by Rosiee Thor
Nathaniel had never been respected like that.
“Nathaniel?” Eliza snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Are you all right?”
“What?” Nathaniel straightened, pushing away from the bedpost.
“You weren’t listening.” Eliza sighed, exchanging a look with Anna.
“I’m all right with whatever plan you decide is best.” Even if he disagreed, he wouldn’t say so. It wasn’t his place. He was a killer; his opinion wasn’t worth sharing.
“You’re not,” Eliza said. “It bothers you.”
It did bother him. There were laws he’d bend and laws he’d break, but actively working to overthrow his father was a far stretch.
Still, the memory of blood spilled haunted him in ways his father’s words never had. Before, he’d thought if only he could become the perfect son, he could earn his father’s love, but Nathaniel could no longer aspire to be his father’s definition of perfect. He would instead rebuild himself on the foundation of his mistakes, his faults aplenty, born in defiance of the man who shaped him.
Anna crossed her arms. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t involve him. He’s too close to the Commissioner and—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nathaniel couldn’t let them do this without him—if only so he wasn’t alone with his thoughts. “I’ll go along with this regardless. I owe you that.”
Anna shook her head and sat in the desk chair, scooting it around to face him. “I don’t want you doing this because you owe me.”
Nathaniel drew back, knocking into Eliza. He’d forgotten she stood beside him. “I thought that was the deal.” His eyes flitted between the two girls. “You won’t kill me, I won’t turn you in, and we work together to … to …”
“Overthrow your father.” Anna fixed him with a hard look.
Nathaniel gulped. “Yes. Then my debt will be paid.” Anna had made her feelings on the Commissioner clear long before she’d known who Nathaniel was, her words still ringing in his ears. Anna saw his father only as a tyrannical leader working against her interests, and Nathaniel was beginning to agree. He needed to agree.
Anna leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. The trousers he’d lent her fit surprisingly well, but they were too short, riding up over her boots. She looked only slightly more civilized than she had the night before, hair a tangled mess and circles beneath her eyes, but at least she was no longer covered in blood.
“It isn’t about debt,” she said. “You can’t just do what I say and expect me to forgive you. I’d rather have your help because you believe what we’re doing is right than because you feel beholden. Doing me a favor just because you feel you owe me won’t earn my forgiveness.”
“I want to help. I want to believe in this. It’s just that …” Nathaniel chewed his lip. “He’s my father.”
Eliza placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Your father is a frightening man. I understand defying him may be difficult.”
Nathaniel hugged his middle. “I suppose I just don’t see why—”
“Your father is a bad man. He does bad things.” Anna threw her hands in the air.
Nathaniel stared at his shoes. “I’ve done bad things, too.”
“Yes. You have,” Anna spat.
Eliza looked from Anna to Nathaniel, worry etched into her brow. “Nathaniel, you killed one boy, and it was an accident. Your guilt is proof that you can do better.”
Nathaniel buried his face in his hands. They didn’t understand—they couldn’t. Removing his father from power, whether it was right or not, left only Nathaniel to fill the vacancy, and Nathaniel wasn’t sure he’d be any better as Commissioner than his father.
Moreover, Nathaniel wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
Anna spoke low, almost gently. “I don’t forgive you, but I can’t pretend you’re worse than the Commissioner.”
“At least he hasn’t killed anyone.” Nathaniel’s words came out muffled.
Anna let out a harsh sigh. “You still don’t get it.”
Nathaniel looked up, catching sight of her reddened cheeks and narrowed eyes before Eliza stepped between them.
“Murder comes in many shapes, Nathaniel,” Eliza said. “You don’t always have to look someone in the eye and watch them die to be their killer.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Your father’s been killing my friends for years.” Anna ran her hands across the back of her neck, pulling at the skin. “You killed my friend—and I hate you for it, don’t get me wrong—but the Commissioner’s killed dozens, if not hundreds.”
