My legs are numb with fear. When he stops holding Trey by the throat, my chin drops to my chest for a second in relief and I let go of the breath. He places Trey on the ground against the wall. I stare at Trey for several seconds, trying to see if he’s still breathing. There’s a swollen knot by his left temple. It’s hard not to lose my mind as I strain against the metal on my wrists, finding that I can’t free myself. The cut on Trey’s neck is slowly dampening his collar with his blood.
I turn my attention back to Giffen. He rises from his chair, pulling out his communicator from the pocket of his Comantre uniform. I can’t believe that my father is associated with these two psychos—then I think about how he abandoned me—maybe it makes perfect sense. I clear my throat and ask, “Does Pan know about this plan?”
Giffen’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “He knows.”
In a shallow tone I ask, “Does he agree with it?”
He ignores my question. “I need to take your image.” He holds up his communicator in front of me.
“What are you planning to do with my picture?”
Giffen snaps a couple of shots. “I have to send it to Kyon Ensin. We’ll pretend to be Comantre Syndics. He doesn’t know who we are or who your sister is. Hopefully, none of them have realized yet that she has Alameeda blood or that she’s a priestess. When Kyon responds, I will demand a trade: you for her. I will tell him that she is Comantre and was working in the Isle of Skye when the unrest broke out. I will ask for her safe return in exchange for yours.”
“How do you know she’s not already dead?” I ask.
“She’s too pretty for that. They’d keep her for entertainment.”
Raspin smashes another chair, unable to contain his rage.
I blanch. “Why wouldn’t they know that she’s a priestess—or at least know that she has Alameeda blood? Isn’t it obvious?” I ask in a near whisper, trying without success to keep my inquiries between the two of us.
“She wasn’t born with pale hair like yours. She has Pan’s coloring—black hair, but her eyes are blue. We altered them before she went in.”
“How did you do that?”
“We injected pigment to make them green, but it only lasts a few rotations, then it reverts to her normal hue.”
“Alameeda blue?” I ask.
“That’s right, like her mother’s.”
His attention is back on his communicator again. “Wait,” I say, seeing that he’s about to send the pictures he took of me.
“What?” he asks.
“You want this to work?” I ask, meeting his eyes.
“Of course!”
“If you want this to work, you should hit me.”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“I look okay right now—I look like you’re not serious about getting your supposed consort back. You have to make it urgent or Kyon will take a little time to find out exactly who Astrid is before he hands her over. You have to put it on a faster time line. You have to take the control away from him and keep it. If he thinks that you might kill me, he’ll lose the advantage. He can’t know how you got me or that you have Trey. When you meet him to exchange us, it can’t be here and we have to go alone—just you and me, Giffen.”
Raspin growls at me, “Going!”
“He can’t go,” I argue. “There’s too much emotion there. He can’t cope. A priestess could read him like a billboard. You can get out alive with Astrid because of your telekinetic gift. It’s the only way I can think of where everyone has a shot at survival.”
Giffen looks at Raspin. “It sounds like a good plan.”
“That’s because it is a good plan,” I mutter.
Raspin nods his head. He starts to walk toward me. “Seriously?” My eyes shutter in scorn. “You’re not hitting me, Incredible Sulk!” I glare at him like he’s a lunatic, which he definitely is. He hesitates and looks at Giffen.
I shift my head and nod toward Giffen. “You,” I assess him. “You do it.”
Giffen glances at Raspin, who shrugs and gestures with his hand toward me. Giffen squares his broad shoulders and walks to me. As he stands above me, looking down into my defiant face, I can’t tell if he wants to do it or if he’s reluctant to do it. I just know that he will do it. I take a deep breath, trying to brace myself. “Ready?” he asks. I nod.
The open-palm slap to my cheek from his rough hand makes my face turn away from him. Blood sprays outward through my parted lips in an array of red. If I hadn’t been in a fight before, the sting of it might’ve shocked me. I never know whether to clench my teeth or loosen my jaw when I see it coming. If I clench my teeth, I usually end up with a few loose ones. If I loosen my jaw, I run the risk of biting down on the soft, fleshy tissue inside and shredding a hole in it. The best thing to do would be to duck, but that would be counterintuitive, since I want him to hit me.