Palace Bedroom.
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
The afternoon of the
Commencement Ball.

I collapsed into bed as soon as I arrived back in my room. The conversations with Isla and Harper had left me with a lot to think about. I was overwhelmed and the one thing I'd wanted—to see Kai and talk to him about last night—hadn't actually happened. Now that it was past noon and I knew it would be impossible to see him. Caine would have already tracked him down. He'd been in meetings or being prepared for tonight.

I should have probably been preparing for the ball too.

Soon, the palace would be awash of excitement and new people. I didn't know exactly what Caine had planned of the Commencement Ball, but if it was anything like the first one, it would be loud and busy. There would be champagne and music and platters of food. Reporters would snap pictures. People would stare.

I wondered if I'd get time with Kai tonight.

Last time, part of the ball had been taken up by the goddess-touched girls announcing their Culling courts. Afterward, we'd each had a turn to dance with Cohen. This time around, we didn't have courts or advisors, we would be on our own. We'd have no guidances, no one else who would die alongside us should we fail in our trials.

But that wasn't the only change. The prize of winning the Culling wasn't Cohen anymore. Now, whoever won would end up married to Kai. And while Caine may not want me to have time alone with the king, I doubted he would miss any opportunity to show off his nephew—especially not when he was working so hard to get everyone to believe everything was normal. The Erydian people might find it strange if their new king didn't speak to any of the Culling contestants. After all, one of us would be his queen.

While I wasn't keen on dancing, I hoped I'd get at least a song's-worth of alone time with Kai. I wanted to tell him about what had happened with Isla and Harper today. Thinking back on the first conversation, I found that I was so overwhelmed by Harper's words that it was difficult to remember exactly what I'd said to Isla. But the hope that she might try to help me—might provide an escape for my friends—was enough to fill me with some small shred of hope.

As for what Harper had said...that spurred completely different emotions. Confusion and anger, mostly. She'd spoken as if I was dumb as if I had no idea what was actually going on. And maybe she was right. I'd thought that the Culled was over, done with. As far as I was concerned, the rebellion had never been real.

It had all been a sham.

But maybe I was wrong.

My life was in a perpetual state of trying to make sense of things that I didn't understand—the Vaylish the guards spoke, Caine's uncomfortable advances, Kai's past decisions, my own mistakes. Why should I be surprised to find out that there were more things that didn't make complete sense?

And honestly—if there were other rebels, different people still fighting to end the reign of tyrannical rulers, lower taxes, end the Culling, and break down the barriers keeping so many of us in poverty—how could I hate those things? They were what I'd wanted from a rebellion. Those things were what I'd believed the Culled stood for. It's why my brother, Ambrose, joined the Culled to begin with.

But the thought of joining another cause, even one that seemed like what I'd wanted to begin with, filled me with a deep sense of exhaustion. I couldn't imagine doing it all again. I couldn't imagine putting my heart into anything else. I'd trusted Kai. I'd trusted the Culled and it had led to Uri's death. Now I just wanted it all to be over.

Even so, I found that I couldn't stop thinking about what Harper had said. There were others. She'd said there were people everywhere. All of them waiting. They hadn't lost hope. To them, the rebellion wasn't over yet.

As I closed my eyes and pulled the covers over my head, I wondered if it were true.

***

Seeing Birk again after everything Harper had told me about him was odd. Her revelation hadn't even been that surprising. Before he'd left yesterday, he'd made a comment about my necklace. With the events of last night, I'd nearly forgotten about it, but watching him stroll into my room, his body language as self-assured and swaggering as it had been the day before, put everything into a new perspective.

Looking good, Benson, he'd said as he'd looked at the rabbit head necklace.

It was the symbol of the rebellion.

Or, it had been.

I wondered if Harper had had time to tell him about me—about what she'd told me about him only a few hours ago. Did Emilie know? Something about her overall personality, the soberness in her attitude, told me she didn't.

"Benson, long time no see," Birk said as he tossed a garment bag onto my bed and flopped down onto the layers of blankets. The mattress was still bouncing slightly as he said, "You ready to knock 'em dead tonight?"

Emilie shot me a tightlipped smiled as she shut the door behind them and stepped deeper into my room. "It's crazy out there—everyone's running around. The footmen are yelling at each other and the cook seemed ready to explode. The streets are a mess too. We came in on a public transport and it took us almost a half-hour longer than we'd thought it would."

Birk nodded. "And we're still early. Relax, Em."

Her face scrunched in annoyance but she didn't take her attention from me as she asked, "How are you feeling?"

I shrugged. "It's all exciting, I guess."