“So you’re saying I’m the lesser evil?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
Eliza and Anna spoke simultaneously, each shooting the other a look that spoke volumes more than their words, even as they broke out into an argument Nathaniel couldn’t follow.
Nathaniel shook his head to clear it. If only he could be alone, even for a minute, he’d be able to think this through. “What’s the plan? What’s our next step?”
They paused, falling silent, eyes locked in battle. Then Eliza lowered her gaze and tilted her chin in surrender.
“We begin at the beginning,” Anna said in barely more than a whisper. “We start with our hearts.”
Eliza’s face pinched. “Your what?”
Anna didn’t take her eyes off Nathaniel, speaking only to him as if no one else, not even Eliza, mattered. “I think—I know—he has a vendetta against my grandfather. You see, you’re only alive because my grandfather gave you that TICCER.”
Nathaniel’s hand flitted up to his chest. It bewildered him to think it had been Anna’s grandfather, not just because the whole mess was so interconnected, but because he had never imagined Anna as the type of person who had family.
Of course she had family. Everyone had family.
“I suppose your father must just hate him because he ruined his perfect, tech-less family. I don’t really understand it, but I don’t need to,” Anna said.
Nathaniel shook his head. “My father is difficult to understand, but I don’t think he hates your grandfather. This thing saved my life. I’d wager he’s more angry with me for needing it in the first place.”
“All I know is that every single person born in my village needs a TICCER, and you’re the only person inside the Settlement to ever get one.”
Nathaniel paused, letting her words surround him. “What does that mean?”
“What does any of this mean?” Eliza grumbled, crossing her arms.
Anna ignored her and reached to touch her own TICCER. “I’m not sure, but I intend to find out.”
“My father …” Nathaniel unfocused his eyes for a moment, Anna’s freckles becoming a blur in his vision. “I’m not saying I agree with you, but if he really did poison your village, then what about me? Why do I—”
“Someone is poisoning all of us,” Anna said. “Likely, that same person poisoned you.”
“But why would my father poison me?” Nathaniel regretted the question the moment it left his lips. He could think of half a dozen reasons his father might want him dead—but no, his father had saved him. He’d put aside his prejudice against tech in order to keep him alive. Anna’s story didn’t track, not with what Nathaniel knew of his father, anyway. But it would do no good to argue now. He’d already committed to following her, no matter where she led. It would be his penance, his punishment.
“What do we do to prove it?” he asked instead.
Anna’s lips turned up in a smile. “Nathaniel, it seems I’ll need your blood after all.”
Anna let herself enjoy the look of horror on Nathaniel’s face for exactly five seconds before saving him.
“I just need a blood sample to run some tests. I’m not going to hurt you.” Well, not much. She could make no promises when it came to her needle and his arm. She might find it difficult to locate a vein. She might make it difficult on purpose.
“If you two are quite certain you aren
’t going to kill each other, I’ll take my leave,” Eliza said.
Anna jumped. She’d almost forgotten the noble girl in the corner. She’d been quiet for so long, letting Anna take charge with Nathaniel.
“If you’re going to ignore my questions, I may as well go freshen up. And I’d advise you both to do the same.” Her eyes lingered on Anna’s hair.
Anna reached up to touch her braid, sprouting wild curls from last night’s activity. The other girl’s eyes on her made Anna squirm, as though she was a specimen in a jar, kept only for observation.
“Of course,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve traveled a long way and it’s nearly dawn—you must be tired.”
Eliza dropped her eyes in deference before heading for the door, but she paused with her fingers on the handle. “Do try not to kill him while I’m gone, Red. You’re quite enough mess all on your own without adding his body into the mix.”
Before Anna could muster up a retort, Eliza’s outrageous hat disappeared around the corner.
“Who does she think she is?” Anna wrinkled her forehead, staring at the place Eliza had just been. “Seriously, she’s your …” Anna waited for Nathaniel to jump in.
“What?” Nathaniel’s head snapped up.
“Cousin? Friend? Surprisingly animated hat rack?”
