I reach my limit precisely two weeks later.

"Enough!" I cry, throwing the papers to the ground and stomping over to the window. I rub my face in an attempt to alleviate my pulsing headache and mounting frustration.

I can hear Will's exasperated sigh from across the room, the chair shifting under his weight.

My fingers catch in my tangled hair, which only adds to my irritation. The weeks spent cooped up in this stuffy flat, poring over old texts and being drilled on customs and protocols, have tested what little patience I possess. My brain is filled to the brim with useless gossip about insipid people and I feel that if I were to try and squeeze in one more name, one more fact, I might explode.

I draw a shaky breath, listening as Will rises from his chair and crosses the room. The thought of him being anywhere near me sends another dull throb through my brow and I seriously consider shoving him out the window. I save us both the trouble and instead step out onto the ledge, turning and pulling myself onto the roof in one smooth motion.

"Kay!"

Ignoring Will's shouts, I sink down into a seated position and dangle my legs over the side of the building. I bask in the feeling of open space and the warm sunlight on my extremities. The fresh air is invigorating after the claustrophobia of the cramped flat.

"Kay," he yells again, more sternly.

I lean over the edge and see his head sticking out the window, staring up at me with his lips pressed tightly together.

"What?" I ask. I remain calm, knowing it will make him furious.

"This is ridiculous. Come back inside." His voice is low, bordering on dangerous.

I lean back again and stretch my toes straight out over the street. "Actually, I think I'm fine right here. Thanks for the invitation, though."

There is silence below me and I smile, picturing him struggling to control his temper. Let him stew for a change, the arrogant twit.

"Kay." Will's voice is controlled, which only prickles my annoyance. "Please, come inside. We'll take a break and get back to this lesson later."

It infuriates me when he pulls this trick, acting like he has complete authority while I am the confused fish-out-of-water who has to lean on him for direction. Not this time.

"Sorry, I can't hear you so well," I call, lightly. "If you have anything you would like to say to me, you are more than welcome to come up and say it to my face." I fall backward and rest my shoulders against the roof, closing my eyes against the sun's glare.

Minutes pass and I assume he has gone back inside. I take slow, even breaths as I warm myself in the sunlight, savouring these precious moments of peace.

Will's nerve is absolutely astounding. The thoroughness at which he approaches our lessons is relentless and shows a complete lack of trust in me. He has no faith in my own natural abilities and doesn't put any stock in the fact that I have been successfully slipping in and out of the Court for years. These thoughts start my blood boiling again and my hands clench into fists at my sides, gathering dust from the roof between my fingers.

I start at the sound of scuffling from below me. I sit up on my elbows and listen carefully, trying to decipher the noises.

A large hand suddenly appears and grips the ledge next to my knees, followed by another. Will's scruffy head comes into view as he lifts himself over the ledge using his forearms as leverage. I can't help but let out a snort of derision when he flops awkwardly onto his stomach, then rises to his knees, revealing streaks of dirt and dust all over the front of his otherwise pristine white shirt.

For gods' sake. The man has absolutely no concept of boundaries.

"Graceful," I say, dryly.

He shoots me a look of contempt and rotates so that his long legs dangle alongside mine. I notice that his shirt has dampened between his shoulder blades and around his neck and for a moment picture the ugly scars hiding beneath the fabric. My resolve wavers. Slightly.

I refuse to be the first one to speak. I'm impressed that he managed to drag himself up here, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. From the corner of my eye I can see Will attempting to brush the dirt from his clothes, succeeding only in smearing it. I don't bother to hide my satisfaction, my smile widening when he glances up and his brow furrows further.

"Find this funny, do you?" Indignation is clear in his voice.

I shrug, refusing to look at him and instead focusing my gaze on the street below us.

"What is it? Are you not speaking to me at all, now?"

I groan. "I came up here to get away from you. Can't you take a hint?" My fingers are digging into the dust below me again.

"I know that you're frustrated, Kay, but we are running out of time and there is so much left to—"

"Stop it." Can't he hear himself? "I've got it, Will. Really. I know all the names, the dates, the rules, the protocols, and anything that I don't know, I will just handle when the time comes. Let's get started already: we're wasting time, and Lara—" I stop myself.

"Who?" he asks.

"People are depending on me. I need to get into the Palace and begin work." I purposefully neglect to mention my plan to pilfer some shiny Palace goods while I'm there. "Every moment you spend teaching me the correct pronunciation of some disgusting exotic dish is another moment that the commoners are suffering. How can you not see that?"

I finally turn to look at him, hoping to see some trace of understanding. His grey eyes betray nothing.

"You need to trust me," I say, with all the patience I can muster. "I've trusted you. You show up out of nowhere, drag me off a wall and give me this lovely, impassioned speech about changing the world. You've asked everything of me and I've done it all. You said that we are on the same side, but you don't have any faith in me." My jaw is clenched and I rub my neck to alleviate some of the tension.

Will releases a puff of air between his teeth. I tear my eyes away from his mouth and stare back into the street, drawing my knees up to my chest.

