Aleksandra Wolff.
I hung back, hesitating as she and Van completed their conversation in low tones. Each glowered at the other. Meanwhile my heart seemed to have leaped up into my throat. I eyed the knife that she wore even now, tethered to her slim hips with a knot of leather.
Finally she spun on her boot heels and stalked off.
“Is everything all right?” I asked Van when I reached the desk’s edge. I kept my voice at a whisper. I don’t think I could have spoken any louder than that if I’d tried.
“Yes,” he said peevishly. “Why?”
“Because Aleksandra is the captain’s daughter!” I said, turning to watch as the guard slipped past the library’s heavy doors.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s one of us.”
He might as well have slapped me across the face. I stood there with my mouth open, not quite believing it. Captain Wolff’s own daughter, a Child of Abel.
“But she was there the night Mar Jacobi was—”
Van’s hand cut through the air, intercepting my words.
“A double agent learns to keep their mouth shut even at the worst times,” he said. “And you know, there’s a reason why we don’t publicize our rosters.” His words were meant as a warning. I pressed my lips closed.
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Of course. I won’t tell anyone.”
Van stared at me. “What do you want, Terra?”
I reached down into my pocket, feeling the cylinder of glass deep inside. Then I pulled it out and slammed it down on the counter in front of me.
“What is that?” Van asked. A smirk curled my lips.
“Digitalis purpurea,” I said. “Common foxglove.”
Van stared at the bottle, green eyes gone wide. “You did it?”
I nudged it toward him. “I did.”
Reaching out a hand, Van set his fingers against the glass. But then, to my surprise, he merely pushed it toward me.
“You hold on to it,” he said. My fingers hesitated.
“What? Why?”
As if afraid he’d find someone there, Van looked over his shoulder. “Our leaders were hoping that you would be the one to carry out the task.”
“Me?” I whispered.
“You have nothing to lose, Terra. No family. No intended, not yet. And there have been rumors that our target is . . . fond of you.”
I stared at Van. My hand was still poised against the amber glass. It felt ice cold beneath my fingertips. “Fond?” I said. My mind raced. I ran through the options: The rebels wouldn’t have me kill Koen, nor Mara. And certainly not Rachel. Who else ever gave a single glance in my direction?
“Silvan Rafferty,” I said, my gaze dropping down. I thought of the way that he’d smiled at me when he’d found me in the dome, and the way that he’d grinned when he’d asked if I had my mind on anyone. And then I thought of the kiss, long past—a secret shared only between the two of us, never whispered to another soul.
I thought of my dreams.
“I don’t understand. He’s not even captain yet. What good would it do—”
“We need to get him out of the way,” Van said, licking his lips. He looked hungry for it. “Without Silvan to take up her mantle, Wolff will be vulnerable against our plan.”
“And what’s your plan?”
He didn’t answer at first. His hands were flat on the wooden desk, still—like he was waiting for something. “To incite the people to riot. Once we’ve pushed them toward it, they’ll be easy to sway. In the chaos, we strike down Wolff. Then we install our leaders in her place.”
I didn’t want to look at Van’s face. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see how his mouth was set in a grim line.
“I would think that you’d be eager for an opportunity to help us, Terra. After all, he’s Mazdin Rafferty’s son. And we all know what the doctor did to your mother.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course. Your mother was one of us. The loss of her was a grave setback for the Children of Abel.”
My throat felt dry, tight. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help at all. “And how am I supposed to get to Silvan, anyway? We’re not even friends.”
“Mmm,” Van replied. “Aleksandra has heard him speak of you several times in complimentary tones. And since that merchant girl was turned down by him, the others have stayed away. He has no suitors. It would be easy for you to insinuate yourself into his life. You’ll ask for his hand. He’s sure to say yes.”
“You want me to marry Silvan. Then poison him?” It felt ridiculous to say it. But Van’s expression remained cool.
“Whether you marry him or not, we need you to get close enough to do it before we settle on Zehava. We need our people in place before the Council forces us to stay here”—his eyes searched the dusty rafters, reaching for the dome ceiling beyond—“in this prison.”
I didn’t know what to say. My fingers still rested on the cool glass. I couldn’t do it—couldn’t do what they were asking of me.
Couldn’t kill Silvan.
“Terra,” Van said, his voice dropping low. At last he reached out, touching his fingertips to mine. “Your mother wanted you to live a better life. She wanted you to be free on Zehava. You can help us ensure that she didn’t die in vain.”
I thought of Momma. I thought of her death, how long it had taken her to gasp out her last breath.
Then I snatched the glass bottle back, dropping it down into my pocket. I gave three rapid nods.
“Fine,” I said, spitting the word. “Fine. But I’m not doing this for you. I want you to know that.”
And I wasn’t. Once, I had thought I’d be able to become one of the rebels, to fit among them easily, blending in at their library meetings, joining them in their treasonous words. Now I knew better. There was only one person who owned my loyalty.
“I’m doing this for my mother,” I said. Van’s eyes glinted.
“We don’t care who you’re doing it for, girl.” His fisted hands were as still as stone against the counter. “Just as long as you do it.”
Hours later I paced across the tiny room I shared with Artemis. She was stooped over her schoolbooks at the center of her threadbare rug. Every time I passed, I had to step over her. From the girl’s bed Pepper watched me, befuddled. But I hardly paid him any mind. My thoughts were on the bottle of powder that I’d tucked into the bottom of my basket of things.
As I reached her desk once again, I paused. Most of Artemis’s room was stark, clean except for her little metal desk—that’s why she had to work on the floor. Amid the clutter of papers and pens there, I spotted a mirror, no bigger than my palm. I picked it up, ignoring her protests.
“Hey! My granma gave me that!”
I angled it to my face. Pale eyes gazed at me, but the circle of glass was too small, really, to let me see the rest of myself. I dropped my hand to my side and gazed at Artemis.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” I asked. Artemis lifted her shoulders and then let them fall again.
“Sure.”
“No,” I growled. “I mean really pretty. Like, do you think that a really good-looking guy would marry me?”
She began to smile. But it wasn’t a confident smile—the edges were all wobbly as she forced them up. “Sure?” she said again, and this time she sounded less certain.
I dropped her mirror down onto her desk. The circle of glass tipped and spun. Artemis watched closely, waiting for the spinning to stop. She was afraid the mirror would break. Without another word I ducked out of her room.