***

CHAPTER 16

Amber Marigold

***

"Next week, Sunday. Be ready," he said and walked away.

Amber stared at her arm. At the dark red stain that Blake left on her jacket. His shirt was drenched in it too. Did it belong to those goons she met? Or some other person she did not know?

"Couz', get in," Jessy called and dragged her inside the car.

Pushing the colour from her mind, Amber got in the back with Jessy and Lynch. A muscular guy with cropped hair sat in the driver's seat, her cousin's ex by the looks of his reddened face. With the air feeling too tight, the girl rolled down her window, and Owen leaned over. He still wore his buttoned-up shirt, bloodied and tight around his shoulders.

"That's twice now I've saved your life," he said.

"And that's twice now I did not need it."

"Grateful as ever," he half-chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His knuckles had fresh cuts. "See you at school next week?"

"I thought cyngs were too busy for school."

"I'd always make time for you, Goldie."

Amber rolled her eyes. The engine hummed to life, and the car started moving, but Owen leaned in closer for a second.

"And your kisses," he added in a whisper as they drove off.

Heat flooded the girl's cheeks, and she could not even curse as they left the grinning idiot behind, waving them off. Other cars followed them out. And as they parted, the boy's smile dropped.

Blue Jay was waiting at the docks, and the girls got her spare tyre. One of the East's kin, the depressed one that raced tonight, arrived not much later, saying his cyng sent him to lend a hand. With the tyre successfully changed, Amber thanked the gloomy boy, and Jessy thanked her ex. Though Lynch was talking more than helping, his talking was helping, and the girl thanked him all the same.

By the time they got back to the house with the blue roof, Amber's limbs had grown heavy. She sunk into her car seat. Eyes drooped.

"Oh my God, it's almost two a.m.!" her cousin said.

"Feels much later," Amber groaned.

"Yeah... First party selfie?" Jessy suggested. "Or first street race selfie? Or maybe a nearly died selfie? How's that sound?"

Though she had a smile, a quick glance at her fingers revealed peeled skin around her nails. Amber mustered a smile of her own, the darkness of the car hiding any potential faults in her act. And when the camera flashed, neither girl showed their true thoughts.

"Ugh, I am not posting that," Jessy said while they examined the picture. "What the? Is that... Is that puke in my hair? Oh my God, that's someone's puke!" She tried distancing herself from her hair.

"It could be, like, yoghurt or something," Amber suggested.

"Yoghurt. Seriously, Amber? Did you see anyone eating yoghurt at the party?" Jessy asked with a straight face.

The girls laughed, and it was not entirely faked on Amber's part. They slipped out of Blue Jay and snuck up to the house. At the front door, they kept their voices to a whisper and crept inside with the faintest of creaks. The house was quiet and dark—

A lamp switched on.

The girls yelped and clung to each other with racing hearts. There, under that eerie yellow light, Aunt Tessa and Uncle Anton sat waiting on the couch. The latter was stroking a pair of socks.

"Where have you been?" Uncle Anton asked, his voice deeper.

The girls let go of each other, and Jessy released a breath.

"At a party, Father figure. You told us we could go."

"And why have you been out this long?" Aunt Tessa asked, shadows sharpening her features. They both wore their pyjamas.

"Mother, it was a party." Jessy pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Are... you stroking a pair of socks, Uncle Anton?" Amber asked.

Aunt Tessa let out an 'I told you' breath and turned to glare at her husband, but Uncle Anton had no shame. He kept up the deep voice.

"Yes, they are indeed socks, but Tessa didn't want to buy me a cat, so I took these socks because they have cats on them. Makes it more intimidating," he explained, still stroking the pink socks.

"You stole Aunt Tessa's cat socks?" Amber held her laugh.

"Honey, those are his," Aunt Tessa sighed.

With the responsible parenting exercise ending in failure and laughter, the girls were dismissed and told to come home earlier next time. They all said their goodnights, and Uncle Anton helped his wife back upstairs. Amber headed to the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror and, under the telling light, winced. Smudged eyeliner, dishevelled hair, and stains on her dress. She was lucky it was too dark downstairs for anyone to see the bruise on her neck; it had turned a shade of greenish yellow. But what stood out the most...

