Beck steps aside, bending into a mock bow with a courtly flourish as Declan enters. His hair is dirty and rumpled, and dark circles highlight the strain around his eyes. It’s a look I haven’t seen on him, and guilt worms its way through my chest. He wears the same shirt from yesterday, with a dusty overcoat that looks like it belongs to someone well beneath his station. He looks up, sees me in the bed, and then turns his gaze toward Beck. He scowls, his shoulders tense, and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I understand you found her?” he asks. Beck nods curtly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Declan says. “I’m embarrassed I didn’t make it sooner, but I appreciate your attention to her.”
“If it wasn’t me, it would have been the wolves, and then that would’ve been a mess to clean up, so . . .” Beck says with a half-shrug, his sarcasm cut with a raw edge.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” Declan asks. Beck lowers into a deep bow with a funny little salute, and then leaves, giving me a wary glance as he closes the heavy wooden door.
“Did he touch you?” Declan asks once we’re alone.
“What?” I say, surprised by the stiffness of his tone. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. “That’s what you want to know?” He puts his hands on his hips and sighs, looking away. His posture deflates.
“No,” he says, and for the first time, I see real strain in his face. His jaw is rigid, and exhaustion tugs at his features, aging him into manhood.
“Beck found me and brought me here,” I say. “He didn’t touch me.” Declan nods, and the last of his formal demeanor fades away. He takes a step toward the bed and hovers, clearly wanting to sit, but unsure. He hesitates.
“I sent an envoy to follow Zerah.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, and it must show on my face.
“This morning,” he continues. “When they arrive, they’ll attend to her, and if any part of her new circumstance is unacceptable, they will bring her back.”
“Okay,” I say, smoothing the blanket over my legs. When I don’t say anything else, he sighs and lets his hands fall to his sides.
“I only wanted to make you happy,” he says, his voice small and plaintive. “I don’t get the sense you ask for help very often, and you trusted me enough to ask for this. I see that, and I’m sorry. I wanted to be that person for you, to take your problem and . . . fix it.
“But it was a serious problem. I wanted to have the perfect answer . . .” The corners of his mouth droop, his easy confidence gone.
“And that was what you came up with?” I say, my words acidic even through my fatigue.
“Yes.” He blinks three times and shifts his murky gray eyes to the chair where Beck was seated before he arrived. He rubs at the back of his neck, and then looks back at me, unwilling to take Beck’s place. “I thought it was the right answer, but I was wrong.”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” I say. He stares at me for a second, then tilts his head back and takes another breath.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says, frustration lurking in his tone. “Are you allowed to make mistakes?”
“You think that’s what this is? You messed up, and I’m being unfair?” I say, the upset rising in my voice.
“No,” he says. “I know it’s bigger than this. It’s not abstract. It’s personal . . .” He clears his throat. “For everyone it impacts.” He squints his eyes, silently pleading with me to tell him something. I know what he wants me to say, and I hate that through foggy, hot eyes, I say it:
“What happens to me? Will you get rid of me the same way you got rid of Zerah?” He must have known what I would say, what was really at the root of this, and still, he winces. I blink fiercely. Every instinct in my body is pulling me away from him, but something about his expression holds my gaze.
“No.” His words are firm and clear. “I’m not going to do that. Not to you.”
“Why not? What makes me different?”
“You just are,” he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear.
“For the record, I did give Zerah one more choice: to stay and be un-sponsored, as an Independent Candidate. Should I have persuaded her to do that? Would that have been better?”
“Independent?” I ask, letting the unfamiliar title settle in my mouth.
“It is possible to be here without a sponsor, but it’s much harder to compete when you don’t have help.”
“That’s not really an option, though,” I say, thinking of Zerah having to forego her long-sleeved gowns and makeup. Nobody would have made an offer if she looked so damaged. It’s no better than the other choices he gave her.
“I know. But I insisted we break the bond with her benefactor. When I informed him, he insisted on compensation.” Zerah talked about this, but I hadn’t thought about it with her. Of course, he would be compensated. Just like Conrad would expect to be compensated for me. I swallow back bile.
“What does that mean, he insisted on compensation? She had an offer—was that not compensation enough? It’s normal for girls not to go home,” I say, but I already know the answer. My heart thuds, and my stomach ties into sharp, small knots.
“Yes, but truth be told, it wasn’t a good offer. Her benefactor wanted money to make up for the loss. We don’t make payments in exchange for a girl. But of course, he knew that. And I could see it in his grubby, greasy, ugly face that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. I had to replace her.”
“No . . .” I say, horror sending cold waves through my core.
“Without Zerah’s testimony—and I tried, believe me—he has a right to just compensation. And so today, I had to handpick a twelve-year-old girl to replace her. I had to tell her parents this was the right placement for her, that she would be safe, and it would put food on their table.” His eyes widen for a moment, and then he shuts them, sinking onto the foot of the bed. His head falls forward slightly.
“What if I’m terrible at this?” he asks, his voice softening, yet more urgent.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, my eyes hot with unshed tears for the poor little girl whose fate Declan sealed—for Zerah, for me. He sits on the bed next to me and takes my hand in his. I don’t pull away. I let my cold hands melt into his, watch his soft fingers and dirty fingernails curl around them.
“Because I want to,” he says with a sheepish shrug. “I don’t know why. It’s not like you’re nice to me . . .” he says with a little laugh, and I snort.
“I’m really not,” I say with a meek smile.
The levity of the moment falls from his face, and he stares at me, earnest and serious. “I know there are reasons you don’t think this can work. But you haven’t given me a chance.”
I stare back at him, swallowing hard around the rapidfire pulse in my throat. The door swings open, startling us both. Beck stands there. If he’s shocked to see Declan sitting on the bed with me, he does a good job hiding it.
“What is it?” Declan asks.
“You are wanted at the estate, sir. You have a . . .” Beck clears his throat awkwardly. “An appointment, I believe?” I pull my hands from Declan’s. He doesn’t move, just sits there staring at his empty hands. Beck crosses his arms tight over his chest and lifts one eyebrow, silently asking if I’m okay. I nod.
“Thank you for taking care of Arden,” Declan says. He stands, offering a hand to Beck. Beck looks at it for a long moment, and then shakes it with his own.
“It’s nothing. Wasn’t about to let my dinner date go to waste.”
Declan frowns and turns to me, as if he wants to say something more. Whatever it is he wants me to know, he doesn’t find the words. Instead, with a little nod, he walks out through the door.
“Well, thank God he showed up,” Beck says under his breath. I don’t know who to thank yet. Too many things have been left unresolved.