I take the paper and step back to unfold and read it. The handwriting is pretty, but slightly uneven, as if the writer was rushing to finish.

Jules, I’m planning to take a ride outside of Everless tomorrow and would like you to join me. Please meet me at the stables at first light so we can make the most of the day.

Love, Ina

“For a servant, you’ve certainly entangled yourself in the workings of Everless,” Liam observes as I tuck the note into my dress pocket.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve found favor with Lady Gold,” he says. “And with my brother.”

The sharp reply I had ready dissolves on my tongue. I keep my eyes on his face, scanning his eyes for what he knows, and find an unreadable determination. I can’t imagine Roan confiding in him. The few times I’ve seen the brothers in the same room, they’ve seemed in separate universes—Roan the center of attention, all light and laughter, and Liam observing silently from some corner, eyes so dark they seem to devour any light that comes near, causing candles to gasp and stutter, like my heart is doing right now.

“We were children together,” I say. “You know that. You were there too.” Though always off to the side, always observing, always silent. “Roan and I are—” I stop, unable to finish the thought.

Liam’s mouth twists. “Friends?” His laugh is cruel. “I think my brother has something different in mind.”

My gut twists—not in pain or pleasure at his implication, but in anger. All these years, and nothing has changed. “Impugning your brother, your future sister-in-law, and me all at once,” I say coldly. “Impressive. Are you so proud that you can’t stand to be under someone else’s direction even for a few minutes?”

He blinks, his face twisting into something like hurt and then quickly back into impassiveness. “I don’t care about rank,” he says. “I never have.”

“Ah, so it’s personal.” Before he can answer, I turn and stride down the hall toward the dormitory.

There’s a pause, then: “You and your father didn’t belong here,” Liam calls after me, his voice strangely dispassionate.

The blood in me runs cold, as if all the hours, days, and years coursing through me have stopped. I turn to face Liam—his eyes are flint. As I approach, I see the hint of a spark in them.

“What did you say about my father?” My voice is low and—I hope—carries the weight of my anger. After holding my gaze for a few fleeting seconds, he casts his eyes down to the floor without giving an answer. His shoulders slump, the posture of a boy who’s just had his hand slapped for stealing sweets.

Then the Everless bells ring out, loud and long and fiercely, it seems, keeping time with the clenching and unclenching of my fists. I turn and retreat down the corridor again, hoping with every step that Liam Gerling doesn’t follow.





18




The next morning, in the dormitory, I slip on one of the warmer—and more luxurious—dresses Caro has given me, boots, and a gray cloak. Though my ugly mood from the conversation with Liam still lingers, I can’t help but marvel at the softness of the fabric, the weight of the cloak. Through all of Crofton’s bitter winters, I’ve never had anything so warm.

To my shock, Roan is in the servants’ hallway, leaning against the wall, a puncture in the rectangle of light streaming in through a high window. I take in a sharp breath. Was he—waiting for me? Had Ina told him about her request?