I dress in one of my most comfortable tunics, a pale green linen shift belted loosely with a gold cord. After snatching a book from my desk, I pad quietly to the staircase, making my way up to the seventh floor.
The hallway is quieter than usual. A few servants shuffle about as they perform their duties, talking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the patrons sleeping behind their thick wooden doors. Likely, most will be nursing a severe headache today.
The door to the library stands open. I slip inside, smiling to myself when I spot a familiar, dark head peeking up at me from the centre of the room.
I slide down onto the pile of cushions Meg has tossed onto the floor. She doesn't appear to have lost much sleep, which doesn't surprise me, as I have never known her to have so much as a hair out of place.
"You look well," I comment, arranging my skirt around my legs and then settling back against the pillows.
"So do you." She tilts her head at me.
I feel my face warm under her gaze and flip open my novel.
"Wait a moment." She scoots closer and playfully pokes my cheek. "What happened to you last night?"
I jerk my head away, feigning indifference and pretending to become engrossed in my book. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, please." She snatches the book from my hand, making a show of holding it just out of my reach. "Do you think I didn't notice how you completely disappeared?"
I make a half-hearted attempt at grabbing my book back. "I didn't disappear."
"You most certainly did." She tosses the book behind her and leans back, her brown eyes scrutinizing me.
I feel myself squirming under her cool gaze and self-consciously touch my lips, cursing myself immediately when her face lights up with understanding.
"There's a boy, isn't there?" she asks, laughing with glee at my cheeks reddening in response. "I knew it. Who is he?"
"No one you know," I say, quickly. "He's an old friend from the Outer City. He turned up at the ball last night—one thing led to another and..." The lie comes quickly and I gain a little more time by trailing off.
Meg tosses a pillow at me and I catch it instinctively. "Miss Fellows, I had no idea. I wish you had introduced me!"
"It happened quickly," I say, shrugging and allowing myself a cheeky grin.
"So, what's he like?" Sitting cross-legged on the cushions, her chin in her hands, Meg seems younger. Her familiar mannerisms and conspiratorial nature are far removed from the cool, stoic princess I met just a few weeks earlier.
"He's kind," I tell her vaguely. "Smart. Really driven."
"Handsome?"
"Yes, handsome." Will's grey eyes and stubbled jaw fill my mind as I relax into the conversation. I find myself smiling at the memory and have to keep from hugging myself.
"You must really like him. Your whole face has lit up!"
I pause, catching myself partway between a lie and a truth. "He's special," I affirm neutrally.
"He sounds wonderful." Meg sighs, her clear face open and truly glad for me.
I feel a stab of guilt for lying to her, but push the ugly feeling deep down inside before I can consider the web of lies I have spun.
I bite my lip as I busy myself rearranging the cushions, buying myself some time and averting my gaze from hers. A surprisingly large part of myself longs to toss all pretenses aside and relax into a genuine friendship. I wish I could flop down next to Meg and relate every detail about Will and our night together, to give in to the fact that my heart is fairly bursting with the joy and confusion of everything.
The other, guilt-ridden part of me struggles with the weight of my dishonesty. Liking and trusting Meg was never a part of the plan, and I can't forget that I still have to sway her toward our cause and convince her to abandon her family so that she can lead the City. How incredibly simple.
With a considerable amount of effort, I manage to shift gears and slide back into my courtly persona.
"And how was the rest of your night?" I ask, lacing my voice with genuine sympathy.
She sighs, her exuberance dimming. "As well as could be expected. I was able to avoid Lynal for the majority of it; he managed to get himself completely inebriated, which worked to my advantage."
I suppress a shudder, remembering Grayson's cold, clammy hands pinning me to the wall.
"I suppose that's positive," I say. "Has your father made any more mention of an engagement?"
She gives me a strange look and shakes her head. "Your mystery man really must have kept your attention. Father made a formal announcement last night."
I stare at her wide-eyed, questioning.
"The whole Court knows we're engaged now." Her earlier girlishness has disappeared and she now appears weary, dejected. "The engagement party is to be held in a few days."
"Oh, Meg. I am so sorry." I scoot closer and let her slump tiredly against me, leaning my head on top of hers.
"It's the story of my life, isn't it?" she says. "I will forever be a pawn in my father's games."
"You're worth so much more than that," I tell her.
She groans and lifts her head from my shoulder. "I've had it, Abby—I really have."
"What do you mean?"
"This 'dutiful princess' business. Being traded away like a sack of flour. Father says that if I don't marry Lynal, he will declare war on the Outer City. If I do marry him, we'll just end up sending more people to die in the Wastelands. How can those be the only options?" Her eyes are dry and her long fingers clench into fists. "Why should he get to make all the decisions?"
I know that this is a key moment, and I speak carefully, treading softly. "You should be ruler, not him." I want to encourage her, not force her or scare her away.
She doesn't say anything for a long moment and I fear that I have pressed too far.
"Do you really think so?" She looks at me earnestly, her bright eyes serious.
"I do," I reply with complete honesty. "I do, Meg. You want to help everyone, not just the courtiers. You could be the queen this city needs." I clutch her hands. "Is that something you want?"
Her cool fingers grasp mine. "Yes. More than anything in the world." Her brow furrows, her dark eyebrows coming together. "But how could that ever be?"
