When Cardon had escorted her back to the castle yesterday, Clare had begged Vera to cancel her lessons before she closed herself in the princess’s room. Every limb felt heavy, each breath too fast and thin. Tears that had been stinging her eyes since her conversation with Eliot finally burst free.
She’d cried for everything. She cried for herself. For Mark and Thomas. For Eliot and the pain he’d suffered—and inflicted. She’d cried about the horrible truth she’d learned about Bennick. She’d cried about the unfairness that had brought her to be the decoy; the terror of being hunted by killers. And through it all, the homesickness gaped inside her, swallowing her whole.
Bennick had come by the room several times, but Clare asked Vera to keep sending him away—to tell him she didn’t feel well. She couldn’t see him. Didn’t want to see him. And that cracked something inside her chest. Because Bennick had become her comfort at the castle, and Eliot’s admission had taken even that from her.
After Vera had left, Clare had pulled the tin soldier from her pocket. She always tried to keep it close; it was important because Mark had given it to her, a symbol of love and protection. She hadn’t pulled it out in a while because a different soldier, one with blue eyes and a ready smile, had taken a vital place in her life.
But now she realized both soldiers were dented. Neither one was perfect. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.
She pushed away her memories when Venn held the door to a narrow passage. She couldn’t think too much or she’d begin crying again.
They were still inside the thin hallway when Bennick found them.
“Clare!” His voice rang on the close walls, his boots clipping rapidly against stone as he hurried to catch up.
Venn halted, and though Clare could have kept walking, she didn’t. She kept her spine straight as she turned to face Bennick.
Bennick drew to a stop in front of her, eyeing her with a frown. “Vera said you were unwell.”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
His forehead creased, worry in his gaze. “You seemed fine when I left you at the stable.”
“It came on suddenly.”
“Are you still feeling ill?”
She thought of what Eliot accused her of and what he’d told her about Bennick. Her stomach clenched. “Yes.”
Bennick shot a glance at Venn, but focused back on her. “Is something wrong?”
Clare said nothing, her gaze finding a spot on the gray wall behind him.
Tension thickened the air and Venn shifted uneasily. “I think I’ll leave you two alone.” He slipped away, but Bennick didn’t watch him go. He was staring at Clare.
The moment they were alone, Bennick broke the short silence. “Cardon told me you met with Slaton yesterday.”
She froze. The hint of disapproval in his voice wasenough to confirm he knew her brother. The small hope thatthis was a horrible misunderstanding vanished. Fury threaded through her veins, warming her blood.
She could feel Bennick reacting to the coiled tightness inside her. His body hardened. “Did he hurt you?”
She kept her eyes fixed on the black button shining at the collar of his uniform. If she looked directly at him, she knew she’d snap. “No.”
His throat visibly clenched. Muscles rippled and bunched as he ground his teeth. “You wrote him a letter.”
“How—?”
“You left it on the table. I sealed it.”
Anger flashed, thinning her mouth. “Did you read it?”
“No.” His hands fisted. “How do you know him?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” He leaned in but she turned away before their eyes could meet. Bennick made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. “Why won’t you look at me?”
She folded her arms, a feeble shield. “I don’t think I can.”
He flinched.
She crushed the guilt that tried to rise.
Silence stretched between them, turning brittle. “You didn’t know,” Bennick finally whispered. “Before yesterday, you didn’t know. And he told you.”
“It’s true, then? You were the one who . . .” She couldn’t finish.
His words were tight. “I punished a soldier. I was his captain. It was my responsibility.”
“How could you?” Tears choked her. She hated that she was crying, but she couldn’t stop. Just like she couldn’t order back the rush of anger or the spike of painful betrayal. This soldier who had befriended her, protected her—he had tortured her brother. “How could you do that to him? To anyone?”
His voice was clipped. “It was necessary.”
Now she looked at him, their gazes colliding painfully. “You nearly killed him!”
Bennick winced. “Clare—”
“How could that have been necessary? He couldn’t move without shattering pain for weeks! The resulting fever nearly killed him, and his back—” She threw a hand over her mouth, bile rising. She didn’t have to describe it to him. He’d seen it.
He’d caused it.
Clare slumped against the wall and caught her bowed head in her hands. Her voice cracked. “You ruined his back. You tore his dreams from him—made sure he’d never advance from the city guard. How could you be so cruel?”
Bennick was silent, but she could hear his hard breaths. He shifted away and she stole a look at him. Both of his hands were braced against the opposite wall, his head ducked and back rigid.
Clare watched him as she whispered again, “How could you?”
His head dropped further. His arms trembled and his broad shoulders hunched, straining his uniform. His voice was hoarse. “Who is he to you?”
“Will that change anything?”
He said nothing.
Clare’s throat burned. “He’s my brother.”
A shudder ripped through Bennick. His voice was thin. “I was only doing my job.”
His words were empty and her insides felt just as hollow. She shook her head. “I thought you might deny it.” She swatted at her tears, bitterness swelling inside her. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
He pushed from the wall and faced her, his cheeks flushed. Frustration tightened his words. “You don’t know what he did, do
