The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)

It’s so silent I can hear my bones grinding together as we walk to the edge of the lawn.

There are no crickets or the gentle rustling of tree branches. Not even the cooing of a night bird. There is only my cadenced pulse thudding in my throat.

I keep seeing their faces… The scared, wincing faces.

I stop at the edge of the blackened paved road, running both of my hands through the soft, wholesome curls of my hair. What happened?

“Say something.” His voice is an aggressive winter night. Coarse and impatient.

I avoid his eyes. I can’t think of anything to say. There was blood. It sprayed into the air like pink misting paint. How could I have trusted him this much? I’m now responsible for their deaths. For the grief of their families.

“Did you kill them?”

I blink rapidly. The thought was certainly on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t open my mouth to voice my concern.

Ruth.

I almost forgot she was still with us. I redirect my attention to her, then back up to Dessin, who looks just as taken aback that she addressed him at all.

“No,” he answers. “Skylenna asked me not to.”

Does my word really carry that much weight?

Ruth’s arms are wrapped around her shivering body, rubbing up and down to attempt friction heat. Dessin swiftly removes his black tuxedo coat, swinging it around her shoulders.

He glances at me with a knowing smile. “Aurick won’t miss it, right?”

“What did you do to them?” I wince as I picture them heaving, groaning, and slipping in bodily fluids.

“I gave them the satan root, just as they gave you… Only with a twist.”

Satan root. The poison they slipped in my tea in the dining hall. Ha!

“What was the twist?”

He buttons the coat around Ruth, pats her on the head, then turns to face me.

“Must I share all of my tricks with you?”

I gesture my hands back at the house. “Yes, you must.”

“Red piper dust. Sprinkled in the champagne, but once it hits stomach acid, it produces a vibrant red concoction.”

The blood. It wasn’t blood, after all. He tricked them.

“So, they only think they’re dying…” I say. Wow, he really thought this through.

“For about as long as you thought you were dying,” he adds.

I stare at him, stupidly, happily.

“You—work at Emerald Lake Asylum—too?” Ruth chirps up behind us, most likely sensing the tension dissipating.

Dessin grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suppose you can say that.”

“He’s a patient.” I roll my eyes, correcting her. “He’s in the thirteenth room in the intricate section.”

As expected, her eyes expand, bouncing back and forth between Dessin and me. She’s heard of him, maybe from her parents or maybe from boutique gossip.

“But you can’t talk about what happened tonight,” I warn. Not because I think anyone will believe her. The other conformists won’t even breathe a word of it.

Ruth huffs, tightening the coat around her. “Why did he do all of that?”

“They haven’t exactly made my time at the asylum pleasant. They’ve poisoned me and forced me to endure a treatment locked in a tin coffin. Dessin was only ensuring they left me alone.” I shrug. I hope this doesn’t chase her away.

She’s unmoving, watching the house and the indigo sky clumped with violet clouds in its backdrop. Then, she laughs quietly, as if someone whispered a joke in her ear.

“I think it worked.” She looks back at us with a shy, pink-lipped smile. “He gave a convincing performance. Bravo, sir.”

Dessin bows his head at her. And I want to hug him, tell him thank you, tell him I wouldn’t have lasted another week with how they treated me. But that would be a lie. I would have stayed. Endured. Taken on more poison. I meant what I said to Judas.

I won’t leave him.

“About what Ash said before…” I prompt Dessin with the utmost sense of caution.

“What about it?” He blinks slowly.

“Well, wha—what do you think about what he said?” Err, how do I ask? He nearly lost his temper when Ash said it. He said you were in love with me.

He looks away, as if remembering Ash’s exact words, then those dark eyes slide back to mine. They swallow me whole with a silent message I can’t decipher. But this look is pure heat and untamed hunger. A trill of excitement reverberates down my spine, and my heart pelts a percussion against my ribs.

“I do not wish to go home tonight,” Ruth interrupts, stepping back into our circle. The spell is broken. “I can’t lie to my parents. They’ll know I’m shaken up about something.”

