The distant sound of the galloping horses was like a blow. Leena’s head swiveled, attempting to locate the noise on the quiet, dark moors, terror gripping her when she realized that it came from the direction of Weavingshaw. And they were not far off.

  Had they been too slow? Had the Black Coats already caught up with them?

  There was no time to ponder this; they were likely minutes away from being discovered.

  “Bram—Bram, we must move!” she whispered frantically, trying to drag his body to a standing position, but he was too heavy for her to lift.

  He didn’t stir.

  “If you rise now, Bram, I will tell you all my secrets. Every single one.”

  The sound of the racing horses intensified, and yet she still could not see any discernible riders yet.

  She grasped the lapels of his coat, attempting to drag him to a more secure hiding place among the high, frozen grass. All the while, she muttered a string of pleas: “Do you remember I once said I would never refer to you by your given name? I was afraid that I would begin to see you as something other than the enemy. But you’re no longer my enemy. You’re my…my…” The horses were nearly upon them now. Her breath hitched, her mind blank with animal terror. “Get up, Bram. Please.”

  Something flickered in his face—awareness?

  Suddenly, he lurched up, grunting from the effort. With her help, he heaved himself toward a clump of tall grasses.

  Then, with a last burst of effort, Bram pulled her toward him, cradling the nape of her neck between his hands just as the horses approached.

  Leena’s mind sharpened, taking in every detail around her: the feeling of Bram’s arms around her—a safety net all on their own—her own heart clawing through her chest, the taste of fear in her mouth, the sound of the horses’ rough breaths mere feet from them.

  Would the horsemen notice the footprints in the snow? Would the storm worsen? Was Bram—for now she could think of him by no other name—well enough to continue?

  In the silver light of the storm, Bram’s eyes were half lidded, feverish, but fully alert. As he watched her, an unidentifiable emotion seemed to be flickering in and out of his face. She couldn’t hide from him, not when they were only millimeters apart, so she stared back. They stayed like that during the long, agonizing moments in which the riders approached. She shrank down further, not daring even to pray, ears pricked for any sign that they had been discovered.

  The hoofbeats came, then receded.

  They didn’t move until the only sound remaining was their own harsh breaths.

  With reluctance, Leena attempted to extract herself from Bram’s hold, but his arms tightened around hers.

  His words were feverish. “Say it again.”

  Leena looked at him in confusion. “Say what again?”

  “My name. Say it again.”

  His gaze was bright and unwavering from her face. Leena’s heart pounded.

  “Bram,” she whispered after a long moment.

  “Say it again.”

  She rose up slowly, releasing his hold on her, unsure why it felt so intimate to meet his eyes while calling him by his given name. “Bram.” She swallowed, averting her flushed face. “We must go—”

  “And again.”

  “We cannot delay—”

  “Leena.” He interrupted her, his voice a hoarse command. “Once more. Say my name.”

  She stood up, her hands slightly shaking while brushing the snow from her jacket, still unable to meet his unfaltering stare.

  The still moors and the thick trees were silent, as if waiting for her next words.

  “Bram…”

  He let out a staggered breath—as if this was the first real inhale he had taken in a long time. And yet the irony that these very breaths were now numbered did not escape her.

  Leena banished that thought as quickly as it came, however, and stretched a hand toward him. With her aid, he rose to his feet with a grim determination, swaying for a moment, but then he regained his balance and took a half shuffle forward. Then another, until they set a slow pace again.

  Even though it was much harder to walk among the long grass than on the route they had originally been traveling, Leena deemed it safer, as they were far less likely to be tracked this way.

  The hours slipped past and night fell and still Leena was not sure they had made much progress. Their speed was painfully slow, and her shoulder had begun to ache from where she’d supported Bram. How far had they been from Lytham when the carriage overturned? Four miles? Five? She’d been too distracted to keep track, and she was now paying the price.

  She mourned whatever the distance was ahead, for it was clear that Bram was struggling.

  She began speaking again: words and secrets and half-remembered recollections flowing from her tongue. If Bram consumed secrets, then she would feed him all of hers.

  He must live.

  Leena would do everything in her power to ensure it.

  First came the lighthearted secrets. Those were easy.

  Bram gave an amused huff when she told him about the time she had finished a whole tray of Baba’s halwa by herself and left it under Rami’s bed to incriminate him.

  But other secrets followed—less amusing, more poignant.

  She told him that all the women in New Algaraa District reminded Leena of her mother. It was the eyes these women carried, filled with a gritty love that she was sure she’d inherited herself. He was listening intently, and she felt triumphant that she’d found a way to keep him conscious through their arduous journey.

  She told him of her dreams to be a translator and of her mother’s poetry books. She told him of the importance of A Guide to Botany.

  Then she told him of her love for Baba—though this he already knew. But the secret which Bram didn’t know was that she resented him also. That her baba had willingly shattered their already broken family for an ideal when he could’ve so easily stayed—an act that killed her in a thousand ways every day.

  “This is the one similarity between our fathers.” Bram’s voice was distant. “They both traded their families for an ideal.”

