When I was a kid, that idea had filled me with wonder and admiration. Now it only filled me with dread.

“Hey, that lady looks an awful lot like you,” Linus said, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked over to see my mom standing in the doorway to a classroom, ushering children out for a bathroom break.

“That’s because she’s my mom,” I said, and lowered my head, as if that would make it harder for her to spot her adult blond daughter standing in the middle of the elementary school hallway.

“Really? Let’s go say hi,” Linus suggested brightly.

“No, we’ve got a lot to see,” I said, and I turned and darted out of the school without waiting for him. I couldn’t wait any longer if I didn’t want to risk talking to her.

“Are you mad at your mom?” Linus asked, once he caught up with me outside of the school.

“What do you mean?” I asked, and continued our walk toward the north side of town.

“You just seemed to want to avoid her.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t like mixing business with family.”

“Why not?”

“She isn’t supportive of my job, for one thing,” I said, but that was only a half-truth.

“And what’s the other thing?” Linus pressed.

I glanced over at him, with his earnest eyes and genuine concern, and I decided to tell the truth. “Most Markis and Marksinna don’t exactly approve of her.”

This seemed to totally baffle him, the way it would most people who saw past Mom’s race to her kindness and strength and wit and beauty. But unfortunately, there were very few Kanin who could do that.

“Why not?” Linus asked in disbelief.

“Because she’s Skojare, and I’m half Skojare.” I stopped walking and turned to him, since the conversation felt like it required more attention.

He shrugged. “So?”

“So … Kanin tend to look down on anybody that isn’t Kanin, especially the royalty,” I explained.

“That’s dumb.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But it’s the way things are.”

“Why don’t you change things?” Linus asked me directly, and for a second I had no idea what to answer.

“I … I can’t,” I stumbled. “But you can. You’re part of an influential family. Someday you may even be King. But even if you aren’t, you have the power to lead by example.”

“You really think I can change things?” Linus asked with wide eyes.

“I do,” I told him with a smile. “Now come on. Let’s see the rest of town.”

“So when you say people don’t approve of you, what does that mean?” Linus asked, falling in step beside me. “Are they mean to you?”

I sighed. “I’d rather not get into it, if that’s okay.”

“All right,” he relented, but only for a second. “But you can tell me stuff. We’re friends now.”

“Thanks, and I appreciate the sentiment, but … we can’t be friends,” I told him gently.

“What are you talking about? We are friends,” Linus insisted, and this time I didn’t have the heart to argue with him.

SEVENTEEN

confrontations

The fire crackled in my wood-burning stove, and I slipped out of my jeans—muddy and wet from the walk around town with Linus. Wearing only my panties, I pulled on an oversized sweatshirt and went over to my bookshelf. After a long day, the only thing that sounded good to me was curling up in bed with a book.

I’d finally caved and texted Ember a few hours ago, but she hadn’t replied. So I needed a good distraction. Most of the books I owned were old and worn, but I tried to pick up a few new ones every time I went out on a mission. I’d hoped to restock my shelves while I was in Chicago, but that trip had been cut too short.

Since I didn’t have anything new, I decided to reread one of my favorites—a battered hardcover of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. It was wedged stubbornly between several other books, and I’d just finally managed to pull it free when I heard the creak of my front door opening.

I whirled around, brandishing the book with the intention of bludgeoning an intruder with it, but it was only Ridley, his black jacket hanging open and his hands held palm-up toward me.

“Easy, Bryn. It’s just me.”

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” I demanded, refusing to lower my book.

“I’m not sneaking. I just step lightly.” He stayed in my doorway, letting a cold draft in around him. “Can I come in?”

I was acutely aware of the way I was dressed—no pants, with the hem of the sweatshirt hitting my midthigh, and the stretched-out neck left it hanging at an angle, revealing my left shoulder and bra strap, along with the jagged scar that ran below it. But I didn’t want to seem aware of this, tried to act as if it didn’t feel like a big deal to be standing half naked in my small apartment alone with Ridley.

So instead of rushing over to put on pants or hiding underneath a blanket, I shrugged and said, “I guess.”

“Thanks.” He came inside and closed the door behind him.

And then we stayed that way for a moment, neither of us saying anything. The only light in the loft came from the dim fire and my bedside lamp, casting most of the room in shadows. His eyes bounced around the room, never lingering on anything, and he licked his lips but didn’t speak.