“I’m supposed to believe that you, the brother of the woman we executed, actually want to get me out alive?”
“You didn’t kill her,” Cormac replies quietly. “I’m not saying you and I are ever going to be friends, but even if you had signed her death warrant, this isn’t the way toward justice. It didn’t work ten years ago, and it’s not going to work now. I know we need a different way.”
I swallow, the muscles in my jaw tightening. Somewhere inside me, the pain stirs, straining against the bonds of control that lock it away. If I came face-to-face with a member of the group responsible for my parents, I’m not sure I’d hesitate before I blew them off the face of whatever sorry planet they ended up on. In fact, I know I wouldn’t.
“So what now?” I ask finally, my voice sounding papery and thin.
“We wait. And you stop trying to figure out a way out of this cell, because I definitely can’t convince them to let you go if we have to shoot you while you’re fighting your way out of this base.”
“What? How could I—”
“Please.” Cormac lifts his jaw, pointing with it toward the torn corner of the mattress. “The last thing I need added to my list of credentials is ‘stabbed by a mattress,’ in addition to a cocktail skewer.”
Shit.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
He eyes me for a long moment. “Fine.”
I give him a few minutes to get clear, listening to his footsteps retreating down the corridor. Once all traces of lantern light and footsteps are gone, I slide off the mattress again and get back to work on the spring.
The door bangs open and I jerk awake in confusion. The movement jars my ribs and I gasp aloud, too befuddled to hide it. When did I fall asleep? Shit—what do I—
“Get up, we don’t have a lot of time. Can you walk?”
“Romeo, what’s—”
“Now.” Cormac’s voice is urgent, utterly lacking in its usual lazy insolence. “Take my hand, come on.”
I let him help me to my feet, choking back the groan that tries to escape. It’s only after he starts pulling me toward the door that it hits me.
He’s taking me to be killed.
My muscles tense. It’d be smarter to wait, let him think I’m going willingly, use the element of surprise. But I’m still half asleep, and my body’s acting on instinct. I wrench my arm back with a twist, ready to pin his against his back.
“Will you stop doing that?” He escapes me, barely, jumping backward. He’s got a lantern with him, but it’s mostly shielded. Only slivers of light escape to break up the blue-green illumination of the wispfire. “I’m getting you out of here, you stupid trodaire.”
My brain feels like it’s running on a treadmill in a pool of tar. “Out of here,” I echo stupidly. “Your people changed their minds?”
“Not exactly.” To his credit, he doesn’t try to manhandle me again, keeping a cautious distance.
I stare at him, confused. I’ve seen his hideout—granted, not much of it from the inside of my cell, but I’ll see a whole lot more of it while he’s leading me to safety.
My mouth opens, and I find myself asking, “What’re the other rebels going to do to you when they find out you helped me?”
“I’m hoping it’ll look like you escaped on your own. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, are you coming?”
A flicker of admiration courses through me. Going against his own people takes guts. Of course, if he were on our base, he’d get handed a court martial for insubordination. “You’re insane,” I point out, trying not to shiver in the clammy chill.
“Then I’m in good company.” He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out. “Coming?”
This time I don’t hesitate. I turn and let him put the jacket over my shoulders, and together we slip from the cell and out into the corridor.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Oh, I thought maybe dinner and a nice boat ride to see the wisps. Somewhere quiet and romantic, then maybe drinks afterward before I drop you home.”
This is costing him, going against his people in order to get me out. He’s covering, and not doing a very good job of it. A thousand cutting retorts flicker through my thoughts, but the words don’t come. We lapse into silence as he leads me through the corridors.