Page 135 of The Scarlet Veil

“But everyone is asleep!”

“As you should be,” she grumbled.

“Oh, comeon, Pip. Father spied the mostbeautifulblue scarf atthe market last week, and I want to see if he bought it for me. He said I look lovely in blue.”

She peeked open an eye to glare blearily at me. “You look horrible in blue.”

“Not as horrible as you.” I poked her ribs a bit harder than strictly necessary. “Now, are you coming? If it isn’t there, I’m going to purchase it as an early present to myself.” I beamed at her in the light of the candle between our beds. “Reid is coming over on Christmas morning this year, and I want to match his coat.”

She flung her blanket away then, eyes narrowing. “How areyougoing to purchase it? You haven’t any money.”

I shrugged, thoroughly unconcerned, and waltzed to our nursery door. “Father will give me some if I ask.”

“You do know where he gets his money, don’t you?” But I’d already slipped into the darkness of the corridor, forcing her to snatch the candle and hiss “Célie—!” before hurrying after me. “You’re going to get us both into trouble, you know.” She rubbed her arms against the chill. “And all for an ugly scarf.Whydo you need to match Reid, anyway? Must he really wear his Chasseur uniform to add a Yule log to our fire?”

I turned to glare at her outside our governess’s room. “Why are you so determined to hate him?”

“I don’thatehim. I just think he’s ridiculous.”

Tugging the pins from my hair, I stooped to shove them into the lock on the closet door. “Well, what doyouwant for Christmas this year? A nice quill and sheaf of parchment? A bottle of ink? You’ve been writing an awful lot of letters—”

She crossed her arms tightly against her chest. “Thatis none of your business.”

I struggled not to roll my eyes, twisting the pins deeper into the lock and blowing an errant strand of hair from my face. The book I’d read on lock-picking made it look much simpler than this—

“Oh, moveover.” Shoving the candle at me, Pippa seized the pins and crouched level with the keyhole. With a few quick, precise twists of her fingers, the mechanism clicked, and she turned the handle with ease. The door swung open. “There.” She stood and gestured to the folded blue scarf on the middle shelf. “No need to grovel. You shall match your beloved huntsman on Christmas morning, and the world will continue to turn.”

I stared at her in wonder. “How did youdothat?”

“Again, not your business.”

“But—”

“Célie, it isn’t a Herculean task to pick a lock. Anyone can do it with a bit of patience—which, I realize now, might actually be a struggle for you. Everything you’ve ever wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter.” I recoiled then, stung, my hand half outstretched toward my scarf, and Pippa slumped, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma belle. I shouldn’t have said that. I— I’ll teach you how to pick locks first thing in the morning.”

“Why?” I sniffed. “You clearly think very little of me.”

“No,no.” She seized my hand as it fell away from the scarf. “It’s just—all this.” Her eyes moved reluctantly to the closet, where satin hair bows and velvet jewelry boxes sat stacked in neat rows. Père had bought her a miniature model of the universe this year; its planets glittered slightly in the candlelight. “Our parents aren’t good people, Célie, and neither is—” She stopped abruptly, dropping my hand and looking away. “Well, they just bring out the very worst in me. That doesn’t mean I should take it out on you.”

My cheeks felt inexplicably warm as I tore my gaze away from her, as I motioned toward the piles of presents. Filippa might’ve thought me spoiled—perhaps even vapid—but at least I wasn’t determined to see the world half-empty. “I know our parents can be... difficult, Pip, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. These gifts—they’re the only way they know how to show us love.”

“And when the money runs out? How will they love us then?” Shaking her head, Pippa took the candle from me and turned, starting back up the corridor, and I understood her message loud and clear:conversation over. My chest fell slightly as I watched her go—until she glanced over her shoulder, surprising me, and said, “You can’t get something for nothing, Célie. Everything in this world comes with a price—even love.”

I had no way of knowing where she’d heard such an expression, then.

I only knew that it was true—because my sister had said it, and my sister would never lie to me.

I didn’t wear the blue scarf that Christmas morning, and Filippa threw her model of the universe into the same bin that our mother threw Fabienne.

“I have a gift for you.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Michal stands tall and strangely vulnerable in his bedchamber, his shirtsleeves rolled and his jacket discarded. I glance nervously at the small table beside him. Someone—presumably the foul-tempered servant who fetched me—has laden it with fruits, cheeses, meats, and pastries. My mouth waters instantly at what appears to be pain au chocolat, and reluctant, I descend the rest of the stairs against my betterjudgment. There aren’t any cabbage leaves in sight.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“Yes I should.” Clearing his throat, he pulls one of two chairs from the table and gestures for me to sit. “And this isn’t the gift. This isfood, which you should’ve been receiving since you arrived on Requiem.”

I sink into the seat, reflexively folding the napkin into my lap before reaching for the nearest platter—eggs with wild mushrooms and salty cheese. If Michal wants something from me, I need to be clever enough to recognize it. That means food. My stomach groans in agreement. “A scullery woman brought food occasionally. And Dimitri,” I add as an afterthought. “A lovely meal of cabbage, butter, and hard-boiled eggs.”

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