She ripped off her jacket and started washing it in the basin. Feeling her chess piece in its pocket, she took it out. More red. The girl scrubbed until her hands were raw, and it was her own blood running down the drain. Giving up, she threw her jacket into the laundry bin and got in the shower, not bothering with the cold tap. Her body was stiff and her wounds from the last few weeks stung. The scrapes on her back, the cuts on her knees, and the bruise on her head she could not stop poking at.

By the time she got out, her skin was medium rare. She headed to her room with the shower turning on again behind her, Jessy no doubt ridding her hair of yoghurt. Dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts, she switched the lights off and crawled into bed. Her eyes could barely stay open, and yet sleep was impossible. Did she really wash it all off? She felt sticky. Before she could get up to check if it was water or blood on her skin, the door opened, and Jessy padded into the room. She stood in her purple pyjamas, and words were unneeded before she got in under the covers. The girls stared at each other. Wet hair and shadowy expressions.

"Tonight was a disaster," Jessy whispered.

Amber drew a weighted breath.

"I don't suppose we can report it to the police?"

"We can, but Mother would be the only one to do something—"

"—and she'd have to do it alone," Amber finished.

"She already got hurt once. I don't want to see her get hurt again. I don't want to see anyone I love get hurt again," Jessy said, eyes glossy, and Amber reached over to hold her hand. It trembled.

"We'll figure this out. We'll get rid of these bloodlines."

Jessy's lip quivered. She tried blinking away the threat of tears.

"I don't... I... Getting rid of them sounds very final. And even if we wanted to, we don't have the means. We can't arrest them. We can't kill them. And after tonight... we can't be involved either."

Oh, but tonight did provide Amber with the means.

"I learned some things tonight," she said, "about these bloodlines. I met the Northern cyng, and the guy makes Blake and Owen look like kids. He plans on killing them and taking the town for himself. He'll end up doing all the work for us."

Jessy stared at Amber for the longest minute. Unblinking.

"You'd let them die? All of them?"

The words were softer than a whisper.

"I don't—" Amber cut herself off. "I know you only agreed to go along to avenge your mom, and yeah, I also just wanted to get back at them, but after tonight... What they did was evil. What I did... I don't care if Blake and Owen had good intentions. They killed people like it was nothing. There's no justice in that—"

"—and you'll find your own justice if need be," Jessy finished.

Amber lay unmoving as she stared at her cousin. Tears escaped, and Jessy's body kept trembling, but the bravest of smiles held onto her lips. Like it was the hardest thing to do. And it clicked.

"You still love your ex."

That smile faltered, and Jessy caved into herself. Amber shifted closer to hold her, hold her body as she quaked with quiet sobs.

"I don't," she cried. "I don't. I can't."

You idiot, Amber cursed herself. For a girl who would do anything for her family, she sure was blind to what pained them.

"Don't worry, Jessy. I'll figure something out," she whispered into her damp hair. "Letting them go or letting them die. It doesn't have to be only those two options. I'll find something else. I'll find a third choice." She brushed her hair until the sobs quieted down and then kissed her cousin's head. "Let's sleep," she said. "We need all the rest we can get."

As much as Amber wanted to have good triumph, for Jessy's sake, she would give them one last chance. One chance to prove themselves. And if by the end of it, they do not...

She held her cousin tighter until the sound of the girl's steady, tired breath was heard. Turning on her side, she stared at her phone on her bedside table. It buzzed.

Mr President
It was nice dancing with you.
02:45

Amber sucked in a breath, her heart pounding. She made contact with them. She made direct contact with Mr President without even knowing it. And, of course, she was too busy to pay attention to who she danced with. She searched her memory until her body grew heavy, and before dozing off, a whisper came to mind.

That's quite the dance moves you have...

