CHAPTER 24
The only sure way to stop a thief is to cut off their hands.
—ROSAMUND PREW
Almost every student in the lecture room lines up to see the spur. They examine it inch by inch, as if staring long enough might reveal clues about our old enemies.
Aside from me, the only other student who stays behind is Rosamund.
She’s draped across the couch of the private booth, her monkey in her lap, watching me through half-lidded eyes that never blink when I expect them to.
Up close, her resemblance to Edmund is unsettling: the bone structure, the curve of her mouth, the slope of her nose.
Still, the twins strike me as opposites.
Where Edmund burns hot, Rosamund holds her fire.
Edmund moves like a blade drawn without warning, while Rosamund moves like the shadow of that blade, biding her time until the strike will matter most.
“Miss Waldsten.” Rosamund pats the cushion beside her with the tips of her fingers. “Come join me.”
Part of me wants to slip away with the excuse that I’d like to see the spur. But another part knows I can’t avoid Rosamund forever. Whatever cards she’s holding, it’s better to get her to lay her hand on the table so I know what I’m up against.
“As you wish, Miss Prew,” I say.
When I sit beside her, she orders a Pinkie to pour her a glass of water.
Her hand trembles as she drinks, droplets sliding down her neck and pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.
She hands the empty glass to the robot, then turns to face me.
I notice her pupils are so dilated that they nearly swallow all the color.
Is she high on Bliss?
If she’s still using, she’s burning through the kind of civil credits that would send a low-citizen to the guillotine.
With Bliss now illegal, the penalty for using is a hundred civil credit deduction each time you’re caught.
But I doubt Rosamund cares. If she’s got as many civil credits as Edmund seems to, the loss probably wouldn’t even make a dent.
“I couldn’t help but notice your name is missing from my brother’s guest list,” Rosamund says, stroking her monkey’s head fondly. “Is there a reason you’re not attending our birthday celebration tomorrow?”
The curiosity in her eyes is revealing. She’s clearly unaware that my position in Edmund’s entourage isn’t because we’re friends but because he lost a bet. Why didn’t Edmund tell her? Does he not trust her?
“Mr. Prew did not include me because I have a prior engagement,” I say, tugging lightly at my earring.
Rosamund flicks a sharp fingernail through the air, as if popping the bubble of my lie. “Come now, Miss Waldsten. Don’t you know the only way one liar convinces another is to tell the truth?”
Her speed catches me off guard. No one’s ever picked apart my lies so quickly, not even Dad.
“What’s your arrangement with my brother, exactly?” she asks, lighting her monkey a fresh cigarette. “Do I finally have the pleasure of meeting one of the mysterious mistresses Miss Hussey keeps talking about?”
Mistresses? The fact that she’s asking me about her own brother’s side pieces confirms it: he doesn’t trust her.
“No, Miss Prew. I am afraid I know nothing about any mistresses.”
“Is that so?” Rosamund flashes a polite smile that fades before it reaches her eyes. The only time I saw genuine warmth in them was when she spoke with Jack. “Then why else would he offer you protection?”
“That is between your brother and me.”
“Oh, he won’t mind if you tell me. We’re awfully close, you know.”
“Then why not ask him yourself?”
Rosamund’s bottom lip curls faintly, a ripple so slight it barely disturbs her flawless face. She’s as beautiful as Edmund is handsome. That Jack manages to resist her, even when she openly offers herself to him, makes me think he must’ve really loved Charlotte. Maybe he still does.
“No need to be so defensive, Miss Waldsten,” Rosamund says. “I’m only trying to help you, especially since my brother’s marriage to Miss Hussey is set for next autumn.”
“Why should that alter our arrangement?”
“Because as soon as they are married, Miss Hussey will have rights over Edmund’s entourage.”
I pause, wondering if this is why Edmund set my membership for a year. Is it because he knows that as soon as he says “I do,” Irene will force him to kick out every last one of us?
“I will no longer be in your brother’s entourage,” I say.
“I see.” Rosamund’s gaze drifts to my waist, lingering on the absence of a saber. “Well, until then, might I suggest a few fencing lessons.”
“Why?”
Rosamund tugs the monkey’s tail, and the animal hands over the cigarette. She takes a long, slow drag, then exhales the smoke into my face with a pointed grin. “Because Miss Hussey is eager to settle the score.”