I don’t hesitate. “You’ll come home with me.” I lock my arm to hers and pull her to my side. “It’s the least I can do.”

Dessin walks with us for about twenty minutes, ending the night at my front doorstep by stating that he won’t be returning Aurick’s tuxedo. Adding that his muscles stretched it out, and it would never fit Aurick’s corpse-like body again.

And as he disappears into the midnight horizon, on a lonely walk back to his cage, I want to chase after him. Wrap my arms around his neck and thank him for the bit of life he’s jolted back into my body.

~

I shut the door gently, careful not to wake Aurick if he’s already asleep. We haven’t spoken about the night Masten was here; how he yanked the back of my head and demeaned me like a thief caught with their hands in a safe.

There was a keen look in Aurick’s icicle eyes that night—he observed my fear and only had a subtle wariness in his expression.

I trust a murderous patient more than the man I’m living with.

“This way,” I whisper to Ruth. But she can’t hear me. Not with her mouth hanging open and her eyes like those of a child, spinning in a circle as she marvels at the mansion. The lights are dimmed to the soft flickering of dozens of candles across the glittering chandeliers and fireplace.

I laugh as she pretends to wipe the drool from her chin.

“I can’t believe you live here,” she whispers back.

“You’d never know with how little she’s actually here.”

That voice, annoyed, jerks my muscles into defensive mode. That voice is like ice melting down my spine. He’s awake.

Ruth goes rigid against the front door.

I’d like to follow her lead, but if tonight taught me anything, it’s to never show fear. Otherwise, they will walk over you like a dirty rug under their feet.

“Is it fine with you if my new friend, Ruth, stays the night?” I walk toward him as he sits, slouched, in front of the dim fire with a bottle in one hand and a leather journal in the other. “Or is that against the house rules?” I challenge.

He perks up, but only enough to get a better look at me.

“Where have you been all night?”

I was so hoping you would ask. “There was a dinner at a conformist’s house. I believe you know Meridei, right?”

And as predicted, he straightens up completely, wide eyed, like he was the one caught with his hands in the safe. Her name, sparking sober recognition in his eyes, confirming everything she said. He was with her before me.

“We’ll be starting our lady-doll regimen now. Please don’t disturb us.”

I snag Ruth’s moist hand and race up the stairs as if he were going to chase us. But he stays put, possibly considering a way to explain his activities with the woman who torments me.

We enter my bedroom, and I close the door behind us. Ruth wastes no time enjoying the amenities of this room. She skips twice, then launches herself in the air, absorbing into the soft fluff of the massive bed. She rolls over onto her back, smiling with her eyes closed.

“Wow,” she says slowly, with dragged-out admiration. “This is lovely.”

I nod. It is. I never needed all of it, though. I’m happiest under the trees when the wind picks up and the leaves create their own symphony.

I walk into the washroom, suddenly grateful for having two copper bathtubs. I light three vanilla-sugar scented candles and arrange everything we’ll need in the jars spread across the golden countertop. I reach into the cold chest under the counter and retrieve two pitchers of milk. Then, I carefully arrange four teaspoons of honey, two small vials of lavender oil, two bowls of freshly plucked rose petals, and Epsom salts. For hair care and skin lathering, I organize butters and oils to the far right of the counter, whipped and blended in glass bowls.

“I peeked into your wardrobe and watched my soul exit my body. It will reside with your beautiful, expensive dresses if you should ever need it.” Ruth sighs heavily as she sits on the edge of the copper tub.

I nod, smiling. “You’re welcome to borrow them whenever you’d like. I’m in my Emerald Lake uniform, mostly.”

“I beg your pardon, but if I lived here, I’d wear a new gown every hour.” She runs her hand through the hot running water absently, imagining the luxurious life I must live.

