“She should know them already. I’ve spent enough time teaching her. For any daughter of our house, that ought to be enough.” Her voice drops to a grumble. “For the honor of our house.”
“I’ll go fetch her,” I say quickly, sliding the final pin into Thea’s hair. If Stepmother’s talking about the honor of our house, it’s bad. “Just a moment, my lady.” I bob a curtsy and flee.
I have to knock three times before Koré answers. She must have been napping: she’s fully dressed, but her hair is a mess and there’s a pillow crease on her cheek.
“Yes, what is it?” she asks.
“Your mother wants you,” I say. “It’s time to dress for the ball.”
“Of course.” Koré’s lips tighten—they are colorless, though her cheeks are flushed—then she pushes past me, coughing.
When we get back to Thea’s room, Stepmother is pacing back and forth. She lets out a bitter laugh when she sees us.
“At last you deign to grace us with your presence.” Her voice is sugar and acid.
“I was . . .” says Koré, her face gone ghastly pale. She blinks rapidly. “I was only . . .”
Then she collapses, eyes rolling up. Thea and I are on her instantly. We drag her to the bed and loosen her corset. In only a few moments, she rouses.
“Mother?” she says faintly.
Stepmother stands a step away, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and twisting and closing, as if a hundred speeches are fighting each other to get out. She looks as mad as my nurse.
Koré sits up, pushing Thea back. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she says, her voice low and, despite everything, still elegant. “I’m not feeling quite well . . . but I can still dance—” Then she breaks into a coughing fit.
Stepmother’s face snaps into a hard, flat-mouthed mask. She crosses the room to us. “You stupid girl. What did you do? You know how easily you take ill.”
“I’m sorry,” Koré gasps between coughs.
There’s a crack as Stepmother’s hand slaps her face. Thea yelps and I drag her away.
“You stupid little bitch,” says Stepmother. “You’ve wrecked all our chances. Do we mean nothing to you? Does your family mean nothing to you?”
Koré shrinks back. For the first time I can remember, she looks terrified.
Stepmother seizes a handful of her hair. “Look at me, girl. Why did you do it? Why did you do it?”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean—”
Stepmother shakes her like a rag doll. “No daughter of mine would be so selfish. No daughter of mine. None.” Her mouth spasms, and then she shoves Koré against the wall. “Go to your room. Stay there till you rot.”
Thea whimpers, but I have my hand pressed over her mouth. There’s nothing we can do for Koré. There’s never anything we can do.
Koré wavers to her feet. Her eyes meet mine, and she nods fractionally: she understands. Then, head bowed, she stumbles out of the room.
Thea nearly breaks free of my grip, but I whisper in her ear, “The only way to help her is to make Stepmother happy.” And she goes limp. She’s stupid, but not stupid enough to think she can fight, and so I release her.
Stepmother opens the box of masks, pulls out Koré’s, and throws it into the fire. She watches the edges begin to blacken and curl; then she turns back to us.
“Come, Thea,” she says. “We’ll go to the ball together, and you’ll prove you are my true daughter when Lord Anax falls in love with you.”
Thea glances at me. Her eyes are wide and leaking tears. But she pulls herself up straight and bends her mouth into a smile.
“Of course, Mother,” she says. “I—I can’t wait.”
When I bring Koré a bowl of broth for supper, she’s wavering on her feet as she tries to put on her dress.
“Sit down,” I tell her.
“No,” she says, struggling with the buttons. “I must—Lord Anax—” She coughs again.
“He won’t be charmed by a girl who coughs in his face,” I say, grabbing her shoulders, and push her down to sit on the bed.
Koré glares up at me. “You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t.” My chest feels full of ice and gravel. “You’ve driven yourself sick to win him, but even if he did marry you, do you think it would make Stepmother love you? Do you think she ever has?”
“No,” says Koré.
The low, flat syllable slices through my rage and leaves me staring at her like a gutted fish.
“But,” I say, and can find no more words.
“Mother can’t love me or Thea ever again,” says Koré. “I know that. I’ve always known.”
“Then why,” I ask slowly, “are you still trying to please her?”
“Because she got that way for my sake.”
“She stopped loving you because she loved you?”
Koré’s mouth twists into something like a smile. “No. She married your father because she loved us and it was the only way to keep us fed. She stopped loving us because she made a bargain with the Gentle Lord.”
Our eyes meet. I should feel dread or sadness to learn that someone else in the household has made the same ruinous, wicked bargain with the prince of demons and ruler of our world. But all I feel is a bright, desperate exultation: She knows what it’s like. She knows what it’s like. She knows.