Nineteen

Marion’s sitting room is a cozy nest filled with plush chairs, pillows, and throws in different shades of pastel pink. Delicate porcelain teacups and a matching tea set sit on the small round table between us, next to a golden tray covered with soft doughy pastries.

Warm midmorning sunlight filters in through blush-pink lace curtains, casting swirling patterns on the carpeting Lord Highgate seems determined to wear down to nothing with his heavy, insistent pacing.

“As I was saying, before my dear husband thought to join us”—he continues his marching, unaware of the barbed gaze Marion shoots in his direction—“I am so happy to know that both you and Ashwood escaped last night’s inferno unharmed.”

“Not much of an inferno if they were able to contain it so quickly with just buckets of sand and water,” Highgate grumbles, although neither of us asked for his opinion.

With a sigh, Marion sets down her teacup. “Tell me, husband, how would you have preferred they extinguish the blaze?”

“As women, I do not expect you to know the difference and that an inferno is not simply a large fire. It is raging, uncontrolled flames that burn with such ferocity and intensity that they can and will consume everything in their path. You see, the term ‘inferno’ denotes a fire that has grown beyond the manageable confines of an ordinary flame, becoming a destructive force of nature.”

He pauses his pacing, drawing out the explanation for dramatic effect. “An inferno generates an amount of heat so immense that it can cause materials nearby to ignite spontaneously, even those that would not normally burn. It can engulf forests, towns—”

“Give it a rest,” I groan. “We don’t need you to explain fire to us. We get it. We were literally there.” I exchange a glance with Marion, my patience completely gone. I came here to talk about last night, to talk about Kane (in and out of bed), and to figure out when would be the best time to go snooping for my purse without arousing suspicion, not to hold court for a distracted man who doesn’t want to be alone. “Speaking of being anywhere else, don’t you have somewhere to be, or are you just going to pace around us the whole morning?”

Marion swallows a laugh and, ever the diplomat, offers him a polite smile. “Yes, Highgate, do sit if you’d like to join us. You’re making our guest uncomfortable.”

Highgate’s lips press into a thin line, and he pulls out his pocket watch, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. “I do have an important meeting to sit in on with Four and Ashwood while the king continues to recover from his minor injury. Trade negotiations and what have you.”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Marion coos, blinking up at him over the rim of her teacup.

“Yes, well, then, I must be off.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides away, the door clicking shut behind him.

I let out a frustrated sigh, shaking my head. “Doesn’t it bother you that he thinks we’re brainless because we’re women and that we’re expected to just sit here and drink tea while the men go make all the rules?”

Marion’s smile fades, and she sets her teacup down with a soft clink . “Of course it does. Especially when Highgate enters one of these spells when he can’t seem to sit still. I wonder how clearheaded he is when there’s obviously something bothering him, but this is the way it has always been. A huge disruption would have to happen to cause change. And, even if change were to occur, it wouldn’t be overnight.”

“It’s ridiculous that we’re not even allowed in the same room as the discussions.”

“Hannah, I had no idea how much you valued the trade deal between our two kingdoms.” Marion’s brow arches as she suppresses another laugh.

“Okay, so I might not care about trade deals, but there’s clearly something going on within the kingdom. There was a mob outside the gates when Ashwood and I arrived. Yesterday two men tried to kill the king and burn down the palace along with all the nobility, and with what Ashwood has said about the state of the kingdom—how it’s near collapse and its people are starving…? So, no, trade deals don’t matter to me. What I care about is sitting back and doing nothing when so much needs to change.” I bite my lower lip and clasp my hands in my lap before I climb further onto the soapbox I haven’t shouted from since college.

It’s not that I’ve never cared about my future as a whole. I have. I do . But it’s always been structured and confined. What will the next year look like at Posh Pulse? The next three months with Chad or Brian or James? Should I commit and save up for the stick-on wallpaper I keep seeing ads for? None of my thoughts about the future have ever been big or grand or even detailed enough to require a dot planner. I thought that was a strength, or if I’m being honest, I never really thought much of it at all. Maybe I should. Maybe the Hannah in Towerfall is closer to who I really am. Or at least who I want to be.

