By a cruel coincidence, I miss Bela by the time I've returned to her room to collect a cloak for the market. But I do run into Helga, and I only spare her a terse nod, and inform her that I'm to be heading out to buy supplies for Daniela.

She asked me how I was doing, and I told her I'm adjusting. After an assessing stare – of which I allow her to see my pain and hollowness, she nods and promises to inform Bela of where I'll be.

I did manage to sneak a glance into the kitchen and found Bianca and Gretta going about their usual business. Neither of them noticed me, but Nadine did.

I gave her a vulgar gesture before heading out to the market.

The trip was uneventful. I made sure to hide my hair within the hood of the cloak, hoping that no one recognized me – or if they did, they wouldn't dare approach me – as I meandered towards the necessary vendors that had Daniela's supplies. Some of the items will have to be bought through Duke, but I don't mind. I could use a talk with him. Maybe he can make me feel better, or at least sell me something that can help me feel better.

I tried to keep an eye out for Elena, but I didn't see her. I don't know whether to be more relieved, or disappointed.

I return to the castle with the supplies slung along my back, and head to Duke's room. Best to carry it all now rather than going all the way to the greenhouse. I step inside and am pleased to see him open for business – and to see that I'm the only one in the room.

"Morning Duke." I sigh.

He looks up from his booklet ledger. "Good morning, Erika. I trust you are well?"

"As best I can be."

He eyes the supply pack and grins, "Planning on a weekend hike?"

I step up to his display, resisting the urge to drop the supplies. If I do that, I'll never get it back on. "This is supplies for Ms. Daniela. She plans on resorting the castle greenhouse."

"Oh!" he drawls. "How marvelous. I'll have to bring in some samples for her. But, if I could borrow a moment of your time . . .?"

"Please."

"Are you alright, my dear? You seemed very . . . grave last you walked through those doors."

I give him a smile; it's exhausted and difficult, but its genuine. "Getting kidnapped by a lord doesn't really do good for one's mood . . . or sanity."

His brows tent with concern and repeats, "Are you alright?"

I ponder for heartbeat, and nod. "I am. Is that odd?"

"From my perspective, I would say yes."

I shrug. "I got my revenge, or as close to it as Mother Miranda would allow. I'm sure not too many people could do that to a lord and walk away relatively unharmed."

"No, I suppose not. But you're still haunted, dear."

Exhaustion trickles through my forced words. "Yeah well, it's hard to forget those faces. Especially when I recognized some."

"Were they friends of yours?"

I sigh, "No, but I knew of them. Some were decent; others, well . . . some of them had it coming."

At the touch of acknowledgement, my eyes start to water. I shake my head and bury my face in my hands, feeling the phantom, crusted texture of the dried blood. I can still smell it on my skin.

There's the sound of shifting, and I look to find Duke leaning forward, handing me a handkerchief. I whimper my thanks and blow my nose, allowing a couple of sobs to escape me.

"How did I let this happen?" I whimper into my palms.

"What, my dear?" he asks so gently.

"How could I let Bela blindside me?"

A pause. "She didn't plot your kidnapping."

"No, not that. How did I let her allure me into forgetting the things that she's done? The things that she's doing. It didn't hit me until Heisenberg took me. And being on the grounds of his factory . . . being in those woods, seeing all of those bodies . . . it made me feel like I was, deceived. Even when I knew."

"You think she was trying to seduce you into forgetting?" he asks.

My silence says enough.

"If I may offer a counterpoint: why would she go to the trouble of seducing you, when she could just threaten your life? Why go to such lengths to be with you? She even said herself that she keeps you close so that your singing might bring forth the memories of her past. Or something of the like, correct?"

I nod, no better than a child as I try to control my breathing, trying to allow myself the moment, but to also hide if. I don't need them asking why I have red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks.

"It's just – is there something wrong with me? Am I a horrible person for essentially turning a blind eye to it?"

Duke chuckles, "You're asking a man who does business with such company. And I don't even try to stop it, even if I could."

