Red Queen(93)

“Not like this,” she echoes, before slipping out into the night with Walsh.

“I know I can’t ask you to come with me,” Kilorn mutters, moving to follow them. He stares at his hands, examining scars I know better than my own mind. Look at me, you idiot.

Sighing, I force myself to shove him toward freedom. “The cause needs me here. You need me here too.”

“What I need and what I want are two very different things.”

I want to laugh, but I can’t find the strength.

“This is not our end, Mare,” Kilorn murmurs, embracing me. He laughs to himself, the noise vibrating in his chest. “Red queen. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Get on, you fool.” Never have I smiled so brightly and still felt so sad.

He spares me one last glance and nods to Julian, before stepping out into the darkness. The metal knits back together behind him, blocking my friends from sight. Where they’re going, I don’t want to know.

Julian has to pull me away, but he doesn’t scold me for my long good-bye. I think he’s more preoccupied with Lucas, who, in his dazed state, has begun to drool.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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TWENTY-TWO


That night I dream of my brother Shade coming to visit me in the darkness. He smells like gunpowder. But when I blink, he disappears and my mind screams what I already know. Shade is dead.

When morning comes, a series of shuffles and slams makes me bolt awake, sitting up in my bed. I expect to see Sentinels, Cal, or a murderous Ptolemus ready to rip me apart for what I’ve done, but it’s just the maids bustling in my closet. They look more harried than usual and pull down my clothes with abandon.

“What’s going on?”

In the closet, the girls freeze. They bow, hands full of silk and linen. As I come closer, I realize they’re standing over a set of leather trunks. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Orders, my lady,” one says, her eyes lowered. “We only know what we’re told.”

“Of course. Well, I’m just going to get dressed then.” I reach for the nearest outfit, intending to do something for myself for once, but the maids beat me to it.

Five minutes later, they have me painted and ready, dressed in odd leather pants and a flouncy shirt. I’d much prefer my training suit over everything else, but it’s apparently not “proper” to wear the thing outside of sessions.

“Lucas?” I ask the empty hallway, half expecting him to pop out from an alcove.

But Lucas is nowhere to be found, and I head off to Protocol, expecting him to cross my path. When he doesn’t, a trill of fear ripples through me. Julian made him forget last night, but maybe something slipped through the cracks. Maybe he’s being questioned, punished, for the night he can’t remember and what we forced him to do.

But I’m not alone for long. Maven steps into my path, his lips quirked into an amused smile.

“You’re up early.” Then he leans in, speaking in a low whisper. “Especially for having such a late night.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I try for an innocent tone.

“The prisoners are gone. All three of them, disappeared into thin air.”

I put a hand to my heart, letting myself look shocked for the cameras. “By my colors! A few Reds, escaped from us? That seems impossible.”

“It does indeed.” Though the smile remains, his eyes darken slightly. “Of course, that brings everything into question. The power outages, the failing security system, not to mention a troop of Sentinels with blank spots across their memories.” He stares pointedly at me.

I return his sharp glance, letting him see my unease. “Your mother . . . interrogated them.”

“She did.”

“And will she be talking to”—I choose my words very carefully—“anyone else regarding the escape? Officers, guards—?”

Maven shakes his head. “Whoever did this did it well. I helped her with the questioning and directed her to anyone of suspicion.” Directed. Directed away from me. I breathe a small sigh of relief and squeeze his arm, thanking him for his protection. “Besides, we may never find who did it. People have been fleeing since last night. They think the Hall is no longer safe.”

“After last night, they’re probably right.” I slip my arm into his, drawing him closer. “What did your mother learn of the bomb?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “There was no bomb.” What? “It was an explosion, but it was also an accident. A bullet punctured a gas line in the floor, and when Cal’s fire hit it . . .” He trails off, letting his hands do the talking. “It was Mother’s idea to use that to our, ah, advantage.”