“And that caused the first rune to malfunction somehow? A clever thought,” said Anna, and the two girls looked at each other, seeming to enjoy a moment of shared detecting.

Ariadne didn't stay to watch Anna leave; she didn't think she could endure it, so she didn't see Anna walk only a short distance, sinking down onto the steps of a neighboring house. Anna put her head into her hands & shook violently, dryeyed and silent, unable to catch her breath

“I could have managed with you not loving me, but you do not even want me to love you. And that I cannot bear.”

Ariadne supposed she ought to have known. Anna had been clear: nothing in her life, about her life, would change for Ariadne’s sake. Still, she felt a dull hurt, as if she had been struck with an unsharpened blade.

“What was your name when you were born?” They had almost reached the gates of the Institute. Ariadne hesitated. “Kamala,” she said. “Kamala Joshi.” Kamala. A name like a flower.

The sight of Anna was a pleasant hurt in Ariadne’s chest. Pleasant, because Anna had only grown more beautiful since the first time Ariadne had seen her And hurt, because Ariadne could not touch her.

Somehow, she had pressed her face into Anna’s shoulder. When she turned her head, she could hear Anna’s heartbeat. It was racing.

Anna put her mouth to Ariadne’s ear. She spoke in a near whisper, her warm breath stirring the hair at Ariadne’s temples, her lips grazing Ariadne’s skin.

This was what she was living for, every long, dark winter day as she waited to see if the invitation from Anna would come in the evening. The folded piece of paper slipped through her window, the message scrawled in Anna’s strong, elegant hand. Meet me in the Whispering Room.

She had not been wrong, this past four months. It was worth anything, everything to have this.

Anna sat up. “I’m not being dishonest with you, Ari. I’ve told you exactly what I have to offer. If it’s not enough, I won’t blame you if you leave.”

The wind tugged at Ariadne’s dark hair. Anna had always thought that when it was unbound, it looked like a storm cloud.

Ariadne’s lovely deep eyes with their flecks of gold were fixed on Anna’s face. It was unnerving, being looked at like that—it made Anna feel seen in a way she rarely did. “Anna. Will you ever forgive me?”

The red-tinged light of the pendant turned her eyes to a color more like her brother’s, a sort of purple. Her cheekbones stood out like the blades of knives. Her mouth was rich and lush and full, the dark red color of berries. Ariadne’s throat tightened.

“Oh, there’s no need.” Anna stepped back. “Really, Ariadne, you should have told me that was all you wanted. We could have done it a long time ago.”

so she did not see Anna walk only a short distance before sinking down onto the front steps of a neighboring house. Flicking the half-burned cheroot into the snow, Anna put her head into her hands and shook violently, dry-eyed and silent, unable to catch her breath.

Anna set her glass of champagne down on a windowsill. “This is ridiculous,” she said, and Ariadne saw with surprise that her eyes were blazing. “Come on, then.”

The wind tugged at Ariadne’s dark hair. Anna had always thought that when it was unbound, it looked like a storm cloud.

“Do you know anything of Anna and Ariadne? There is clearly a story there, history between the two of them, but I have always felt awkward inquiring. Anna is so private.”

Cordelia thought of Anna kneeling by Ariadne’s sickbed, murmuring softly, Please don’t die. She had never mentioned the moment to anyone. Anna, she felt, would not like her to do so.