The following morning, the girls were both grounded for a week. Grounded by Uncle Anton, in a twist of events. To appease his wife, in a less twist of events. Regardless, the weekend went by without a hitch. It was the next week that was a chore to get past. On Monday, Amber got approached by Tan Cam and friends, but Jessy told them to back off before they could say much. If only she was as great a repellent against the cyng of the East. Owen did not miss a single day of school, using PE as an opportunity to embarrass himself in his attempts at flirting.

When the end of the week neared, Amber had a glimmer of hope that her date with Blake was cancelled. The guy did not show up to school once, nor did he try to contact her.

On Friday, Jessy locked herself in her room. Final exams were a month away, and she had to get ahead with her studies. Amber said she would also study but was much better at procrastinating. She made her aunt tea and brought it up to her room. The woman was in bed, surrounded by piles of paperwork, and glued to her laptop.

"I brought tea," Amber said, looking for a spot for the cup.

"Oh, thank you, Amber honey."

"You're supposed to rest, y'know."

"It'll take a lot more than a bullet to stop me from doing my duty. I can't do nothing for three months," she said, taking the cup and having a sip. "Besides, I have a plan that might work."

Amber smiled down at her aunt. As long as she was not out on the streets, risking her life, it was all good.

"Remember to take breaks. And please let me know if I can help," she said and left her aunt to her work.

One look at the maths on her desk, Amber opted for a jog instead. As tempted as she was, she avoided the spruce forest, running loops in the neighbourhood instead. When she got back, a package waited on the front step. She removed her earphones and crouched in front of the large box. It was addressed to her. The girl grabbed a branch from nearby and poked it at a distance. Surely it was a bomb. That lasted about a minute before she ditched the stick. Hunching down, she opened and gaped at the box.

It was a tyre. The exact one that her Illion needed and the price tag on one of these rivalled most people's whole car.

Amber already knew who sent it.

Amber
Thanks
18:30

She pocketed her phone but stopped at a buzz. Her brows rose.

Mr President
I'm sorry about what happened last week. I did not intend for the night to play out like that. I hope you can forgive me.
18:30

Amber
Its alright. I already got what I wanted to know about you
18:31

Mr President
Which is?
18:31

Amber
You're human :)
18:33

Though Amber was a far cry from trusting Mr President, they passed the test she set up last week. With no reply, she hauled the tyre to the garage. She did not want her aunt and uncle asking questions and changed the tyre on her own. It took a while, and by the end of it, the girl worked up a bigger sweat than when she went jogging. She put the spare back in the boot, right on top of the envelope she had hidden. Wiping the grease from her brow, a shower was much needed. Refreshed and wrapped in a towel, she stepped into her room as her phone buzzed.

Mr President
You're not gold because of your hair, Marigold. You're gold because of your heart.
19:50

When Sunday came, Amber stayed in bed the whole morning as though not acknowledging the day made it less real. A date with a cyng? A month ago, she would have laughed at the idea. By midday, she almost convinced herself Blake had forgotten about it. Alas, an engine pulled up to the driveway and a minute later, her door cracked open.

"He's here," Jessy announced.

Amber lay perfectly still, arms crossed like a corpse at a wake.

"I hate everything and everyone," she said in deadpan.

There was something between a chuckle and a snicker before her cousin said, "I know Blake. You don't want to keep him waiting, and you've been in bed all day. Get your lazy ass out of here and make him regret ever having a bet on Amber Marigold."

Amber Marigold let out a sound that was not entirely human.

"Come on," her cousin laughed, pulling her by her feet.

The weather finally caught on to it being spring, and Jessy suggested a dress, but Amber argued pants were better for kicking. They compromised with high-waisted jeans and an off-the-shoulder top. Before leaving, she caught sight of a yellow and orange bundle. The girl had not worn her favourite jacket since it got stained. Cursing herself for being ridiculous, she shrugged it on. The only stains it retained were from painting.

Downstairs, Uncle Anton ate a sandwich at the kitchen island, though he might have forgotten whatever should be inside it.

"Where you off to, Kiddo?" he asked. "You're grounded."

