It seems impossible that eight years ago a little girl skipped rope here, over and over, because she was too tired, hungry and wretched to do anything else.
I take a deep breath. I won’t forget, but I hope things are never like that again for the children of Paravel.
At the factory offices, I show my press release to Miss Long. She marks it up with red pen and tells me to rewrite it. I stare, aghast, at all the changes she’s made.
“It’s nearly there. You’ve done such a good job.”
I don’t really believe her, but once I’ve made the changes she’s suggested, it does read a lot better. Once I begin work at the palace, at the end of my internship here, I’ll send it off to the press as one of my first releases.
In the afternoon, I’m coming back from lunch, when I come face to face with a man who takes my breath away.
Same tawny eyes. Same high cheekbones and defined jaw. He’s younger than Devrim, by about a decade, and has a more open, pleasant expression.
When I continue blocking his way and staring with my mouth open, he smiles and pats his cheek. “Have I got something on my face?”
He’s got dimples. Devrim doesn’t have dimples, though he does get that same warm, sweet look in his eyes, when he’s feeling relaxed. I remember long afternoons in his arms, talking of nothing. No uniforms, no etiquette. Just the two of us, learning every inch of the other.
“It’s Lady Wraye, isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to say hello. Galen Levanter.”
I shake his hand without thinking. “Sorry. You remind me of someone. I miss him so much.”
Mr. Levanter gives me an odd look, half sympathetic and half puzzled, and I realize what I’ve said to an almost complete stranger.
“I’m sorry. Ignore me.”
“If you miss him, perhaps you should go find him.”
I give Mr. Levanter a quick smile and let him pass. I don’t need to find Devrim. I know exactly where he is. I imagine showing up on the doorstep of Levanter House and throwing myself into Devrim’s arms. My heart leaps. He would welcome me, wouldn’t he?
But then I see Aubrey standing behind him, and the dream collapses.Chapter Twenty-OneDevrim“You could at least look as if you’ve been in prison for twenty-seven years,” Galen tells me, a smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “Apart from your hair turning silver, you look exactly the same.”
I stroke my fingers over my beard. “I don’t know why. They gave me hell.”
We’re sitting in my youngest brother’s office at Barbican Manufacturing. It’s only the second time we’ve seen each other, since I was released.
“You did well for yourself over the years,” I say. Is there a shade of accusation in my voice? Perhaps. I was imprisoned for twenty-seven years and our two brothers were executed as Royalist spies, while Galen renounced his family and made a fortune.
Galen’s eyes glitter, daring me to call him a coward. “I kept my head down and worked hard.” When I don’t reply, he passes his hand over his face. “Do I need to say it? I’m sorry for what happened to you, Fenston and Ludlow. It broke my heart when you were locked up and they were executed.”
I gaze around at the room. It’s well-furnished and the large windows let in plenty of light.
Galen clears his throat. “Why are you here, Devrim?
The only thing that’s helped me move forward, lately, is talking about the past. I clench my teeth. I still hate it. “I thought we could try to get to know one another again.”
Galen’s eyebrows lift. “You look like you’ve swallowed a glass of salt water. You always did hate having heart-to-hearts.”
A pair of sparkling amber eyes fill my mind. It’s been more than two weeks, since I’ve seen Wraye. I want to hold onto the image of her, but I force myself to think farther back, to something of which I’m deeply ashamed. “One of my men was beaten in front of me every day I was in prison. I sat there and watched. Every day.”
Galen’s brow creases in sympathy. “That must have been hell for you. I’m sorry.”
None of my men hold it against me, but I see their scars, and I remember. The only reparation I can make them is to see that it never happens again.
“We both had to do things we weren’t proud of to survive,” Galen tells me. “I’m sorry I didn’t blow a hole in the wall of the prison and bust you out.”
“You would only have ended up dead or on my side of the wall.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t do it.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh. Galen smiles, too, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. I remember being jealous of the way my little brother could win over anyone with that smile of his.