"You guess?" Birk repeated. "This is your moment, Benson. Get your shit together. Remember what I said yesterday about winning? We aren't here to lose. I don't want you to guess, I want you to know."

Emilie rolled her eyes and nodded to the vanity. "We'll do your hair and makeup first and then we'll dress."

I stood up from the window seat. "Don't we need to fit the gown?"

Birk shook his head. "I used your measurements from last night and tailored this one in the shop. It should fit like a glove. If it needs anything, it'll be small and won't take long."

"Smart."

He grinned wickedly and turned onto his side so he could see me better. "I'm a professional, Benson. What else did you expect?"

Emilie made a sound at the back of her throat but didn't say anything in response. She was quiet as I followed her to the vanity and sat. This time, she didn't pin my hair up, instead, she used hair creams to coax my hair into clean waves. She twisted the front pieces back with diamond incrusted combs, leaving only a few stray strands to frame my face.

When that was done, she went to work doing my make-up. Again, she took her time considered colors and placement. I was thankful that she didn't cake on the creams the way my old stylists had. She was careful to cover the shadows under my eyes and the faint scars that Nadia hadn't healed, but she didn't try to change me—only highlighted my best features.

"Be honest, are you even a little excited?" Birk asked. "I mean, it's gotta be cool to have so much attention on you. And, let me just tell you, the dress I've got for you today—" he whistled in appreciation. "It'll put everyone else's to shame."

"I'm excited to see the dress," I said, the words little more than a compromise between what I felt and what I knew he wanted me to say.

Birk frowned. "Come on, Benson. You can do better than that."

Emilie turned me so I could look at myself in the mirror, but I looked past my own reflection and met Birk's eyes in the mirror. My words held a little more bite than I'd intended as I said, "Harper seems to think I could do better too."

I watched his face, waiting to see what he'd do.

Next to me, Emilie's expression turned from expectant to confused. "Harper?" she repeated.

Birk sat up and started fiddling with the garment bag.

"Yes, Harper Vance," I said. "You know, the reporter."

Emilie nodded. "Oh! Yeah, I've met her. Her father had a print shop a little way down the block from my aunt's place. I think she's one of the writers who's been reporting on the stuff happening since the coronation. She's with one of the bigger news stations, right?"

I nodded. "The Oredison Oracle."

"I can't believe she'd tell you that you could do better in the middle of an interview," Emilie mused. "Talk about having guts."

Birk was uncharacteristically silent.

So, he hadn't known that Harper had talked to me then—or, at least he hadn't.

After a second he said, "Harper's always been outspoken. I met her a while back at a bar. I get the idea that she's the sort who talks before she thinks." The words were pointed, obviously directed at me.

And there was my second answer—Emilie must not know about this other rebellion he was involved in. And he clearly didn't want her to find out. Interesting.

"I've always thought she acted weird—always leaning forward and showing off her chest." Emilie shrugged. "But, maybe that's how you get in the business these days. There aren't very many women reporters." When neither of us responded, Emilie cleared her throat. "I mean, the guys at the shop talk about the girls they've been with. She seems like the sort that would be on their hit lists. Pretty and outspoken. And, well, there are some reporters who are willing to do just about anything to get their hands on a story. She probably isn't one to tell anyone else what they should and shouldn't do..."

"She isn't some common whore, she's just as trustworthy as any of us," Birk snapped. As soon as the words left his mouth, I saw him regret them. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't apologize. He let the words sit.

Emilie shifted on her feet, sensing the sudden tension. "Um...Yeah. I mean, I didn't mean to say she was a—I'm sorry." She blinked rapidly and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said again.

I wanted to tell her that he wasn't upset about what she'd said about Harper. He was clearly upset that I'd brought her up—especially with Emilie here to listen. He wanted talk of Harper Vance and this new rebellion kept far away from Emilie. I wondered why, did he not trust his friend? Did he not trust the rebellion?

Birk's throat bobbed as he swallowed and I could tell that he knew he'd upset Emilie. She was still watching him, her brow furrowed with worry. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to really look at her or come up with the right words to fix things. Despite his easy going attitude, the shy glance he sent her way—just a quick dart of his eyes—showed that he cared.

Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

When Birk said nothing, Emilie straightened her spine. "Well, I guess we're ready for the dress now." She turned and looked at Birk expectantly, but he was watching me again, his pale green eyes hard as stone. "Birk?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

After a second, he glanced at her. "You can get it out of the bag and put it on her, I—uh—I'm gonna go...I'm going to—" He shook his head, flustered by her sudden attention. "I'll be back."