“It is true, since the death of the former king, Pentacles has quickly declined. As you know, there is a certain amount of insulation that comes with being a member of the nobility. We can choose to be oblivious to the true extent of the suffering outside these walls.”

She pauses, glancing around as if the stones might have ears.

My skin prickles, and I look around the room, paranoid that we’re being bugged even though this world doesn’t have electricity, much less spyware. This isn’t the first time Marion has been cautious about what she’s saying.

Even more of a reason for you to find that card and get out of Towerfall, Hannah.

“The people are desperate. They’re starving, and they’ve lost faith. They are furious with the palace, the nobles, and the new king. Anger and resentment are growing, and it’s only a matter of time before that hatred boils over into something more dangerous. I am afraid I agree with Ashwood’s statements last night. If something isn’t done soon, there will be nothing left to save.”

“Why is there no urgency within the palace?” I ask. “Why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Marion takes a deep breath, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. “My father died some time ago. He was well, and then he was slightly ill but not too ill to do the things he loved. And then he died. People who knew him said it was sudden and could not have been prevented. My mother, however, says that when she looks back, she can see that he was disappearing right before her eyes. At the time, they were still living life, fulfilling their duties, having fun. But when he died suddenly , it was all too apparent to her that they had squandered their chance to save him.”

“Marion,” I say, covering her hand with mine, “I am so sorry.”

Shaking her head, she blinks the tears from her eyes. “It was years ago, and I only speak about my father to say that the nobility is the same. They are living life, fulfilling their duties, having fun with all their comforts and power. They don’t see the urgency because they don’t feel the consequences. It’s easy to ignore the cries of the hungry when you’re feasting on delicacies every night. And those who speak out against the problems have a way of disappearing.”

Like Kane. Like you if you continue to stay in this world.

“But that doesn’t mean we are powerless,” Marion continues, setting down her teacup. “We may be surrounded by those who refuse to acknowledge the suffering taking place, but we don’t have to. There is something we can do.” She nibbles on a small cake and dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“What is it?” I prod. “And please don’t say it ends with us mysteriously disappearing.”

“Only if we don’t get caught.” She smiles, but I don’t match her mirth.

I want to help—I do. It’s why I care so much about the corporate-responsibility side of marketing. I can see how much Pentacles needs people who care. But I also want to go home. And I can’t go home if I’m dead.

Marion places her cloth napkin on the table and folds her hands in her lap. “While it’s true that we aren’t included in the meetings, we do have our husbands’ ears. I don’t know about Ashwood, but it’s not terribly difficult to get Highgate to change his mind. You simply have to know which levers to pull,” she says with a flirtatious wiggle of her brow. “But first things first.” She wipes an invisible speck of lint from her dress and pushes away from the table. She pulls the bell in the corner of the room, and a few moments later, her attendant arrives.

“Lady Ashwood and I would like to go walking. In town. ”

“Oh!” Her maid’s eyes widen, and she curtsys before locking the main door behind her and disappearing into an adjoining room.

“In town?” I ask. “I thought you couldn’t leave the palace.”

“ I can’t.”

The attendant returns with two sets of plain maid’s uniforms neatly folded and stacked. “I hid them so well, I nearly couldn’t find them.” She chuckles, offering one first to Marion and then to me.

“We have to hurry,” Marion says and quickly begins to unfasten her gown. “Four can be long-winded, but on the off chance he’s quick and to the point, I don’t want to be gone long enough for Highgate to have questions. Plus, I’ve arranged a meeting between you, Ashwood, and the queen…and the rest of the court, but that’s only because Lady Whitmore—”

“Wait.” I shake my head, the dress limp in my hand. “We’re sneaking out?”

