EMBER’S POV
“—all I’m saying,” Hale is murmuring, in that soft syrupy voice that crawls up the back of my neck, “is that the poor thing’s been thrown headfirst into a world she wasn’t raised for, with no preparation at all. It can’t be easy. A little help never hurt anyone.” She turns as I come up, and her face blooms with that bright birdlike warmth that dies somewhere south of her eyes. “Ember! Speak of the darling. We were just talking about you.”
“Were you,” I say, stopping a careful arm’s length back. “That’s never good.”
“Don’t be like that.” She presses a hand to her chest, wounded. “I was singing your praises. Wasn’t I singing her praises, Knox?”
“She was,” Knox says, dryly.
“I was watching your lesson this morning,” Hale goes on, undeterred, warm as fresh bread. “From the gal
