It’s unsettling to watch. It makes me wonder just how far I can get her to go.
The vide comes for me again, and I steel myself and slice the one place on my palm that’s not already shredded.
Verene gets to her feet. She’s breathing hard and trembling. She’s all passion and rage and a burning desire to be rid of me, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
She presses the sharp rock into her wrist. The first drops of blood well up.
And then, abruptly, she sways. I see a flash of panic on her face, but it’s too late. She’s already crumpling. She hits the ground with a dull thump, sending up dust.
I tell the vide to stop. I don’t even really think about it. I crawl down the hall, picking up the lantern as I go.
Verene is collapsed on her side. Her eyes are closed and her bloodied hands are limp, but she’s breathing, slow and soft. I wait to see if she’s just faking it to lure me closer to her. But she doesn’t move.
I set the lantern down. A moment ago, she was ready to cut off her own hand to defeat me. Now, she just looks like a vulnerable girl lying all alone.
So Verene wasn’t born with this power. She wasn’t born with any power at all. She went into the catacombs and somehow found this creature she could bargain with. And now she gives her people a life more perfect than they could have ever dreamed.
She shouldn’t pretend to be a saint. She shouldn’t care if they think she’s perfect. She should let them see just how far she would go for them. Because it’s real, and it’s a little extraordinary.
A drop of blood rolls off Verene’s hand and hits the ground. Immediately, the vide is there.
“Don’t—” I say.
I realize I’m reaching for Verene’s hands, and I stop myself. I don’t know what I think I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m just sitting here, staring at her like I don’t have anything better to do.
I have so much to do. I know how to control the vide now. I’ve beaten her. I can go back to Occhia and steal all her water for myself. I can kill her. I can let this city crumble, just as it deserves.
But for some reason, I can’t get myself to do anything.
I hear the footsteps in the dark, but I can’t quite piece together what they mean. And then someone is walking around the corner. When they see me, they stop short.
It’s a young man. He’s holding a lantern. He’s dressed in dark clothes, a handkerchief around the bottom of his face.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” he says in a rush.
“Well, why are you down here?” I say.
He’s quiet, but his eyes are on the bloody slash on my neck. When they drift to Verene, they widen.
“Is…” he says, and I hear the note of fear in his voice. “Is that…?”
I look at Verene’s long, dark eyelashes. One of her curls has fallen over her face, and it’s stuck to her mouth. Her mouth looks so soft. Unimaginably soft.
I tear my gaze away.
I’m not just going to kill her while she’s already unconscious. That would be too easy for her.
She stole from my city for two years. She’s going to suffer.
I clutch at my throat.
“Run,” I tell the boy. “Run, before she gets you, too.”
He doesn’t need telling twice. In an instant, he’s disappeared into the shadows.
I grab the lantern. Then I grab Verene’s ankle, and I drag her down the hall. When she’s on her feet, she looks so light and graceful. When I have to pull her through the darkness with one hand, she’s the heaviest person in all the cities.
With a rush of relief, I finally find the staircase that leads up to the city. I pause at the bottom, trying to catch my breath.
I have to drag Verene just a little farther. I want to make sure all her people see her like this.
I set the lantern on the steps. I grab Verene’s ankles with both hands and heave.
My vision goes gray. For the first time, I notice that the cuts on my hand are still bleeding. My palm is absolutely sliced to pieces. And now, all of a sudden, I can feel the pain.
No, I tell myself firmly. I didn’t lose that much blood. Surely I lost more than this in the watercrea’s tower. I’m not going to faint. Not now.
I try to pull Verene again. I drag us up the stairs through sheer force of will. We’re almost at the top.
But then my knees give out. I reach for the street, but everything is spinning out of control before my eyes.
And then, nothing.
It’s my wedding day.
I’m lying in my bed, snug and warm. In a moment, I’ll hear the door open and smell the coffee Paola brings me with breakfast. I’ll eat in bed as we go over the final plans for the reception, and tonight, everything will be perfect. Nothing will go wrong. I refuse to let it go wrong, so it won’t. The thought is reassuring. It’s all so simple.
“Emanuela. Emanuela.”
I recognize the voice and frown. Ale and I do spend a lot of time together, but he usually isn’t in my bedroom when I wake up. He must be very nervous about the wedding. Even more nervous than I expected, which is saying a lot.
“Emanuela,” he says again.
I open my eyes. I see Ale’s face, pale and worried. I feel his cold fingers on my hair.
And then it all comes back to me.
I sit bolt upright.
“Don’t.” Ale grabs me. “Don’t. Shh.”
I look around wildly. It’s dark. I have no idea where I am.
“Verene,” I say. “She—she was—”
“She’s right out there,” he says. “Shh, Emanuela.”
We’re in an alley between two manors. For a bewildered moment, I just take in the laundry strung up overhead. Then I turn around and see