Her brow furrowed but she said nothing as he got up from the bed and walked to the door. He'd just taken hold of the handle when she called after him, "Birk!" He turned to look at her, his face full of anger and worry and an emotion I couldn't quite name. She took a step towards him. "I—I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to talk badly about a friend of yours."

"She isn't a friend," Birk said.

Emilie nodded quickly. "Yeah. Okay. Still, I—I'm sorry."

Everything in her posture said that she believed she was the reason he was leaving. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she wanted to reach out, wanted to bring him back. He saw that too.

Birk's expression turned soft. "I'm not upset. I promise. I just—I don't feel great all of a sudden. I want to walk for a minute. Maybe grab something to eat from the kitchen. I'll bring up a pot of tea or something. Might grab something a little stronger, you know. Nerves."

Emilie opened her mouth to say something, but he didn't wait for her response, he just left.

The room was silent for a long time, the only sound that of Birk's heavy footsteps as he walked down the hall. Neither of us moved. Emilie still stood facing the closed door, her shoulders stiff, her hands balled into the fabric of her apron. She watched the door as if she thought he might return—as if she wanted him to.

After a moment, I stood up and walked to the bed. She didn't move from her spot as I unzipped the bag to reveal a black dress. The fabric was so dark it seemed to eat up the light around it. I pulled it up and away from the bag, letting the massive skirt of it flow out around me. This was a beautiful dress, but I found that I couldn't really appreciate it, not as it deserved. Not when Uri had been wearing a dress just as magnificent when she'd been killed.

I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to see a black ball gown without thinking of her.

I turned to Emilie. "Will you help me?"

When she turned to look at me, it was as if she'd forgotten I was even in the room. She inhaled sharply. "Yes. Yes, of course." She walked to where I stood and started to pull the dress from my hands, but I held onto it.

"He isn't upset with you, Emilie."

She blinked at me, her mouth quivering slightly as she said, "I shouldn't have talked badly about her. I just—I was just trying to make conversation. But it was rude and obviously he...he and Harper..." her brow furrowed with thought as if she were trying to make sense of it all.

"I was needling him. He was mad at me," I admitted. "It had nothing to do with you."

She shot me a questioning look.

I shrugged. "He told me yesterday that he's always wanted to design a gown for her—you know, since she's on broadcasts and things. He said something about how she'd turned down the offer to wear one of his dresses. I was just teasing him. I must have taken it too far." The lie came easily enough.

"Oh." Emilie nodded, but I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. I wasn't sure how long she and Birk had been friends—but I felt certain she would know him well enough to see through my excuse. Still, I hoped it might dull things and help her forget her worry. But, more than that, I hoped it would wash away the look of hurt on her face.

I recognized that look. I'd seen it on my own face too many times recently. It was the look of a girl who cared too damn much about a boy. And a boy with a dangerous secret, no less.

Goddess bless us all.

As Emilie helped me into the dress, I could tell she was searching for something to say, but holding small talk with someone like me was difficult. Most of the topics she could bring up were probably things I didn't want to discuss. So, after a few minutes of watching her worry over our lack of conversation, I said, "You know, Birk never did tell me how he ended up all the way here from Gazda. It's rare for people from Varos to be able to make it into the bigger cities. How'd he get the papers to do it?"

She hesitated. "Oh, um...Well, Birk is here as an indenture."

"Indenture?"

"You know, like an indentured servant."

She moved to stand in front of me so she could adjust the thin straps of the dress. Birk was right, the boned bodice was fitted like a glove. While the cut and design of the dress was simple, it was no less stunning than the red one or the silver from last night. It was understated, regal. I wanted to compliment it, but I waited for Emilie to continue telling me about Birk.

After a moment, she explained, "He signed a contract to get out of Varos. My—Madame Leroux owns him for the next fifteen years."

My mouth fell open in surprise. "Fifteen years?"

She nodded.

I pulled back from her. "So, he's a slave then?"

She shook her head, her brow furrowing as the conversation moved into territory she wasn't comfortable with. "Not a slave. I mean, he's got rights." Emilie sighed. "He just...He exchanged the years for trade school and the chance to live here—in the capital city. No one forced him to do that. Birk saw a chance and took it. He's like that. Always taking chances. And it's a pretty good deal, I guess. After his fifteen years, he'll have the papers to stay in Gazda and he'll have a fantastic education that will get him a job anywhere." Even as she spoke the words, I could tell that she didn't believe it was the best thing. After a few more seconds she said, "It wouldn't be so bad for him if he wasn't constantly causing trouble for Madame Leroux. She keeps him on because his needlework is amazing, but he tries her patience."

