She pales. Her shoulders sag. “I’m sorry. Of course, you know. I didn’t mean …” She trails off. I think about how bright and happy she was when we first arrived, and now she looks wilted, as if we’ve snatched the sun from her sky. “He was a good man once,” she says softly. “He could have been a good man still if only …”

I stiffen. “If only what?”

She sighs. “If only his family had accepted his fate. If only the Grand Council hadn’t interfered.”

“If only he’d made different choices?”

Avalina bites her lip. Nods.

“But isn’t that true of everyone?” Bram asks. “Aren’t we all just a collection of the choices we’ve made?”

“Yes,” she says, “I guess we are.”

Bram hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. “When did you finally lose hope that Latham would change?”

Avalina’s expression grows thoughtful. “I suppose when I realized he’d mastered the darkest magic of all—the ability to pretend to be someone he wasn’t.”

Chapter Fifteen

We step out of Avalina’s cottage to frigid air.

Shivers race up and down my body, and I wish I hadn’t abandoned my cloak at the glass workshop. I fold my arms across my chest and run my palms along my skin.

Bram shrugs off his Breaker cloak and wraps it around my shoulders. “Here,” he says, “this should help.” It smells faintly of freshly cut straw from the floor of the Breaker training room.

“But now you’ll be cold. I don’t want—”

Suddenly his hand closes around my elbow, and he spins me toward him, pressing my back against the tree in front of Avalina’s house.

“Saskia,” he says, his voice ragged. His eyes search my face. “May I kiss you?”

The question is low and urgent. My eyes go wide, and I’m flooded with feelings I can’t name. They swirl inside me, hot and bright. I think of Bram’s gaze falling to my wrist. If you weren’t in love with Declan, then how did you get that tattoo? I should tell him no. I should try to protect him from Latham. But the tattoo isn’t fading, and I’m not sure it ever will. He moves closer, still waiting for my answer. My heart lodges in my throat. I nod.

“Good,” Bram says, his breath close to my ear. “Rasmus is coming.”

And then Bram’s mouth is on mine. Warm. Familiar. His hands slide under my hair and curve around the back of my neck. His thumbs trace the contour of my jaw.

I am drowning in him.