"That's what I thought too, but I thought I was just making excuses."

"What can you do, Erika? You're one person. To attempt to stand against Lady Dimitrescu would essentially be standing against Mother Miranda."

I nod begrudgingly.

"You're mourning the unjustified loss of life, my dear. As well as the powerlessness that forces you to walk away." He gently says, his tone almost paternal. "You mean well, Erika, never forget that. And what you have been enduring has certainly not been easy. Why if most knew what you do, they would've snapped long ago."

I whimper, "Thank you."

I don't know what it's for – the recognition, or the encouragement – but regardless, it lifts a weight from my shoulders that I didn't know I was carrying.

I thought I'd made peace with that fact, but I guess I had to hear it out loud: there's nothing that I can do for the people that the Lords take. There's nothing that I can do to stop whatever agenda they are planning. I can only look after those I hold dear and pray that nothing happens to them.

Still, it clings to me like a stone tied to my ankles.

It's a harsh reality.

But it is my reality.

I returned to Daniela with her supplies, and she was very excited to get working on the greenhouse. And surprisingly, so was I.

Even more surprisingly, she seemed very knowledgeable about gardening and plants. And obdurately stated that she doesn't want any carnivorous plants.

We spent most of the time just insulating the greenhouse; Daniela's preferred method involving this transparent plastic material with air bubbles across its surface. Curiosity had me popping one; the sound near startling. But strangely satisfying. I ended up popping four more before Daniela hissed at me to stop.

We lined every wall and every inch of the ceiling, measuring, and cutting, and cleaning along the way. Apparently, Daniela thought it would be better for me to line and measure while she cleaned and held it in place. I don't blame her – I wouldn't trust her with a hammer either. Together we lined the entire greenhouse by the time my hour with her ended. I even found myself humming halfway through the work, and Daniela didn't interrupt me or tell me to stop.

Once we finish, we wordlessly walk to the front of the greenhouse, and just admire our work for a moment. No small amount of pride twining around our hearts.

"It's a start." She smiles. "You'll move all the old furniture and any unsalvageable pots. Then I can have other servants come in here and clean the place before ordering new stuff."

I shrug, surprisingly content. "All new stuff?"

"New greenhouse, new stuff." She chirps with glee. She whirls around and seamlessly chucks the dirtied rag into an empty pot. I know she didn't do that on purpose.

"Remember I'm supposed to be going to Donna's soon. It's a miracle Mother Miranda hasn't come for me yet." I fold my arms around myself, setting aside the hammer on a splintered table. I have that to look forward to when I come back. Maybe I can borrow a pair of gloves from Donna while I'm gone.

"Okay." Daniela chimes, and suddenly I'm swooped into her arms as she giggles gleefully. She gathers me in another bone crushing hug. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

I surprise even myself when my own giggle pops from my mouth; like Daniela had squeezed it out of me like those plastic bubbles.

She says, "Let me know what plants you want to have, and we can begin sowing the seeds for the greenhouse."

"What? You mean I get to pick?"

She shrugs as we meander towards the door. "Yeah. You might have different preferences, and it would be boring just to have what I like in here. I want to know what else is out there. See what plants are out there, that I didn't even know about. So pick ten and we can go to the Duke."

She pecks me on the cheek and skips out of the greenhouse before leaping and exploding into a swarm of flies. They carry on down the hall as I close the door behind me.

I meet for my duties to Lady Dimitrescu, which mainly involved being her little ornament for a business trade for some nobleman in search of her wine. Gabriella provided me with the dress – an amethyst gown of simple design but fine make – and swiftly but deftly pinned half my hair up with pearls, powdered my face, and darkened my lashes. She weaved gentle curls into my hair and pinned two more pearls into my ears before sending me off in comfortable beige-colored slippers.

The trade went smoothly, though I could stomp the man's face in for the way his eyes kept roving over my body. My only job was to stand there and be pretty, and to bring her some bottles, including her signature Sanguis Virginis.

