Page 39 of The Year of the Witching

Immanuelle flushed, but she didn’t break pace. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what are you not telling me? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you. I just don’t want to drag you into undue trouble.”

“Trouble?” Leah caught her by the arm as a servant walked past, shouldering a tray of apple tarts. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What do you mean by trouble? Did something happen in the woods that day? Did Ezra do something to you?”

“Of course not! Ezra would never.”

But even as she spoke, Immanuelle knew it didn’t matterwhether Ezra had done anything. The real danger was being near him at all, under the watchful eyes of Bethel. Judith was a prime example of this. And Immanuelle was ashamed to admit it, but she was selfishly relieved that it was Judith who was now paying the price in contrition, for it could have just as easily been her.

“If it’s not Ezra, then what was it? What is all of this?” Leah demanded, motioning to her with a pass of her hand. “You look a fright, Immanuelle—all frail and quiet. It’s not like you. Does this have something to do with those women you saw the night you went into the Darkwood?”

Immanuelle didn’t want to lie to her, but she knew that in light of things, a lie was better than the truth. “No.”

Leah studied her for a beat, trying to decide what she wanted to believe. Immanuelle braced herself for more questions, but they didn’t come. With a smile, Leah hooked an arm through hers. “Good. I was a little afraid Ezra had turned you into a simpering harlot.” Immanuelle elbowed her in the ribs and Leah laughed. “Of course, I wouldn’t blame you if he had. For all of his Holy Gifts, he’s got the eyes of a devil—and the tongue of one too. I don’t trust him one bit.”

“He’s not as bad as he seems,” said Immanuelle. “Now, quiet down. These corridors carry echoes, and he may hear you.”

“Well, he won’t hear anything he doesn’t know already. I’m certain that boy’s been scheming since the day we met at the riverside. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Leah!”

Leah smiled at Immanuelle, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and the two dissolved into a fit of giggles. By the time they arrived at the library, they were laughing and staggering, tripping over their own shoes, trading jokes and stories.

“Prudence tried to dye her hair red with beet juice,” said Leah between giggles. “And her curls went as blue as a cornflower’spetals. All that effort to catch the eye ofJoab Sidney? I mean, the man’s ancient. If you ask me, he’s two steps from the grave.”

“You’re wretched.”

“We’rewretched. That’s why we’re a perfect fit. Always have been.”

“And will be,” said Immanuelle, starting down the hall toward the library, but before she could make it more than a few steps, Leah dragged her back.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, suddenly grave.

“What is it?”

Leah hesitated. “Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. No matter how you feel, no matter how angry it makes you.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul,” said Immanuelle. “You have my word.”

“All right,” said Leah, and her chin trembled a bit. “Give me your hand.”

Immanuelle obeyed without question, and Leah guided her hand past the layers of her gown, until Immanuelle could feel the shape of her belly, which was swollen into a pronounced bump.

“Are you... you’re not... youcan’tbe...?”

“Pregnant.”

Immanuelle’s mouth gaped open. “How many months?”

Leah’s brows knit together the way they always did when she was deciding whether or not she wanted to lie. At last she whispered, “Six. Give or take a few weeks.”

Immanuelle went very still and very quiet.

“Say something,” Leah pleaded, in a voice so soft and so young it didn’t even sound like her own. “Say anything. Yell at me if you have to. I’d prefer that to your silence.”

“Is it his?”

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