Something everyone who served under him, herself included, had always thought impossible. People may be more intelligent, like the enigmatic Margot De Wilde, for instance. But no one was more clever.
He shook his head. “There is still much about him I don’t know. And you’re aware of how I feel about unknowns.”
She did. She spent hours upon hours each week trying to fill in the blanks for him, using the images sent from agents all over the world to do so. Her throat dry, she could only nod.
He said no more either, clicking the door shut behind him.
Leaving her with questions she didn’t know how to answer. Feelings she didn’t know how to sort. If Zivon wasn’t a true ally, then she’d be a fool to like him.
But she did. And if he were all he promised, then she’d be a fool not to try to win a place by his side.
Assuming he even wanted her there.
Letting out a sigh of disgust with herself, she spun back to her desk and picked up her scalpel. Best to focus on what she knew.
The humming drew her up the stairs like a siren song. Lily’s exhaustion slipped off her shoulders as she reached the landing and turned down the corridor, toward where her and Ivy’s doors stood nestled together in the corner of the house. She could knock on her sister’s door. Go in and sprawl under the canopy on her bed to exchange the news about their days.
Instead, she went to her own room, tossing her bag aside and turning on the lights after checking to make sure the blackout curtains were in place. Then she settled in the corner, onto the pillows she kept here just for this purpose. After getting comfortable and pulling a blanket over her legs, she tapped on the wall. Tap, tap-a-tap.
From the other side came a scurry. A laugh. And the distinct sound of an enthusiastic someone throwing herself to the floor in the next room. An answering knock. Tap-a-tap, tap. And a muted “You’re home late! Did you just get in?”
Lily let her eyes drift closed as she rested her forehead against the wall. She’d worn a shiny spot in the paper just there—and Ivy had a matching one on her side. “I did. Daddy and I had dinner together.”
“So said the note he sent home. Mama and I seized the excuse to go out too. We haven’t had much time together, just the two of us, since the school term began.”
“A good evening, then?” Without looking, Lily visualized the pattern of her wallpaper. Where the stripes should be, where the flowers. Lifted a finger and traced her imagined line. A peek to check her accuracy brought a smile. “Did a certain someone find you today?”
“A certain someone may have walked me home from school.” The wall between them didn’t stand a chance of dampening the grin in Ivy’s tone. “We couldn’t linger. He was only out running an errand and had to report back to the office yet. But I think Daddy gave him the errand to run just then because he knew it was when I’d be walking home.”
And he’d known too that Lily hadn’t been anywhere near finished enough to meet her sister herself. “That sounds like Daddy. And like your Clarke, to take the opportunity.”
“Well, that’s going to have to change.”
Lily’s eyes flew open. “What?”
“Oh!” Ivy laughed. “Sorry. I moved my dressing table today, and I just looked up and realized I can see myself in the mirror from here. That won’t do at all. Just a second, let me tilt it up. I can’t stand looking at myself when I’m trying to talk.”
Lily chuckled and said loudly enough to still be heard as Ivy moved, “I don’t know why. Your Clarke seems to quite enjoy staring at you while you talk.”
“Oh, stop.” Ivy’s voice was more distant. But then footsteps, and the sound came of her settling in again. “And also, don’t. I love how you call him that—my Clarke.”
Lily pressed her hand to the wall where she imagined her sister to be. “He is your Clarke. I think he was the moment he set eyes on you. Has he proposed yet?”
She asked it solely because she knew it would send her sister into peals of laughter. The sound of it filled both their rooms and probably stretched out its fingers to find their parents too. “Silly Lily.” Even the words were a chuckle. “A bit too soon for that, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It wasn’t too much longer than this that Ara and her Camden knew each other before he proposed. Sometimes you know.”
Emphasis on the you. Lily’s breath hitched, and she prayed Ivy wouldn’t hear it. She couldn’t even be certain that the Zivon she thought she was getting to know was the real Zivon. Every time she turned around, she saw a new layer under the previous one. The man of faith. The man of intelligence. The man of devotion. The man afraid to trust.
Were any of those men one she should hope to make a future with?
Ivy hummed out an agreement that sounded dreamy where Lily’s would have sounded tormented. “Yes. Sometimes you do. Even so—this part is so delicious. Why would I want to rush it? Every moment I’m wondering if he’s going to find a way to kiss me. And to be quite honest, I wonder if the anticipation is even better than a kiss could possibly be.”
Sweet Ivy. Lily leaned back against the other wall in her corner. “I certainly hope not. If you marry, you’ll not have to wonder anymore if he’s going to kiss you, but I should hope you’ll enjoy it when he does.”
Another laugh. Then the sound of a finger tapping on the wall. Saying, as she’d said so many times in just that way, What about you? “Do you think about it? With your Russian?” Walls did nothing to filter the teasing out of her sister’s voice either.
Lily pursed her lips. “Maybe.” She drew the word out into three syllables. She’d tried to imagine what it would be like. How she would feel. And yes, whether she could imagine looking into his chocolate-drop eyes every day, forever.
But somehow . . . somehow her every imagining always stopped with him a foot away. That was where it always seemed he was. Not physically, but in a way even more real. Whatever secrets he held tight, they kept him distant.
No. Not just his. If he stayed always a foot away, only six inches of it were his fault. The other six were her secrets.
“Lil?”
“Hmm?” She stirred, wondering what teasing or question she had missed.
Enough, apparently, to signal to her sister that the wall must go. A moment later her door creaked open and Ivy slipped inside. They had no reason to sneak about these days, but she still closed the door with nary a sound and padded over to her as if they were breaking curfew by talking when they ought to be in bed—a nightly occurrence ten years ago.
Lily held up the blanket so that Ivy could snuggle into the spot beside her.
“So.” A word she drew out even more than Lily had her maybe. “What is it? With your Russian?”
Lily sighed. “It’s that, I suppose. He doesn’t feel like my anything.” When she saw the lift of her sister’s brow, she added, “All right, that’s not true. He’s my friend. But that doesn’t make him mine. Not in the way that Clarke is—and clearly wants to be—yours.”
Ivy’s head came to rest against Lily’s shoulder. “Do you want him to be?”
In lieu of a shrug, Lily rested her head against Ivy’s. “I don’t know. Maybe.” If she could be sure wanting it was wise. She poked her sister in the side. “But you do.”