Once the deal was made, Lady Dimitrescu rewarded me with a peck on my cheek and a nibble on my ear. She also informed me that Donna had responded, and could take me in tonight. Sooner than I anticipated, and it dropped a rock in my stomach.

I'll only have a certain amount of time before I can talk to Bela. And I'd rather not have another week of second-guessing looming over my head.

I'm on my way back to her rooms when the door opens, and she steps out. My gasp draws her attention to me, and we both stand there as still as deer.

She blinks. I blink.

"Hi," I say first.

"Hi." She replies.

Immediately her eyes line with silver, and her brows furrow. She takes two steps and gathers me into her arms. I rest my head on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her, tensing for a brief second at how cold she is. She shudders within my grasp, and I can feel her kiss the nape of my neck, close to the neckline of the dress. Not in a sensual way, but in validation that I am there – and to feel the pulse beneath my skin.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers into my ear, pressing another kiss to the side of my head.

"It's not your fault." I utter back, my own eyes filling at finally being able to see her. To embrace her. But mine is a bittersweet combination.

She pulls back and takes my head in her hands before kissing both my cheeks, them my forehead, and then my lips. There she lingers, and I don't pull away. For a moment, all my doubts fade away, and I just revel in the feeling of her lips on mine. In an instant that fire is reunited and burning to feel her skin on mine, to warm her in my arms. My bed.

When she finally releases me, her eyes scan me from head to toe, taking in the dress and the jewelry. "You were with Mother?"

"Just as a side piece." I say, making to continue to her rooms. She follows.

Once we're behind her closed doors, she asks, "Are you okay?"

I can't help but chuckle, though it's colder than I anticipated. "I've been getting asked that a lot today."

"Are you?" She pushes.

I walk over towards the couch, sitting before the fire. "I guess. Though the closure isn't what I had expected."

"It was . . . stimulating watching you fight him." She says as she meanders over to me.

My brows narrow. "I'm glad. How are you?"

She shrugs, spilling a section of her golden hair over her shoulder. "I'm fine. My mind is a little blank in certain spots, but fine."

She was feral for you, Daniela had said.

I blink and try to keep carrying the conversation. The inevitable boring into my mind like a maggot. "Before I forget, I'll be with Daniela in the mornings. She wants me to help her with that greenhouse."

Bela snarls with a roll of her eyes as she plops down beside me. "Of course she would."

"I mean, she gave me a choice."

"But was it one? Really?"

My stomach clenches at the relation to the blood oath. Maybe she could understand; Daniela does know her sister best . . . right?

"You know you don't have to do it." she suddenly adds. "I could talk to Mother, and I'm sure she'd understand –"

"No. No, it's okay." In interject. Bela's brows tent, caution walling behind her eyes. "After what happened, I could use a calm morning before things get really hectic. And I'll be training with Cassandra in the evenings, so maybe it'll help me sleep better."

"I could order you some tea, some quality sleeping pills –" she insists.

"It's fine. I'm managing."

"Too well."

"What?"

Bela faces me, thumping a pillow with her fist. "Erika, talk to me!"

"What –?"

"I know you're probably used to managing things on your own because you're the eldest sibling, and your mother is trash, and you've provided for your sister, but I'm here. You can talk to me."

I try to reach for . . . something. Anything. But the rationality of my mind has unwillingly cleansed such feeling from me.

I've already spoken to Duke about it, which helped. Bianca and Gretta have been an amazing support. I've already wrought the revenge that I'd been given. I've come to terms with that, at least.

And I say as much to Bela. "It's not that. I've dealt with the things I'd seen and done. It's just . . ." I swallow tightly, "the reality if your situation – of our situation – settled in while I was out there. I know I can't stop you from killing men and women. I know I can't ask you to change your bloodthirsty ways, but I don't know if I can just sit by while people die around me."

Bela slowly blinks, her chest lifting and falling. "People in general, or people you care about?"

I wasn't prepared for that. I don't have an answer.

"You said you didn't have many friends before coming here," her tone is gentle, "so why do you care if some people get killed?"

"Because they don't deserve it."

"And the ones that do?"

