“No, Paige. Think. For months she has waited, biding her time until you could possess another body. If you did not exhibit that skill, there was a danger that she might not gain it from you. She made you a yellow-jacket to ensure your life was never again endangered by the Emim. She placed you under the protection of her own consort. Why would she do so much to preserve you if you did not have a gift she not only wanted, but feared?”

“You taught me how to do it all. All that training on the meadow. The butterfly and the deer. Exercising my spirit. You led me to my death.”

“I was assigned by her to prepare you. That was why she allowed me to take you into Magdalen,” he said, “but I do not intend for her to have you. I have committed myself to developing your gift—but for you, Paige. Not for her.”

I didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

Warden tore one of the drapes. With a soft touch, he started to remove my makeup. I let him. My lips were numb, my skin like ice. I could be dead in the next few minutes, drifting around Nashira in a state of mindless servitude. When he was finished, Warden stroked my hair back from my face. I let him do it. I couldn’t focus.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “Don’t you dare let her see it. You are more than that. You are more than what she wants to do to you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

His gaze ran across my face. “You should be,” he said. “But do not show it. Not for anything.”

“I’ll show her what I like. You’re in no position to give me orders.” I disengaged my head from his hands. “You should have just let me go. You should have let Nick take me back to Dials. That was all you had to do. I could have been home by now.”

He leaned down so our faces were level. “I brought you back,” he said, “because I could not find the strength to fight her without you. But for that same reason, I will do everything in my power to see you safely to the citadel.”

Silence fell. I didn’t break his gaze.

“Your hair must be tied.” His voice was different, quieter. He pressed an ornamental comb into my hand.

The comb was cold. My fingers shook. “I don’t think I can.” I took a deep, slow breath. “Will you do it?”