Rosabelle 9
Rosabelle
I take a steadying breath, ignoring the throb at the base of my skull. The pain in my eyes is getting worse. I keep slipping in and out of my own mind.
I need to be careful.
Stay focused.
A tremor moves through my right arm. I can’t remember what we were talking about.
What were we talking about?
“I lied to you about Clara,” says Sebastian, his anger rising, “because you were being unreasonable.”
Clara.
Clara.
How’s Clara?
“All you ever care about is Clara,” he spits out. “You’re always asking about Clara, always worried about Clara. What about me, Rosa? What about everything I’ve done for us?”
Sebastian separates into two Sebastians.
I blink, merging them back into one.
Focus.
“Do you know what I had to do to get the council to honor our betrothal?” he’s saying. “The sacrifices I’ve had to make for our future? To get you out of the pit? To give you a real life? And then you threw your wedding ring at me.”
It occurs to me only then, as I search Sebastian’s heated eyes, that I might’ve actually hurt his deranged feelings the day I left the island. I’d been incautious when I realized Sebastian had lied about keeping Clara safe in my absence.
Of course I should’ve known better.
I never should’ve believed he’d take care of her, but I thought he might’ve finally accepted that marrying me involved an obligation to my sister.
I thought he’d keep her alive for the same reasons she’s always been allowed to stay alive: Clara’s suffering generates far greater returns than her corpse.
Otherwise, Sebastian might’ve found a way to dispose of her long ago.
Unfortunately, my theory was only half right.
When the soldiers arrived to drag my sister off to the asylum, I’d made the mistake of thinking it was finally over. I spat in Sebastian’s face. He fractured my skull. Now, somehow, I need to believably reset our relationship.
The escalating pain isn’t helping.
My face is starting to swell. It’s becoming harder and harder to move my lips without tasting blood.
“Like I said, I was upset,” I say again, injecting a surgical heat into the words. I sound almost like a real person, provoked into petulant anger, and I’m pleased with the results. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
At that, Sebastian makes a sound like a laugh.
He relaxes by inches, settling slowly back into his body. He sits down on the small bed, tension releasing from his limbs. I experience a modicum of relief.
He smiles at me again.
I can see him telling himself a story: We’re just regular people. We had a fight. She was upset, a little overemotional, but everything is okay now. In fact, everything is the same as it ever was.
This is all I have.
My single advantage is that Sebastian has convinced himself he’s in love with me. It’s his only blind spot. I’m his only blind spot.
And I need him to be blinded.
If I can’t manage Sebastian, I’m out of options.
I need him to feel motivated enough to protect me from a death sentence.
I need to be able to reenter the island without suspicion or arrest. There are no other means of infiltration; no other opportunities to destroy the Ark.
And if Sebastian suspects, for even a moment, that I feel anything real for James, I’ll never be able to slow down the force of his fury long enough to form a plan.
Sebastian will do far worse than kill James.
He’ll drag James half dead back to the island, string him up in an asylum, and force him to live out the rest of his life in ceaseless agony.
Sebastian would bring me pieces of James as presents.
A finger lovingly wrapped in a velvet case. An ear tucked between layers of tissue. A bit of broken rib in a jewelry box. Sebastian would force me to spend the rest of my days knowing James was being slowly mutilated.
I have no idea what would happen to me.
Or Clara.
I told Warner I’d tell him everything, anything he wanted to know, as long as he agreed to keep James away from me.
I don’t want him anywhere near me, I’d screamed, hysterical. I don’t want him to ask about me, I don’t want him to think about me, I don’t want a single word about me or my life spoken in his presence ever again—I WANT IT TO BE LIKE I NEVER EXISTED—
“Rosa.” The sound of Sebastian’s voice draws up my spine like a cold finger. He takes a sharp, audible breath.
I meet his eyes.
“If you’d known who I was in that warehouse,” he says, “would you have willingly returned home with me?”
“Yes,” I say at once.
He stiffens in surprise.
I try to hide my own surprise.
My problem with managing Sebastian has always been his intelligence; he’s not easily led, nor is he blind.
He’s always known, and never cared, that I didn’t reciprocate his feelings.
He had no reason to believe I’d eagerly return to the island with him.
But now I might have the chance to convince him he’s misunderstood me all this time.
That, in fact, I’m desperate to marry him.
It helps that I am.
I hold his gaze and give him as much truth as I can: “There’s nothing I want more than to return to the Ark with you.”
He’s so stunned by this answer he perceptibly recoils. I can see it in his eyes: he can tell I’m not lying. This is the opening I’ve been hoping for.
With a caveat.
I’ll need to bleed him for more information before I decide on my next move, but I’ve never interrogated Sebastian before. In fact, I’ve rarely asked him more than essential questions. The role reversal is a little strange, and my pain is becoming increasingly intrusive.
Die, I remind myself.
You’ve been dead inside for years.
“Sebastian,” I say.
He blinks at me.
“What do you know about the vials of earth?” I ask.
“Everything,” he says.
An easy admission. Interesting.
“If you know everything,” I say to him, “then you must’ve known I was sent here to die.”
“Of course I didn’t,” he says sharply.
Too quickly.
My mind whirrs to life.
This is an inadvertent confession of something essential, and I guard the proof like a prize.
Sebastian is angry.
“Oh,” I say. “I thought you knew.”
