I’m mad. More mad than I think I’ve ever been. I don’t even bother to dampen the clacking of my heels on the black and white tile as I stomp down the hall. But when I reach the classroom, I don’t stop. I don’t go in. I keep walking, brushing past shrewd-eyed guards and gossiping maids, none of whom stop me.
Fiona does not have anything I want. And Declan presuming that I want what she has is the root of the problem. Sure, I don’t love her, but I don’t hate her, either. Why does it have to be one or the other? It was the same at Conrad’s. There were four of us, and we became enemies before we could be friends. Then Tatiana was chosen, and Neve positioned herself as the backup, and that competitive hierarchy was enforced. In reality, we were all just lost little girls who needed a friend.
I don’t wish ill on any of these girls. But someone attacked me. Someone did this. And I need to figure out who before it happens again.
When I reach my room, I push the door open with a heavy thrust. Molly stands in front of my bed, her mouth shaped in a little O.
“Oh, great,” I say, through gritted teeth. Her eyes are big, and her bangs are almost sweated clean through. They stick to her forehead, giving the illusion they’re almost an appropriate length.
“I—I was just—”
“Yeah, I know you were just. Get the hell out. And next time you want to plant something in my room, do a better job.” I thunder past her toward the bathroom, and she grabs at my arm. I’m about to push her away, but the still tender blisters on my hand stretch painfully as I reach, and I snap it back into my chest.
“Did you really get stung by a bee?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.
“No. I got stung by a hornet. And then, somebody”—I flap my bandaged hand in her direction—“left me the loveliest surprise in the bath. But I’m going to be fine.” I slow down, take a deep, steadying breath, and lower my voice as I continue. “I’m not going anywhere. So if you’re going to leave something else, go ahead and bring your worst.” I thud the jar of salve down on my dresser, and she stares at it, her jaw gaping.
“I didn’t—wait, what happened?” she asks, and it throws me. Molly isn’t the type to play dumb. In fact, she’d be a terrible liar. I hesitate just long enough for her to grab my wrist and examine the thick bandages.
“Look, I’m sorry if I said something that offended you,” I say, still seething. “It wasn’t about you . . .” A flash of Declan kissing me interrupts my focus, and I blink twice to rid myself of it. “But was that really enough to make you hurt me? I never thought you’d be the one to stoop to that. I thought you were better.”
“I am better than that, and screw you for thinking so little of me.” She frowns as doubt mars her square face. “Wait—does this mean you didn’t . . .”
“I didn’t, what?” I ask. She looks around the room, worrying her lower lip, and then closes my door. When she returns, she pulls out a small green figure. Long, slender fronds are folded into the shape of a girl in a dress. Around its neck is a tiny rope.
“You didn’t make this?” she asks.
“No, of course not. Where did you find that?” I start to reach for it, and then recoil. I don’t actually want to touch it.
“It was on my pillow last night.”
“Molly,” I look her square in the eye. “I wouldn’t do that.” She squints, the last lingering bits of doubt clinging to the creases around her eyes.
“So, you’re not jealous of my relationship with Declan?”
“No,” I say, swallowing the word. She watches me for a moment, as if there’s another question on the tip of her tongue, but then shakes her head.
“What happened to you?” she asks. I turn my hands palm side up and let her examine the gauze.
“Somebody put soap in my bath that burned my hands and left blisters.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Um, yeah, actually. I just really like wearing gauze.”
“Fiona says you like the attention,” she says, letting the secondhand accusation linger.
“Fiona can suck on an Espancian lemon.”
She snorts and stares at my hands for a moment longer. Then, without warning, she wraps her arms around me, nearly knocking me over as she squeezes me tight around the shoulders.
“I’m sorry I got so mad yesterday,” she says. I relax into her hug. It reminds me of Carla—of the way she’d give hugs with wholehearted abandon.
“I’m sorry I said anything. I should have seen you were excited about Declan, and that saying anything to cast doubt about your date would be hurtful. I’m sorry I was a lousy friend. ” She perches on the edge of the bed and shakes her head, setting the little leaf doll next to her. I squirm and try to keep the grimace off my face. It feels like bad luck to have it in the room at all, let alone on top of my linens.
“No, I was being too sensitive. I’d overheard Fiona talking about her ‘connection’ with him. It’s not even a word I’ve heard him use. It got to me. So then, when you made it sound so negative, I guess it just . . . well, it hit a nerve.”
“I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
“He wants to explore things with everyone. He’s not going to settle down with me, or Fiona, or anyone until the end. And maybe I shouldn’t want that. I know that’s why we’re here, but—”
“That’s not why we’re here,” I say, lowering an eyebrow and leaning against the foot of the bed. She looks up at her bangs and presses her lips into a thin, annoyed line.
