by Claire Vale
“That’s another thing that makes you perfect for this assignment.” Rose fell back in her chair and reached for her cup of tea. “Your husband, Roman West, is our alibi. You’ll claim he gave you the handprint kit and coerced you into doing it. He has a past that will support the narrative.”
“Just because he’s from outside the wall—“
“His tainted history goes way and beyond that.”
I stared at Rose.
She stared back at me, sipping from her cup.
“Do I seriously need to ask?” I muttered. “Okay, what past are you talking about?”
“If I told you and you inadvertently let it slip, how would you explain that to him without implicating me or the Sisterhood?” Rose said.
Why was I even arguing this? “Roman is not an alibi, he’s not a narrative, he’s my husband. Even if anyone would believe him a traitor because of some mysterious past, I’m not going to throw him to the wolves.”
“Then you’d better not get caught,” Rose said dryly. “Let me be blunt, just in case you’re thinking about being a lone martyr. The Guard won’t believe you’re working on your own. They won’t stop hunting and they won’t find me. I’m just a mother of three who bought a puppy for her family. You’re the crazy lady who extorted my address from Piscotts with some outrageous lie and came here to harass me. If the Guard doesn’t find Roman West, then they’ll find your mother. And when they search her home, they’ll find subversive material that’ll suggest she’s groomed you with her isolated, fanatical delusions. We’ll make sure they do.”
My chest tightened. “Leave my mother out of this.”
Rose leaned in, elbows on the table. Her face softened. “You think I’m being harsh, and I am. This is not a game. The stakes are high, but so are the risks and we have to manage the spread of damage. The chain of enquiry would go from you to your husband, to your immediate family and then to your friends and acquaintances. This isn’t about saving my own butt, it’s about cutting that chain at the shortest link, if not Roman West, then your mother. Do you understand?”
Loud and clear.
That didn’t mean I liked it any better.
Rose sighed. “We are not heartless. We are not cruel. But if need be, we will sacrifice the few for the many. Your mother understands this, and now, so do you. I have two girls I want a better future for. Your mother wants a better future for you. What would you want for your daughters one day?”
“That’s not fair,” I growled, but it didn’t have much oomph. I wasn’t an idiot. I saw straight through the impassioned speech to the emotional manipulation beneath. But that didn’t reduce the impact of her words or make them any less relevant.
“Life isn’t fair.” Rose arched a brow at me. “Are you in?”
“I have a choice?”
“And how would you suggest I force your hand?” she said. “There’s always a choice, but make no mistake, you do not get to pick and choose which missions to accept or reject. No second chances if you refuse an assignment or don’t follow through. We are an army, and any soldier who cannot follow orders without question, a soldier who hesitates or second-guesses or quits halfway through a mission…well, you can see how that’d put everyone at risk. We need to be able to depend on our active sisters, and that means loyalty, trust, reliability and perseverance—even when you don’t have all your answers or can’t see the bigger picture.”
“So, if I refuse, you’ll kick me out of the Sisterhood?”
“We don’t kick anyone out,” Rose said. “We have plenty of dormant sisters, women who don’t have the will, ability or means to be of active use.”
I swallowed hard, digesting the enormity of my decision. My place in the Sisterhood either began or ended right here.
It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.
I thought I’d been prepared (even eager) for everything—the challenge, the risk, the thrill. But I hadn’t been prepared for this, deceiving and betraying those closest to me.
“You should be aware,” Rose spoke in the wake of my silence, “this is no ordinary assignment and we do not ask you to take this risk lightly. Julian Edgar’s handprint is a critical step to our ultimate goal. If you are successful, this will be the tipping point to restore the balance of power in Capra.”
An impossible hope struggled to bloom in my chest, crushed by the heavy weight of responsibility and what it might cost. “How?”
Rose tilted her head, a smile forming as she looked at me. “You’ve already proved yourself resourceful and invaluable to the Sisterhood. Keep it up, and you’ll soon find yourself in a position to learn the answers to those kind of questions.”