"That was last week," Amber pointed out.

He sat up. "What's today?"

"It's the thirteenth of April."

"Which year?"

"Don't get excited. Time travel hasn't been achieved," Jessy said. "She's going on a date."

The doorbell rang.

"D-date?" Uncle Anton asked, getting up. "I feel a compelling urge to open the door myself." Buttoned shirt and ironed pants, he was perfectly respectable walking over to open the door. If one ignored the bunny slippers. Amber rushed to intercept the disaster.

"Hello, young man," Uncle Anton greeted in a deep voice.

Blake stood with his hands in his pockets. Ripped jeans, black boots, and a piercing through his brow, he was the last boy a father would want to see at his door.

"What's your business with my niece?" Uncle Anton asked, puffing his chest.

"Uncle, this is the boy I was going to tell you about," Amber said, holding her uncle's arm. "I'm helping him with some homework. He's not the brightest, you see. Never attended school much, and now he needs to start all over again."

"Uh, I don't—" Blake was promptly cut off by a look from Amber. Her eyes darted back and forth, silently communicating to the cyng he had to play along if she was to leave. Which was complete nonsense, but he did not need to know that. He flashed a scowl her way before looking at Uncle Anton with a poor attempt at blissful wonder.

"Uhh... I... Hellooo, Sir. I... am Blake," he said, looking in pain.

Amber turned away with pressed lips. She fought back the laugh, held it, and composed herself enough to turn back. Uncle Anton regarded Blake sceptically before, in a blink, his face turned rosy.

"Heh-low, Blakey. You are a pretty boy, you know that? Can you take care of my niece?" he asked in a voice akin to an elderly lady.

Amber's hands shot up to cover her mouth. This was priceless.

"Blakey can count to ten if he concentrates," she blurted.

If looks could kill, the girl would have been six feet under.

"Really, Blakey? That's great! Let us see!"

He stood straight, eyes burning into Amber as he counted, "One, two, three..." He said it like a warning. "Four, five, six..." Like something bad would happen by the end. "Seven, eight, nine..."

"Ten!" Amber said, a bead of cold sweat running down her neck. "Say bye-bye, Mister Marigold."

Oh, he was going to kill her for this. And it was worth it.

"Bye-bye, Mister Marigold," Blake said with gritted teeth.

He turned on his heel and dragged the girl by her arm. Jessy pulled Uncle Anton back inside, and the door shut. Unable to contain it anymore, Amber held her sides and cracked up, tears in her eyes.

"You had fun?" Blake grumbled, pulling her over to his ride, a slick matte black motorcycle nearly half the size of a vehicle.

"Uh, I'm not getting on that thing," Amber said. "I prefer cars."

"After the shit you pulled back there, you really don't have a choice." He put on his matching helmet and climbed on top of the monstrosity, offering a blue helmet for the girl. Amber wrinkled her nose. She put it on and hopped onto the back without touching him.

"Cariño, I suggest you hold on," Blake said, revving the engine.

"I'd rather die than—"

They shot straight ahead, the force nearly ripping Amber off. She threw her arms around Blake and held on for all she was worth, hoping she could squeeze the life out of him while she was at it. They zipped past traffic with a hungry, seeking speed. Like they raced to catch up to something they could never reach.

She almost liked it.

Off the main road, they went West, past Eleanor Memorial Hospital, and to the fancier part of town with sprawling estates and large oak trees. Pulling up to a white gate, armed men greeted their cyng and let them pass. They parked in front of wide entryway steps, and Amber hopped off. She stared up at the sturdy mansion, tall pillars and barred windows.

"Impressed?" Blake asked behind her, earning a scoff.

"The date's at your house? If your intentions were to impress me, I'm sorry to say but where I grew up is kinda' hard to top."

Blake looked like he had something to ask but kept it to himself.

"Do you think this is a date, Cariño?" he smirked instead. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but the deal was I get a night. I hardly want to woo you."

