“Where’d you go, baby?” she asks, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She’s wearing his shirt and nothing else.
I rip the blanket off Tristan and toss it over Lillian. That hair of hers. Its uncontainable—poking out from under the edge of the blanket and spilling off the side of the couch in a shining red curtain of curls. The girl sees it and looks up at me, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Tristan hurries the girl back to his bedroom, telling her that he’s sorry but she’s got to go. He promises her dinner and says something about how much fun he had and how much he likes her before I stop listening. A few minutes later the girl passes on her way to the door, still fastening the buttons on her dress. I give her a weak smile and she eyes me warily.
“Is she going to be a problem?” I ask Tristan once she’s gone.
“No idea,” Tristan responds, waving a frustrated hand in the air. “Can’t remember her name.” I roll my eyes, but Tristan’s not having any of my judgment today. “Hey, no one asked you to show up here with her like that!” He pulls the blanket off of Lillian with one quick tug, exposing her slack form. He draws his brow together, really seeing her for the first time. “What is she wearing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, staring down at her. “I’ve never seen anyone dress like that before. And what’s a nuke?” I add, reading the writing on her shirt. Tristan shrugs.
“So what do you want to do?” he asks.
“Get her out of the city.” I’m making this up as I go along. “We should bring her to Alaric.”
Tristan bites his lower lip, considering. “You know, we could end this whole thing right now,” he says quietly.
I picture myself placing my hands on the sides of Lillian’s head and giving it one quick twist. This isn’t something new for me. I’ve fantasized about snapping her neck a thousand times in the past year, but as I look down on her all I can see is the soft skin and fragile bones I used to tilt my face into when I held her. I remember breathing her in, and I can’t find the strength in my arms to actually do it.
“Do you want to—” I don’t know how to phrase this so I let my words trail off. Tristan looks horrified.
“No. I couldn’t do it,” he says, blanching.
“You suggested it.”
“I thought you’d want to.”
If I don’t kill her, she’ll keep hanging scientists and the Outlanders who harbor them. My people. “I’m not a murderer,” I say.
“I know that.” He looks at me, carefully weighing his words. “But if we bring her to Alaric, he’ll kill her anyway. He probably won’t be quick about it, either.”
“Then her death’s on him,” I say, rubbing a hand across my face. I hadn’t thought of that, but he’s right. Alaric will most likely kill her. I’m tired. It isn’t easy to carry a person around without fuel from a witch. I feel weak and heavy and I’m angry about it. “I don’t care what Alaric does to her. She should be punished. Are you going to help me bring her to him or not?”
“Of course,” Tristan replies, holding his hands out to calm me down. “Just take it easy, okay?”
I’m acting crazy. A part of me is aware of that fact, but the rest of me is too busy being crazy to care. I take a breath.
“How long do you think she’ll stay unconscious?” Tristan asks.
“I can keep her like this for hours,” I reply. “She’s weak right now. And there’s something off about her.” I put my hand on her belly and feel the low thrum of her pulse under my palm. My fingers want to curve around the crescent of her hip, and my thumb wants to nestle inside the hollow of her belly button. “I can’t find her willstone.”
Tristan frowns and leans over her. His willstone flares as he scans her himself. “She didn’t swallow it, Ro. There’s no willstone in her body.”
“It’s incredible that she can stand being separated from it. Maybe that explains that strange feeling I’m getting from her. It’s shock.”
Tristan nods, conceding the point, but still not convinced. “If it’s shock, she might die without any help from us.”
I don’t answer him. Tristan gets up and I hear him rattling around in the kitchen. He comes back with a needle and thread and starts sewing the blanket shut around Lillian to conceal her.
“Are you still on good terms with Esmeralda?” I ask.
Tristan has to take a second to think. “Yeah?” he says uncertainly.
“She’s watching the safe house over the tunnel this month,” I explain. “We could go there to get Lillian out of the city.”
“Esmeralda likes you better than me. Bat your eyelashes at her,” Tristan says, teasing me to hide his bitterness.
“You’re better at sweet talking. I don’t want anyone to see Lillian before we get her to Alaric, and Esmeralda is going to ask questions.”