Page 66 of The Beautiful Ones

He extended the paper.

Every mark I had scratched into the garret wall rose before me. One hundred and three weeks of labor. One hundred and three Sundays spent counting the distance between Virginia and home.

“There is a coach at the crossroad,” Adrian said, and his Swedish carried the old music of Västmanland. “It will take you to Norfolk. A ship leaves for Göteborg before the week is out.”

Home entered me with such force that my knees weakened.

Lake Mälaren beneath a gray sky. Pine smoke caught in wool. My mother’s hands red from winter washing. My father dividing a heel of bread into portions too small to satisfy anyone. I had cursed them for selling my service and forgiven them because I remembered the hunger that sat at our table like another child.

I reached for the contract.

My fingers stopped an inch from the ribbon.

“What happens to Cécile?”

“She remains.”

“To pay for her father?”

“Her blood is not required for his debt.” Adrian tilted his head. “But she has asked all her life to be heard. I intend to learn what she chooses when no one is left to tell her what to say.”

“She is frightened of you.”

“She is frightened of wanting what I offer.”

The frost thickened beneath his boots.

“Take your freedom, Elin.”

I thought of Cécile asleep with tear tracks drying on her face. I thought of her slate: YOU MUST TAKE IT AWAY. Perhaps leaving was the wisest thing I could do. Vale’s letter might reach a magistrate. The names Dewey and George might yet be made to answer in a human court.

But wisdom and love have never been dependable companions.

I lowered my hand.

“I will not leave her alone in this house.”

“You would surrender Sweden for a Lebon?”

“For Cécile.”

For a long moment he studied me. His face held neither anger nor disappointment. If anything, he looked curious—as though I had completed an experiment by producing the one result he had not expected.

He folded the contract once more.

“You are a fool, Elin Andersdotter.”

“I have been called worse by better men.”

A smile touched his mouth.

Then Adrian bowed.

He withdrew into the darkness, taking the pale light with him. Heat returned to the corridor in a suffocating rush. Somewhere below, Le Champ des Fleurs gave a long wooden groan.

The Deweys and Georges would reach the road before sunrise.

The Lebons would remain exactly where they had chosen to stand.