Red Queen(91)

Kilorn almost jumps at the bars, eager to be free of his cell, and Walsh pulls Farley to her feet. But I don’t move at all. I don’t intend to free them, not yet.

“Mare—” Kilorn whispers, puzzled at my hesitation, but I silence him with a look.

“The bomb.” Smoke and fire cloud my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment the ballroom exploded. “Tell me about the bomb.”

I expect them to fall over themselves in apologies, to beg my forgiveness, but instead, the three exchange blank looks. Farley leans against the bars, her eyes on fire.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she hisses, barely audible. “I never authorized such a thing. It was supposed to be organized, with special targets. We do not kill at random, without purpose.”

“The capital, the other bombings—?”

“You know those buildings were empty. No one died there, not because of us,” she says evenly. “I swear to you, Mare, this was not our doing.”

“Do you really think we’d try to blow up our greatest hope?” Kilorn adds. I don’t need to ask to know he means me.

Finally, I nod over my shoulder to Julian.

“Open the cell. Quietly,” Julian murmurs, his hands on Lucas’s face.

The magnetron complies, forcing the bars into an open O wide enough to step through. Walsh comes out first, her eyes wide in amazement. Kilorn is next, helping Farley fit through the bars. Her arm still dangles helplessly—the healer missed a spot.

I gesture to the wall and they move soundlessly, mice on stone. Walsh’s eyes touch on Tristan’s body, still lifeless in the cell, but she stays put beside Farley. Julian shoves Lucas in next to them before taking his spot next to the foot of the stairs, across from the freed prisoners.

I take the other side, pressing myself in next to Kilorn. Even though he’s spent the night in the cells, with a dead body for company, he still smells like home.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispers in my ear. “I knew it.”

But there’s no time for pleasantries or celebrations. Not until they’re away safely.

Across the open gap of stairwell, Julian nods at me. He’s ready.

“Sentinel Gliacon, may I have a word?” I shout up the stairs, laying the bait for our next trap. The shuffle of feet tells me she’s taken it.

“What is it, my lady?”

When she reaches the floor, her eyes fly straight to the open cell and she gasps behind her mask. But Julian is too quick, even for a Sentinel.

“You went for a walk. You returned to find this. You do not remember us. Call down one of the others,” he murmurs, his voice a terrible song.

“Sentinel Tyros, you are needed,” she says flatly.

“Now you will sleep.”

She drops almost before the last word leaves his lips, but Julian catches her around the middle and lays her gently down behind him. Kilorn exhales in surprise, impressed by Julian, who allows himself a small, pleased smile.

Tyros comes down the stairs next, confused, but eager to serve. Julian does it again, singing his orders in a few whispered seconds. I didn’t expect Sentinels to be so stupid, but it makes sense. They’re trained from childhood in the art of combat; logic and intelligence are not their highest priorities.

But the last two, Pig-Eyes and the healer, are not complete fools. When Tyros calls out, ordering the skin healer Sentinel to come down, they mutter to each other.

“About finished, Lady Titanos?” Pig-Eyes calls, his voice wary.

Thinking quickly, I shout back to them. “Yes, we’re finished. Your companions have returned to their posts, I want to make sure you do as well.”

“Oh, have they? Is that right, Tyros?”

With blinding speed, Julian kneels over the fainted Tyros. He pries his eyes open, holding the lids. “Say you’ve returned to your post. Say the lady has finished.”

“Returned to my post,” Tyros drones. Hopefully the long stairwell and stone walls will distort his voice. “The lady has finished.”

Pig-Eyes grunts to himself. “Very well.”

Their boots stamp against the steps, both coming down together. Two. Julian cannot handle two alone. I feel Kilorn tense at my back, his fist clenching as he prepares for anything. With one hand I push him back against the wall, while the other grows white with sparks.

The footsteps stop, just beyond the opening. I can’t see them and neither can Julian, but Pig-Eyes breathes like a dog. The healer is there as well, waiting just beyond our reach. In total silence, it’s hard not to hear the click of a gun.

Julian’s eyes widen but he stands firm, one hand closing around his stolen weapon. I don’t even want to breathe, knowing the edge we’re all standing on. The walls seem to shrink, boxing us into a stone coffin with no escape.