“Oh. She’s my fiancée.” His voice wobbled.
“Oh.” A fire lit in her cheeks. Determined to hide the reaction, Anna bent her head, unlatching her satchel and searching aimlessly inside it. She hadn’t thought of Nathaniel as the kind of boy with a fiancée. All this time, she’d felt inexplicably drawn to him, as though wires wrapped around each of their hearts, as though magnets pulled them together. But it wasn’t the kind of attraction that burned deep in her stomach or fluttered high in her throat. It was the kind that burrowed just beneath her skin, a constant pressure on her spine. It wasn’t romantic; it wasn’t desire. It was the unrelenting sameness, a kinship ticking a steady rhythm through both their veins.
And to think Eliza would be his bride. Anna had felt drawn to her, too, but in an entirely different way. She didn’t have time to think about Eliza. She needed to forget her insipid blond curls and her perfectly arched brows, banish the floral aroma—the stench—she’d left behind, dismiss the thrill of Eliza’s fingers—no, the knife—against her skin.
Nathaniel took a step forward, tilting his head to catch her eye. “We’ve been betrothed since we were fifteen, but I only just met her for the first time yesterday.”
“Betrothed?” Anna tried not to choke on the word, unsure why it gave her tongue such trouble. But Nathaniel still looked at her like he thought she’d lost a cog, so she scoffed and added, “What a fancy word.”
Nathaniel frowned. “It’s a political marriage.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a marriage,” Anna muttered, surprised to find her words more hopeful than hateful. “My satchel—do you still have it?” Anna cast her gaze around the room for the bag he’d taken from her at the clock tower.
Nathaniel blushed but fished her bag out of a drawer and set it on the desk.
Anna rummaged inside for a syringe, glad to shift the conversation back to medicine. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Nathaniel leaned away. “Why?”
“I need to draw your blood.” She waved the syringe in front of him. “For my tests.”
Nathaniel stared at the needle, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Don’t be nervous.”
“Right, because I can just turn that on and off.”
Anna bit her lip. “I know how unnerving medical procedures can be. My grandfather is a surgeon, so I’m used to it, but I remember when I was young and everything he did terrified me. But once I’d asked him to explain, it was easier.”
Nathaniel’s gaze flickered up to hers, and for a moment Anna’s world stopped. Reflected in his eyes was Roman’s facade of strength, masking his fear.
“Would you?” Nathaniel asked, voice small. “Explain, I mean.”
Anna pulled the chair back, gesturing for him to sit. “It’s fairly simple. I’ll have to locate a vein in your arm.” She pointed to her inner elbow. “I’ll clean the area, to avoid infection, and then—”
“I didn’t mean— I don’t want the details.” Nathaniel grimaced. “Would you just explain why? What are you going to use my blood for, exactly?”
“Oh.” Anna frowned. Of course he’d asked that question—anyone would. It just happened to be the one question she wasn’t prepared to answer with any kind of certainty. “I want to test your blood sample and compare it to mine.”
Nathaniel nodded, piecing it all together. “You think there will be a similar component in our blood that can explain all this.”
“That’s my hypothesis,” she said. “Once I understand the anomaly, I can isolate it. Maybe then I can figure out exactly what’s causing Tarnish.” And maybe even find a cure. She didn’t dare give voice to those words. If she could do it, she wasn’t sure it would help her or Nathaniel—their hearts already too affected by the poison—and if she couldn’t, well, she couldn’t bear disappointing anyone else, even Nathaniel.
Anna affixed the needle to a small glass vial. “I need better light.” In Thatcher’s operating room, lighting was one thing they never went without, even at night, but with the sun’s rays barely cresting the horizon outside, the flickering light from the candle on the desk would make for difficult work. “Come closer to the window. I can’t see a thing in the dark, and I don’t want to accidentally stab you.”
“I thought that’s exactly what you wanted,” Nathaniel said.
