“And then we can stop it.” I’m rushing forward in my excitement. “Really stop it. And then we’ll be—”
I bump into her and stop short, startled. I didn’t realize she was so close to me.
But she is. I can smell her, sweet and fresh underneath all the grime. My hand seems to have gotten tangled in something soft—her shirt. Beneath, I can feel the warmth of her body. I can feel her stomach rising and falling as she breathes.
And then her fingers are on mine. She’s no longer wearing gloves. I feel the rough gauze of the bandage around her wounded palm, and her long, delicate fingers. They curl around mine, and I tighten my grip without even thinking.
She shoves my hand away.
“No,” she says.
She backs up.
“No,” she repeats. “I’m not—I’m not working with you. What am I even saying? We could never be a team. You’ll just use me and betray me, because you don’t care about doing good. All you care about is yourself.”
My fingers are still clutching empty air. My heart is pounding in my throat.
“I’m not going to forget what you did to me and my city,” she says. “I’m never going to forget. You can pretend that you want to find something better, but I know just what sort of person you are.”
I back up until I hit the cold wall. It brings me abruptly back to myself.
I know what sort of person I am, too. I’m a girl who’s going to save the cities that still need to be saved. I’m a girl who’s going to turn them upside down and change the things that need to be changed. I’m a girl who’s going to live forever.
I cross my arms. Obviously, Verene can’t see me, but I need to know that I look effortless and completely unaffected by her and her sweet-smelling shirt.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s not like I need you and your sanctimonious, bothersome prattling. You’ll slow me down. In fact, I’d rather we didn’t work together.”
“Fine,” she says.
“I’ll just figure out how to break out of this prison on my own,” I say.
For a long moment, she’s quiet, and the challenge hangs in the air.
“Not if I figure it out first,” she says.
I have no way of knowing for sure, but I swear I can hear her smiling.
And that’s… perfect.
EPILOGUE
THE CITY OF IRIS IS QUIET.
Overhead, the veil is the blazing red of midday, and clustered below are the white manors. The beautiful plants the Circles of Iris used to display on the sides of their houses—each family quietly judging and trying to outdo the other—are gone. Now, the city is blank and dry.
But the streets are full. The people have all emerged. There are groups in every intersection, huddled around the white marble fountains. There are vases and buckets and jugs clutched in their hands. They’re waiting.
For almost a thousand years, the people of Iris had a mysterious ruler who put them in a tower and took their blood. Then, in a two-year daze that doesn’t feel real to anyone anymore, they had a girl in a white gown who gave them everything they ever wanted.
Now, they have this. Every day, at noon, the fountains turn on, just like they used to. But this time, they only run for five minutes.
They don’t know how it’s happening. It’s been a whole month, and no one has seen the girl in the white gown. Sometimes people claim that they saw someone who looks suspiciously like her brother. A lady in the Circle du Tasse insists that she peeked out her window at night and spotted him lurking around one of the fountains. A kitchen maid in the Circle du Richard is pretty sure he was the one who snuck in and stole the bread she’d just finished baking. But they haven’t made an effort to chase him down. They don’t want to get too close to the son of the Eyes. After all, he and his sister hardly ever left the cathedral, and no one has any idea what went on in there.
The cathedral has been reduced to a crumbling charred ruin. The banner that was hanging from the balcony, showing a drawing of the eight cities that nobody really understood, has turned to ash.
Some bold people went into the catacombs, looking for answers. None of them ever returned. The rest decided to stay in their homes. They decided to survive, the way they always have. They don’t have much, but at least they have water.
And right now, they’re just waiting for it.
It’s almost time. The people standing around the empty fountains start to jostle one another, subtly. They pretend that there’s an order to things. Each family is allowed a certain number of people at the front. But really, the moment the water appears, it’s chaos.
The people of Iris are so busy waiting that they don’t notice what’s happening up above.
The brilliant red of the veil is shifting and growing. It almost seems like the veil is getting closer to the city. And closer.
Then it stops. And everything is still, like it never even happened.
With a rush and a gurgle, the fountains of Iris come to life. No one was looking at the veil. No one saw.
And far below the cities, at the very bottom of the catacombs, a girl has just climbed out of a prison.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have no one to acknowledge. I did this all myself, and frankly, you all should acknowledge me for letting you read it.
That’s what Emanuela would say if given the chance to write this section. I, her author, am extremely humble, and in my humbleness, I need to thank all of the following:
Thank you to my agent, Carrie Pestritto. You saw something in this gremlin of a book that no one else did, and for that, I am forever grateful. Thanks also to Samantha Fabien, Elana Roth Parker, Laura Dail, and Tamar Rydzinski
