BETRAYAL.

  I looked at the golden liquid in my mug. It rippled outward, yet the table was steady. My hand, however, shook. I turned my eyes to Mr. Marlow, who had an amused smile on his face. He patted my shoulder, then took a seat in front of me.

  “There, there, Ashy.”

  “When did this happen?” I slowly enunciated, my words catching in my throat with every syllable.

  “Why... don’t you ask him yo—”

  “NO!” I shouted again, and again Mr. Marlow laughed.

  “You two are like bees and flowers, hating each other, but needin’ each other somethin’ fierce.”

  I stared into his eyes, unblinking, my fingers shaking. I couldn’t understand it myself.

  ADDY. ADDY of ALL people. I loathed that man. I mean boy. I loathed that boy. So overbearing, righteous, always thinking he knew best—and his stupid focus solely on me to make sure I was doing all right. He’d been a thorn in my side since we were both FOUR. FOUR YEARS OLD.

  AND he’s GETTING MARRIED to MELISSA BELLAMINE?

  CRACK!

  The mug shattered in my hand, but my grip was tight on the glass handle. Shards pierced my skin, and my blood dripped onto the wooden boards. I stared at Mr. Marlow who, for some reason, picked himself up quickly and ran like the sky was falling. I thought he said something about bandages.

  Yeah, Adrian was going to need bandages after I was done with him.

  That BASTARD! I felt every part of me shake, and my heart raced.

  Mrs. Marlow returned with her husband, carrying bandages. Their kids were nearby; I noticed them, but I didn’t care. She tried to touch me. I couldn’t move my arm to swat her away.

  “Ashy... your ha—”

  “I KNOW,” I shouted again, still trembling, staring at the booth. Mrs. Marlow didn’t step back. Instead she shook her head.

  “Girl’s always like this ’bout that Skye boy, huffin’ like a hog over a muddy patch—Dan, do you know where that Sk—” Mrs. Marlow began, clicking her tongue.

  “DO NOT BRING HIM HERE.” I... didn’t stop myself. I didn’t think I even could.

  “Ashy...” Mr. Marlow said, then looked down at something. I followed his gaze to my hand. There were glass shards all over it, and I was still bleeding.

  Oh. I could deal with that later.

  What mattered now was ANSWERS.

  “Yeah, find Inquisitor Skye, Bertrude, and bring him here,” Mr. Marlow tutted.

  “Bring me here for wh—”

  I got up, turned around, and FLUNG the glass handle at his face.

  “Amaril damn this woman,” I heard Addy say, followed by a satisfying thud. “For goodness’ sake...”

  The glass shattered beside him; apparently I was even worse with a glass handle than I was with a bow. His hand glowed as he lazily touched his cheek, shaking his head, and then moving to Mr. and Mrs. Marlow.

  I didn’t see what he was blabberin’ about, even while I glared him down. He talked to Mr. Marlow, speakin’ some straight nonsense about a “report” and a “commotion” and a “distressed woman” inside and a “scary black dress.”

  He rubbed his face again, then looked at my hand. “Ms. Ha—”

  “ADDY, YOU BE KNOCKIN’ THAT HOGWASH OFF THIS MOMENT.”

  “...Ashy, what the hell did you do to your hand?”

  “I RECKON YOU’D KNOW, YOU PIG.”

  And that bastard? That bastard smiled at me. “Come now, Ashy, I didn’t even know you were here till a moment ago. The swe—”

  “I DO NOT C—”

  “Ashy.” He stepped up toward me. His stupid, boyish face and short stature looked exactly the same. The face of a damn TRAITOR.

  “You’re bleedin’, and you’re makin’ a show.” He stopped for a moment. Then he did something I wasn’t expecting.

  “Can I help you in any way...?” he asked.

  I stared at the boy, befuddled. My anger was dissipating. He watched me closely.

  “Addy, I think I gone hurt my hand.” I sniffed, showing him the bleeding palm.