  Leena looked at him with a sharp ache. She didn’t like her baba being compared to Percival Avon, but a part of her had also made the connection and grieved it.

  Her driving force since signing her contract with Bram had been to find her father and free him, to prevent the Wake from taking him. Now he had been taken, and she was back to the beginning with nothing to trade for his freedom. Yet it was inconceivable to Leena that she would ever trade Bram’s secret or his red diary. There was still her own secret to bargain with, but she’d seen what Hargreaves had done to Bram. She’d seen Lady Hargreaves’s recollection, and she knew that to trust Hargreaves would be to welcome her own destruction.

  Leena gripped the fabric of Bram’s coat tighter. It was time she revealed her last secret: that she could be possessed.

  That Moira had done so.

  The words streamed from her mouth in a torrential flood. She told him of the memory of Moira being choked to death by Percival, days after he had made her the new Lady Avon.

  Then she told him of Lady Hargreaves’s memories. She told Bram how he had once been loved so fiercely and so fervently that it had reverberated even after death.

  When she was finished, there was only silence.

  Although Leena knew Bram wanted to disavow his father, the unholy acts of his bloodline would undoubtedly still have an impact on him. Percival had killed a woman, Bram’s stepmother, on their marital bed. Just as Leena knew the circumstances involved in Lady Hargreaves’s passing were bound to wound him. Leena wished she had never had to tell Bram this, but she knew that secrets to him were sacred—especially ones pertaining to him.

  His response came after a long moment. “Her ghost…was it—Is she now at peace?”

  She slanted a look at him, and realized that although he did not glance at her, his eyes were brighter than usual.

  “Yes,” she responded softly, seeing before her eyes Lady Hargreaves as she’d gifted Leena the last dream, contrasted with the first time Leena had seen her. “Very much at peace.”

  It was not a lie.

  He did not comment any further, but Leena knew that he absorbed it. That, even in the grips of fever, he was turning it in his mind, seeing the tragedy of it from every angle.

  They walked in silence again.

  It took a few minutes for Leena to realize that Bram’s grip was loose on her shoulder as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other.

  “Bram,” she said sharply, looking up at him. “Bram?”

  “…Yes?” His answer came slowly, as if he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

  “Continue speaking,” Leena implored. “Anything to keep you awake.”

  His voice was smoky with the fragmented thoughts of the feverish.

  “He used to steal emotions from us while we slept,” he said, and she felt his muscles tighten. “He especially liked our shame.”

  She couldn’t begin to fathom what this meant to Bram. Who was he speaking about? A demon? What had happened to Bram Avon at the hands of this father?

  He halted abruptly, his eyes unfocused.

  “Bram, we mustn’t stop—”

  “I didn’t think they would abandon me there. I never thought—” He shook his head, mouth hardening.

  Leena tried to follow his words. She knew Lord Avon and Lord Hargreaves had abandoned Bram, and dreaded to learn what had happened to him after they had left him. She knew that revelation would be a gnawing, unreckonable truth that would sear her soul.

  “I still remember…the first time he fed on me…it felt like a loss. I cannot fling it away.” Bram’s next words were ignited in fury. “But it will all be mine once more. Everything that has been taken from me will be mine once more.”

  His attention had slipped from her, fastening on a point behind her shoulder. Leena looked, too, and gasped when she saw the flickering lights in the distance.

  She took his hand once more, a sudden urgency in her pace. “Come, Bram. We are very close.”

  They stumbled forward again, but the nearer they approached, the more Leena began to hear shouts resounding from within the town. Angry, disturbed shouts. Smoke coiled like a warning in the skies, and Leena suddenly recalled the rabid faces of the miners when their carriage had driven through the village.

  Arthur’s warning shrilled in her ears: This entire country is dynamite, waiting for the first spark.

  The spark has happened, Leena thought. And everything is burning.

  In Golborne, they would’ve been able to disappear without a trace. But in a small town, there was nowhere to hide.

  She reeled back suddenly, no longer thinking that it was safe to find refuge in the housekeeper’s cottage where she had initially planned to take Bram.

  Leena’s thoughts darted wildly, and she remembered the posting inn they had stayed in on the night she’d met Lady Hargreaves.

  She changed direction abruptly, to circle Lytham and go back in the direction of Weavingshaw and the forest, to the edge of the town where the inn was located.

  Leena and Bram stood on the threshold of the inn directly under the glare of the bright lights, the stone steps slippery beneath their boots, icicles collecting on the eaves. Bram’s arms encircled her tightly, his face deathly pale. He was lucid again; Leena thanked all the Saints to ever exist.

  “We made it,” Leena whispered, but really what she was saying was: Is this the right choice? “Come, let’s go inside.”

  The sudden rush of warm air from within the inn was painful on her raw skin.

  Waiting at the front desk was the ghost of a customer who was trying to hail her attention without success. Leena ignored him, ringing the silver bell instead.

  The innkeeper’s wife who had been present previously dashed out from the back door of the kitchen to answer. The robust woman took one look at their disheveled appearance and called for her husband. He came bustling out of the kitchen behind her, bringing forth smells of hearty stews that set Leena’s stomach growling.