"It isn't that I don't trust in you," he says, eventually. "I do. I've seen what you're capable of, how smart and resourceful you are. It's just..."

I wait for him to finish his thought. When he doesn't, I turn my head and look at him, placing my cheek on my knees. He is running his hand over his coarse hair, avoiding my gaze.

"You're scared," I say, matter of factly.

"That isn't it." He's quick to answer.

"You're scared that this won't work."

"It has to work."

I detect a note of desperation in his voice and the hair on the back of my neck prickles, despite the heat. In the weeks I've known him, Will has been nothing but calm and collected. The slight shift in mood has my instincts ringing with warning.

"There's something you're not telling me," I accuse.

A low growl sounds from his throat and I know that I've caught him.

Anger clenches at my stomach again and I fight to keep my voice low and measured. "What is it?"

Both of his hands are on his head now, a very un-Will-like gesture.

"Will," I command.

"The City is closer to a full-out attack by the Wastelanders than anyone realizes." He drops his hands and finally turns to look at me fully. Confusion must be etched across my face because he continues quickly. "This war is completely out of control. The King keeps sending our troops into the desert, but our soldiers and airships are brought down faster by the Wastelanders than we can manage. The Wasters are angry and, worse than that, they're organized."

I blink uncomprehendingly. Our war with the Wastelanders, those ungoverned tribes living roughshod in the desert, began as a battle over precious resources. In recent years, however, the battles have escalated, with more and more of our people being sent into their territory. The tactics and weapons used in the Wastelands are relatively unknown but devastating enough that few of our troops return home. I revere the Wastelanders as adept fighters but always assumed that our superior wealth and technology would win out eventually.

Perhaps I was wrong.

"Organized?" I grapple for the last word I recall him saying. "How do you know that?"

"I was there." His eyes burn into mine. "I've fought them; I've witnessed what they're capable of. I've seen the way they seek each other out and band together. It's only a matter of time before they come to our gates and finish us off."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shakes his head. "I should have."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I didn't know how you'd react. Bringing down the monarchy is one thing, but trying to end a war is something else entirely."

I bury my dusty hands in my hair. "What in the eternal Burn, Will."

"I know."

"I mean, were you planning on keeping this a secret from me and then acting surprised when they turned up at our gates?"

"No, I just didn't want to put too much on your shoulders. I didn't want to start a panic."

I want to slap him across the face.

"What is with this ridiculous, controlling complex you have?" I don't recall ever being this angry before. "You have to know everything, but everyone else must remain in the dark. You don't trust anyone but yourself. We are trying to do something incredibly dangerous, I am risking my godsforsaken life over here, and meanwhile you are playing your own little game, not letting anyone else in. What is wrong with you? What happened to you to make you this way?" I stare at him, my chest heaving.

The look on his face changes in an instant from shock to fury. I half-expect him to react in his usual calm manner, but instead the air prickles with electricity as he leans in toward me.

"You don't know a gods-damn thing about me," he hisses. "You have been nothing but self-righteous and entitled since I met you, questioning everything I say and do. I have trust issues? You'd better take a good, hard look at yourself."

I get to my feet and he does the same. The fact that he towers a head above me doesn't intimidate me in the slightest.

"You spoiled, selfish, prat." I jab my finger in his chest to emphasize each point. "You sit around, conversing with rich, idealistic thespians, hatching your grand schemes of saving us all from oppression, when you don't have a sense of what it is to suffer. You've never gone hungry, had your home taken away, had your friends shipped off to die in the Wastelands so that their family could use their pension to survive. You don't know what it is to watch everyone around you agonize over how they will live until tomorrow. I've been there. Every day, I see it."

He grabs my wrists to keep me from hitting him and I struggle in his grip.

"If you would—for just a second—look past the issues in your district, then you might get an idea of the real scope of this rebellion. You want change? How about you start with yourself." He holds my wrists easily as I thrash.

"Let go." I'm going to punch him in that stupid, unshaven jaw.

"No. You can listen for once. You think that I don't know suffering? I've seen men's faces torn from their heads. I've seen young, healthy people literally blown into pieces and scattered." I stop pulling my arms and stare at him. "I've been down there, in the desert, trying to save people for hours when I know they're going to die. And all for a cause none of us believe in. I've sat at state dinners, listening to the King and his followers talk casually about their latest weapons and tactics, how they plan to ship more commoners into the Wastelands, completely oblivious to the fact that they are merely placing a bandage over a fatal wound. I've kept my mouth shut, been patient, seethed, planned for years, waiting for just the right moment." His grip tightens. "Then I met you and I felt that finally, we had a chance."

"What is it that you want, Will? Do you want to end the war, kill the King, or abolish the sectors? You can't do it all. You're only one person."

"We're stronger together," he says. "You have the ear of the commoners, I have the ear of the soldiers. Together, we can unite everyone and build a new City, a stronger, better place."

I shake my head. "It's too much."

He draws me closer to him. "We have to try."

I can feel his heart pulsing furiously beneath his chest, every nerve tensed while his presence encompasses me. He truly believes that two people standing on a rooftop can make a difference and, for just a moment, I believe him.