I bite my lip.

"Look, I can try to understand where you're coming from; and believe me I more than appreciate you trying to understand me. What I don't understand is why you feel the need to protect these people."

Bela moves closer, placing her hand on mine.

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're just as morally compromised as I am?"

Something sinks in my stomach, but I say, "Yes. And it terrifies me. But I don't think I can talk about it yet."

"That's fine. I encourage you, in fact. Because I want you to think about that before we take a step further in this direction that I do not like."

A corner of my mouth twitches. "What direction?"

"The one where you're not in my life."

I can't hide the surprise and . . . relief from my face. Bela pulls me into a hug, and I embrace her. My eyes water while I take a quivering inhale.

"Your mother might not allow it." I mumble into her shoulder.

"I'll talk to her."

"What about the future?"

She pulls back and smiles. "I was hoping we could figure it out together."

As much as I'd like to rejoice at her declaration, the weight of the blood oath still tethers me. So all I say is, "We have a lot to think about. I have a lot to think about."

She fiddles with the ends of my hair. "Never forget you're a good person, Erika. You know the difference between right and wrong. I've just had to blur the lines because I'm different."

"And I don't want you to change."

Bela smiles, though troubled, it's genuine. "I'm sure I can learn to try something new."

Elation is a welcoming honey flowing through my veins as I gather Bela in another embrace.

This could happen. This could be something.

I stare over her shoulder out the window, imagining someplace eternally warm for Bela. As brief as a glimmering spindrift, I see myself: running through a golden shore of sand, splashing through the crests of seafoam that stretch along the shoreline. Or perhaps in a meadow that never knew the cold of snow, feasting on fat summer berries and fish as the sun sets over the water . . .

And then I would go home to Lacy and Bela, perhaps a quiet, secluded cabin, or a modest house even in a neighborhood I've heard my dad talk about before. I'd play with Lacy and introduce her to new colors of paint and flowers, help with her schoolwork. Maybe take a small job to keep myself entertained. And I would go home at the end of every day exhausted but content—fulfilled.

Happy.

I'd go home every day to them, chock full of stories of their own days, and we'd sit around that table and eat together.

And Bela . . .

Bela . . .

She would be there. She'd give us the money to leave this village, to buy a house of our own; and because I'm me, I'd work to pay her back. Because I would pay her back, no argument.

And she'd be swarming and flying over grass plains, chasing me across the little streams and up a sloped, grassy mountainside. She would sit with me under the stars, feeding me fat summer berries. And she would be at that table in the house, roaring with laughter—never again cold and cruel and solemn.

And at night . . . At night we'd go to our room together, and she would whisper stories of her day, and I'd whisper about mine, and . . .

And there it was.

A future.

The future I saw for myself, bright as the sunrise over the mountains.

A direction, and a goal, and an invitation to see what else this life might offer me. It does not seem so empty anymore.

I whimper, "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Bela pouts, "Well, you clearly have no idea how much you mean to me."

"I really don't." I giggle. I wipe my eyes, though Bela halts my left hand so she can reach over and lick a stray tear from my cheek. I squeak a sound of disgust and swat her away, but I'm still giggling. "We have a lot to talk about when I'm back."

Instantly, her expression changes. "When you're back?"

"I have been summoned to Donna's estate for my week."

"No." She states, but her voice still whimpers.

"I have to."

"No, you don't. You can't leave."

You can't leave me again, is what she wants to say.

"You'll know where I'll be. And we must continue to do this, otherwise Mother Miranda could just swoop in at any time." I cross my arms. "I'm surprised she hasn't tried to come for me by now."

Bela scoffs, flopping along the couch. "Fine."

I resist the urge to crawl on top of her and force myself to stand instead. "It'll give us time to think, and then when I come back, we can try . . . something."

"You mean being together?" Bela slowly rises to sit.

My cheeks warm. "If that is what you wish."

"Is it what you wish?"

I smile, pondering for a brief second. "Yes, I think it is."

My heart flutters at Bela's smile, but I still force myself to change and wash up.