Liar, Amber thought and proceeded to blame her heated cheeks on the sun. Blake extended his hand, but the girl kept hers in her pockets. He shook his head, and they walked up the steps. A stoic man with the emotional range of a Greek statue opened the door.

"That's Charlie," Blake introduced and walked inside.

She followed with a polite nod towards Charlie and stopped to look around. Black tiles, white walls, with grey and glass furniture. Modern without a single painting, sculpture or vase in sight.

"There's no colour in here," she remarked.

"I prefer it that way," Blake said. He fitted right in, and, now that the girl thought about it, never wore any colour either. Black pants, boots, and a jacket with a white shirt. She would have thought herself to be colourblind if not for his tanned skin.

"What a bleak painting you'd be," she mumbled aloud.

Blake turned, and the two of them were caught in a stare before his eyes fixed lower. Amber followed his glare to the blue paint stain on her jacket. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell his problem was, but a figure suddenly rushed towards them.

"AMBERRR!" the boy yelled, nearly tackling her.

"Lynch!" She embraced the hug and the scent of candy that came along.

"Look. Look at my hair." He pulled back and lowered his head.

"Uh..." Amber was unsure what she was supposed to see. It looked the same as usual. She glanced over to where Blake made circular motions by his hair and guessed, "Is it... a little curlier?"

The cyng released a sigh like a bomb had been disarmed.

"Yes!" Lynch beamed. "I had to spend an hour explaining to Blake how my hair changed with this new shampoo I'm using."

The girl chuckled at that. Blake deserved it.

"So, you live here, right?" she asked.

"Yip. But I'm staying at Enrique's tonight because someone does not want me around for your date," he said, pointing to his backpack.

"You better get going," Blake warned. "The driver's outside."

"Yeah, okay." Lynch rolled his eyes, hugging Amber again. "See ya at Art class tomorrow," he greeted and went off.

When the door closed, Amber asked, "Why does he live here?"

She turned, and Blake's eyes made her falter. Was that regret?

"His mother... She's in a clinic now," he said. "Don't tell Lynch. He thinks she's in rehab, getting better. But after one too many overdoses, she lost it. I don't think she'll even recognise him."

"Drug addict?"

He nodded.

Amber nearly asked whose fault that was, but something about the way Blake stared off at where Lynch left made her hold her tongue.

"Y'know, I'm surprised you remembered our, uh, appointment. You weren't in school all week. I miss the pathetic flirting."

Blake huffed, eyes tearing away from the door as he said, "As much as I love amusing you, I was getting an earful from my elder kin all week after what happened with the North."

He walked further into the house, and Amber followed closely.

"Elder kin?" she asked. "The hell's that?"

"Fourth Law of Blood," Blake replied.

"Ah, yes." Her throat cleared. "The Fourth. How's it go again?"

"At the ascendance of a new cyng, the previous kin shall become the bloodline's elder kin and guide their new master," he answered without looking back. "Though my uncle and his friends might interpret 'master' as 'puppet' and 'guide' as 'control."

"Is that why your nickname is the puppet cyng?" she asked. His back flexed, and she took note not to bring that up again. "So, what exactly is the plan for today, then?"

"Nothing much. My mother wants to meet you."

Amber snorted.

"Don't you think it's a bit soon to meet your mom? We're still at the I-hate-you-with-all-my-heart stage in this relationship."

"My mother is nice, don't worry." His back flexed again.

"I'm not the one that needs to worry," she said.

They approached a large open-plan kitchen with black granite counters and crisp white shelves. A tanned, dark-haired woman was busy cooking. She looked up, eyes sparkling with a blinding smile.

"You must be Amber!" the woman said, rushing over. She wore semi-formal attire with rolled sleeves and an apron covered in flour. Nothing she was cooking required flour.

"That's me," Amber greeted, engulfed in a stifling hug.

The woman let go and inspected her. "You're prettier than my Blake said," she smiled. "I'm Antonella Sofia Moreno, Blake's mother, but you can call me Sofie if you like."

"Nice to meet you, Missus Moreno Bowen."

