Page 78 of Because I Killed Him
“How convenient for you, Mr. Prew, that I’m now in your entourage,” I say. “Youneedme.”
Edmund’s head tilts coolly, just enough to feign confusion. “Need is a strong word, Miss Waldsten. I need to take a piss right now. I need a good whiskey on Saturdays. I don’t need you.”
“I think you do,” I say. “I think you need me to testify against your fiancée.”
He doesn’t deny it.
And now I see it all too clearly: Edmund didn’t bring me into his entourage out of generosity or even to honor our formal agreement. He did it because he had no choice. I’m the one thing standing between him and his freedom.
If I die before they get me on the stand, there’s no case. Irene walks free, and Edmund is trapped in marriage to her. That’s why I’m here. That’s why he’s suddenly playing nice. He’s not protecting me; he’s protecting his witness.
“To be clear,” Edmund says, “yeah, I want you to testify against Miss Hussey, but you’re gonna be called to testify no matter what.”
“Yes,” I agree, “but now I have leverage.”
The lines in his face deepen.
“I will not be used and discarded at your convenience,” I continue. “Do not think I failed to notice the time constraint you placed on my entourage membership. One year is precisely enough to see the trial through. Precisely enough until my usefulness expires. Then you intend to cast me—”
“We’re not friends, Miss Waldsten,” Edmund cuts in. “We’re not even allies. I don’t owe you anything beyond what we agreed to.”
“You do,” I say, “if you wish for me to cooperate.”
He leans closer, the movement a challenge. “So, you’re threatening me now?”
“I am negotiating.”
He tips his chin up, eyes narrowing as if trying to spot the bluff in my face.
But he won’t find one.
Edmund doesn’t realize my reasons for hating Irene Hussey run deeper than revenge. He doesn’t know what her family did to mine, how they tried to ruin Dad’s career by killing his bills and dragging his name through the press like a corpse on parade. Until the day the Bliss Prohibition Act passed, Edmund wouldn’t have been able to pick my family out of a lineup of Pinkies. If he calls my bluff, it’ll be for one reason and one reason only.
Because liars recognize other liars.
Edmund’s hand closes slowly around his Altimor watch, as if fighting the urge to pitch it across the hovercar. For a long moment, he stares at me in silence, a tendon twitching in his jaw. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat. “Tell me what you want.”
A warm sense of triumph floods me, but I keep it off my face. “No more formalities,” I say, dropping the refined speech right there.
“Fine. Is that it?”
“No. I want personal time—after six on weekdays and after three on weekends. I’m not spending the entire year strapped to your side like a saber.”
“Saber?” Edmund jerks a thumb toward my waist. “You’d be the empty scabbard.”
I narrow my eyes, and he laughs, clearly pleased with himself.
Then he adds, “Fine. But stick to low-citizen zones.”
“Your entourage badge won’t protect me?”
“Not from my kind.”
I nod despite my confusion. It’s hard to imagine anyone, even a high-citizen, crossing blades with a Prew. Some names are off-limits. Or at least they used to be. I think about how Irene was cuffed earlier and dragged off like a Heretic. The Husseys used to be untouchable, too. Now she’s in custody, a prisoner in full view, and no one tried to stop it. They stood by and watched, the same way we all do every morning, as students are marched to the guillotine.
“All right, I’ll stick to low-citizen zones,” I say as the hovercar descends and eases to a stop.
A Pinkie circles around and opens the door, letting in a rush of voices that stretch each syllable. I stop, one foot instinctively sliding back. This isn’t where I thought we were going.
