Tell the Wind and Fire(42)

Mark looked toward me as well. “So only one of you is a fool,” he said. “What a pity that means there is a fool in my family.”

“This whole interview fiasco was your idea,” Ethan said. “So maybe our family can boast of more than one fool.”

He always spoke to Mark like this, as if it was safe.

Mark did not even look at him. He kept looking at me.

“You do have some sympathizers left,” he said. “However, Ethan giving you the cold shoulder throughout the interview did not help his cause with them. There are theories that the Strykers are threatening the Golden Thread in the Dark into a false relationship with their guilty child. They are saying that because of your protests against the cages when your father was imprisoned, you and your father were taken into our custody and that you are little better than a hostage, being used to increase the Strykers’ popularity because the people love you. The rebels are calling for the Dark city to rise up and free you. The crowd loves a good story. People are listening.”

Carwyn had said much the same thing to me as we sat on swings and ate cupcakes.

I supposed I could see why somebody might believe the relationship was fake, I thought, looking down at the papers. I was all-right-looking, but nothing special: not beautiful, not arresting. Ethan could have any thin blonde in the city, if that was the way his tastes ran. He could have a different blonde every night. Only one thing made me special: my fame, and how it could be used.

I had been able to make people see that I loved and grieved for my father, but that was my father. People understood blood, but nobody could quantify romantic love, the alchemy that could transform a stranger into someone as close as family. Kissing and holding hands, all the outward trappings of love, could be faked. People performed the acts of love without meaning love. Love was the mystery nobody could solve, the fairy tale everyone loved to listen to and not quite believe in.

I did not know how to prove what I did not understand myself.

“I don’t care what people believe,” said Ethan. “As long as being associated with me does not hurt Lucie.”

“You should care,” said Mark. “Charles and I share everything. We always planned that our sons should do the same. If, however, you do not have the same loyalty to the family as your father does, if you continue to be softhearted and weak-minded, then all the privileges you have enjoyed—vacations and your fine school and your shining future—could very quickly come to an end.”

“Is that so?” asked Ethan. “Good thing I don’t want any of it, then.”

“You don’t?” Mark inquired, his voice like silk wrapped around a knife, the smoothness snagging just once on a sharp edge.

“The people hate us,” said Ethan. “The Light guards terrify people. The cages terrify people. They shudder as they walk through the shadow Stryker Tower casts.”

I tried not to react. That was all true, but I had not realized Ethan knew any of it.

“Hatred is the compliment the weak pay the strong,” said Mark. “A couple of dogs bite, so you put them down. But most dogs obey their masters.”

“I don’t want people to fear and hate me,” Ethan said. “I don’t want any part of that kind of deference.”

“That deference will keep the people slinking in our shadow as long as Stryker Tower stands. Think of this. If you were anyone but Ethan Stryker, you would be dead now. Your name saved you.”

“I remember what saved me,” said Ethan. “It wasn’t my name.”

“Wait for us outside,” said Mark, nodding to the gray-suited shadows behind him. “Stand up,” he told Ethan.

At the same moment the door swung closed behind the men, Mark hit Ethan: a swift, controlled blow in the stomach, where there would be no visible bruise.

Ethan doubled over from the impact of Mark’s beringed fist, gasping and grasping at the table. I jumped up out of my chair and slipped into the space between them. Mark was a good deal bigger than I was.

He looked at me, eyes icy and intent, but I had looked into the doppelganger’s face. Neither Mark’s likeness to Ethan nor his coldness could even make me pause.

“You don’t touch him again.”

“Lucie,” Ethan said, his voice hoarse, “don’t.”

“Are you where he’s getting all this new philosophy?” Mark asked. “You do not want justice, Ethan. Justice would mean your death. Who do you think disposed of the guards who accused you and who saw your double? There are different laws for us, but the system will only benefit you so long as you uphold it. Your doppelganger did not save you. I saved you. And I will not have you refer to him ever again.”