I thunder down the hall, searching every room I pass for a sign of Declan. When I reach the foyer, I charge outside, ignoring a guard gesticulating about the wind. He’s there, across the lawn, talking to a girl in blue—no, aquamarine.
I storm across the lawn toward the hedge maze, and as I close the distance, Fiona notices me first. She looks annoyed, but sidles into him, slipping her arm through his. He turns, and his eyes widen when he sees me, a small smile quickly disappearing from his face.
“I need to speak to you. Now.”
“Excuse me,” Fiona says with breathless indignation.
“Apologies, Fiona. Lovely dress. Zerah was right—it really does something for your eyes.” I rush toward the hedge maze and don’t slow down, praying that Declan will follow and not make me look like an idiot. He takes his time, swinging his feet as he walks, as though he’s on a casual stroll through the garden. I wait, arms crossed, foot tapping an impatient rhythm in the grass. Furious energy races through my body, impossible to contain. When he reaches the maze wall, I explode.
“What is wrong with you?” I yell, and he stops in place. Confusion hardens into frustration, and his mouth turns down in a scowl.
“Can you lower your voice, please?” he asks, moving up the hill toward the maze’s edge.
“Oh, would that be more convenient for you?” I shout and march after him up the hill, almost racing him.
“Yes, it would, considering there are no less than ten sets of eyes on us.” The pressure of those unseen eyes bears down on me, and I can almost feel my heels sinking into the earth. A shudder rolls up the back of my neck, and I shake my head violently.
“No. No, this is not—I have done nothing wrong. I was honest with you . . . I told you . . .” Angry tears threaten to betray the years I’ve kept them locked away from people who could take advantage of them. I clench my teeth and hold them back. He hasn’t earned this piece of me.
“I know,” he says. His voice is low and gentle, and I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“How could you?” I force all the air from my lungs. It gives extra weight to my shaky voice, but the accusation still comes out as a wisp.
“I heard what you said, Arden. I refused to let her go back to her benefactor. I thought you’d be pleased.” The laugh that comes out of my mouth is harsh and manic, tinged with the frantic breathlessness of an impending panic attack. Turning away from him, I thread my fingers through my thick, frizzy curls, giving them a good tug.
“You thought I’d be pleased?” A guttural howl escapes my chest, and I clamp both hands over my mouth.
“Yes.”
“Wha—how—?” I take a deep breath and ball my right hand into a fist against my teeth. Slowly, I turn back to face him. “So, let me get this straight: I confide in you that her benefactor is a crappy person. And your solution—the solution you think would please me—is to marry her off to the highest bidder in a foreign country where she’ll be alone? Did I get that right?”
“Well, when you put it like that . . .”
“How else would you put it?” Too furious to stay in place, I walk away, trailing along the wall as the wind picks up. It cools my heated cheeks, but does little to quell the fire burning inside me.
“Hey!” he says sharply, rushing forward to clamp a hand on my arm. I jerk at the sudden contact, but his grip holds. Low, distant thunder pierces the air.
“Please take your hand off me,” I say through gritted teeth, glaring up at his arrogant face.
“Please remember that when we’re in public, you need to address me with a bit more decorum,” he says, nodding at the gaggle of guards standing not 100 yards to our left; they pretend they’re not eavesdropping on every word we say. He removes his hand, and I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut.
“How could you do that to her?” My voice is small. His shoulders droop, his posture slack with detente.
“I thought I was doing the right thing by finding her a good home.”
“You forced a husband on her.”
“I didn’t force her into anything.” He crosses his arms, matching my glare with a scowl of his own.
“Of course you did. You found this man who wanted her—and what exactly does he want her for? Because expectations are often very different behind closed doors.”
“He’s a good man. I can vouch for him. I’ve known him a long time.”
“So that’s what’s happening? You’re going to vouch for whoever you decide is a ‘good man?’ Because, as I recall, your father seemed to think my benefactor was a ‘good man,’ too.” His pupils contract, his eyes turning to stormy graphite. I turn away before he can ask anything more, but he grabs my arm again, holding me in place. I whirl, my eyes widening with murder, and he lets go.
“Arden—” he says. I march away from him as the wind hisses and the thunder rolls. “Arden, please! Talk to me!”
“About what?” My voice is wild, mixing in with the weather, and he quickly closes the distance, his copper hair rustling in the wind.
“I gave her a choice.”
“You gave her a choice?” I ask, with a sarcastic snort.
“Yes, I explained the situation and told her she could either return home or go to Osterstan and have a new life.”
“You think that’s a choice?” I ask. Hot, angry tears stream freely down my cheeks. I don’t have the strength to fight them anymore. “She can either go back to a sadistic bastard who owns her, or move to a strange land to marry someone she doesn’t know—a man—with jowls and acute halitosis, and you think that’s a great choice?” I’ve gone too far, I know that, but as fast as I see recognition in his face, it’s gone.
“Are you saying I should have done nothing?” he asks, raising both palms, the gesture half placating, half frustrated plea.
“No. You should’ve done the right thing.”
“And what is that? Marry her? Should I just marry every ruined girl?” My cheeks are hot with fury as my own insecurity is hurled into my face.
“Go to hell,” I say. I turn to run toward the hedge maze, but he grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me in place. I scream. He lets go and takes a few steps back, running his hands through his hair. It’s the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him, and a flash of satisfaction ripples through my rage.
“What would you have preferred? That I give her a job on the grounds here? Chopping onions in the kitchen? I can’t save everyone.”
“I’m not asking you to save everyone, but why couldn’t you save her?” My voice cracks alongside my heart, and I clamp my hands over my mouth as my righteous fury threatens to break.
