Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

Rosalind was awake, but she was unresponsive. At this point, Juliette was almost getting worried, wondering if the injuries had extended to her mind, too.

“Could you give us a moment?” Juliette called to the Scarlet standing by Rosalind’s bedroom door. He had his hands folded in front of him, rigid and on guard.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Cai,” he said. “Your father said to keep watch.”

“I’m already here keeping watch, so can’t we have some privacy?”

The Scarlet only shook his head. “Whatever information you extract has to go straight to Lord Cai.”

Juliette swallowed her huff of annoyance. “And does my own father suspect I would keep it from him?”

“Your father never suspected his niece, either, and yet here we are.”

Juliette stood up from her chair, her fists clenched. The Scarlet paused, eyeing her stance. It wasn’t as if Juliette’s trigger-happy fingers were unknown to the gang. They had all heard the stories, and they had all seen the results—what mattered now was whether he feared Juliette’s immediate threat more, or the eventual consequences of not following Lord Cai’s exact instructions.

“I will stand outside, with the door open a crack,” the Scarlet relented. He stepped out, and tugged at the door, the hinges squeaking.

Juliette flopped back into the plush chair. Rosalind had hardly blinked through the whole exchange. On any other day, she would have made some comment about Juliette being more bark than bite. Now she only stared, a glaze over her eyes.

Her cousin was in pain, Juliette knew. The wounds on Rosalind’s back were severe, and Kathleen had almost swooned at the sight when the doctor was dressing them last night. Juliette was torn between sympathy and frustration. Torn between absolute horror that this had happened and a complete lack of understanding over how this had happened. Perhaps it made her a bad person. A bad friend, a bad cousin. Even while Rosalind was like this, so pained and dazed that she was reduced to absolute silence, Juliette couldn’t help but feel betrayed that Rosalind had lied to her. And she didn’t know if it was because this city had hardened her or if her heart had always been like this—cold, brittle, turning away with the first sign of disloyalty. Juliette was a liar too. When it came to telling the truth, Juliette was perhaps the most corrupt of them all, but that didn’t stop her from flinching instinctively when she was dealt lies in response.

“I promised to protect you,” Juliette said quietly. “But not like this, Rosalind.”

No answer. She hadn’t expected one.

“It was copies of your correspondences that they dug up at the post office. That’s how you were found out. Not sightings, not rumors. Simple pen to paper and your handwriting.” Juliette blew out a frustrated breath. “Was the merchant business all false, then? Is there even a lover, or did you play spy for no reason?”

Suddenly, Rosalind’s eyes swiveled to Juliette, her gaze sharpening for the first time.

“You would have done the same,” Rosalind rasped.

Juliette sat up straighter. She looked to the door, to the slight gap left ajar. “What?”

“I love him,” Rosalind mumbled. A bead of sweat had broken out along her hairline. She was delirious, probably running a fever. “I love him, that is all.”

“Who?” Juliette demanded. “Rosalind, you must—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, almost slurring her words. “What does any of it matter? It is done. It is done.”

None of this was making any sense. Even if this lover was a White Flower, what was the point of protecting a regular member? What consequence would there be, short of having him on a Scarlet hit list? He couldn’t be high up. It certainly wasn’t Roma, and it wasn’t Benedikt. If not a Montagov, then why the torment? Why did Rosalind squeeze her eyes shut as if the world were bearing upon her?

A sudden knock on the door. Juliette jolted, her heart hammering in her chest as if she had gotten caught doing something bad. The Scarlet poked his head back in, scanning the scene. She expected him to remark on Rosalind’s mumblings, but instead:

“Telephone call for you, Miss Cai.”

Juliette nodded, then got to her feet, reaching out to pull Rosalind’s blankets a little higher. Rosalind hardly stirred. She only closed her eyes, shivering and shivering, even once Juliette left the room, shutting the door after herself.

“Don’t bother her,” she warned the Scarlet. “Let her sleep.”

“You’re going too easy on traitors,” he called after her.

Juliette thinned her lips, proceeding down the hallway. He was right. They were going too easy on her—Juliette was going too easy on her. And because Juliette had been the one to interrupt the whipping, her father would give the task to her just to teach her a lesson: if Rosalind gave no information soon, then it would be on Juliette to uncover why her cousin had betrayed them, by whatever means necessary.

Juliette swallowed hard, approaching the telephone. She had no doubt she could do it. She had never hesitated to garrote and cut her way through the other Scarlets that her father had sent her after, whether for rent money or a quick answer on a trade receipt. The question now was whether she wanted to, whether she believed that this was a stain on her conscience too large to bear.

Juliette picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear. “Wéi?”

“Miss Cai?”

The voice was speaking English. And it sounded like—

“Roma?”

An uncomfortable cough. “Close, but no. It’s Benedikt.”

Juliette released a tight breath, pushing back her disappointment. She told herself it was because she had been expecting Roma to have found the Frenchman, not because she wanted to hear Roma’s voice.

