Page 43 of Because I Killed Him
“If you refuse to honor your end of the bargain, Mr. Prew, I shall take it to—”
“To the courts?” Edmund tosses the towel onto the table. “By all means, Miss Waldsten. Report me. But in a case where it is your word against mine, who do you think the courts will believe?”
“They will believe the evidence.”
He shows his teeth. “What kind of evidence could you possibly have that outweighs the word of a Blue?”
“Video.”
Edmund’s eyes narrow on Jack and Dickie.
“She’s bluffing,” Jack says.
“Definitely,” Dickie agrees. “I was watching her the whole time—no blue in her eye.”
“I never said I used my Bond,” I reply.
Edmund dials in. His gaze tracks my arms, sides, and hips until it settles on the daffodil brooch pinned above my chest. Then his foot shifts, suddenly and fiercely, as if he’s about to lunge, rip off the brooch, and crush it in front of me.
But I know he won’t. Even for a Blue, breaking a formal agreement is a capital crime, the kind they still use the guillotine for.
Edmund drags his foot back, slower this time, as if trying to stall. But there are no loopholes in formal agreements, at least that I’m aware of. Which means it must be a blow to his pride to bow to a Green, just as it’s a blow to mine to bow to a Blue.
He looks me over again, this time more closely, as if seeing me for the first time. I hold his gaze, even though his eyes are intimidating, burning like a high-beam glare. I trusted my parents’ warnings about the Prews, but now I finally understand what they meant.
The muscles in Edmund’s neck tighten as he bows stiffly. “Make your request.”
Charlotte exhales sharply, and her shoulders lift in relief. I feel it, too, like the weight I’ve been carrying all day is finally easing.
“Miss Bradford,” I say. “I want you to save her life.”
Edmund’s eyebrows rise. “You are certain?”
I clutch the corners of my soiled dress, hesitating.
Suddenly, I’m not sure.
What if helping Jane is a waste, like being given a diamond and then flushing it down the toilet? What if she doesn’t thank me or even care that I helped her? What if her father never hears a word about this, and I’m left with nothing to show for it but a favor I’ll never get back?
The smarter choice would be to ask Edmund for something cruel and punishing he can’t wriggle out of, something that will humiliate him the way he humiliated Charlotte. But then I see Jane again, staring back at me from the eighth row of the green first-year carriage, her eyes wide with the same blinding terror I’ve been feeling all day.
I try to push the image away. Dad says we shouldn’t stick our necks out for other low-citizens unless we’re willing to lose them. I know he’s right, but at the same time, it occurs to me that he doesn’t follow his own advice. Dad doesn’t skulk around with his eyes lowered and his mouth shut. His entire life is a risk. And maybe that’s why he’s one of the few low-citizens changing things.
I glance at Edmund, still watching me, still waiting.
“Yes,” I say. “I am sure. Whether you save Miss Bradford by inviting her to your salon or by entering the green first-year carriage to protect her yourself, the choice is yours.”
He steps closer, and for a moment I feel as if he sees through me, as if there’s a crack in my skull and he’s staring straight through it.
Still, he nods in acceptance.
“And you?” Edmund says, barely turning his head toward Charlotte.
She points at Jack. “His Blood Ring. Whatever allows him to break the behavior laws—I want one, too.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