I didn’t let the buttery praise go to my head. If I’d already proven myself, why was I still being kept in the dark? Still, even without the how, even with the crushing weight, the what was pretty impressive.
Restoring the balance of power was a vision, a distant vision, a mirage in the desert that a thirsty man clung to but never truly expected to ever reach. Freedom and equality was a worthy cause, not an imminent reality.
And yet here it was, within our reach, within my reach, if Rose was to be believed.
The pledge I’d made two years ago filled up inside me like a goblet of liquid elixir, overflowing with the words that my mother had spoken and I’d repeated.
To the Sisterhood of Capra
I pledge my honor and my loyalty and my daughters
From shadow to light
From ash to flight
United we shall rise
Sisters one and all
Rose had said there was always a choice, but there wasn’t, not in this.
“One more thing.” Rose gave me a look that was no doubt meant to impress all kinds of dire warnings on me. “I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but you must not breathe a word to anyone about this assignment.”
Indignant, I rolled my eyes at her. “Of course not.”
Her brow arched. “Not even your mother.”
“What?” My face pulled into a tight scowl of miscomprehension. “But my mother is one of us. She inducted me into the Sisterhood.”
“And as I’m sure she made you aware,” Rose said, “we operate on a strictly need-to-know basis. That’s how we—”
“—keep everyone safe,” I muttered. Seriously?
Rose was not impressed at me finishing her sentence. “And that’s how we ensure minimal exposure and contain any bad situations. If you need to brainstorm or talk to anyone about anything…” She raised both her hands and double-thumbed her chest. “I’m it.”
I waited for the reassuring smile.
No surprise, it never came.
Great.
15
Casserole was my mom’s signature dish. She had a casserole for every day of the month, every mood of the year. Casserole meant family. Casserole meant home. So when I broke out the casserole dish to serve Roman a hearty beef and potato hotpot, it wasn’t just dinner, it was something of a statement to the universe. As if that could make up for the handprint kit stashed in my underwear drawer.
It couldn’t.
Nothing could.
I’d never throw Roman to the wolves. I’d never let my mom take the fall. The solution to my dilemma was simple enough. Don’t get caught.
That’s what I told myself, but the guilt festering inside me like a raw sore cut straight through the bullcrap. Not getting caught wasn’t a solution, it was a best case scenario.
My mouthful of food turned to sawdust on my tongue and I had to wash it down with half a glass of water before I could speak. “I have a confession to make.”
Roman glanced up from his plate with a look that had snuck in a couple of weeks back and stayed around to redefine our relationship. Not quite a smile, just enough to chase the indifference from his eyes and shave the harsher edges from his attitude. The kind of look that stole beneath my skin and settled into my bones.
“Will this confession give me indigestion?” he sa
id.
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
“Then maybe it should wait until we’re done here.” He tapped his fork on the plate, still giving me that look while his lips twitched with humor. “This is really good.”
The compliment warmed me from the inside out. I really was that pathetic. A look that could at best be described as affectionate tolerance, toss in a throwaway compliment, and apparently I melted.
“I bought a map today,” I blurted out. “I was in the Bohemian Quarter and thought it’d be fun to go exploring and I didn’t even think how stupidly expensive it was and when I did, it was too late. Ninety-two credits.” I grimaced. “It was a total impulse thing and I swear, I’m not usually this extravagant or careless.”
Roman’s humor slid behind a mask as he processed my ramble, then he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Be right back.”
Okay… I hadn’t really expected my confession to give him indigestion or put him off his food.
My gaze travelled with him, from the windbreaker slung over his chair to the truck’s key fob he retrieved from an inner pocket, to the door of his study which he paused to unlock before entering.
My pulse quickened. All this time, it had been right in front of me. How had I never made the connection between his truck and my opportunity?