I pack a spare set of clothes into my satchel, pluck the bobby pins from my hair, and stash the pearl jewelry into the drawers of Bela's vanity. I still have some weapons and clothes at Donna's, but it doesn't hurt to have extras. I had to wriggle my way out of Bela's arms while I changed, and rein in my urges while she kissed my neck.

"Just so have more of a reason to come back."

"I'd come back to you," I say. "I would always come back to you."

This might just be the longest week of my life.

The entire village is preparing for Seleenwoche – and for something else; houses are decorated with pumpkins carved with faces, candles are left burning on porches, and bushes and trees back been threaded together with what looks like spiderwebs, but the material is odd.

I can only glimpse them while I meander through the village towards the gates leading to Donna's estate. My father had mentioned something about a holiday that is celebrated overseas. All Hollow's Eve, or Halloweens, he called it? A day where children dress in costumes and travel door to door in search of candy. When I'd asked him where it came from, he'd said it went back to ancient Europe.

Originally it was to celebrate a fruitful harvest, and to ward off evil spirits and the denizens of the fae, and it was adopted into more of a celebration; artists would use it as means to show their skills in body paints and costume creation, other would see just how wicked they could make their homes – decorating it with moving demons and undead beings.

I never understood how something dressing up and scaring off evil spirits could be celebrated, and I told my father as much. His only retort was to promise to take me to a park during the Halloween season so that I might experience it. Might understand the passion and fun that goes behind the occasion. A place that was marked with six flags or something.

Tents are being readied around the Maiden of War, massive logs for bonfires are being propped against one another, and the smell of some delicious food is already mingling in the air. There's even a small stage for live music.

I'm so lost in thought, so caught up in the decorations and laughing children that I nearly collide with an older woman. The old hag, as a matter of fact.

I manage to react in time and spin away from her, whacking the satchel into my hip. I mutter an apology, pulling my hood further over my head. I'm relieved when I don't hear her retort. But I make the mistake of looking over my shoulder at her, and find her grinning at me from ear to ear.

I suppress my squeak of surprise and snarl at her. I sure hope no children go to her home for candy. Who knows, maybe the children can ward her off to wherever cesspit she crawled out of.

As I step through the gate and onto the path leading to Donna's property, I wonder if she or any of the other lords might come out to join the celebration. I wonder if those large fires are for the Dimitrescu daughters – with their inability to tolerate the cold. It would be an odd sight: to see the lords celebrating something with the villagers. Mostly because they would be too scared to celebrate in the lord's presence.

The road into Donna's valley feels shorter than before, as I come to the bridge quicker than I anticipated, but I do my best to take in any scenery, to appreciate the sun on my face as I continue through her garden and into the elevator leading up to her estate.

I'm greeted by the sound of the massive waterfall, its gentle mist and brine wafting into my senses. I still stick close to the cliffside as I approach the front gates of the estate. They had been left open, like before, but I see movement in the window.

My unease of being on the edge of a cliff dissipates when the front doors open, and out comes Donna, dressed in a gown of black, with an apron tied over it. Flour is smeared and dotted across her face, like white freckles, and cakes along her forearms. Thankfully the sleeves of her gown stop just before her elbows.

But that is second to the beaming smile as she sees me. She holds the skirt of her gown, mindful of the steps of the porch before running over to me; arms opening wide.

She holds me as tightly as I grip her.

"Didn't really expect this from you." I grunt through her grip.

"I haven't seen you since the meeting. I was worried you'd gone mad." She says, refusing to let go, to lift her head from my shoulder.

"I thought you'd be afraid of me." I sigh.

She pulls back enough to scan my face, "No. Believe it or not I was fascinated by your behavior."

"No, I believe it." She scoffs, but I add, "It just seems fitting. You know, since the last time I was here, you probed my mind with pollen."

Donna cringes, "It was quite a rough start."

"One that I started and take all responsibility for."

Donna laughs as she links her arm with mine and says brightly, "Come on, I have some new recipes we can try. I've been looking forward to this week."