Page 67 of The Bargain

“I know you need this,” I answer, refusing to let my smile falter. “Yes.”

“No. We need this, Elias. You are part of our family, and that makes this event—this year—just as important to you as it is to the rest of us. Or have you forgotten that?”

“I haven’t forgotten who pays for my school tuition,” I answer evenly. “I’m very grateful, Mrs P. You know I am.”

“No.”

Now, her voice sharpens: two edges of glass grinding against each other, each one daring the other to shatter.

“You’re a very intelligent young man, Elias. But you’re proud, arrogant, and short-sighted.”

Her words take me by surprise—not because they’re untrue, but because it’s the first time she’s stripped off her disguise and spoken to me without pretence.

“You watch the game and you can see the players; you flatter yourself into thinking that this knowledge gives you some secret advantage. But you’re not above the table. You’re not even at it. You’re a pawn—a token.”

She smiles—the first genuine smile I’ve ever seen on her face. Cold enough to blister, so cold it almost shocks me. Frostbite cold, necrosis cold.

“You’re eighteen years old. You’re at the very start of your life, and in a lucky position, though you don’t see it yet. You think you’re too good to be used as a token, too proud to be a symbol. That’s because you come from the world of the passive, the impoverished, and the powerless—those who do not, cannot and never will act. You do not realise that it is people like us—like myself, like my husband, like all those people who’ll be hearing you speak tonight—that shape the world you live in. Those of us who can and will because we must.”

Every organ in my body has gone cold. I watch her, frozen, unable to force out a single word.

“Tonight isn’t about you, Elias. It’s only your own arrogance and pride that make you think it ever could be. Tonight is about our country and its future. Countless people have worked tirelessly for this—my husband without rest, myself without food for days—all in the service of making this night perfect. Because that’s what it takes, to actually make things happen, to enact real change. And the Sutton-Knight girl must be there—not because she’s deigned to choose you, but because she, like you, like me, has a part to play. A part she will accept with far more grace than you ever will.”

She steps back from me, looks me up and down.

“I saw potential in you, Elias—that’s why you were chosen. We had many options to choose from—we were even offered a terminal case with a visible disability. But there was something about you that stood out to me. An intelligence not normally found in your kind.”

She smiles, almost warmly now, like she’s just graced me with the greatest of compliments.

“I hoped this intelligence would make you more useful, but since you’re being purposely obtuse, I shall clarify things for you comprehensively.”

Her eyes dig into mine, shards of ice plunging deep inside my mind.

“Do what you are told. Fulfil your purpose. You cannot comprehend how fast and far you have to fall—but I do. You have no idea of the things I’m capable of, so let me enlighten you. Your little Harvard scholarship Spearcrest is so excited about? One word from me and it will vanish from your horizon. And that’s nothing compared to what I could do to your life, the entirety of it.”

She gives the smallest smile.

“Trust me when I say this: you have everything to gain from my husband’s success, and everything to lose should you for even one moment jeopardise it.”

She smooths her skirt and tilts an eyebrow. “Do you understand?”

And because she’s right—because I was chosen for my intelligence, because I know exactly what she means and how steep the fall will be—I can do nothing but nod.

She blinks slowly, with the satisfaction of a tyrannical feline having swallowed the hollow bones of a bird without choking on them.

“Excellent. Excellent. Now—one last time.”

She tilts her head.

“Is Desdemona on her way to accompany you as your date to the gala?”

My entire stomach curls like a building wave, collapses in on itself, sending eddies of nausea and bile bubbling through me. My skin feels alive with white-hot pinpricks, sheer disgust and visceral hatred. I drop my answer from my mouth like a poisonous stone lodged in my throat.

“Yes.”

She needn’t have bothered with those threats, really. I was always going to fulfil my purpose. Maybe Mrs Pearson was right about my arrogance, but she was also right about my intelligence. And I do know how far I have to fall—I always have. I knew I’d have no choice but to ask Desdemona.

After that realisation, forcing myself to do what had to be done wasn’t anywhere near as hard as I expected.