The castle gates slammed shut behind them. Safe.
Taylor collapsed onto the rug in her bedroom, her blue dress pooling around her like a deflated parachute. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only the throbbing pain in her ribs and the burning sensation on her left thigh.
"Get it off," Taylor gasped, clawing at the bodice. "Get this infernal cage off me before my lungs collapse."
"I'm coming, My Lady!" Luna cried, dropping the cloak. "Do not die! Breathing is mandatory!"
Luna scrambled behind Taylor, unlacing the corset with frantic speed.
*Snap. Hiss.*
The strings loosened. Taylor inhaled a massive, desperate breath. Her ribs expanded, aching with the sudden freedom. She slumped forward, bracing herself on her hands and knees, her silver hair falling over her face.
"Free," she wheezed. "I'm free."
"Not yet," a soft voice whispered.
**Violet** was kneeling in front of her. She wasn't looking at Taylor's face. She was staring at Taylor's left leg, where the skirt was hiked up, exposing the leather garter.
The leather had dug deep. The weight of the grenades and the force of the carriage ride had caused the strap to bite into the soft, pale flesh of Taylor's inner thigh.
"It's angry," Violet murmured.
She reached out and undid the buckle. The leather fell away, clattering to the floor with the remaining grenades.
Underneath, the skin was angry red. A welt wrapped all the way around Taylor's thigh, right near the hip. It looked painful. It looked raw.
"My Lady!" Luna gasped, peeking over Taylor's shoulder. "You are wounded! The leg-magic exacted a price!"
"It's just friction burn," Taylor hissed, trying to pull her dress down. "I need some aloe. And maybe whiskey."
"No," Violet said, stopping Taylor's hand. "Let me fix it."
Violet pushed Taylor back until she was sitting on her heels. Then, Violet leaned forward, her face inches from the red mark on Taylor's thigh.
"Violet, what are you—"
Violet didn't answer. She extended her tongue—small, pink, and wet—and gently licked the red welt.
"GYAH!" Taylor shrieked, kicking out reflexively. "Violet! That is unsanitary! And weird! Mostly weird!"
"Saliva has healing enzymes," Violet said calmly, wiping her mouth. She looked up at Taylor, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. "And you taste like gunpowder. It's spicy."
"We are using ointment!" Taylor yelled, her face burning hotter than the explosion earlier. "Luna! Get the salve! And get Violet a muzzle!"
"I will apply the salve!" Luna shouted, diving for the medical kit. "I have the cool fingers! I will rub the Lady's leg until it is smooth as marble!"
"Stop fighting over my injuries!"
***
[The Post-Op Analysis]
Thirty minutes later, Taylor was lying in bed, wearing a loose silk nightgown. Her leg was bandaged (after a very intense "battle" between Luna and Violet over who got to rub the ointment).
She held the silk handkerchief up to the candlelight.
**A.**
The embroidery was perfect. The scent of vanilla was still there, taunting her.
"She knew," Taylor whispered to the empty room. "She knew the road was blocked. She stalled me at the ball. She fixed my dress to check for weapons. She marked me."
*Knock, knock.*
"Enter," Taylor said, hiding the handkerchief under her pillow.
It was a servant, holding a small silver tray. On it was a letter.
"A message from the Capital, My Lady. It arrived by fast pigeon just now."
Taylor took the letter. The seal was blue wax.
She broke it.
The handwriting was elegant, looping script. It smelled of the same expensive perfume.
> My Dearest Taylor,
>
> I heard a terrible rumor that bandits attacked a carriage near the forest tonight. I was so worried about you. The roads are dangerous for little girls playing at being grown-ups.
>
> I hope you weren't too shaken. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to help you fix your dress again, my door is always open.
>
> Take care of yourself. You are precious to... us.
>
> With all my love,
> — Alison
Taylor crushed the letter in her fist.
"The audacity," she hissed. "She orders the hit, then sends a 'get well soon' card before the bodies are even cold?"
"What does it say?" Violet asked, popping up from the foot of the bed like a ghostly jack-in-the-box.
"It says she's watching," Taylor said, throwing the crumpled paper into the fire. She watched it burn. "She's mocking me. 'Little girls playing at being grown-ups.' She thinks I'm harmless."
Violet watched the paper turn to ash. She crawled up the bed, moving like a spider, until she was lying next to Taylor. She rested her head on Taylor's chest, right over her heart.
"She smells nice," Violet whispered. "But she feels cold. Like a snake in the sun."
Violet looked up, her chin digging into Taylor's sternum.
"If she tries to fix your dress again," Violet said, her voice dropping to a low, possessive growl, "I will cut her hands off."
"Let's start with surveillance," Taylor said, patting Violet's head awkwardly. "Dismemberment is Plan B."
[Ding!]
[Quest Updated: Know Thy Enemy]
[Objective: Infiltrate Alison's Circle.]
[Current Suspicion: 100% (She is definitely "A")]
Taylor stared at the ceiling. Her leg throbbed. Her heart raced.
Alison DiLaurentis had made the first move. She had tried to kill Taylor with assassins.
"Fine," Taylor whispered. "You want to play mother? I'll be the rebellious daughter from hell."
She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come. Every time she drifted off, she felt phantom fingers on her neck, checking her pulse.
And the scent of vanilla, choking her.