The doorbell rings. I flinch.

Stepmother presses a hand to her forehead. “Maia, I don’t know why you aren’t answering it—this is a noble household, not a stable—”

I walk to the door. My stomach is knotted, my skin is shivering. I think, I am saving him, but it’s no comfort at all when I pull the door open and he grins.

“I’m looking for the daughter of this house,” he says, like all the world is an innocent joke, “who danced with me last night in a golden mask.”

“Right this way, my lord,” I say, stepping back.

“Maia?” His forehead creases, and a shudder runs through me: he can tell something is wrong.

I hold a finger to my lips, meeting his eyes. Then I say, “The family will see you in the parlor, my lord. Tell them . . . exactly what you just said.”

The worry doesn’t go from his face. But after a moment, he nods and silently follows me into the house. Because he trusts me.

I leave him in the parlor. I don’t know how I get back to the breakfast room. As soon as I step inside, Koré goes taut.

“Lord Anax is here, my lady,” I tell Stepmother. “He wants to see you and Miss Koré.”

Chairs squeak and clatter as they’re all on their feet in an instant.

“Koré, darling, you mustn’t cough at him or I’ll have you whipped,” Stepmother says rapidly. “I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself. Thea, go to your room.” Then she’s gone.

Thea looks from me to Koré. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Everything. Go to your room,” says Koré breathlessly, and bolts upstairs herself. Thea trails after. A few moments later, Koré clatters down again; she has to stop at the bottom of the stairs for a fit of coughing, but when she lowers the handkerchief, her face is the flawless marble statue again.

“Thank you,” she whispers. The golden mask is clutched in her hand.

I say nothing. When she leaves, I can’t help myself; I tiptoe after and slip close to the half-open door.

“Yes,” I hear Anax say, his voice polished and bored, “she’s lovely as the rosy-fingered dawn and I’m sure she plays and sings as well. But I’m here for your other daughter.”

“You mean—my little Thea?” Stepmother’s voice is like spun-sugar violets, sweet and delicate and utterly false. “She’s so young—but it’s such an honor—”

“Slightly more plausible since I actually met the girl,” says Anax, “but no. I mean Maia, the daughter you keep in the kitchen. Short, scrawny, red hands from washing dishes. She was at the ball last night, wearing a golden mask. I danced with her, and I’m going to marry her.”

“No,” says Koré, in her perfect voice like a low note from a silver flute, “you danced with me. I wore this mask, and you promised to marry the one who held it. See?”

There’s a short pause. Then steps, and Anax flings the door open. He grabs my wrist and hauls me inside.

“Maia,” he says, “tell them.”

“Tell them what?” I ask, regaining my balance. I don’t dare look him in the face.

“What you did last night. When we danced.”

Stepmother is looking at me like I’m a poisonous spider. Koré isn’t looking at me at all; her eyes are lowered, lashes perfectly displayed as she stares demurely at the carpet, a virtuous and obedient daughter waiting for orders from the mother who will never love her.

I can feel each one of Anax’s fingers clenched around my wrist. It’s crazy, but in that one grip I feel everything about him: his tense shoulders, his grim half smile, his heartbeat. His fear and his fury and his hope. He will never touch me again.

“But I never danced with you, my lord,” I say.

He looks down at me. “What?”

“Last night,” I say quietly, “Miss Koré asked me to dress her. I helped her into a golden dress and then I tied that mask on her face. I did take her letters to you, but I never went to the dance. You must have been confused. Perhaps the punch—”

“I didn’t drink the punch,” he says. “And you were there.”

“They look very much alike, my lord,” says Stepmother.

“I can tell the difference between your daughters, madam!”

“You danced with me,” Koré says softly. “You promised.” Her voice is a lifeless marble thing, and I realize she doesn’t have any hope this ploy will work, but she’s like the warriors of old: if she cannot come back from a battle carrying her shield in victory, she’ll be borne back dead upon it.

“She told me about it as soon as she got home,” I say. “You swore by Zeus and Hera you would—”

“Enough.” He hauls me out of the room and into the hallway. The door slams behind us, cutting off Stepmother’s shriek.

“My lord,” I say desperately, “you shouldn’t talk to me alone, I’m just a servant, she’s your betrothed, you kissed her—”

“Hush.” He grips my shoulders. “You can stop pretending.”

He’s still not angry. He still believes in me. My throat aches, but I’m far too skilled to cry.

“I’m not pretending,” I whisper.

“Maia,” he says, softly and urgently, “I don’t know what they’ve done to you, how they’ve threatened you, but it ends now. We don’t have to make them agree to anything. Just come with me, and they won’t have any more power to hurt you.”

“They haven’t hurt me,” I say reflexively.

“But they said they would, if you didn’t let your stepsister marry me.” His hand squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t you understand? I’m the duke’s heir. They can’t touch my betrothed. Walk out this door with me, and you’ll never have to be afraid again.”

I will always, always be afraid.

“I want you to marry her,” I say. “I told you and I told you, but you were so stupid that finally I had to lie and make you promise.”

He goes still. His hand stays on my shoulder, but I can feel it, the moment when he starts to wish he wasn’t touching me.

“No,” he says. “You asked me to promise I’d marry you.”

“The girl who holds this mask! No matter who she is in the morning!” I plunge ahead. If I must be cruel to him, I’ll be so horrible that he’ll never look at me or care about me again. “Can you really think I trudged down to that palace and listened to your whining day after day just so I could marry you? You see how I’m almost a slave here. Koré promised me money and freedom if I got you for her. So go back into that parlor, keep your promise, and make us all happy.”