"Ah, no. Just Missus Moreno, Sweetie. Blake's father and I kept our last names separate and gave the children both. But what lovely manners you have! Gosh, sorry, I'm fawning. The last time I got to meet a girl was when..." Her lips thinned. "Well, I don't want to ruin the mood with the past. Blake's brother—"

"Mother," he said.

"What?" she asked and turned to Amber. "I was just going to say that my eldest was exactly the same as Blake here when he met a pretty girl. Always going on about her, but then... Well, I guess fate intended for my youngest to be alone. Until you showed up, that is."

Mrs Moreno smiled sadly while Blake looked away.

"Uh, excuse me, but can I use the bathroom?" Amber asked.

"Of course, Sweetie! It's down the hall and to your left."

Amber nodded a thanks. Mrs Moreno kept up her smile, and while walking away, it was as though thick honey ran down the girl's spine. The source of the feeling could be that blinding smile or the colourless house itself. Either way, she needed a second. She followed the instructions, but what lay left was not a bathroom. Instead, a large white door marked with the name 'Kyle' in blue pen stood waiting. It was the first bit of colour this house revealed. She opened the door before she even realised it.

Amber drew a breath, and her eyes all but drowned. Whatever colour the house lacked, this bedroom made up for. Graffiti was sprayed across the walls in a colourful collage of phrases and symbols. Canvasses with vibrant portraits took up most of the corners with a large easel right in the centre of the room, an unfinished painting of a girl with blue hair waiting. Paint cans and brushes, tubes and paper, it all lay scattered about the floor. The bed was unmade, sketches and pillows tangled in a navy blanket. And covering it all was a thick layer of dust.

Amber walked to the middle of the room, to that unfinished project, and bent down to pick up a can of red paint. She cracked the lid open and stared down at that violent colour.

"He was a painter as well," a voice came from behind.

The girl turned around, and Blake stood with his arms crossed. Instead of anger, the boy's eyes turned a shade of tinfoil again. Compelled by that bleak colour, she took her time in closing the distance between them. What kind of expression did he wear while killing people? Jessy's tear-filled eyes came to mind, and Amber's grip on the paint can tightened. One chance, she reminded herself. One chance to prove to her...

"I don't know you, Blake Moreno Bowmen. I know you're arrogant and rude. Selfish, with a messed-up sense of morals. And jeez, you're one hell of a liar," she said. "But I don't know why. So, tell me, Cyng of the West. Why? Why are you like this? Why do you kill people?"

Blake's eyes fell to the floor, and his arms hung by his sides.

"You say it like any of this was my choice. In this life, you either kill or watch those you care for get killed."

"But I'm not someone you care for," Amber said.

Their eyes met again, and she thought he would lie his way through, but his shoulders caved, and a lock of hair fell to his face.

"I couldn't let our last conversation end like that," he admitted. No sign of deceit. "I had to see you again and tell you that..." He swallowed. "I know we didn't start off on the right foot or changed feet since then, but I had to say that I know how you feel."

"How I feel?"

"I know what it's like to lose someone you believe in."

Amber blinked at that. The last thing she expected was for him to be sincere. He was a killer. He was a part of the Dynast. He had a ridiculous bet on her heart like she was a game. But he was also perhaps only a boy who had no idea what he was doing. And because she made a promise, for Jessy's sake, she offered a faint smile.

"And?" she asked.

"And?" Blake looked up.

"I thought you were going to apologise."

He scoffed, looking away. "Cyngs don't apologise."

"Yeah, but boys who say stupid things do."

The smallest of smiles betrayed him. And when he glanced back, he finally looked his age.

"I'm sorry for what I said about your parents. I was a moron. And I... I shouldn't have gotten blood on you."

"That's better," she said, dipping her finger in the red paint and reaching over to mark his jacket, the same spot where hers was stained. "We're even now," she smiled.

Blake's ears flushed the same shade of paint on his arm. He turned to leave, and Amber stood alone, staring at the door.

"You can't fool the girl that has everyone else fooled," she whispered.

When her phone buzzed, she set aside the paint.