His expression is calmer when he next speaks, but his voice is bitter. “How could I have known you’d been sent here to die, Rosa? I’d only just gotten approval for our wedding.”
This strikes me like an arrow.
I was so furious with Sebastian the morning I left the island that it never occurred to me to imagine his situation more complexly. Sebastian has been hiding a great deal. He’s far more than angry.
He feels betrayed.
By who? His father? The council? Or was this all Klaus’s doing?
“Have you been upset with me?” Sebastian asks, as if the thought just occurred to him. “You thought I knew you’d been sent here to die?”
I turn this over in my mind.
I feel as if I’ve been handed a gift.
“Yes,” I say, improvising. “I thought you’d lied to me about everything. First about Clara, then our wedding.”
His jaw tenses.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “I had nothing to do with it.”
I consider Sebastian with new eyes.
I’m beginning to wonder what he must’ve experienced in the aftermath of my departure.
His fury must’ve been monstrous.
Right now, his feelings appear to be evolving.
He straightens as he studies me, analyzing my brutalized face with building interest. Even the smallest crack in his otherwise ironclad devotion to the regime could be enough of an advantage for me.
I know Klaus is in his head, but I can’t imagine what he’s hearing. I can’t know what he’s deciding.
I don’t know what his father might be saying to him.
The agony tightening around my skull has escalated to the point of intense distraction. I keep trying to kill it, but it’s harder than expected to compartmentalize this pain while trying to keep my mind sharp enough for this conversation.
The damage must be worse than I thought.
It’s painful to blink; it’s painful to draw breath.
Speech requires all my strength and attention.
I can feel my left eye beginning to swell shut.
I’m fairly certain there’s something wrong with my mouth.
Blood continues to pool against my tongue.
I know, practically, that I should leave the room and check in with myself, but I can’t walk away.
I’m close to a breakthrough with Sebastian.
There’s a bruise in him buried beneath layers of armor, and I can sense it now.
I decide to apply pressure.
“So they lied to you, too?” I ask him. “They lied to us both?”
A telltale heat singes his cheekbones.
He says nothing.
“Do you know that I’ll be dead soon?” I ask him.
I watch him breathe, his chest straining. “Yes,” he whispers.
Oh, he’s upset.
He’s very upset.
His father is trying to take away his toy.
I move another chess piece into place.
Brows pinching, I say, “If you know I’m supposed to be dead soon, why did you say you’d come here to take me home?”
His eyes widen a fraction. I sense him stiffen.
Caught.
Despite his dark pronouncement at the warehouse, I don’t believe he’s here to take me home.
It’s plausible, but only slightly.
If Klaus was able to sense from my panicked state over Leon that I’d go on to deliberately fail my mission, he might’ve issued an order to have me collected before I went rogue.
But I’ve now seen enough evidence to suggest that Ark military has been smuggling artillery through these borders for months.
Maybe Sebastian really did arrive to collect me; but if he did, it can’t be the only reason he’s here.
I’m convinced they’re planning something, and I want to know what.
Questions for another day.
Right now, Sebastian looks almost stricken as he turns away, and this response is sufficient for me. I don’t need him to answer the question. I only need him to know that I know he lied to me.
I wonder what else he’s lied about.
I always thought Sebastian had greater pull on the Ark; I thought it extraordinary that he was able to secure the vote necessary to grant an exception for our wedding.
Now I’m seeing that his father might’ve arranged it all merely to placate Sebastian.
Why else would I be deployed to the mainland and effectively sentenced to death the very day after our wedding invitations were sent out?
This is a fascinating complication.
I might’ve been more disappointed to learn Sebastian has less influence than I’d hoped, except that I’m beginning to suspect he defied orders when he chased me down at the warehouse. Maybe he was never supposed to find me. Maybe he simply couldn’t help himself.
A flicker of hope flares in my chest.
If he’s willing to go against his father for me, that might be even better.
“Sebastian,” I try again. “If I can get you out of here, can you get me home?”
His eyes blaze with that familiar bright blue glare. He blinks quickly, looking agitated. “You’ve been sentenced to death, Rosa.”
“I know—”
“Why?”
I hesitate. “Why have I been sentenced to death?”
“Why do you want to return home?” he says, his voice hard. “Because of Clara?”
Oh.
I feel the flutter of my pulse. A rush of anticipation. I’ve been waiting for this moment.
Hoping for it.
I tell him something he’s expecting: “Yes, of course I’m worried about Clara.” Then, something he isn’t: “But I still want to marry you.”
Sebastian stares at me in stark astonishment.
My job here is done.
I need to let this marinate for at least a day. I choose that moment to make my exit.
I stand on weakened legs, pushing off the chair to get to my feet. It’s an effort to appear stronger than I am.
“Rosa—” Sebastian rises to meet me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, allowing some of my pain to color my expression.
“I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have said that.
I know there’s nothing you can do. I think I was just—I was hoping something had changed.
” I glance up, meeting his eyes. “I thought maybe you really did come back for me.”
“I wanted to,” he whispers.
This admission offers me another tremor of hope. I claim it as a success.
I reach for the door, and I don’t look back as I turn the handle. “Don’t worry,” I say, soft and conspiratorial. “I’ll visit again soon.”
Sebastian doesn’t say a word as I leave.
But I know he’s thinking. And Klaus is thinking. They’re all thinking. Everyone, together.
Watching me.