  “...That you did, Ashy. What do you need me to do?” he asked again. That... that felt nice.

  “I... Addy, can you stop it?”

  “I might be able to do somethin’ ’bout it, Ashy.”

  “Not about my hand, you pig. I mean the...”

  He didn’t interrupt. I couldn’t say it. “Just help my hand,” I muttered.

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  Addy sat across from me and held my other hand with both of his palms. “How do you wanna do this, Ms. Ha—Ashy?”

  I looked at him, my composure returned and my breath back. “Don’t you always have an answer, Inquisitor Skye—Addy?” I... teased? Talked.

  He frowned. “Ashy, I... talked to Mr. Marlow about it, and Inquisitor Crowe. They both told me the same thing. I... never actually listened to you. I just assumed I knew what was best for you,” he said. He didn’t break his gaze once.

  I didn’t talk, just watched him as he lowered my clean hand and took my other. His fingers, ungloved, were as calloused as I remembered.

  “I don’t reckon I know how to do that—you know, ask first... but I know I didn’t mean to hurt ya. So I don’t wanna scr—”

  “Addy, for Flora’s sake. I asked you for help with my bleedin’ hand. I don’t need you to have your damn breakthrough and ask me how to stop bleedin’ out,” I snapped, and that made me laugh.

  He held my hand for a moment and looked it over. “I can heal the wound, but it’d grow over the glass. We have to remove it first. Do you want me to?”

  I smiled. “Again, I already asked you for help...”

  He opened his medical pouch and took out a pair of tweezers. He was dexterous and gentle, his other hand supporting my wrist and palm. His dominant hand slowly extracted the shards. Instinctively, my fingers caressed his palm. Instinctively, his fingers held onto my wrist.

  “You’re marrying Melissa?” I finally blurted.

  His eyes couldn’t meet mine, and his lips trembled. “I am supposed to be, yes,” he said softly.

  “Why?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  “Well, the girl I loved told me she hated me years ago, so my Pa figured instead of wastin’ about, I should be gettin’ children of my own.”

  That thought made me pause. Our children would be an odd bag—some short, most taller than their fat—

  “Wait, hated you?” I asked.

  “‘Addy, you know I don’t like you like that’?” He... threw it back at me. I cringed internally, but my face kept its neutral expression.

  “I just mea—”

  “I’ll always be your friend, Ashy, but I mean... I wished you just told me—”

  “I DID!” I shouted. “You just never listened! Why are you listening NOW after you done got yourself hitched?”

  “Melissa slapped some sense in me. Told me, ‘Addy Skye, boy, I love you, but I just need you to stop doin’ things for me without askin’. If I need help with the weavin’, I’ll let y’know.’ No yellin’ or nothin’. Just sat me down and told me she didn’t like that and made me think of you.”

  “Addy...”

  “...And a Skye boy is only as good as his word. I can’t go back against the word my Pa gave.”

  “I... see.” I stewed. I felt something dark in my heart, but that sensation became naught but manure. My stomach dropped, and I watched his hands as he worked.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ bout, Ashy?” His dumb voice rang out.

  I hesitated, wanting to express everything inside, but couldn’t. “I just thought my dress was pretty, but no one's looked at me since I stepped inside. And now you’re tellin’ me that you marryin’ Melissa too, and I guess… ”

  His hand squeezed into mine, blood dripping against his palm. “Ashy, like I said before, it really ain’t about you. I wish it was, but my pa just can’t be waitin’ on if the ‘prickly girl’ decides she wants to settle down with a farm boy.”

  “You ain’t a farm boy though, Addy. Haven’t been for a long time. You’re too smart to be one.’”

  “Nowhere near as smart as you, Ashy. I wish I had half the brains you have. But is that why you’re wearin’ that dress? Gonna find someone to marry now?”

  “Nah, Addy. Mrs. Bellamine made it for me.”