For a tense moment, Anna held her breath. Killing him had seemed the thing to do the night before, but Eliza had been right. Nathaniel’s death would have only ruined her, drained her until she was empty. More death wouldn’t bring her peace, and Nathaniel was more use to her alive than dead.
But then Nathaniel laughed as though he’d actually made a joke, and Anna forced a smile, trying to mask her relief.
“All right. I’m ready.” Nathaniel rolled up his shirtsleeve to expose his arm.
Anna pressed her thumb against his inner elbow, and he flinched.
“I’m sorry. Are my hands cold?” Anna curled her fingers, trying to warm them.
“No, it’s just— Is it going to hurt?”
For a moment, the boy before her wasn’t Nathaniel. He was Roman, asking to play a game, asking to be a part of something Anna had no business including him in. She blinked, and he was the dandy again. Sitting, Nathaniel was considerably shorter, smaller, more childlike, but he was still Nathaniel, asking his physician the question all first-time patients asked.
“I’ll do mine first. You can watch and see for yourself.” She rolled up her own sleeve so that she matched Nathaniel. “Can I have your cravat?”
Nathaniel undid the scarf at his neck, handing it to her with a question in his eyes.
She’d never had to draw her own blood before. She wished she was back in Mechan where she had her own tools, her own workshop. Instead, she would have to make do with whatever provisions Nathaniel could help her find.
“Do you have any alcohol? Whiskey, maybe?”
Nathaniel’s forehead creased. “We might have some scotch in the other room, but I’d prefer you didn’t drink before sticking me with a needle.”
Chuckling, Anna tied the cravat around her upper arm. “No, not for drinking. It’s to clean the area and prevent infection.” She thought of her grandfather’s insistence that every tool and surface in his operating room be sanitized. It would do them no good to discover the secret behind their condition only to die from infection.
“Oh, of course.” Nathaniel ducked out, the door clicking behind him.
Anna was alone. The feeling caught her like a gust of wind, knocking her back. Her breath came in waves, overtaking her from above and pulling at her from below. She’d left home without so much as a goodbye, and now she was here, in the bedroom of the Commissioner’
s son. If Thatcher and Ruby could see Anna now—not that they’d spare a thought for her anyway. To them, she was irresponsible, unfeeling … a killer.
To them, she was dead.
Yesterday, Anna had rushed at Nathaniel in the garden, ready to die for revenge. Now she held a syringe in her hand, preparing to take the first step toward saving them all.
The sun’s tendrils reached for the desk, illuminating scraps of paper, bottles of ink, and a silver locket, gears interlocking across its face. It seemed years had passed since she’d first met Nathaniel at the market, but as her fingers closed around Mechan steel, she could almost feel his clockwork pulse ticking against her skin.
What wouldn’t she give to turn back time, to go back to outlaw and nobleman, not yet foes and not yet allies?
But she couldn’t. There was nothing she could do to unravel their meeting, to take back her trust, to bring back a boy who should never have died. All she could do was take this step forward, and another, and another, until she was running full force. This time, she wouldn’t run from the law—she’d run toward it, fists raised. She’d take the Commissioner apart piece by piece until she had what she came for: an answer, a cure, the right to be alive.
The door swung open, and Nathaniel returned, scotch in tow.
“Don’t think anyone’s touched this in years, but it should be fine.” He poured the amber liquid into a crystal glass and handed it to Anna.
Anna released the locket, letting it fall back to the desk with a clunk.
Nathaniel stared at it for a moment, as if he, too, had been taken back to their first meeting. A solitary tick fell between.
“Well then,” Nathaniel said. “I’m ready, if you are.”
Anna’s chest tightened. She wasn’t the only one who’d left something of herself behind. Before tonight, Nathaniel had been a nobleman—heir to the state. He’d had a future, a plan, a destiny, and she’d taken it from him, not with her knife like she’d intended, but with her inquiries, her theories.
Nathaniel might have been hesitant to be party to their plotting, but Anna could see in his eyes now he didn’t lie. He wanted to know the truth as much as she did, and he would follow the trail to its end, no matter the result.
