And so she had.
The next morning, Séverin’s letter arrived. Even though Hela might be recovering, Zofia had decided not to stay in Paris. She would return to Poland, to take care of her sister … but she needed more money. Her savings had gone to Hela’s care and her uncle’s charges—compensation he demanded for the time Hela had not been able to instruct his children. Though if she died, of course, he would “generously” forgive the debt.
After all, they were family.
Zofia needed to go back to Paris. She needed to say goodbye. And she needed to sell her laboratory for parts. What money she received would go to Hela’s care.
In L’Eden, Zofia rapped on the door to Séverin’s study. Behind her, she could hear the hurried footsteps of Séverin’s butler. He hissed under his breath, “Mademoiselle Boguska, are you sure this cannot wait? Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie has been very—”
The door swung open, and Séverin stood in the doorway. He glanced wordlessly at his butler, and the man quickly fled down the hall. Distantly, Zofia wondered how Séverin could do such things, command without articulating. She would never have that kind of power. But at least, she thought, holding her resignation letter tightly … at least she might save someone she loved.
“How was your journey?” asked Séverin, stepping aside to admit her.
“Long.”
But not as bad as it might have been. When Séverin sent for her, he had included a first-class train ticket with a compartment to herself so that she need never speak to another person. She liked that the compartment had lamps with many tassels, and a rug that was one color, and she’d spent the whole trip counting things aloud … calming herself for what she had to do.
Zofia thrust the resignation letter to him.
“I have to go back,” she said. “My sister needs me. I’m resigning. I came back to say goodbye to everyone.”
Séverin stared at the paper without taking it.
“My understanding upon your employment was that you were building an income to supplement your sister’s tuition at a medical university. Is that no longer your wish?”
“It … it still is, but—”
“Then why would you need to leave?”
Zofia searched for the right words. When she had reviewed the order of events, she had not anticipated an outcome of him not accepting her resignation on the spot. After all, it was not as though she had any work to do in L’Eden. He had ceased pursuing all acquisitions when the hunt for the Sleeping Palace had failed. Zofia had no work.
“My sister is dying.”
Séverin’s expression did not change.
“And that is the reason you returned to Glowno?”
She nodded.
“Why did you lie to me?”
Zofia hesitated. She thought of Tristan’s last laugh, and Hela’s fevered murmurings of how their family used to spend Chanukah, crowded around the table as their mother ladled out stew and the smell of candle wax burning in the chanukia.
“Because I did not want it to be true.”
There was another reason, though. When Zofia had started writing a letter to Enrique and Laila, Hela had told her to stop: “Oh, don’t make them worry, Zosia. They might start fretting over who would have to take care of you when I’m gone.” What if her sister was right? The shame of not knowing whether she was an imposition or not stayed her hand.
Zofia watched as a small muscle twitched in Séverin’s jaw. Still, he did not take the letter. New words found Zofia, plucked from every time she had watched Séverin turn Tristan’s old penknife over and over in his hands, or stand at the door to his room and never open it, or stare out the window to what had once been the Seven Sins Garden.
“You understand,” she said.
Séverin flinched. He turned sharply from her.
“Your sister will not die,” he said. “And though she might need you, I need you more. There’s work to be done.”
Zofia frowned. One moment she was wondering how Séverin could be so sure about Hela’s recovery, the next moment, the thought of work jolted her with a small rush of joy. Without work, she had felt restless. And she was not cut out to take Hela’s place in their uncle’s home, where all her wages would go toward Hela’s remaining debt.
“I checked your savings this morning. You have no money left, Zofia.”
Zofia opened her mouth. Closed it. Anger warmed her cheeks.
“That … that is not for you to see. That is private.”
“Not to me,” he said. “Stay until this next job is done, and I will double your income. Your sister will not have to work as a governess. You could provide comfortably enough for the two of you for years to come. I will start sending her portions of your income now … but you cannot go back to Poland. And any doubled income will be given to you upon completion of the job.”
“And I … I am to keep none of my earnings in the meantime?” asked Zofia.
She did not like that. Already, she had to rely so much on others.
“I will take care of your living and laboratory expenses.”
“What about Goliath?”
Séverin turned around sharply, his mouth a flat line. “What about him?”
Zofia raised her chin. Ever since Tristan’s death, she had kept his venomous tarantula warm and safe in her lab. The only time she hadn’t watched the animal was during her trip away when she had asked Enrique. At the time, Enrique declared, “I would rather set myself on fire.” This turned out to be an exaggeration for he eventually, despite grudgingly, agreed. She imagined it would have made Tristan happy.
“He needs money for food and bedding.”
Séverin looked away. “I will take care of it. Do you accept the terms?”
Zofia searched his face, looking for the familiar patterns in his expression. She used to be able to decipher him, but perhaps he had only let her. Now, he was a stranger. Zofia wondered if this was the effect of death, but that could not be true. She and Hela had seen their parents’ death. They had watched their home and all of their possessions burn. But they had not become strangers. Zofia closed her eyes. They. They had each other. Séverin—for all that he could command men without words—had no one. Her anger faded.
When she opened her eyes, she thought of Hela’s weak smile. Because of her, her sister would survive. For the first time, Zofia felt a touch of pride. She had always relied on Hela and so many others. This time, she was repaying that debt. Maybe one day, she would not need to rely on anyone.
“Every week, I will personally send for two letters of health written in your sister’s hand,” added Séverin. “At my own expense.”
Zofia remembered her sister’s kiss on her hand. Go, Zosia.
“I accept,” she said.
Séverin nodded, then glanced at the clock. “Then head downstairs. The others will be here any minute now.”
5
SÉVERIN
Séverin knew that to become a god required divorcing oneself from all the elements that made one human. When he looked at Zofia, he extinguished whatever kernel of warmth lay inside him, and he felt a little less human. He could have given her the money to go home, and he hadn’t. He’d thought, briefly, that if she had no sister, then she’d have no reason to return to Poland … but some vestige of himself recoiled. Instead, he’d sent a physician to her uncle’s home. He told himself it was smarter, colder. That it meant nothing. And yet, even as he repeated this to himself he remembered their first meeting.