“You said you want to inspire change. Well, how else do you plan to discover what is truly plaguing the people of Pentacles if not by going out to witness it firsthand? There is a difference between being told the kingdom is suffering and seeing it for yourself.” Marion is the perfect mannequin, still and poised as her attendant tugs her fancy dress off her body. “Perhaps this will be the beginning of the change we so badly need. And how perfect that it will be right before tea with the queen where you will be able to discuss your concerns.”

Shit.

I should be stealthily extracting information from Marion about when to best resume my own private tour of the palace so I can locate the Empress card and leave this world before I’m found out, but instead I’m shedding my clothes and slipping into the attendant’s plain cotton dress.

Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut, Hannah?

I stand in front of Marion’s full-length, gold-framed mirror and tie the apron around my waist.

“How do I look?” I ask, brushing my braid from my shoulder and straightening the apron’s white sash.

Marion turns and gives me an approving nod. “Convincing,” she says with a grin as she piles her napkin full of leftover sweets and shoves the swollen parcel into her pocket.

Together, we venture into the hallway behind Marion’s maid. Keeping our heads down and our eyes averted, we weave through the bustling corridors below the palace’s main floor. We hug the wall as attendants hurry past with trays of food, linens, and other necessities and make our way to a narrow, dimly lit staircase that leads to the attendants’ entrance.

The steps creak beneath us, and I tense with every groan of the old wood like I’m suddenly sixteen again, sneaking out of my house. The staircase opens onto a sunlit courtyard busy with deliveries and conversation.

Marion nudges me forward to follow as her maid falls into step with the others heading toward the gates at the front of the palace. There’s a lump in the back of my throat as we approach the guards standing watch, their spears resting at their sides.

We near the gate, and a guard’s neon-blue gaze lingers on us for a moment too long. Panic flares in my chest, and I feel Marion tense beside me as he steps forward, suspicion etched across his face, Four’s magick burning in his eyes.

He knows, Hannah. He’s going to catch you—find out you’re not a maid or Lady Ashwood. They’re going to chop off your head or throw you in a dungeon. Either way, you’re never getting back home.

Marion’s maid takes a ragged breath and presses her hand to her chest. She stumbles and falls directly in front of the approaching guard.

A nearby attendant cries out and rushes to the fainted woman. She presses her hand to her cheek, and Marion’s maid lets out a whimper of feigned distress.

“Call the apothecary!” the attendant shouts, cradling the maid’s head in her lap.

The guard hesitates, then rushes back to the servants’ entrance.

Marion mouths a silent thank you as we hurry to the gates.

Once we’re out of view of the guards, Marion tugs at my sleeve, and we drift away from the group, taking a sharp left down a quieter alley.

“I didn’t think we’d make it,” I whisper, my heart still racing from the close call.

“Best not to celebrate just yet.” She casts a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure we’re not being followed. “We haven’t yet entered the heart of the city. Brace yourself, Hannah. The Kingdom of Pentacles is a far cry from the shining gem I’m sure you’re used to in Cups.”

The sounds of the city grow louder around us as we step out into the crowded marketplace. Merchants call out, their voices shrill over the clamor of horses’ hooves on stone and the distant drone of street musicians. The air is thick with smoke, refuse, and the sharp tang of sweat. Marion pulls me through the throng, dodging vendors and weaving around shoppers as we make our way deeper into the city, where the streets narrow and twist into dark alleyways. The buildings here are older, their facades worn and crumbling, and the shouts and music of the market are replaced by muted voices and the shuffle of weary feet.

Marion stops at the mouth of an alley and turns to me. “Keep your eyes on the ground,” she whispers. “If we’re found out, we’ll have more than an angry mob to deal with.”