Mr President
Keep up the good work, Marigold.
15:32

Her brows drew together. Ignoring the message, she walked out and headed down the hallway. Hushed whispers rose, and the girl slowed.

"So, did you tell her about Kyle?" Mrs Moreno asked.

"Mother."

"For fuck's sake, Blake, you remember what I told you?"

Amber rounded the corner.

"Oh, there you are, Sweetie! I just got the roast in the oven. You must stay for dinner! Why don't you let my Blake take you to the music room in the meantime? He's an excellent musician."

Amber thought Blake might puke.

"I'd love that," she said. "Won't you show me, Blake?"

The boy looked up and dragged himself over. They aimed to leave, but Amber stopped to grin back at Mrs Moreno.

"Your tag is still on," she said, pointing to her apron. The woman's ears flushed before the girl turned and left the room.

"So, that's my mother." Blake led her down a long corridor.

"She's... pretty. You two look identical."

He stayed quiet. Opening large white double doors, they entered a spacious room. Tall windows surrounded them, and sunlight gleamed across an ebony piano, grand and lonely at the centre of it all. Blake walked over and sat down hesitantly, like the stool could burn him.

"You're a pianist," Amber said. "I kind of expected you to play the guitar. Leather jacket and all."

He quietly stared at the keys. Frozen in time.

"Hey, I'm starting to think you don't really play the piano," she joked, walking over. Shrugging off her jacket, she sat next to him.

"Why don't you try instead?" Blake asked, his voice dry.

"I'm musically inapt," she admitted. "I'll probably break it."

"You won't."

The ivory keys watched her. Polished and perfect. She picked one on the right, seventh of the edge, and reached with a gentle touch.

It made an empty thunk.

"I ACTUALLY BROKE IT," she squealed, standing up to—

Blake grabbed her arm.

"You didn't break it," he assured, almost laughing.

"Oh," Amber said, sitting again. "But it didn't make a noise."

Blake looked back down at the keys, at the one she pressed.

"Actually, that one happens to already be broken. You must have bad luck for picking it."

Yup, that sounded about right.

"Why haven't you fixed it?"

"It... I don't..." Blake swallowed. "You remind me a lot of my brother. The paint on your clothes, he had it too. He wasn't musically gifted, either. At all, if I'm being kind. But he loved to sit where you're sitting and watch me play. Sometimes, he'd press a key to feel like he was helping. That one. It was his favourite for no reason." A memory danced in his eyes. Then it left.

"The morning after... After I became cyng, I came back to this piano and I... I played the notes perfectly, but they didn't sound right without his help. I was so... I slammed down on that key, trying to make it sound the way he played, and the string snapped."

"The string?"

"Yeah, pianos have strings." He pulled up his sleeve and revealed a bracelet, steely wire looping around. "I cut the string out and wear it as a sort of memento," he said. "It's stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid," Amber assured. "A little childish and kinda' emo, but not stupid. I also keep a memento with me."

"You do?"

"Yup."

They were staring at each other, and Amber looked away.

"So, uh, the other keys won't break, right?"

"No."

"Mind teaching me to play, then?"

Blake chuckled. "I could teach you a fairly simple tune." He took her hand, but Amber pulled away.

"Uh, could you show me rather?"

He watched her before turning back to the piano.

"Very well."

Blake reached with a single hand, his fingers trembling, and then slowly, he slipped into a simple tune. The notes were nostalgic.

"Hey, I know this song," Amber said.

"That's unlikely."

She closed her eyes, swaying along. Softly, she sang, "There's a song for children late at night. Please, Little Dear, don't get a fright. It's not very long; it's a simple song. And if you want, you can sing along. The first line's for blood; the second for the king. The third is for friends, and the fourth old can sing. The fifth is for loyalty; the sixth for an heir. And the last line's for peace, so everything is fair. Now you know a special song. Please don't forget, don't ever get it wrong. Sleep, Little Dear, the monsters are at bay. These seven lines are the price we pay."

Blake had stopped playing a while ago.

