her. “That's fine, I suppose. You don't have to believe me. I wasn't supposed to convince you, anyway. That's why we installed the master-slave link. You have to help us whether you believe it or not.”
The light danced along the cracked stone as he began moving down the passage again, and Braya was about to respond to his snarky little comment when she saw a silhouette stamped into the darkness. A sound escaped her mouth, but it was a strange mix between an exclamation and a scream.
Asher raised the lantern so the light could envelope the person perched at the bottom of the steps. “Page?” He asked scornfully. “You finally emerge, and may I commend you on your timing?”
The boy in front of them didn't respond. His appearance was more startling than Asher's—hair pale blond, fair skin, and blinking hazel eyes, he stared at Braya with a neutral expression. It reminded her of the way Channing had looked at her during her Interview. It made her instantly dislike him.
“Go on, Bray,” Asher nudged her toward the stairs.
“A light can never remove every spot of darkness,” Page said. His voice sent a shiver down Braya's spine. It was so smooth, so fluid, like water on glass. And what an odd thing to say. What did it have to do with anything? Braya cast an unsure look at Asher, but he motioned to the stairs.
“Ignore him,” he said, appearing irritated.
She edged past Page, who neither moved nor responded when her shoulder brushed his, and continued up the stairs without another glance back.
****
Monday morning Braya arrived at the Heartland Manor with her gown folded over her forearm and wrapped in protective plastic. She'd just looked over her daily schedule in the car ride over. The morning was packed with culinary classes, a brief lunch was squeezed in at noon, and a three-hour long dancing class took up the entire afternoon. It had absolutely nothing to do with being a future mother and everything to do with the evening ball on her schedule.
Last night she'd called her driver and made it home well after midnight. She'd woken her mother up despite the hour to tell her what she'd discovered, but had been violently yelled at when all she could do was stutter and gape like a fish out of water. The master-slave link had prevented her from uttering a single word about the foreigners and their hide-out. Braya had suspected it might do that—otherwise the Locers wouldn't have let her go—but she had hoped the foreigners were just that dumb.
So she was back to square one again. No way out of her Bride career and now enslaved by a childish gang of foreigners. Not to mention haunted by the idea of war just beyond the city border.
Her morning culinary classes passed by in a blur. Braya was too distracted to concentrate on the soup they were preparing. How was she going to get her Crown job? How was she going to get back onto her mother's good side? Especially after last night, Braya feared it might take more than capturing a few foreigners. That is, if she could capture them.
Turning in the foreigners was still her best shot at getting anything. She realized that if she were going to have any luck in turning one of them in, she'd have to be extremely clever about it. Asher was out of the question. He had too much leverage over her. Perhaps one of the twins? She scoffed to herself. If she ever saw them again. That stupid underground chapel was like a maze from hell. Perhaps she could lure them out? But then there was the invisibility issue. That part still bugged her. How did they do that? Was it a foreigner thing? She decided she didn't know enough about them yet to hope to trick them. But she could wait, if only for a short time. It might be all she needed—they were human, and they were bound to make a mistake somewhere. And when they did, she would pounce.
“Lunch!” a voice hollered in her ear.
Braya glared at Brielle. “Did you have to yell in my ear like that?”
“Oh, sorry Miss
The light danced along the cracked stone as he began moving down the passage again, and Braya was about to respond to his snarky little comment when she saw a silhouette stamped into the darkness. A sound escaped her mouth, but it was a strange mix between an exclamation and a scream.
Asher raised the lantern so the light could envelope the person perched at the bottom of the steps. “Page?” He asked scornfully. “You finally emerge, and may I commend you on your timing?”
The boy in front of them didn't respond. His appearance was more startling than Asher's—hair pale blond, fair skin, and blinking hazel eyes, he stared at Braya with a neutral expression. It reminded her of the way Channing had looked at her during her Interview. It made her instantly dislike him.
“Go on, Bray,” Asher nudged her toward the stairs.
“A light can never remove every spot of darkness,” Page said. His voice sent a shiver down Braya's spine. It was so smooth, so fluid, like water on glass. And what an odd thing to say. What did it have to do with anything? Braya cast an unsure look at Asher, but he motioned to the stairs.
“Ignore him,” he said, appearing irritated.
She edged past Page, who neither moved nor responded when her shoulder brushed his, and continued up the stairs without another glance back.
****
Monday morning Braya arrived at the Heartland Manor with her gown folded over her forearm and wrapped in protective plastic. She'd just looked over her daily schedule in the car ride over. The morning was packed with culinary classes, a brief lunch was squeezed in at noon, and a three-hour long dancing class took up the entire afternoon. It had absolutely nothing to do with being a future mother and everything to do with the evening ball on her schedule.
Last night she'd called her driver and made it home well after midnight. She'd woken her mother up despite the hour to tell her what she'd discovered, but had been violently yelled at when all she could do was stutter and gape like a fish out of water. The master-slave link had prevented her from uttering a single word about the foreigners and their hide-out. Braya had suspected it might do that—otherwise the Locers wouldn't have let her go—but she had hoped the foreigners were just that dumb.
So she was back to square one again. No way out of her Bride career and now enslaved by a childish gang of foreigners. Not to mention haunted by the idea of war just beyond the city border.
Her morning culinary classes passed by in a blur. Braya was too distracted to concentrate on the soup they were preparing. How was she going to get her Crown job? How was she going to get back onto her mother's good side? Especially after last night, Braya feared it might take more than capturing a few foreigners. That is, if she could capture them.
Turning in the foreigners was still her best shot at getting anything. She realized that if she were going to have any luck in turning one of them in, she'd have to be extremely clever about it. Asher was out of the question. He had too much leverage over her. Perhaps one of the twins? She scoffed to herself. If she ever saw them again. That stupid underground chapel was like a maze from hell. Perhaps she could lure them out? But then there was the invisibility issue. That part still bugged her. How did they do that? Was it a foreigner thing? She decided she didn't know enough about them yet to hope to trick them. But she could wait, if only for a short time. It might be all she needed—they were human, and they were bound to make a mistake somewhere. And when they did, she would pounce.
“Lunch!” a voice hollered in her ear.
Braya glared at Brielle. “Did you have to yell in my ear like that?”
“Oh, sorry Miss
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