I nod and follow her into the dim passageway, where even the midday sun struggles to reach the hunched figures and tired faces. We pass makeshift shelters pieced together with tattered fabric and old crates. Marion leads me toward a small square, sunlight illuminating the skeletal outlines of children huddled together near a crumbling stone fountain and a ramshackle blacksmith’s barn. Their faces are gaunt, their cheeks hollowed, eyes large and sunken with hunger. The eldest wraps a tattered blanket around a younger child who can’t be more than three. They sit silently with their gazes fixed on the cobblestones. Their thin fingers dig into their ragged clothes. A few others linger nearby, hands outstretched, muttering softly.

“Please, miss,” the older girl says, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you have any food?”

My heart aches as I glance at Marion, who takes out the napkin she stuffed into her pocket.

They gobble up the cakes, the bright frosting like Technicolor against their sallow skin. My gaze falls to the elder sister as she rocks her brother back and forth. I kneel beside her, and she glances up, her expression guarded and cautious.

“What’s your name?” I ask gently.

“Lila,” she replies, her voice hoarse. She’s thinner, her skin an ashen gray, and her hair isn’t as bouncy and shiny, but she’s the mirror image of the president of Posh Pulse’s granddaughter.

“Lila,” I repeat, a weak smile tugging at my lips. “Lila, I promise to do something about this. I promise to help.”

“They’ve made promises before. No one helps us.”

I swallow, my throat thick. For the first time, I wish Kane was right. I wish the Tower did send the Empress to find me and that this whole thing wasn’t a big mistake. I wish there was something I could do. But there’s not. I’m not special. I wasn’t chosen. There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do in this realm that isn’t mine, where I’m masquerading as a lady who’s dead and buried under branches in the forest.

Marion touches my back, and I stand. “We must go.”

I follow Marion back toward the bustling market streets, casting a glance over my shoulder to Lila. My heart squeezes as my eyes settle on a black horse and a man I could never mistake.

The sun glints off Kane’s dark hair and the silver chalice embroidered on his eye patch as he approaches on horseback. My heart quickens as Shadow brings him closer, his strong frame silhouetted against the bright daylight.

He slows near the forgotten fountain and cluster of children, then dismounts, his boots crunching against the cobblestones as he leads Shadow to a sun-bleached wooden post outside the weathered blacksmith’s barn and loops her reins around it.

Kane opens one of the saddlebags slung over Shadow’s back, reaching inside to pull out a bundle wrapped in cloth. My heart skips a beat as he kneels before the children and unwraps the offering: several loaves of freshly baked bread still steaming from the oven. Lila leans forward, and the other children follow as she pulls her brother with her.

“Go ahead, take it all.” Kane’s deep voice is soft as he speaks. “It’s left over from a boring meeting I had at the palace with the dullest men you could be left in a room with.”

Lila giggles and reaches out. She snatches a loaf and holds it close to her chest. Seeing her boldness, the others follow, taking pieces and tearing into the bread with hungry eagerness. A flicker of relief passes over Kane’s features, but his eye remains shadowed as he watches the children devour their meal.

He hands out more food from his saddlebags: dried fruits, nuts, and jerky. Lila steps forward with her mouth full, offering a mumbled thank-you before gathering her spoils and leading her brother back to their makeshift shelter.

“It appears we’re not alone in our efforts,” Marion says. “I had no idea Ashwood was so gallant.”

Neither did I.

It’s best like this, when he’s not looking at me, when he’s unaware of my gaze and I can admire the sheer physicality of him—the way his jaw cuts the backdrop of the city, the way the light plays across the planes of his chest and the peaks and valleys of his muscles.

To say I’m attracted to him is an understatement. It’s more than just the way he looks. It’s a pull to the very essence of him, to the vulnerability, the resilience, the hidden depths that his body merely protects. I’m acutely aware of his presence, of the space he occupies, of how he makes me feel, and of the undeniable passion that sparks like fireworks between us.

Kane musses a child’s hair and stands, and the realization hits me like a wave, unexpected and powerful. My heart seems to cease beating as I see him, truly see him for the first time.

Something shifts inside me, and before I can stop myself, the thought comes rushing in.

“Shit,” I murmur. “I’m falling for Kane.”