Amber looked up. "What's wrong?"

"You know the Lullaby of Seven Lines?"

"My mom always sang it to me before bed."

He stared at her until the girl shifted in her seat and thought something must be on her face.

"I'm sorry I have to ask this, but... Who were your parents?"

Amber looked away. She pressed the broken key a few times, testing it.

"Melissa and Robert Marigold. They were wealthy, but we were still a fairly normal family. They used ketchup to make smileys on my eggs for breakfast. We made living room forts, played pretend."

"Where did they work? Who did they work for?"

"They worked for a defence contractor company," Amber said, looking over. "They supplied the military and police with firearms."

Blake blanched enough to match his black and white house.

"What was the company's name?"

"Sterling Arms Company."

His eyes went round, and a sickly colour spread across his face like he might throw up. The girl sat back.

"Why? What's wrong? What do you know?"

"When did they..."

"A little over a year now."

Blake got up from the stool and walked over to the window, hand covering his mouth. A stone settled in Amber's gut.

"Blake, what's going on?"

"Cariño... Your family... Sterling..." He released a breath like it hurt him and turned around. His eyes were the same shade as clouds before it rained. "That song you sang is a lullaby to warn kids of the Dynast. And bloodlines... there's one thing we all have in common. We need guns. Sterling, being the country's largest arms manufacturer, is naturally a business potential for us."

Amber's muscles tensed. "My family would never side with the Dynast!" she said. "They were always meeting with the police and military. They kept this country safe. Criminals like you are the last kinds of people they would associate with!"

Blake took a step back. He held his cheek like she slapped him.

"Yes..." he finally said. "Exactly."

Amber forced steady breaths. The conversation was going in a direction that made her stomach twist.

"But the fact remains," he continued. "Bloodlines would kill to get a deal from them. Amber, I'm sorry to ask, but do you remember what happened? Last week, you made it sound like people broke in and... Did the intruders say anything? Did you get a look at them?"

Amber clutched her sides. It was suddenly cold. The kind that a jacket could not fix.

"There were a lot of them," she said. "I couldn't get a look at their faces, but one of them asked my mom for a password. When she wouldn't give it to them, he... He wasn't happy."

Blake walked over.

"Password? Do you know what for?"

Amber stepped back.

"No. I assumed it was for the safe."

"Listen, I don't think what happened to your parents was random. Let me guess, the police closed the case through lack of evidence? Do you know who they do that for?"

"The Dynast..." she whispered.

Her knees buckled, and she sunk onto the stool again. No... The room became bright. Too bright. No, no, no. It all made sense. Everything made sense. Regular burglars could not possibly get past their security. Of course, a bloodline was behind it. Her parents refused to comply with their schemes and paid the price.

The girl's blood went glacier, and her fingers itched for something cold and heavy. Bloodlines, she cursed. For Jessy, she promised to give them one last chance, but this changed everything. She stared at the piano, at her warped reflection. And in its polished gleam, she was made of silver.

Amber stood up.

"Who?" she asked, her voice unfamiliar. "Who did it?"

Blake retreated a step.

"I don't know."

"Was it you?"

"No, we had no troubles with Sterling. I'd know if we did."

"Are you lying?"

"I swear to you, Cariño, I had nothing to do with what happened to your parents." He stopped backing away and stared as though he expected her to pull a knife. "But I think I know who did."

Her eyes narrowed. She closed the gap until they nearly touched.

"Who?"

"If we're talking about murdering families in cold blood, there's a bloodline I can personally attest to."

"Owen..." Amber whispered.

"The East," Blake confirmed.

His claim was full of prejudice, but even so, it added up. If they were bold enough to target a bloodline, what stopped them from more?

"I'm going to find who did it and make them pay," she promised.

"I'll help you."

The girl passed him. She walked over to the window and stared out. This is it, she thought. What her parents raised her for. Her blood stirred. This was what she was missing. A shot at justice for what happened. She thought she could learn to live with these people, but things just changed. Her parents' murderer was likely in this town.

And they were not getting away.

***