Why does she keep dragging Irene into this as if they’re close friends? I saw the way Rosamund looked at her in the dining hall. She clearly hates Irene as much as she hates Charlotte and me.
I glance toward the line of students, where Jack, Charlotte, and Dickie still wait to view the spur.
Their backs are turned, unaware of our exchange.
I know I shouldn’t take the bait, but I can’t help it.
When I look at Rosamund, I don’t see Edmund’s twin; I see the woman who almost destroyed my best friend.
I turn back to Rosamund, matching her cold demeanor. “Perhaps Miss Hussey should focus on settling her legal situation first.”
Rosamund arches an eyebrow, as if questioning whether I truly want to walk this road. “She won’t be convicted.”
“That would be more unfortunate for you than for me,” I say.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I know you do not care for your brother’s fiancée, Miss Prew.”
“How are you so certain?”
“The same way I know you are only being nice right now in the hope that I will answer your questions.”
Rosamund reclines for a moment, watching me with a slow-building scowl, then snaps upright and shoves the monkey off her lap.
“You’re right, Miss Waldsten. And do you know why?
Because I don’t tolerate thievery. If you don’t believe me, ask your friend, Miss Deering.
Ask her what happened when she tried to take what’s mine. ”
“I know enough about what you have put Miss Deering through,” I say, letting the edge show in my voice. “But if your claim is true, why do you tolerate Miss Hussey?”
“Because her marriage to my brother was arr—”
Rosamund cuts herself off, but it’s already too late. I incline my head enough to let her know I’ve seized on the slip, and I’m now certain the only reason she hasn’t slit Irene’s throat in her sleep is that she knows Edmund doesn’t love her.
A soft, startled flush spreads across Rosamund’s cheeks. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, and the polite veneer cracks as she slowly rises onto her knees. “You’re blackmailing my brother, aren’t you?”
“You know him better than I do,” I say. “Is he the sort of man who could be blackmailed?”
“Answer the question.”
“If he wanted you to know about our arrangement, he would have told you himself.”
Her lips peel back, showing teeth. “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing at all, Miss Prew. I am simply reading it from the outside… just as everyone else is.”
Rosamund’s eyes narrow to slits. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring, before her hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist. Her nails dig in, a sharp sting at first, then a slice deep enough to break the skin.
I try to pull back, but she only tightens her grip, harder and sharper, until I feel the warm drip of blood down my arm.
“Careful, Miss Waldsten,” she says. “I happen to know my brother despises low-citizens like you. However you’re blackmailing him, whatever trick you’ve used to con your way into his protection, I’ll find out.
And once I have proof, not even that fawning parasite you call a father will be able to save you. ”
I snap toward her, biting back a snarl. “What did you say?”
A slow smile spreads across Rosamund’s face, as if I’ve just given away my weak point.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Everyone knows your father is one of Reeve’s most devoted regulars, always turning up to those…
infamous gatherings of his.” Her gaze glides over me, taunting and amused.
“The kind of parties no decent man admits to attending, let alone returning to. One does begin to wonder how far loyalty like that really goes.” She clucks her tongue softly. “Your poor mother.”
Heat courses through me. I try to control myself, to calm down before I slip up and lose more civil credits. Instead, I jerk upright, tearing free of Rosamund’s grip so forcefully that blood streaks down my wrist in a bright green line.
Rosamund’s lashes flutter in surprise at the sight of the wound.
“Hoppola,” she says. “What have you made me do?” She unfolds a handkerchief and wipes her nails clean, as if erasing the evidence means the assault never happened.
Then she tosses the bloodstained cloth at me.
“Go on, Miss Waldsten. Defend your father’s honor. I know you want to.”
My chin drops, and my legs burn with the urge to lunge.
Rosamund’s throat is exposed; one clean strike and her voice would die mid-syllable.
I can almost feel the collapse in my knuckles, the way her breath would choke in her windpipe before she even realized it.
The effort to hold back makes my entire body shake.
I need to get out of here. Now.
I spin on my heel and dart from the booth, my vision blurring with black spots as I hurry toward the elevator.
A loud sigh follows me.
“So, you’re as cowardly as Miss Deering, then?” Rosamund calls. “How lucky for me.”
By the time I step into the elevator, I’m shaking so badly I can barely press the call button. I try to pull on my coat, but the sleeves twist around my arms as if fighting me. My fingers fumble at the zipper until I finally rip the coat off and hurl it to the floor.