Principle was one thing. Hunger was another.

Two days without food, and before that, nothing but vegetables from the garden, bone broth, and whatever barley, flour, and rye they could scrape from the pantry barrels. Seri had never known hunger like she had in those last few days of Brand’s absence. She had fasted before, but it was not the same. Here there was no feast awaiting her at the end of the day, just endless hours of uncertainty. Was Brand to return? Would he bring food for them to freely eat? Or would he deny them until Seri apologized and did as he commanded?

“If he’s ever coming back,” Ida said. “Maybe he’s been killed.”

They were sitting in the garden, looking at the vegetable garden with glum impatience. They’d eaten the last of the spring onions and were waiting for something to grow. A sparrow darted over the wall. Seri stared at it enviously. It was so easy for the bird to fly away.

“If he’s dead, are we stuck here forever?” Lotte asked. She was lying on her back, chomping on a sprig of rosemary.

“He’s not dead,” Berta said, arms wound tight across her chest. “He’s watching through the mirrors, waiting for Seri to apologize, to tell him how wrong she was. Meanwhile, we’re all being punished because of you.”

She glared.

“He’s the one at fault,” Seri began. “A good man would never—”

“A good man?” Berta yelled, and quickly covered her mouth. “He is a good man,” she said, lowering her head. “An excellent man. But you test him. He must act in a way that goes against his inclinations, because you are being stubborn and rude, like a spoiled child.”

Seri shook her head. Brand wasn’t even here, and Berta was defending him, justifying his actions, praising him. He’d completely conquered her mind, and it had only been a few months. Did he do this with every girl he kidnapped? Reshape them, like a sculptor with clay, not with rough, violent blows, but with a soft hand and constant, relentless pressure?

“He took us,” Seri reminded her. “He’s at fault. What have I done to him? He’s angry because I don’t obey him. He’s not my father or my husband or a minister—no man that I owe obedience to.”

“We know you won’t sleep with him, Seri,” Ida said tiredly. “No one’s asking you to do that.” She sat in the shade, embroidering, but her hand was slow. “But you could join us for dinner. Grant him one little concession—”

“I am not going to concede him my principles,” Seri said.

“So we all go hungry for your principles?” Ida asked.

“If I yield to him one thing, it will be another, and another, and another, until I become…” She wanted to say like Berta, but she kept her mouth shut. “…until I—until we all—become pretty little pets, to sit on his lap and dance for his amusement and beg for scraps at his table.”

“I don’t mind being a pet, right now, if it gets us food,” Lotte muttered.

“We are not animals!” Seri yelled. “We have souls. We have to choose what is right, to live in a way that is good. He is a thief. He wants to plunder our houses and our bodies. Not only that, he intends to make us act as accomplices. To corrupt us, body and soul. I won’t become like him! I won’t praise this evil man and say that he is right. I will not besmirch my honor—”

“Fine.” Ida put down her sewing. “So say nothing. Hold your tongue and be quiet. Sit with him at dinner, not because you approve of what he does, but because you want us to eat. We’re all hungry, and we’re all tired. Go fight him, if you must, but don’t drag us into it.”

“He dragged you in, not me.”

“But we have no say in it, regardless,” Ida shouted, startling her. “He says, ‘You must,’ and you say, ‘I will not,’ and you pit your wills against each other, but neither of you care what we want or how we suffer for it.”

This made Seri pause.

She hadn’t thought of herself as being selfish. She’d been trying to do what was right. But was it right to sacrifice these girls as well as herself?

“Berta,” Seri said. “Do you suffer for my stubbornness?”

Berta looked at the wall. “I had a beautiful home, with a garden of roses, and a new dress for my wedding day, which I have never tried on. I have five sisters. I have never spent so much as a day apart from them. I have a father and mother who love me. I want to go home! I knew how to get home, until you ruined it! I’m turning into a dragon now, because of you! Because you won’t shut your mouth and say you’re sorry!”

“Ida?” Seri whispered.

“You know what I think.”

“Lotte?”

Lotte rolled on her stomach. “I’m hungry,” she said. “You say it’s wrong to steal and lie and give your body to a man who is not your husband, and I agree. But there is nothing wrong with sitting with him at dinner. Or smiling. Or dancing. Or staying quiet. We have souls, but we are not so different from animals. I’d rather be a pet than be led to the slaughter.”

Despair flowed through her. Seri knew, in this moment, that he had won, for he had put her in a situation where there was no right choice, only two wrong ones. She could stick to her principles and act as a tyrant to her friends. Or she could yield to him. And maybe yielding was no terrible thing—not yet—but to give in once, made it that much easier to give in again. If only she could make them understand.

“The longer we stand silent in his presence, the more we lose our will and fall prey to his.”

“Seri, you have a strong will,” Ida said tiredly. “You, more than anyone else. can sit a single hour with Brand and not fall prey to his will.”

But that was what they didn’t understand. It was not a single hour, but every hour, every day. The tower, the rooms, the gardens—all tainted by his presence. Her dreams—tainted by his presence.

She was not as strong as they thought. If she bent once, she could bend again.

And yet, for their sake, she had to bend. Because it was not right to let them suffer for this. Seri hated that she had to make this decision, but she had no other choice. Because she did not act for herself. There were others to think of—not only her soul to worry about, but theirs as well.

And not just souls. Her stomach roiled and ached. As stubborn as she was, she did not want to die. She did not want to be a martyr, not if she could avoid it. She had to live—long enough to see him defeated.

So she’d give him a concession. One, simple concession.

In her heart, she knew it would not be her last.