While the soldiers stretched and yawned and gathered their bayonets, Patrick spoke. It was soft. Reluctant.
But he spoke for me, in a quiet aside, as though he couldn’t bear not to say it. “You have something the House needs,” he told me. “It gives you power. You understand?”
I stared at him, nodded. He was looking dead ahead at the forthcoming soldiers. “They can’t take that from you,” he said. “Whatever else they might take, they can’t take who you are.”
I remembered what he’d said to me once, when we were twelve.
You’ve got a mind of your own. Don’t let those fuckers take it.
I shivered.
I meant to say something more to Patrick, or to Theo. I felt suddenly, frighteningly, as though it might be my last opportunity.
But any words, all words, now seemed futile. What could possibly b