“Did something happen?” she asked, lowering her volume. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her there was no one else in the hallway, but that didn’t mean no one was listening in on her conversation.

“Define what something is,” Benedikt replied, his voice pitching low too. “I’ve been meaning to contact you for days, but this is the first time I managed to shake Roma off. Your cousin took his sister.”

For a long moment, Juliette did not comprehend what Benedikt Montagov was talking about. Then, as the words registered, she spluttered, “What? Rosalind took Alisa?”

“No, no,” Benedikt rushed to correct. English was far too simple a language for familial relations, and he sounded confused that she had leaped to that conclusion. “Your tángdì. Cai Tailei. Now Roma has torn through the whole city looking for Alisa, but she’s nowhere to be found. I figured that when his back was turned I may as well ask if you knew anything.”

Juliette pressed a hand to her eyes, biting back the burning urge to scream. Of course Tyler would pull a stunt like this now. As if one wayward cousin wasn’t enough. Now another had to go poke at the blood feud.

“I do not,” Juliette replied bitterly. “I did not even know that he had taken her. Is she safe?”

“He cannot harm her—won’t harm her. She will have to remain safe and alive if he is to get his chance at killing Roma.”

Juliette almost dropped the receiver. “I beg your pardon?” She looked around again. Two messengers were on the landing of the stairs, giving her a suspicious look. Juliette forced herself to refrain from shouting. “How do you mean?”

Benedikt was unspeaking for a long moment. It almost seemed he was regretful to have to deliver this news.

“A duel, Miss Cai. If Roma can’t find Alisa in three days’ time, then he’s going to fight a duel with Tyler to get her back.”

Juliette found Tyler hours later, among the dimly illuminated tables at Bailemen. It seemed like decades had passed since she was last here with Roma, like the city had shifted and grown so much wider underneath her feet. The dance hall, however, was as full as ever. A place like Bailemen would probably never fully clear out, even if there was war outside.

“Scatter,” she spat at the men surrounding him, seating herself opposite her cousin.

They all looked to Tyler for instruction. Juliette’s hand was already inching for the garrote wire around her wrist in case she needed it, but then Tyler nodded, and the four around him walked away, eyeing Juliette with a hint of disdain.

“What can I do for you?” Tyler asked. He leaned back into his seat, hands splayed on the armrests. In front of him, he had three empty drink glasses, but he did not look in the least bit inebriated. He hadn’t been here for long; the moment a messenger reported the sighting to Juliette, she had rushed over immediately.

“Don’t do it,” Juliette said plainly. “It was never worth it, and it’s not worth it now.”

Tyler picked up one of the empty glasses in front of him. He waved it in slow circles, like there was some invisible liquor inside that Juliette could not see.

“I was wondering how long the news would take to reach you,” he replied, watching the glass refract light. “Longer than I thought, I must admit.”

“Not all of us have as many ears on the city as you do.”

“Ah, but instead, you have a direct line to the Montagovs.”

Juliette’s blood turned cold. So this was what it was. Tyler had finally decided to call her bluff.

With a quick tug, she snatched the glass out of her cousin’s hold. He was not to look at the dance floor, at the shimmering walls, at the phantom drinks. She forced him to look at her.

“I assume you have been reading your Pushkin,” she said. “Russian duels allow for seconds, and seconds are allowed to ask the aggressor whether they would like to apologize instead. So I ask, Tyler—return Alisa and let this go. It is not worth your life.”

Tyler let out one short laugh. It did not have the delirious ring that echoed around the rest of the dance hall, heightened by the dark night and erratic music. It was laughter hedged in ice, a sound that came from predators watching their traps snap into place.

“What are you thinking?” As quick as his humor came, it was gone. Tyler leaned into the table. “Who asked you to speak on Roma Montagov’s behalf? Who asked for you to be his second?”

Juliette’s fists tightened. One of her fingers crept around her wire again—not to use it but just to ground herself, just to twist the thread hard around her finger until the pain neutralized the hot ire burning in her throat.

“It was merely a turn of phrase.”

Tyler stood up. “Don’t lie to me.” There was no glee in his voice, not this time. He was taking it seriously, anointing himself as some overseer of Juliette’s loyalties. “You can act as my second, and you can either let this play out or forfeit the Scarlet Gang to me now.”

Juliette lunged across the table in a fury, but Tyler met her just as fast. Her fist halted in midair, Tyler’s sudden grip on her wrist stopping the blow from landing on his nose.

“You are out of your mind,” Juliette hissed. “He is just as likely to kill you. You are not invulnerable.”

“I am not,” Tyler agreed. “But I am a Scarlet. And right now that is more than can be said about you.” He pushed her fist away harshly, then tugged at his coat in preparation to leave. Juliette, meanwhile, grabbed hold of the table, steadying not only her physical body but her rapidly spinning mind.

“Monday morning, tángjiě,” Tyler said. “Right outside the border of the Settlement, by the Suzhou Creek, shall we say? Don’t be late.”