"Because he talks bad about her to people?"

"That, yes. But also, because he's almost too good. She prides herself in having an incredibly skilled set of apprentices. Getting a job with her is difficult, even at the apprentice level—but Birk almost outdoes her and she knows it. People have started asking for his work over hers. The gown you wore last night was covered in hand-sewn crystals. It was gorgeous, but it's nothing compared to the embroidery he usually does. He's just incredible."

The look on her face left little to be misunderstood. Clearly her feelings for him weren't just wrapped up in his sewing. I smiled to myself, thinking of how they'd constantly bickered with one another earlier. I'd taken that to be nerves—but in hindsight, it seemed more like teasing. Underhanded flirting, even.

It wasn't just Birk having feelings for Emilie. They liked each other.

"And him being so good is a problem for Madame Leroux?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

It had been a long time since I'd had someone to gossip with someone. In the weeks that had passed since I'd left Third Corps, I'd missed living in the healers' tent and being a part of their little group. They used to spend their evenings talking about boys and telling each other the most recent camp news. I'd felt the most normal during those nights. They hadn't viewed me as anyone special. I'd just been Monroe, Ambrose's little sister.

Now every conversation seemed to center around the Culling or Kai's betrayal. And I was so tired of it. I longed for a bit of normalcy and I was willing to grasp hold of it in any way I could. And talking about boys, especially boys that weren't secretly royalty, was as good a pastime as any.

She nodded, just the smallest trace of humor in her voice as she explained, "It'll be a problem for Leroux if he leaves her in fifteen years and takes all of her customers with him."

It fell quiet again. Emilie busied herself pinning the dress in places and adjusting how it fell against my skin. The deep v of the bodice showed more cleavage than I was used to, but it wasn't so much that I was falling out of the dress. Her careful alterations made sure of that.

Once she was done pinning and taking in the dress, she had me get out of it once more. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched, enamored, as she carefully made the adjustments. Emilie bragged a lot on Birk's skill, but it was clear she was amazing herself. Each movement was fluid and quick, as if the needled and thread were an extension of her hand—as natural to her as my ability was to me.

I hid a smile each time I caught her glancing towards the door. She looked up at the sound of passing steps, at any voice that echoed our way. Anxiety and anticipation rolled off her in waves.

As she was helping me into the dress, I finally couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Emilie," I said, glancing at her in the full-length mirror.

She stood behind me, her deft fingers dancing down my spine as she fastened the row of buttons there. She hummed in response, not even bothering to look up from her task.

I swallowed. "You know," I said, careful to keep my voice low. "I really don't think there's anything going on between Harper Vance and Birk. You've got nothing to worry about."

This caught her attention. Her head snapped up, her eyes finding mine in the reflection of the mirror. Her fingers ceased their buttoning. "Oh. Um." She licked her lips and lifted one shoulder, a half-hearted shrug. "We—Birk and me—We're not—It isn't really like that..." She did one button and then paused again. "He's—We're just friends."

I nodded, trying to decide how to proceed. "Does he know you're just friends?"

Emilie's brows rose and she mouthed the beginning of my question, repeating it silently to herself as if she couldn't believe I'd actually had the guts to make such an assumption. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. "He—We're—"

I pressed my lips together, trying to hide a smile as I said, "It's just that you seem a little flustered for someone who is just talking about a friend."

She stepped back from me and sighed. "It's not like that. He—Birk flirts with everyone. He takes a different girl home from the pub every other night."

I wrapped my arms around myself. "Maybe that's true," I admitted, "but the look on his face before he left—" I shrugged. "I just think you probably have less competition than you think you do. I mean, if you're even interested in him?"

Emilie held my gaze in the mirror for what felt like a lifetime. "My aunt thinks he's bad news."

"But do you think he's bad news?"

The corner of her mouth pulled up, almost a smile before she shook her head and schooled her expression once more. "What I think hardly matters." She moved forward and took her place behind me, those long-skilled fingers moving to the buttons once more. "Besides, Birk doesn't like me like that."

I said nothing in response, but I didn't really need to.

When Birk returned to the room, he had a tray of tea. I took great interest in the shoe collection in my closet as he made her a cup, knowing just how she liked it without needing to ask. She'd stood by the closet doorway and watched him stir it. Even partially hidden behind rows of dresses, I didn't miss his quiet apology and the piece of chocolate cake he'd brought for her.

As he handed her the little plate, he kissed her cheek, a feather-light touch of his lips, before he retreated out of sight. She stood there for a second, just looking down at the piece of cake. I thought she might cry, the look on her face was so shocked.

Then, she smiled.

***

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