“Ruth…” I step in front of her tub, pouring the milk into the water, mesmerized by the way it dissipates, turning into rolling white clouds. “I want to give you my sincerest apology for what you saw at Meridei’s dining party. I should have stopped—”

“In my interview, they made me watch Meridei attempt to drown someone. They laughed about the way the woman’s body seized up, about the way her lips turned blue. And when I went home, I cried to my father. I begged him to not make me go back. But they didn’t believe me—or did not want to believe me.” She uses her hand to mix the teaspoons of honey I let melt off the spoon into the bathwater. “When I arrived at the dinner, I thought I was going to be alone. That I would face their cruelty and have to force a smile. But—you fought back.”

As she smiles, her cheeks turn a soft shade like that of a rose petal, and the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks draw closer together.

“I’m quite proud to say you’re the only friend I’ll have there,” she says.

You sent her, didn’t you, Scarlett? My skin warms from the heat of the stream and the triumph of making my first real girl friend.

“You’ll be my only friend there too.” I blow out a sigh of relief. At least, my only friend that isn’t a patient.

Ruth helps me dump the rest of the petals and oils and salts into our baths. We turn around as the other undresses, slipping out of our evening attire and into the hot, floral-scented water.

We talk about everything as we soak and lather our hair in butters and creams. I tell her about Chekiss and Niles—explaining their hardships and what makes them special to me. I share the horrors I’ve seen and the treatments that left me breathless. And for the first time, I let myself fall into a conversation about Scarlett and how she wanted to change everything at the asylum, about how I promised her I would do everything I could. But my first lie to Ruth is when she asks me how Scarlett died, and I tell her plainly that it was an accident, and there was a fire, and I could not save her.

Oh, how that lie cracked my bones and left me writhing.

It was not an accident.

I killed my sister.

But Ruth is kind and safe and sweet. How could I tell her that I am worse than any patient she will see? I have a secret that will rot me from the inside out.

But then she wants to talk about Dessin, which lights me up like a torch at midnight. “There’s something interesting about him. He reminded me of those knights from the fairy tales my mother would read to me at bedtime.”

“He’s a genius. I suppose that will never not be interesting to me. But yes—he looks like a prince and a warrior merged into one body.” I shrug, sinking deeper into the warm tub.

Ruth giggles, swishing around in the water. “Yes! I had trouble forming words when he looked me in the eyes.”

Just wait until that stare makes you stumble, stutter, and trip. His eyes are a universal blessing to this world. They’re my favorite.

“But he’s dangerous. And manipulative. I can’t tell if he’s truly my friend or if he’s using me for a grander plan.” That thought still bothers me. It makes me paranoid and insecure. What if this is all a mass manipulation? I’m his pawn that he’ll use to take out a queen.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Not with the way he looked at you. Didn’t you see the sun rising in his eyes? A man cannot fake that.”

This notion gives me electric vibrations that whirl through my veins. What way does he look at me? His stares are intense, yes, but anytime he looks at anyone, it’s always intense. Why would he look at me with the sun rising in his eyes?

Ruth dunks her head underwater to wash out the layers upon layers of soft hair masks. I do the same, running my fingers across my scalp, feeling the thick cream dissolve around my naked body.

We take a breath in at the same time, our heads breaking the surface of the creamy water, wiping the residue from our eyes.

“I’m hungry,” she whispers as if it’s a crime to want to eat.

I look over at her, my stomach clenching as it grumbles to confirm her statement.

“Me too. Want to sneak food up to our room and stay up all night eating?”

Her face beams, and we rush out of our tubs to dry and lather and dry some more.

It’s a mission to sneak to the first floor, gathering a bag of cookies, iced custard from the ice chest, bread, pastries, and wine—the sweet, pink kind that Aurick would never let me have due to the extra sugar.

We slip along the walls, careful not to disturb the creaking floors.

Our entire night is spent on my floor beside my bed, with the window open in front of my fireplace. We stuff our mouths with sugary treats and savory slabs of meat, laughing at the stories she tells me from her childhood sneaking around behind her parents’ backs. She tells me all about the boys she’s kissed and how they’re all the same—lanky, pale white, and lacking a sense of humor.

And on this night, we bond, the way raindrops merge into the soil. Ruth becomes my friend, and I become hers, introducing our newest term of endearment.

Soul sister.