There was a solid hour every single morning when Roman’s truck was here and he wasn’t. And sure, maybe he took his keys jogging with him, but hopefully he wasn’t that paranoid. It wasn’t as if I’d ever given him any reason to not trust me. Which didn’t exactly make me feel any better about what I was contemplating, but didn’t change my mind either.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said as soon Roman reappeared with a thin, floppy book in hand. Was he planning on going back into work after dinner? “I’d like to start jogging in the mornings.”
“Exploring, and now jogging?” His brow arched as he placed the book beside his plate and sat. “Are you really that bored?”
Between stealing Julian Edgar’s handprint and breaking into Roman’s study—oh, and I’d almost forgotten, there was our ladies tea tomorrow, where the hell would I find the time to be bored? Of course, I couldn’t say any of that to Roman. So I refrained from rolling my eyes and smiled. “Just in need of exercise.”
“You already cycle everywhere,” he pointed out.
Why was he being so difficult about this?
“Yeah, but I don’t feel it’s enough. At school we had an hour of Phys. Ed. every morning plus there was dance class and sports in the afternoon. A healthy body equals a healthy mind,” I said, quoting Mrs. Loughborough, our domestic science teacher. And then it hit me, what Roman’s problem might be. “You needn’t worry about me crashing in on your morning ritual, I didn’t mean I wanted to run with you. I couldn’t keep up anyway. I just wanted to let you know and also, if you could wake me before you leave in the morning? I’d like to get an early start, although I’ll wait until the daybreak curfew, of course.”
“That’s not what worries me.” He slid the book across the table. “This is for you.”
A gift from his inner sanctuary?
“An official map of Capra,” he said. “Divided into four parts, one for each zone and the Nature Reserve. I’m sure it’s more detailed and accurate than anything you’ll get in the Bohemian Quarter.”
I pulled the slim book closer and opened it to the first page, which folded out to triple its size with a printed map of the Legislative Zone. The detail was amazing, even better than the maps in the St. Ives library. Avenues, roads, side streets, dotted footpaths, beaches marked along the lake, tiny mausoleum symbols for our council buildings, and everything was labelled, even the individual stores in the town square.
I brushed my fingers over the page, smiling at the touching gesture. “This is so sweet, thank you.”
“I don’t know about that.” He shrugged. “More like a pre-emptive strike, so you don’t bankrupt me next time you decide to go exploring.”
“I’m really sorry about—”
“That was a joke,” he cut in, the soft, teasing lilt in his voice reaching his eyes. “Don’t be sorry about anything.”
I felt the tug all the way to the bottom of my stomach. It wasn’t just the sweet gesture that touched me, it was everything that went with it. Roman was silent, broody and arrogant, he refused to answer pertinent questions and he never indulged me. But he also had no predisposed expectations or conditions of what kind of Capra wife I should be. Provided I didn’t sabotage his aspirations, he let me be who I was, let me do as I wished. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t controlling.
Roman was solid, sensible…and so damned sexy.
Humor warmed his eyes to sunbaked slate. A day’s growth shadowed his chiseled jaw. I’d once thought that if he ever cracked a smile, he’d be devastatingly beautiful. I no longer needed that smile. My gaze settled on his mouth and suddenly I felt an uncontrollable desire to feel his lips on mine, to be crushed to his chest, wrapped in his arms like when he’d picked me up to carry me across the river.
I wanted him, and all I had to do was close the distance between us and place my mouth on his. According to Mrs. Loughborough, nature would do the rest. Jenna had asked her once, tongue-in-cheek, what happened if the random stranger you’d matched yourself to couldn’t bring himself to love you. He doesn’t have to love you, Miss Simmons. He doesn’t even have to feel particularly attracted to you. Nature designed man to procreate and all he needs is a willing wife.
“What are you thinking about?” Roman asked softly, still with that teasing lilt. “And how much is it going to cost me?”