I chew on my bottom lip, studying her. "Your father and his supporters would have to be removed."
"Removed?"
"If they weren't standing in the way, the people would look to a new leader. Someone strong who wants what's best for everyone, not just the rich."
"But why would they think that person is me? What cause does the City have to support me? "
She has a point.
"What you need is an endorsement," I say, thoughtfully. "From someone the commoners trust."
"The Runner."
Her words catch me completely off guard and I nearly topple of my perch on the cushion, only the clutch of her hands keeping me upright.
I peer at her face, expecting an accusing glare, but am instead met with a far-off gaze. "That's who I need," she says.
"You know of the Runner?" I keep my voice low.
"Of course—who doesn't? The long-arm of the Commons." She leans in toward me, conspiratorially. "You know, I'll bet it was her who helped those prisoners escape last night."
I blink, trying to make sense of how to proceed. I wasn't aware that my reputation had stretched all the way to the Palace; I'd imagined I was insignificant enough to stay under their radar. It appears my latest stunt has just made me a subject of the King's interest and the target of his entire royal guard. The ground I am treading just became infinitely more toxic.
"It's just a shame that I have no chance of reaching out to her. No one has a clue who she is." Meg releases my hands, sighing. "I suppose it's just as well. Even if I could talk to her for a few minutes and convince her to favour me, to what end would that be? I couldn't very well ask my father to kindly step down."
I nod, thoughtfully. Of course, Meg doesn't have a violent bone in her body. Even if her father wasn't a cruel dictator, there would be no conceivable way that she would wish him harm.
Unfortunately, the reality of the situation is that the King will relinquish his throne only if it were pried from his cold, dead hands. There is no shortage of people who would relish the opportunity to end his reign in as bloody a manner as possible, and should a rebellion form, few would be satisfied with his merely stepping aside.
"There may be a way," I say, slowly. I look into her honest gaze as the truth threatens to spill forth.
I could do it. I could tell her everything. That I am the Runner, that I was merely pretending to be a lady in order to get close to her, that I believe in her and that together we can bring this city to a place of equality and face down the Wastelanders, united.
A warning hums through me. She would be furious. More than furious—she would be hurt, mortified. This girl was closed off, untrusting, and slowly she opened herself up to me. I prodded details from her of her personal life, encouraged her to tell me the secrets of her family, let her pour her heart out to me and cry on my shoulder. What she thinks is a close friendship is all built on a lie and a plot to destroy her and her family. If I told her who I really was she would never forgive me. At this moment more than ever, on the cusp of rebellion, I need her strong and focused.
"What is it?" she asks.
I place a finger to my lips before rising to my feet and doing a quick survey of the library, checking behind the shelves and around corners. When I'm certain that we're completely alone, I go to the doors and push them closed, wincing at the creak of the hinges echoing down the cavernous hall.
I pad back to Meg and sink onto my knees. She eyes me questioningly but doesn't say anything, waiting patiently.
"I know someone in the Commons," I tell her, in a low voice. "I daren't say who, but it's someone who can get a message to the Runner. I could get word to her, maybe pass her a letter?"
She blinks once, quickly. "Really?"
"If you truly want this, Meg, I can help you make it happen."
"But what about my father?"
I bite my lip at this, unsure of how to respond.
"Perhaps your father can be encouraged to step aside," I say, slowly. "Once he sees how the commoners far outweigh his guards, he may reconsider his position. Together, we could pose enough of a threat that your father may choose not to go up against us." Unlikely, I think to myself. However, the matter of removing the King is Will's domain.
Meg doesn't say anything for a long moment, her eyes searching my face. I don't have to pretend to look as earnest as possible.
"What you do have to consider," I continue gently, "is that if you decide to go through with this, there will be no turning back. You will be declared an enemy of the crown. You won't be under your father's control anymore, but neither his protection."
Meg rises to her feet and paces in front of me. The late afternoon sun filters in through the library windows, illuminating her white dress and lighting her like a beacon. I cannot tear my eyes away from her regal figure as she circles the floor, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"I have to try," she says, eventually. She draws herself up to her full, impressive height and crosses her arms in front of herself, her mouth set in a grim line of determination. "If I don't stand up to my father now, in a few weeks he'll send countless people into the Wastelands to be slaughtered in droves. I cannot in good conscience consider my own safety above thousands of other people."
I feel tears prick my eyelashes and blink to clear them. "Spoken like a true queen."
I stand and join her at the window. From the seventh floor, we are granted an impressive view of the City, the twisting streets stretching from the gates of the Palace all the way down to the stone wall that bars us from the desert Wasteland beyond. I slip my arm around Meg's waist and hug her to my side.
"I'll write a letter," she affirms. "And I'll need you to be the contact between myself and the Runner. Dear friend, I'll be putting you in a dangerous position—are you certain that you want to risk yourself?"
I grin. The risk to myself is already far greater than she could ever know. "Absolutely. You have my complete support. I will do anything you ask of me."
"Thank you, for everything. I mean it." She wraps a slim arm around my shoulder. "You're the only one I trust."
The familiar weight of guilt threatens me and I forcefully push it aside, instead focusing on the ray of hope I feel as we look out over the City together.