“It is everything to me,” her mother snapped. “Power is not a prize at the end of a race, it is the race. You must always be moving forward, and never fall behind. We used to understand that. Years beneath a tyrant taught us well. But the lesson has been lost, smothered by luxury and entitlement. If nothing changes, we might as well open the gates to the shadowthorns and welcome the lash and the collar. At least Malachi now owes me a favour. That should attend nicely to his ridiculous ideas of begging for peace.”

“Not if I tell him that his favour bought nothing you were not already prepared to give.”

Lady Ebigail snorted. “You wouldn’t dare. You haven’t yet learned how to be strong, which is why I must teach you. And if you cannot bear to thank me with words, you may do so with deeds.”

Her daughter glowered but said nothing. She knew – as Marek knew – what was coming, for it had been the source of many arguments in past months.

“You will resign your commission with the navy, and you will come home. I shall teach you the way of guarded smiles and watchful tears. You will finally grow to be a daughter worthy of my pride and deserving of my legacy. This shall be your favour to me for saving Roslava’s life.”

Lady Sevaka’s lip curled. Her shoulders shook with silent rage. “And if I don’t?”

Marek wasn’t fooled by the defiance. You could always tell when the last hope faded. It broke his heart to see Lady Sevaka humbled, but he knew it was for her own good.

“Must I find Anton and tell him I’ve had a change of heart?”

Lady Sevaka hesitated, but the outcome was never in doubt. “No, Mother. I’ll . . . I will do as you ask.”

“You see? You’re too weak to face pain. Just like him. We’ll have to see to that.” Lady Ebigail left the podium and enfolded her daughter in a one-sided embrace. “In the meantime, you may carry the news to Malachi. It will do you good for him to look upon you with gratitude. Someone should.”

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

Rosa hesitated only a little before entering the Reveque household at Abbeyfields. She scarcely believed she was free to do so, having been released less than an hour before. Malachi had met her at the constabulary with a pressed uniform. He’d flinched as she’d hugged him, and then insisted on waiting out in the afternoon drizzle while she changed in the carriage.

“Thank you for this,” she said. “I don’t know that I could have faced my uncles.”

Malachi shrugged and set the door to. “For nothing. This is what friends do.”

“But how did you manage all this?”