But I was.
Pain burned a line into each palm, but I hung on. My rings pressed against the Light-gleaming blade and blazed. My blood stained the blade, blotting out some of the light, but the guard gasped and found he could not move his weapon.
“Don’t you dare touch him,” I said. “I’m Lucie Manette, do you hear me? He’s Ethan Stryker and I’m Lucie Manette. If you hurt him, you will pay for it in blood.”
I knew it was a mistake as soon as I spoke. The guard’s face showed not submission but angry confusion: he obviously recognized the names, but it was as if I’d said that we were the hero and the cute talking animal from a fairy tale. It didn’t match up with any of his ideas, so it didn’t convince him, and it wouldn’t stop him.
It had been two years since anyone had doubted my word. It had been two years since I had dealt with anybody who wanted to hurt someone I loved, and I had forgotten how to bear it.
“He’s a traitor,” the guard said. “We have a warrant and a witness who swears he saw him passing vital security information to a fugitive member of the sans-merci. The fugitive was apprehended and killed, and the plans were found on her. The witness described this man with absolute accuracy. There is no possibility of error.”
One of the guards wearing Light rings gestured, and Ethan’s face was reproduced in light against the night sky, as if an artistic comet had traced his profile onto the darkness. His face shone for a moment, and then the magic faded and the lights went out.
“You know the penalty for treason. Move aside.”
I understood now how the guard had felt, hearing words but not being able to make sense of them. I knew what happened to anyone accused of associating with the sans-merci, and I could not connect any of this to Ethan.
The sans-merci was the name the band of revolutionaries in the Dark city had given themselves. They had killed Light guards, risen up in fury, and even saved condemned criminals from the sword. The Light Guard had been given free rein by the Light Council when it came to the revolutionaries, and nobody could stand against the council.
Anyone suspected of being in league with the sans-merci, the Light Guard would not spare.
I did not know how to get through to them. There were not many Light guards in the actual Light cities. Guards were posted mainly in the Dark cities, to control the Dark magicians, and the rest patrolled the country to search for Dark magicians and take them to the Dark cities, where they belonged. Out here, these backwater guards did not even know a Stryker when they saw one. The guards were not used to answering to the Strykers or anyone else on the Light Council. “The council” was just a phrase that gave them power. These guards were used to being the ultimate authority.
I knew the penalty for treason. It was death: instant death, death by the blade, death without a chance for mercy or escape.
I did not know how death could suddenly be so close to Ethan. I could not even associate him with the word. He had always been secure and protected, his whole charmed life. I had envied him and resented him and taken comfort in the fact that there was one person I loved who would be safe forever.
I didn’t even dare look back at Ethan, at his shoulders bowed under cruel pressure or his hanging, vulnerable head. I kept my eyes locked with the guard’s: the only thing stopping him from carrying out his orders was the complication of a barely dressed girl crazy enough to catch a sword in her hands.
The only thing standing between Ethan and death was me.
“I said, he’s a Stryker,” I insisted, making sure my voice rang out so everybody could hear. “He’s Mark Stryker’s nephew, Charles Stryker’s son. You can’t just execute him. The Strykers will bring a world of trouble down onto your head.”
“If he’s a Stryker”—I could hear that the guard didn’t believe me; I didn’t know how to make him believe me—“then he knows the law.”
We all knew the law. I remembered how noble Ethan’s Uncle Mark had sounded when he made the proclamation broadcast across the city, announcing new laws had been passed to stop the sans-merci, to give the Light guards the power to crush them.
The guards would use that power to kill Ethan, unless I stopped them.
“This is all a misunderstanding,” I said forcefully. “Why take this unnecessary risk? Why not transport us both to the city? You can watch us every minute, keep us in restraints. Send word to Charles Stryker, and he will meet us at the station. He will explain everything. He will reward you.”
Instantly I saw that I had made another mistake. I had not been this clumsy, once, but I had not been this desperate for two years. I was out of practice, and that meant Ethan was out of luck.