“Okay, so I know you think you have this other idea of what this place can do for us, but you’re wrong.” She presses her palms into the bedspread and lowers her chin, her eyes perfectly lined up with mine. “We are all here for Declan. That’s what this is—what it has always been. The years when it’s not Declan, or his father, or his uncles, it’s someone else. There’s always a top prize. And if you don’t get that, you get someone else. That’s how it’s always worked.”
“That’s not what I want,” I say, but even I can hear how stubborn that makes me sound. As though she’s just told me the sky is blue, and I insist it’s green.
“Then maybe you should quit,” she says softly. Her words are sharp and cut in neat, thin, almost painless scratches.
“I can’t.” My voice is almost gone, the wind sucked from my lungs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“I know they say we’re being trained for these impressive appointments, but that’s not what happens. There are a few exceptions, but that’s not really what they want from us. All they want is a pretty face to take to parties. Someone who can make babies with Nordanian features and bloodlines.” I shake my head and try to think of another way to say, that’s not what I want. She leans in, nothing but kindness in her plain, cherubic face. “A good marriage is nothing to laugh at. It’s the only appointment that matters, at the end of the day.”
My hands hurt, and I realize I’m gripping the footboard too hard, leaning my entire weight against it. I let go and carefully cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m not doing that.”
“Yeah, well, good luck. At least you’ve got Declan to back you up.” She says his name with a sharp note of bitterness.
“Would you really rather be me, Molly?” My voice is hollow and dangerous, and she deflates a little.
“No.” She shakes her head and remains quiet for a moment. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“Was that man—your benefactor’s son—did he rape you?” The word is jarring. She says it so easily. It’s one thing to know what it is—it’s another thing to name it.
I’m quiet for a moment and bite the side of my tongue before I answer. “Not that night.” I’ve never had this conversation before. My pulse flutters against my neck as I wait for her next question.
“How long was it going on?” she finally asks.
“Long.” She nods and doesn’t say anything. “They stopped him that night. It didn’t happen here.”
“Good,” she says. “Declan must have been beside himself.”
“Why do you say that?” I look at her, and she cocks her head, her eyes squinted and pointed down her nose, almost as though she’s trying to look at her own freckles.
“Well, for him to have gotten rid of your benefactor, and then offer to support you? He must have been so mad.”
“Yeah, I guess he was,” I say. She’s quiet for another second, and then shakes her head.
“He must like you a lot.” She’s nodding now, an earnest expression set in her eyes, as if she’s decided that the least she can do for me, given my sexual assault, is admit that her boyfriend might like me, too.
“Oh yeah, our connection is really great,” I say, my voice peppered with bitterness. First Declan accuses me of being jealous of the other girls, and now Molly makes me out to be a pathetic loser only deserving of pity because I was handed a cruel lot in life? This day just keeps getting better and better. I walk to the dressing table and fiddle with a heavily beaded necklace I’ll never wear.
“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. I don’t mean . . .” She fumbles with her words, and then gives up.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly. I turn around and look at her until she finally meets my eyes. “And I promise you, it’s not like that. I don’t love Declan. He doesn’t love me—he doesn’t even respect me. It’s not going to be me.” She smiles a little, and her shoulders relax. But then the frown returns, and she shakes her head again.
“Do you think it’s the same person? After both of us?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. Not to diminish her creepy doll, but it does seem slight in comparison.
“I don’t even know who to tell about this,” she says.
“I don’t know, either . . .” I say, and then hesitate. She should have someone else to tell, but there’s no one else here she can trust. It’s not like she can go to Beck, and he can give her a countercurse, or burn the creepy doll with brimstone, or whatever it’s going to take to get rid of its bad luck. But there is one obvious choice, and my curiosity starts to outweigh my concern for who else might find out about this threat.
“Maybe you should tell Declan.”
“Is that what you did?” she asks. Her face scrunches up, causing some of her freckles to merge into larger constellations across her nose.
“Yes, I did,” I say.
“And what did he say?” she asks. I shudder and shake my head.
“He was upset . . .” I hesitate, still angry with the way he threw my distrust back in my face. “I think he would want to hear that this happened to you.” I’m careful with my words. I don’t want her to know we fought, or why. Molly smiles, biting her lip, as if to minimize the hope this gives her. As if, by reaching out to him with this information, she will somehow bring them closer together—as if that’s my secret, the reason why Declan likes me.
The truth is, I don’t know why Declan likes me. I don’t know why he makes me so angry, or why he fights for me, or why he does any of the things he’s done. But I do see that Molly genuinely likes him. And despite it all, she’s been a good friend to me. So as she takes her doll and leaves, I wish her luck, only a little surprised to find my heart tugs in all the right places when I do. Because I think I really mean it.