Chapter 67

“I’m the youngest,” Rosalie said. “Charlotte is two years older, and Elodie, four.”

They had made their way from the guild and were well on their way toward Zoey’s chosen park. It was a beautiful day out; Zoey couldn’t have asked for better. She and Rosalie were crossing one of the many stretching bridges that connected the gargantuan trees that acted as structural supports for the city. Each enormous trunk had rings of scaffolding encircling it, where denizens took up residence or operated businesses.

Zoey had memorized the way. It would be four bridges before they arrived to the park, one of the few structures built on a tree without a canopy: where the sun would shine down without being blocked by a mountain of branches and leaves. The shade was nice in normal circumstances, but it would obviously kill the vibe of a park. How one of the titanic trees had been stripped of its leaves, Zoey had no idea. Probably, it’d died some years ago—centuries—and simply remained standing. How could a tree of that size collapse?

“You know,” Zoey said. “You did strike me as a youngest child.”

“I did?”

“It’s your blushing innocence, I think.”

“Blushing innocence?”

“Though, you’ve started to change my mind on that front. With how often you’re trying to seduce me, and everything.”

“I’m the one seducing you?” Rosalie shook her head, exasperated, realizing she was being teased. “Stop goading me. As I was saying, Elodie is the oldest.” Rosalie considered her next words. “She’s always been ... adventurous, and determined, but not in a good way. She’s unreliable. She seeks thrill for the fun of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t in Mantle when we arrive, even. You might not get an opportunity to meet her. She might be out hunting.”

“Unreliable?” Zoey asked. It was an unexpected description for someone of Rosalie’s family. “You know, I kind of figured your sisters would be ... older clones of you, I guess.”

Rosalie raised her eyebrows at Zoey, and Zoey laughed.

And also, Rosalie having turned toward her, Zoey was struck for the tenth or twentieth time in as many minutes by her appearance: her platinum blonde hair done up in a pony tail and her bright red lipstick. Rosalie was gorgeous when sweaty and covered in grime, having hacked her way through droves of monsters. When she tried to be pretty? She could stop Zoey’s heart just by looking her way.

“Well,” Rosalie said, looking back forward, not noticing Zoey’s brief crisis. “It’s a half correct assumption, I suppose, but not in the way you mean. The three of us look shockingly similar.”

“You do?”

“And you better not be thinking what I think you are, about that.”

“Just that your mom must have strong genes,” Zoey replied. But two Rosalie look-alikes ... she wondered how similar. That would be, uh, quite the sight.

Rosalie side-eyed Zoey. Zoey paused, knowing by Rosalie’s expression that she’d said something odd. But what? A second later, Zoey realized. Or, had a guess. ‘Genes’. That wasn’t a word regular folk knew, was it?

Earlier today, Maddy had asked Zoey if she had a scholarly background for using the word ‘exponential’. Zoey was too free with how she spoke, wasn’t she? Though, with Rosalie, Zoey didn’t care if she slipped up. She hadn’t decided if she was going to tell her the full truth of her circumstances, but if she did, then slip-ups like these would make the eventual explanation more reasonable.

“I suppose she must have,” Rosalie agreed, brushing past it. The reaction confirmed in Zoey’s head that this hadn’t been the first time Rosalie had gleaned something from the way Zoey spoke. “Anyway, Elodie is tallest by a full hand, and Charlotte keeps her hair short, these days. I doubt you’ll be mistaking us.” She eyed Zoey again, emphasizing, you better not, at least.

And yeah, Zoey would obviously be playing that whole situation very, very carefully. “Elodie’s adventurous, you said?”

“It’s the reason she isn’t the family heiress. She’s outstandingly competent, but distractible and prone to ... unproductive pursuits.”

“Like what?”

“The arts. Adventure, for adventure’s sake rather than advancement.” Rosalie’s nose wrinkled. “Men.”

So, normal things for a young woman to be interested in. Hobbies and romance. Four years older than Rosalie, Elodie would be twenty-two. “Sounds like she’s just living life. That’s so bad?”

It seemed Zoey had stepped in it, because Rosalie frowned at her, then went quiet. Zoey itched to smooth the question over, but it was, ultimately, a goal of Zoey’s: she didn’t want to change Rosalie, but she did want to confront her in some small way ... to make sure she was happy with the breakneck pace she set for herself, and the mountains of responsibility apparently loaded onto her shoulders.

“It’s not bad,” Rosalie finally said. “Perhaps Elodie ... and I, for that matter,” she emphasized, “can take time off for less practical interests, but ultimately, we have responsibilities. Elodie takes it to excess.”

Rosalie had, of course, seen through Zoey’s question, had seen the real intent behind it. She reminded herself that Rosalie was a politician, or had, at a minimum, grown among them. She had called the place she’d been raised in the ‘Highreach Court’. Zoey’s clumsy nudging would be seen through every time. Or, maybe not every time—Rosalie did seem to have blind spots—but this occasion, at least, she had.