Paul rubs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw thoughtfully; it’s a habit left over from the beard that’s no longer there. “What are you doing here, Cate? In New London, I mean? You hated the thought of living in the city when I proposed it, and you’ve never been the religious sort.”

“I felt a calling?” It comes out a question, rather than a deep conviction.

“To the Lord?” Paul raises his eyebrows. “I understand that your sisters want to continue their education, and given the new measure, this is the only way. But you’ve never been the scholarly sort.”

Paul has always known how to read me; it makes it difficult to lie to him. What will have the ring of truth to it, but not involve the prophecy or my duty to the Sisterhood? I should have thought this part through more. Of course he wants explanations, just as Finn did. The difference is that Finn knows I’m a witch, and Paul does not.

“I want to be a nurse,” I explain, twisting, pointing at the diagram on the wall. “I’ve been going to Harwood, you know, with Sister Sophia. We tend to the patients and provide spiritual guidance.”

“You, a nurse?” Paul chokes with laughter. “You’d tell a man with a broken leg to stop his whining and walk it off. You hate the sickroom.”

“I hated my mother’s sickroom,” I correct him, bristling and trying not to. He can’t be expected to know what an exceptionally good nurse I am, thanks to my gift for healing. “I spent a great deal of time there, though. I can do some good this way.”

Paul leans forward, planting his elbows on the desk, crumpling some of the drawings. “Look, is this about Belastra? Because he joined the Brotherhood? It can’t be coincidence that you announced your intention the next day. I know you had feelings for him, but you can’t—”

“He had nothing to do with it,” I lie. My eyes dart to the tilted wooden drawing table by the window and the high stool before it.

“You had other choices,” Paul insists.

“No.” I know him well enough to know where this argument is headed. I need to forestall it, before he embarrasses us both and makes me say things that will only hurt him. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” He clenches his jaw and straightens the wrinkled drawings. “When you got up on that dais, I expected you to announce your betrothal to him. I prepared myself for it. I never imagined this. You could have had the grace to tell me I wasn’t even an option.”

I deserve that.

I bow my head, eyes on the rich red carpet instead of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t tell anyone about my decision—not even Maura and Tess.”

“Maura was devastated.” He levels me with a disapproving look. “When she didn’t show up at church the next week, I called on them. Tess said the only thing ill about her was her temper. But I daresay I know how she felt, being left behind.”

And she made the most of that, didn’t she?

Lord, I’m a hypocrite. How can I judge her with one breath and manipulate him with the next?

“Could I—?” I clear my throat, giving a little shiver for good effect. “Could I possibly have a cup of tea? It’s freezing out there.”

“Of course.” Paul forces a smile, unfolding his long legs from beneath the desk. “Where are my manners? Excuse me.”

He’s hardly gone before I leap out of the chair to examine the diagrams hanging on the wall. It is Harwood; the exterior is recognizable even from the side, with covered walkways connecting the new wing to the old on the first and second floors. Moving over to the interior sketches, I trace the doorways with my fingertips, wondering whether these could provide exits unsecured by guards. If it’s only a matter of breaking locks, that should be simple enough; I’m counting on magic, not keys, to help us there.

“Cate?” I jump at the sound of my name. I was so entranced by the floor plans that I didn’t even hear Paul come back in. “I asked our clerk to put the kettle on. I see you’ve found the Harwood plans. Impressive, aren’t they?” He grins.

“Very.” I tap the infirmary with my forefinger. “I’ve been to this ward, on nursing missions. I’ve seen the conditions. They’re horrible. Everything’s so cramped and dirty. The whole place looks as though it could crumble around their ears at any moment.”

“Well, the existing structure was built shortly after the Brothers took power. The addition will be much more modern and comfortable. There will be security features, of course—bars on all the windows, doors that lock from the outside, that sort of thing. But there will be plenty of windows, and a nice courtyard for the patients to take constitutionals. See?” He points at the space between the old and new buildings. “And there will be a sitting room on each floor where the women can gather to play chess or knit in the evenings.”

As if they would ever be trusted with knitting needles! As though the girls aren’t too drugged to manage a game of chess! I gawk at him, surprised by his willful naïveté. He must know the truth of how it is, and to ignore it—well, I thought better of him.

I ought to flatter him. Ask questions. Try to gather as much information as I can, because who knows what may help us? But even as my eyes rove over rooms marked matron’s office (on the bottom floor, in the wing opposite the infirmary) and isolation—maximum security (on the top floor, in the wing opposite the uncooperatives), I find myself glowering.

“I think it’s wrong, the way they’re treated,” I blurt out.

Paul squints at me with a quizzical expression. “They’re witches, Cate. It could be worse.”

Oh. For all his mother’s piety, Paul never spoke of joining the Brotherhood. He never minded the dozens of small ways I disobeyed them, and I suppose he never knew about the big ways. Still, I hoped if he ever discovered the truth, he would accept me for what I am.

Now, his obliviousness makes me wonder. For the first time, despite all the lovely memories between us, I don’t feel entirely safe with him.

“It’s Jones’s first big contract. How would I look if I refused to work on a project for the Brothers? And frankly, I wouldn’t refuse. This is good for business, and if I intend to make partner someday—Jones hasn’t any sons of his own to continue the firm, only a nephew he isn’t fond of, you know . . .”

This isn’t the same boy I played tag in the blueberry fields and pirates in the pond with. But perhaps I’m not the Cate he remembers, either.

I smile at him, trying to remember the coy way Maura looked up beneath her thick eyelashes. But my own lashes are spindly and blond, and I feel stupid. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. I suppose working with the girls in the infirmary makes me feel a little sorry for them.”

“You should be more careful what you say. If it were anyone other than me, that kind of talk could get you in trouble.” Paul puts his hand on my shoulder. He smells of pencil shavings and slate. “What would the Sisters think?”

“They preach compassion for the less fortunate. But you’re right, we mustn’t lose perspective on why those girls are there.” Because the Brothers are merciless. I turn back to the floor plans. “Will the infirmary be moved into the new building?”