The Hidden Twin Read Online Free PDF Page B

There’s nothing wrong with that!”
    I’d say there are several things wrong with the Temple, starting with the Salt Throne’s prime, albeit symbolic, vow to protect the citizenry from redwings. And ending with the two priests who jumped me in an alley yesterday.
    But I don’t dare mention this to Jey, so I just shake my head. “You know I don’t think it’s wise to get involved with the Temple.”
    â€œThe godking protects us and watches over us,” she says, as though Rasus is likely to intervene on my behalf should the priests decide to execute me.
    I sigh. “Why can’t you meet your boyfriend some other time? You’re not supposed to—”
    â€œI know, I know,” she says, throwing up her hands. “I know I’m not supposed to do anything .”
    Poor thing. I bite my lip until the words slide back down my throat. Then I say, “Besides, tomorrow’s Restlight. You have to help Papa on Roet Island.” As caretaker of this sad little house garden, Jey needs the education. She needs to know about soil and light, to walk among the rainbows of petals and vines and leaves in the place people call the Jewel of Caldaras City. So my father says.
    â€œYes, that’s the point. I have a plan, how I can meet Bonner without Papa knowing. I just need your help.” She has a wild look in her eyes I recognize, and it makes my heart buzz. Memories of brief snatches of freedom, scattered sparkles on a vast gray sea.
    It’s bittersweet. “Jey,” I say, “we can’t. Not anymore. Not with a bonescorch in the city.” Not with priests of Rasus looking for me.
    She swivels to face me. “How did you—?”
    I cross my arms, a hint of irritation coloring my voice. “I saw a copy of the Daily Bulletin on my way home today. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    A shrug. “Papa didn’t want you to be worried over nothing, I guess. But, listen, I only need you to switch places with me for a few hours. Papa won’t know! He won’t even be there—I’ll be dusting the peonies by the front gates and he’ll be all the way around back in the private greenhouse.”
    It’s a game to her, the secret me. And I used to feel that way as well, on those rare, special days when it was Jey who stayed home and I who ventured out into the burning mist of the city, clutching Papa’s hand. Don’t speak, he’d say, buckling my leather cap tight, fitting his enormous black goggles over most of my face. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Those outings were dangerous. But Papa never wanted me to be a prisoner. We’d go to a tea shop or an art gallery, and I couldn’t help laughing at all the new sounds and smells, and beaming at all the people.
    But under Papa’s black goggles, my eyes were as vibrant as the sun through purple-blue stained glass, not brown like his other daughter’s. And what Papa never said, what I know now, is that if an acquaintance had noticed his daughter’s eyes had mysteriously changed color, if I had cut one of my clumsy, little girl fingers on a broken teacup and strange black blood had come oozing out of me, then all those smiles—from the man on the street with the tall hat, from the crinkled old lady in the shop who sneaked me a candy—would have disappeared.
    Jey leans in. “You know you’re dying to see Roet Island.” And she tosses me what looks like an old rag.
    I look down at the yellowing thing in my hands—the peony from the glass bowl on my desk. When Papa brought the bloom home for me, it was milk white, and its fragrance filled the Dome to bursting. Now all I can smell on its dry petals is the earthy combination of books and bird.
    The lush gardens of Roet Island—a green paradise only half a lake away from our gray city on the Empress’s private estate. Who wouldn’t want to see them? But at the risk of my life?