Want and longing caressed my senses, but my mind had gone elsewhere. To Mrs. Loughborough, a widowed grandmother who was only allowed to work, without compensation, because it would be unseemly to have male teachers in an all-girls school. To Jenna, who’d played long and loose with her own fate and Lord knew where it had taken her. To Rose, and all the Sisterhood demanded of me. To myself, and the depths I’d sink to, to discover the secrets that may or may not be locked behind that study door—including my husband’s mysterious past that Rose had alluded to.
I couldn’t fall into anything with Roman, not in love, in lust or into his bed, not while I plotted to betray his trust and maybe even his life.
Dragging my gaze from his mouth to my plate, I smiled weakly and picked up my fork. “I was just thinking about my run tomorrow morning, and what’s the best route to start with.”
16
Roman woke me around six-thirty and I waited for him to leave before scrambling out of bed. His windbreaker hung on a peg by the front door. My heart thudded for no good reason as I searched through the pockets. The truck’s key fob was there, along with two small silver keys dangling from it.
I hurried back through the house to Roman’s study and tried one of the keys. The latch clicked and I pressed the door slightly ajar, my fingers braced and my elbow locked in sudden misgivings.
I wasn’t scared, not exactly.
My actions here wouldn’t implicate anyone other than myself. The consequences would be limited to the sting of Roman’s wrath.
My biggest fear was the damage I was about to inflict on my marriage, on myself. Once I’d betrayed Roman’s trust, it could never be undone. And even if I wasn’t caught in the act, I’d have to live with this secret.
Of course, I wouldn’t be forced into this position if not for all the secrets he kept from me.
I guess that made us even.
My mind snapped into focus and I went through the steps of my plan without further thought. Return the key fob to the pocket of Roman’s windbreaker. Change into my jogging outfit: sweatpants and a tee and my running shoes. With my quick getaway all set, I made my way back to the study door. This time I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the door wide open and stepped over the threshold, taking everything in with one sweeping scan.
The room was sparse, impersonal and thoroughly disappointing.
> What had I expected? Hieroglyphics on the walls, telling the story of Roman and the wardens and Jenna’s fate?
Well, the walls were bare. A window looked out over the side of the house, drapes closed as they always were. A clean desk, and a skinny bookshelf riveted to one wall—no rows of neatly slotted spines, just a few stacks of carelessly dumped books. I picked up one of the books, a glossy hardcover in good condition, and thumbed through the thick, velvety pages of prints, beautiful landscapes done in various mediums of water colors, oils and charcoal drawings.
The second book I looked at was an Atlas, broken down by continent and separated by chapters filled with rich historical and geographical detail. The next, a photographic wildlife journal, glossy pages of magnificent animals captured in their natural habitat.
The books themselves were not that unusual—our school library had hundreds of similar ones—but finding them here in Roman’s study was. I’d never have pegged him for someone who appreciated the beauty of our lost world. I wondered what this really said about him, and then I wondered what the hell I was doing wondering about him. Now that my body had awoken to how sinfully hot my husband was, I couldn’t seem to put it back to sleep and that was okay…call it hormones or biology or nature or whatever, it was what it was. But this was different. Once I started peeling back his layers and, heaven forbid, caring what lay beneath, that’s when the real trouble would begin.
Look where you are, for goodness sake. This was never going to be a marriage built on trust, friendship or love.
Roman had the right idea. Affectionate tolerance was the best—the only—way for us. I plopped the wildlife journal back, making sure the pile was straight. Although how straight had it been to begin with? I fiddled a bit with the stack, no clue if I were making it better or worse. Would Roman notice?
Aargh! I gave up and turned from the bookshelf, and that’s when I saw it, Roman’s backpack propped against the desk legs.
My heart did that throbbing thing again. This was no longer just snooping around his study. This would be a personal violation, an unforgivable act of intrusion. Still, I found myself hunching down beside the slim backpack. There were a lot worse things in our society than me peeking inside my husband’s bag, I told myself.