“Maybe I did,” he says. I shake my head.
“Of everyone here, she was the most defenseless.”
“She didn’t—”
“No, I refuse to believe that. You’re not an idiot. She put up a tough exterior, but anyone with half a brain can see past that. And you’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for. You could see it. She was terrified of leaving.”
“I know, that’s why I—”
“If you try to defend selling her—”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t sell her!” He presses his palms into the back of his head, his eyes wide with hurt and desperation. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him, not blinking.
“If you can’t help someone like Zerah, then what good are you?” His face falls and his eyes are broken, glossy fragments. I’ve punched too low. But the truth is often painful. Zerah and I know that better than most. I turn and stomp away, wrapping my arms around my torso as I march into the wind, headed toward the maze’s entrance.
“Arden!” Declan yells after me. “Stop! You don’t know your way.”
“Do not follow me,” I yell back as I charge into the hedges. I turn the corner and take off in a run, until I can no longer hear his voice calling out my name.
I’ve seen storms before. We had brutal cyclones and thundershowers on the peninsula, but they were nothing like this. This is brutal, pelting, a war of a storm. The hedges provide some small protection from the wind, but it still howls high overhead. I try to memorize the turns I’ve taken, but they blur together in my mind. I turn left and follow the path until I reach a bend to the right, then take another right to where it opens up in a little garden. It’s similar to the rose garden Declan showed me on our previous trip, but I know it’s not the same. Wild roses shudder around the courtyard’s edge, and a blanket of petals covers the stone bench at its heart. I brush them away and sit, curl my legs into my chest as I hug them tight, pressing my eyes into my knees.
This is all my fault. If I hadn’t said anything, Zerah would still be here. She wouldn’t be going across the world to be claimed by some stranger. I hate myself for confiding in Declan, for letting things get this complicated. I should have left well enough alone. Zerah was right—it’s impossible to change a system when the people who run it don’t think it’s broken. She’s out, at least, away from her benefactor. But what does that mean for me?
The fury that’s sustained me drains away, leaving behind an empty, painful shell. Sobs shatter me, and I give myself over to them, purging the hopelessness from my body, one tear at a time.
When at last they’ve finally dried, my body spent and sore, I unfold from the bench. The world is dark, the air charged. Thunder and wind howl around me in deafening bursts. I need to get back before it gets worse. Pushing to my feet, I go back the way I came. I turn the first corner and meet a dead-end. I retrace my steps, but when I turn to where the bench should be, it’s just another massive green wall, instead. I smell the rain before it pelts me and hear the impending hail like an ocean wave, getting closer and closer until it crashes into me with fat, cold drops—hard.
Rain blurs my vision and hailstones sting my skin like a million little insect bites. The sky seems slightly darker in one direction than the other, but I can’t tell if it’s from the deluge, or from the sun setting behind the storm clouds. I wish I had Declan’s compass. Maybe then I could find my way. I shake the thought from my head and choose a path, moving forward as the hail finally relents. The rain picks up, instead, soaking my clothes and seeping an icy damp into my bones. The air cools around me, and soon enough, I’m spitting water, wracked with violent chills. My teeth chatter violently, sending a sharp ache into my jaw as I turn a corner that looks vaguely familiar.
My skirt suctions to my legs, and I pull at it, trying to free myself enough to jog between the full-body shivers. I turn another corner—only to reach another dead-end. A white flash consumes the sky above, and the subsequent thunder is so loud, I fall to the ground, covering my head with my hands. I crawl to the corner on my mud-slicked dress and press myself into the hedge. The prickly leaves scrape my neck and face, but keep out at least some of the rain and insulate my skin so my limbs don’t feel like ice. I curl into a ball and close my eyes, sobbing into my soaked skirt.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting like this when I hear someone call my name. The rain still falls in sheets, and I’m not convinced I’ve actually heard it. It’s so dark, I can’t even see my knees in front of my face. I strain my ears, but there’s nothing beyond the rain and the wind. I let out a short, convulsive breath and put my forehead back against my knees. Then, I hear it again.
“Arden!” A low voice carries through the murky, stormy mess. I open my mouth to reply, but my teeth chatter too violently to produce a sound. I press my hands into the ground and try to push myself up, but I’m shivering too much. They slip in the slick mud, and I fall further into the hedge.
“Arden!” Closer, this time.
“Haaah . . .” I force a high-pitched squeak. It’s all I can manage, but it’s effective. Soon, I hear footsteps on a nearby path, and then his voice again, closer still.
“Where are you?”
“Here,” I say, my voice a raspy vibrato. Somehow, he hears it. I see the muddy boots and smell a hint of citrus before I know who it is. He squats down and hard, calloused hands squeeze my shoulders.
“What are you doing out here? The garden party is in the Rhododendron Garden,” Beck says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sarcastic smirk.
“I got m-m-m-mad. And th-th-then I g-g-g-got l-l-lost,” I whisper through chattering teeth.
“Can you walk?” he asks. I try to shrug, but it manifests as a giant tremble. Thunder bellows across the sky, and he slips an arm around my waist, lifting me to my feet. He sets me down. My legs are wracked with hypothermic convulsions, and I fall. He catches me with one arm, removing his heavy canvas overcoat with the other. He sweeps it around my shoulders. Then he slips his other arm under my knees and lifts. The coat is warm, but it traps the wet, cold fabric against my skin. I can’t stop shaking. He’s so warm and strong. It becomes harder and harder not to lean into him as he carries me, to feel his solidness, his steady heartbeat. His warmth.
“Arden? You with me?”
I don’t answer.