“Now what do you do, you mean?” Finn suggests.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Am I terrible for thinking it?”

“You are never half as terrible as you think you are,” he promises, grinning at me. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that, but I wasn’t sure it was the right time.”

“About me being terrible?” My lips tilt into—not quite a smile. But close.

I turn, noticing the bearded Brother standing in our gazebo. “Who is that?”

“Ah. I wanted to introduce the two of you. He’s got to get back to New London, but he wanted to pay his respects.” Finn adjusts his spectacles. “It’s Sean Brennan.”

“Brother Brennan?” I wince. “He’s just been standing out here in the cold, waiting for me?”

Brennan sees us approaching and steps forward. “Miss Cahill.” He bows. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I pause, uncertain whether I ought to kneel in order to receive the customary blessings. In the end, I do not. “And thank you for coming. I daresay you have more important things to do.”

He shakes his head. He’s perhaps thirty-five, with a closely trimmed brown beard and kind brown eyes. Laugh lines radiate from his mouth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Actually, speaking with you was one of the first things on my agenda. I don’t wish to intrude on your grief, though. If you don’t feel ready to discuss—”

I wave away his polite assurances. “You came all this distance. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Very well.” He folds his hands in front of him. “I came back into the city the day after the fire, and since then I’ve been meeting with members of the Resistance as well as members of the National Council, trying to figure out how we can move forward. Covington’s orders regarding the quarantine and the fires were a travesty. Even before that, the public was unhappy with the Brothers’ most recent measures.” He glances at Finn. “Measures that I voted against. Brother Belastra can vouch for me.”

“Mr.,” Finn corrects. “I’ve left the Brotherhood.”

“I’m still hoping to change your mind on that. We could use a man of your character,” Brennan says, before turning his attention back to me. Every other Brother I’ve met has treated me with casual condescension, assuming that I am some mindless, submissive creature—or ought to be. But he speaks to me with the same quiet respect he shows Finn. “I think repealing the measure against women working will make a vast difference in the lives of ordinary families. I’m planning to make aid available to those who were hit hardest by the fire and the fever. And as soon as possible, I’d like to pass a new measure that makes witchery legal.”

I smile my first true smile in days. “That would be wonderful.”

“I understand that, in the past, compulsion may have been a necessary evil to guarantee your own safety. But going forward, it will be illegal—a crime tried by a jury and subject to a prison sentence. Any crimes of that nature committed before the measure is passed will be pardoned.” Brennan is solemn. “Does that seem fair to you?”

“It does. If I can be of any help—if you need a recommendation for a liaison between the witches and the government—” I begin.

“I was hoping you might serve as that liaison, actually,” Brennan interrupts. “You’ve been highly recommended by Alistair Merriweather. Frankly, I was hoping you’d be more than a liaison—that you would join the two of us on a new governing council. You’ve proven that you have the best interests of New London at heart, Miss Cahill.”

I glance at Finn, eyes wide, and then back at Brennan. “I—thank you, sir. I’m flattered. But that’s never been something I aspired to. If you’d like a witch on the council, though, I know someone who’d be perfect for the position. My governess—Elena Robichaud—she’s just heading back to the house.” I point to where Elena and Mrs. Corbett are striding down through the gardens.

Brennan nods. “Belastra guessed that you might turn me down, but I had to ask. I’d be happy to speak with Miss Robichaud.” He hesitates. “There is one other matter. According to the prophecy, one of the Cahill sisters is the oracle. If anything should come up—anything that I, or the government of New England, ought to know—I hope you will come to me. In return, I will do my best to honor your privacy.”

I nod, rather amazed at his restraint. “I think that can be arranged. Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Cahill, for allowing politics to intrude on such a sad day. I’ll take my leave now.” He nods at Finn and makes his way down the snowy hill toward Elena.

“He’s a good man,” Finn says. “New England will be far better with him in charge.”

I run a finger over the snow on the wooden railing. Maura would be happy about this. Cautious about the notion of working with Brothers, of course, and a little suspicious about any council that involved two men against one woman. But making magic legal—that would go a long way toward earning her trust. “Are you sure you don’t want to work with him?”

“I’ve had my fill of politics.” Finn smiles. “Merriweather’s going to be able to sell the Gazette properly now, you know. He’s asked me to come on as a reporter.”

“That’s wonderful.” I smile back, though my heart sinks a little. Finn’s already made his decision, without discussing it with me? “He offered Rilla a job, too. She’s terribly excited.”

“And you?” Finn asks. “What are your plans?”

My smile splinters. “I—I’m not sure yet.” I turn away, trying to hide my disappointment. I thought he understood how rudderless I feel with Maura gone and Father—well, actually being a proper father to Tess. “I’d like to do more healing work. As a nurse, perhaps.”

“But you intend to go back to New London?” Finn presses.

“Does it matter?” I immediately loathe myself for the frost in my voice.

“It does.” He grasps my elbow and turns me to face him. “Cate, I can’t say what you want to hear. Not yet. I want you to know that—when I do, I’ll mean it. Completely. Irrevocably.”

“When?” I ask, voice small but hopeful. “Not if?”

“When.” He takes my cold hand in his. “I’m falling in love with you more every day. I don’t know if they were the same things I loved about you before, but now—the bit of red in your hair. The way you tilt your chin when you get angry, like you’re charging into battle. How fiercely protective you are of the people you care about. How big your capacity for forgiveness is. You’re an amazing woman, Cate Cahill. And to that end—”

He takes something from his pocket and holds it out. The red jewel catches the sunlight. It’s his mother’s ruby ring—the ring he gave me when he proposed—only now it’s linked through a silver chain. “I found this in my desk. It’s my promise to you that we’ll work our way back to where we were—or somewhere even better. Will you wear it and keep it safe until I ask you to put it on your finger?”