“At you? Why? You’re doing what anyone would do in your situation.” She shakes her head and begins pinning her hair into a twist. “No. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself for not seeing what was right in front of my face.”

She meets my eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you the one taking women from Lunameade? Or, I suppose—were you and the others like you doing it?” She’s not afraid when she asks, and that’s more unnerving than her lack of anger.

I shake my head. “No. We don’t need to do that. Women here volunteer because it feels⁠—”

She gives me a look that says she knows how it feels. She spreads a dark color over her full lips. I know even without being told that it’s red. It’s always red.

She stands, removes the dress from the hanger beside the vanity, and slips it over her head. I don’t bother to offer to tie it for her. She makes quick work of the string anyway.

The dark silk is so delicate and thin, it may as well not be there at all. The draped neckline dips between her breasts and the thin straps crisscross in the back several times, showing off the delicate muscles of her upper back. It stops just above her scar. For a moment, all I can think about is untying that bow, watching the dress slip away from her pale skin, and spreading her legs wide so I can taste her.

The dress is a punishment, and I have never liked a scolding so much.

She runs her fingers over her collarbone and up her neck, pausing right over the place where I first bit her last night. I’ve healed all of the marks I left on her delicate skin, but I know she’s trying to remind me what I can’t have.

“My intention wasn’t to hurt you.”

She bristles. “I’m not hurt. You had some score to settle, and I will go along with whatever I must, but let me be clear about how this is going to work. I won’t tell my family what you are. When we go back to Lunameade in three days for Dark Star Festival, I’ll ask you to do something, and you won’t question it⁠—”

“I can’t promise that if I don’t know what it is,” I argue.

Harlow holds up a hand. “The entirety of my cooperation is dependent on you helping me get my sister back. If you become yet another thing standing between me and her, I will be forced to manage you the way I’m managing everyone else.”

This is a trap that I have to step into. If I don’t give her something now, she will ruin everything—and she’ll enjoy making me suffer.

“Fine. I agree.”

She holds out her hand, and I shake it.

“Good. Now, is there anything you’d like to tell me?” she asks.

My mind churns through all the things I’d like to say. I killed Gaven. I’m using you to help overthrow your parents as leaders of Lunameade. I can’t stop thinking about the way you sigh after you come.

But this is not a time for confessions. I can’t say any of these things.

“Can I ask you something and you’ll answer honestly?” I ask.

She puts her hands on her hips. “I’ll certainly consider it.”

“Why have you put up with all that your parents have done when you clearly don’t agree with their methods?”

She tips her head back and sighs heavily. “What other option is there, Henry? This isn’t about some destructive affection I have for them. The city needs my father to hold the line. There is no one else in all of Lunameade with holy fire. Who else will light the wall? It’s already almost too much for him and Able to maintain together.”

I think back to Gaven’s confession. “Do you think it’s odd that Vardek has never blessed another person from the city with holy fire?”

“Do you think it’s weird that Vardek hasn’t blessed someone else at the fort with holy fire?” she counters.

“We have a considerably smaller population. It’s improbable that there wouldn’t be a single one in Lunameade.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “You don’t know that. The Divine work in mysterious ways, or so I’m told.”

“I do know.” I was not supposed to tell her that yet, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

She crosses her arms, searching my face, as if trying to spot a lie. “Why should I believe you? All you do is lie. You weren’t trying to hunt down Rochelli for the rebel attack that hurt your mother at the engagement dinner. You’re working with him.”

I run a hand through my hair and try to salvage this. “Technically, I wasn’t aware that we were working with him then, and that attack was orchestrated by a group of rogue rebels—not under his direction. When we were in Lunameade and I stole that note from you and dropped it in the fire, it was because I recognized the handwriting as my father’s.”

She doesn’t react, but I have her full attention, so I press on.

“Until then, I didn’t know for sure that they were working with Rochelli and the rebels. But that confirmed it, and when we got back, I confronted them.”

“Your father is Rochelli?”

I can’t tell her that Gaven told me about the Vardek-blessed children right after I dealt him a death blow. I need to lie and lie believably. “No. He’s in the network but not their leader. Apparently, all correspondence from rebel agents is signed by Rochelli, but with a lowercase r. The correspondence from the leader Rochelli is uppercase. But he has it on good authority from someone in the network who would know for certain that your father had anyone with holy fire killed.”

I wait for her to doubt me, to debate the merits of this information, but she looks resigned to its validity—more disappointed than surprised.

“I never personally witnessed a blessing from Vardek. I should have been more suspicious of the infrequency, but I so rarely attended blessings. My older siblings used to rotate through, but Kellan took over doing most of them a couple years ago. Of course, my family has ways of making people forget things…” She shrugs.

It’s the first hint of any of her siblings’ magic that she’s offered up. I can’t tell if she just means Kellan’s manipulation or if she’s suggesting one of the Carrenwells can erase memories.

Harlow is so calm. “But even if new blessings come in time, it will be years before a teenager can control their holy fire enough to light the whole wall. My father is an unfortunate necessity.”

“Not if you’re using well water. You must notice that we only light the fort wall every other night.”

Harlow’s eyes light up, and she nods.

“We supplement with well water and coat our weapons in it.”

“And that’s enough?” Harlow frowns. “Wait—don’t distract me. Do your parents know who Rochelli is?”

I shake my head. “No, they don’t know. I’m not trying to distract you. I’m just saying that holy fire isn’t the only way to defend the city walls, especially if your father is killing anyone who could have the chance of replacing him.”

She blows out a heavy sigh. “Who would you suggest rule over Lunameade, then? Rafe? If he’s Rochelli, what do you think happens when he takes over? You saw him. He’s much worse than my parents, which is saying something.”

I hold up my hands to brace against her frustration. “I know that. I have no love for the man, but right now I’m focused on this new information about your father.”

“What are you looking for? Permission to hate him?” She laughs bitterly. “Permission granted, Henry! Get in line. You’ll find it’s quite a long one.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “Rest assured I hate him fine, whether you permit me to or not. What I’m asking is that if the opportunity presents itself to find a way around your father, will you stand in my way?”

She crosses her arms and looks away, but she says nothing.

Bells sound outside. I’m out of time to make peace with her for now.

I clear my throat. “It’s time for⁠—”

“The luncheon with the ladies of the fort,” she says. “I know. Why do you think I’m dressed like this?”

“To make me suffer.”

She hums and smiles wickedly. As she stands, Kyrin flops over onto her feet and whines.