Rise An Eve Novel

hadn’t answered my mother’s letters, that had left us in that house, trapped behind barricades, waiting to die. The thought filled me with dread. He would be with me, a part of me always, whether he lived or died.
    “I might not be able to take you,” I muttered. “But I’ll be certain you’re safe.” I wouldn’t leave until Moss promised them protection—Charles, Clara, and her mother.
    Clara dropped her head back, letting her hair fall away from her face. Her eyes were glassy. “So it is happening. All the rumors are true.”
    “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” I said, unable to confirm it.
    “How long has it been?” She shook her head. “Did you ever cut contact with the dissidents?”
    I let out a breath, trying to stop the trembling in my hands. “There’s a contact in the Palace who will find you when it happens. Your mother and Charles, too. Wait for him.”
    She leaned forward and the tears came fast, touching down on the marble table. I rested my hand on her wrist and squeezed, trying to tell her everything unsaid. I won’t let them hurt you . I wanted to move my chair beside her, to fold my arms around her shoulders, pulling her to me. But it was too risky here. It would be too obvious she was crying, and then there would be questions.
    I studied the wisps of fine hair that always framed Clara’s face even though her mother tried desperately to smooth them back with hairspray. Her nose was a little turned up at the end. It could be months until I was back inside the City. I wanted to fix her in my mind in a way I hadn’t with Arden or Pip. Now they appeared most vividly in dreams. When I tried to remember something more specific—a gesture, the sound of their voice—I couldn’t. It kept getting harder, the months passing quickly without word from them. I thought of taking a photo of Clara, maybe one of us that had run in the newspaper in the past weeks, my arm threaded through hers as we walked in the Palace gardens.
    Tonight, at my final meeting with Moss, I’d make sure they were kept safe.
    Clara swiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “This is going to sound crazy,” she started.
    “Try me . . .”
    At that her lips twisted into a half smile. “The girls my age who weren’t orphaned were never exactly keen on spending time with the King’s niece. They used to say I was stuck-up.”
    I smiled, remembering the first time I met Clara, how she’d given me a quick, discerning once-over, assessing my shoes, my hair, and my dress as though it were on one of the shop mannequins. “ Nooo ,” I joked. “I don’t believe it.”
    Clara smoothed down the thin braid that held back her hair. “Maybe I’m not so surprised,” she said. “But now I can’t imagine things without you.”
    In the days after the wedding, Clara had been the one who’d brought my meals into the suite, when I refused to see anyone else. Those first weeks she’d never once spoken about Charles, no matter how strange it must’ve been to see him married, to have to look on and smile as he swore himself to me. Instead she curled up beside me, her hand on my back as I recounted what had happened to Caleb.
    “I’ll see you again,” I said, but even then I knew how hard it would be.
    She wiped her eyes. “You’re feeling better?” she asked, her gaze dropping for a moment to my midsection.
    “It comes and goes.” I tried not to look at the half-eaten sandwiches on her plate, where a pale piece of chicken lay exposed, the meat and mayonnaise taking on a heavy, sickening smell.
    “And Caleb?” she asked.
    I moved my plate to the edge of the table, away from me. Lately I didn’t talk about him as much, realizing it was impossible for anyone to understand what I felt. That was what I remembered most about the days after he died—the obligatory How are you? s that were everywhere in the City. Moss and Clara had asked with clear intentions, but even the simplest transactions—the opening of a door, the purchase of something within the Palace mall—would elicit them, the innocent, easy question taking on more weight. With each answer I was pushed further into grief, the small, empty responses making me feel more alone in my loneliness.
    “That comes and goes, too,” I said.
    “My mother said they’ll know by tonight,” Clara went on. “About the King.”
    She paused, waiting for my reply, but I just shook my head. “I can’t discuss it,” I whispered, my gaze