Sabine jerked hard on my hair. “Ow,” I muttered, grimacing at her in the reflection of the mirror.

She was braiding my hair so that it would fit under the cheap brown wig of the minor role I played tonight, her blonde ringlets bouncing each time she jerked a strand of my hair into place. It was the first time I’d seen her since our confrontation over the potion she’d given Julian, and there was an uneasy silence between us. She kept her eyes fixed on the back of my head, refusing to look into the mirror lest she accidentally meet my gaze, and it gave me the opportunity to scrutinize her without her noticing.

She had changed.

I could not say whether it had happened while I was in Trollus or since we had come to Trianon, but my friend looked older. The full cheeks of childhood had melted away to reveal delicate features, and while she was not beautiful in the way Anaïs was, Sabine was the sort of pretty that appealed to men and women alike. Her blonde hair was always neatly coifed, and her skill with a needle and thread ensured that even with her limited budget, she was always well dressed. But that wasn’t what was bothering me.

My brow furrowed as I juxtaposed my memory of the girl with the reality of the young woman standing behind me. Sabine had always been a people-pleaser – she liked doing what made others happy, even if doing so caused her grief. During my recovery from my injury, she’d visited me every day, helping Gran take care of me and tolerating my moody silences with the patience of a saint. When I announced my intention to go to Trianon, she’d insisted on accompanying me despite the fact she’d never shown any interest in leaving the Hollow before.

“What?” Her voice was sharp, and I flinched. Apparently I wasn’t the only angry one.

“I was thinking about how you’ve changed.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” She jammed the wig down on my head, forcibly shoving wisps of red hair underneath it.

“What do you mean?”

She was quiet for a long time before speaking. “Everyone thought you were dead.” There was a hint of unsteadiness in her voice. “Do you have any idea what it felt like knowing that my best friend had died because of me?”

I could not have been more blindsided if I’d been smacked in the face with a fence post. “What?” I spluttered. “That’s nonsense. What could you have done?”

“Exactly.” She was shaking. “I could have ridden with you. Or made you wait until Fred reached the Hollow. Something. Anything.” Her words were choked, like she couldn’t get enough air into her chest to get them out properly. “But instead I let my fears get in the way, and I lost you.”

I felt sick to my stomach. Tristan had told me how badly she’d taken my disappearance, but I’d thought it was only grief. I’d never considered that she might blame herself for what happened. Worse yet, what she’d thought had been her decision hadn’t been. I had assumed she’d refuse to ride with me and compelled her choice, even if I hadn’t known what I’d been doing at the time. Even if I had died some accidental death, it wouldn’t have been her fault. It would have been my own.