  “Sweet lady... it looks very good on you, Ashy.”

  I looked away. “Thank you, Addy. I like this nicer you. Melissa really put you through the wringer, huh?”

  “I’d love for you to meet her and be her friend, Ashy. Then we both can have you in our life, and she’d see you as a sweet woman.”

  “I would like that too, Addy.”

  Addy smiled at me, and his hands glowed for a moment. I felt my hand warm up, and that oddly saccharine, overripe smell of strawberries felt mighty nice. I flexed my fingers, and they were as good as new. He looked at me once more.

  “Hey, I know I did it wrong last time by not askin’ ya, but can I pay for the glass and your meal? I know money is tight for ya and all, but you’re basically like my sister—”

  “Addy, that is gross and wrong.” I smiled.

  “—and I can’t let you be usin’ your own money when you got that debt hangin’ over ya.”

  I gave him a soft frown, and my hand went to my face. My fingers brushed my hair, holding my palm against my cheek. “Money’s been mighty tight recently, yeah... I’d appreciate the help... and, uh...”

  “You’re welcome, Ashy.” He leaned in, a bit too close, but I didn’t pull away. His eyes went down to the handkerchief beside me. “Please don’t tell me you’re subsistin’ on chicken bones... I don’t wanna beg you not to be—”

  I playfully slapped his cheek. “Addy!” He pretended to be hurt, but then we both broke out in laughter. He dropped a few coins on the table and bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Marlow.

  I bowed to them as well and left. I had a [Witch] to meet.

  Madeleine watched me enter with curiosity, then gave me an appreciative smile. “Magnifique, you look beautiful, chérie.”

  “Dance with me,” I demanded. She didn’t drop her smile; even here on the shop floor. She approached me. She smelled like flowers and spice. I subconsciously registered the aroma, but there was stillness in my heart.

  This was business, and I’d tolerate it for what I required. She stepped up, eyeing me. Her hand slid forward, but this time?

  I wrapped my arm around her waist. My grip tightened, no longer bothering with the sexual undertones. This was about power and domination—skipping the sexual tension. I wasn’t groping her; I was handling her, and I made sure her skin and clothes twisting against my palm knew it.

  “Oh!” Madeleine gasped, her normally pale face turning pink, her body twitching to escape. She was more filled out than I was, but my height and determination had something on her.

  My free hand wrapped around her head and pulled her in against my chest. I placed her dead center, and my other hand rubbed the back of her spine.

  I twirled with her against my bodice, hearing her muffled voice protest at the contact. “What, chérie?” I teased. “I thought you said you’d eat me, or they would. How do I taste?”

  She muffled something, but my fingers tightened, pushing her deeper against my silken bodice. “I’m not scared of getting my hands dirty, chérie. Or wet, bloodied, or filthy. The only thing I can’t have is people realizing it’s my hands in the guts—and not the dirt—and you’re going to help me.”

  I eased my grip on her skull and pulled her black hair so she looked up at me. Her face was flushed, and her dark eyes stared blankly up, eyebrows unsure whether to furrow or arch. They decided to meet in the middle, standing dumb and neutral.

  “I don’t really have anything left. Just some debt, no future, and no one to even fight. So, if I’m being abandoned by everyone, I’m going to become a someone.”

  “...You’re... what?” Madeleine asked, still trying to keep up.

  “Don’t you worry, Maddy. You’re going to take me to the Counts, and I’m going to become a queen.”

  She nodded dumbly. I finally released her and she stumbled away. “Ugh... not my type, and that isn’t even flirting,” she muttered, wiping her face clean. “You do that again, and I’m hexing you in your sleep.”

  “Get over it. You’re not mine either. But we’re working together. I don’t have time for these stupid dances.”

  “This doesn’t seem like it’s for profit, chérie.”

  I watched her fix her dress. “How do you think Blood Carrots are made, Maddy?”