  Leena remembered that he had not been present the last time they were here. The innkeeper was a large man, so tall that he ducked his head under the doorframe to pass; the sound of his steps echoed like thunderclaps.

  He smiled widely, his beefy hands spread in welcome, but his eyes were shrewd. “How can I be of service?”

  “We need a room—”

  “My apologies, madam, but we are full tonight.”

  Leena stared at him. It had never occurred to her that they could come all this way and still be flung back into the cold. “Please, sir, we were set upon by highwaymen—”

  “We’re a respectable establishment.” He cut her off, an obvious glance at her bare ring finger.

  Leena understood.

  “My husband and I have had everything stolen from us—even my wedding ring—and they’ve wounded him terribly.” She hoped that the innkeeper’s wife didn’t recognize them in their current state, so different from their first visit. “Our destination is Weavingshaw. We are guests of Mr. Martin and Lord Hargreaves.”

  She knew that it was a gamble using the names of these powerful gentlemen—especially when they were being hunted by those very men—but the innkeeper’s hostility seemed to diminish slightly at the mention of her grand connections.

  She tried not to sound desperate as she continued, “Of course, once we reach Weavingshaw, we will be speaking to the Magistrate to seek justice for our stolen belongings and my husband’s attack.” Leena was glad of the fact that Bram’s coat was made of richly tailored material, effectively hiding the extent of his wound.

  “My love,” Bram interrupted, with such overdrawn affection that Leena tried not to show amusement in spite of their dire circumstances. “I always hide an emergency fund on my person.” With some difficulty, he withdrew from his coat another drawstring bag bulging with coins. The innkeeper’s gaze fastened on the pouch, devouring its contents. “I would like the best room with the warmest fire. And make haste; my wife’s shivering.”

  The innkeeper bowed. “Certainly, sir. I see that I am mistaken; it seems we do have a vacancy after all.”

  “How fortunate,” Bram drawled.

  “Will you be wanting dinner?”

  Leena agreed to this heartily, also requesting that a clean shirt for her husband, hot water, fresh gauze, and a glass of strong drink be brought up.

  Away from the hearing of the innkeeper, Bram asked, “Strong drink? Are we celebrating our happy nuptials?”

  “For your wound,” Leena clarified with dignity.

  “Ah, well,” he sighed, taking the stairs slowly. “We have time to change your mind yet.”

  Bram kept his posture straight as the innkeeper led them both upstairs; his stagger was less pronounced, his laughter strong at the innkeeper’s awful jokes, but the hand gripping the banister was white-knuckled. The moment they were left alone in the room, he slumped onto the bed without removing his shoes.

  Like a beast that only licked its wounds in private.

  Leena looked around the room. It was decent-sized, with a four-poster bed that had clean linen and a fire already blazing in the hearth. A small table stood at the side by the washstand.

  Leena longed to collapse next to Bram. Her bones ached and her shoulder throbbed, but she knew that if she closed her eyes now, she’d sleep till morning and risk being possessed again. Not to mention that she needed to tend to Bram’s wound.

  “And how is my wife doing?” Bram propped himself up on his elbows, peering at her from beneath his lashes.

  She flushed, telling herself that it was the fire that made her feel so warm.

  “I had little choice. Even a fool would not believe that we are siblings traveling together, or even that I am your ward.” She attempted to keep her voice brusque, but even she knew how her next words would open a floodgate of provocation. “Come, let’s remove your clothes so that I can check your wound again.”

  Bram’s laugh saturated the room. “Shall we start with yours?”

  Leena stared back, caught half between shock and laughter herself. “You can barely stand on your own two feet. How is it that any chance you get, you are still speaking of my clothes?”

  “They are a constant hindrance to me.” The way Bram looked at her, so different from the way Lord Kilworth had looked at her only that morning, infused Leena with safety, with warmth, with…something more.

  She took off her muddy, wet coat and laid it by the fire. “There—are you happy? Can we now please address your wound?”

  “So eager for the wedding night.” His voice was low. “I shall, most willingly, oblige.”

  Once more, she tried to hide the smile quivering on her lips as she undid his coat, and it was clear that fatigue had overtaken him again. She was worried by how quickly he became tired.

  How quickly he drifted in and out of lucidity also worried Leena. She tried not to think about Mrs. Van’s predictions or how little time they had to administer the cure.

  With effort, Bram jerked up to a sitting position, one hand still grasping his left side.

  Swiftly, Leena helped him shrug out of his wet coat before hanging it over the fire. As she was doing so, she felt the outlines of the red diary inside his coat pocket, and felt a sudden fierce anger at Theo for leading them to this point. For without him, they would never have sought the red diary to begin with.

  Bram’s fingers stumbled over the buttons of his ruined shirt until Leena took over for him. His skin was still burning through the layers of cloth.

  She sucked in a gasp.

  The bandages were soaked through. Somewhere on their journey, part of the wound must’ve reopened.

  A knock sounded on the door. The innkeeper’s wife stood on the threshold with two silver platters of food and a basket filled with the items Leena had requested.