“If I want your opinion, or Tariq’s,” Mazen says, “I’ll ask for it.”
Keenan’s lips go thin, and I expect him to retort. But he just nods, and Mazen goes on.
“It’s not enough time,” he muses. “We’d need to take the whole damn prison. That’s not something you can do unless...” He strokes his chin, deep in thought, before nodding. “I have a new mission for you: Find me a way into Blackcliff, a way no one else knows of. Do that and I’ll be able to get your brother out.”
“I have a way!” Relief floods me. “A hidden trail—it’s how I came here.”
“No.” Mazen punctures my elation as quickly as it had ballooned. “We need something...different.”
“More maneuverable,” Eran says. “By a large group of men.”
“The catacombs run under Blackcliff,” Keenan says to Mazen. “Some of those tunnels must lead to the school.”
“Perhaps.” Mazen clears his throat. “We’ve searched down there before and found nothing of use. But you, Laia, will have an advantage, since you’ll be looking from within Blackcliff itself.” He rests his fists on the table and leans toward me. “We need something soon. A week, at most. I’ll send Keenan to give you a specific date. Don’t miss that meeting.”
“I’ll find you an entrance,” I say. Izzi will know of something. One of the tunnels beneath Blackcliff must be unguarded. This, finally, is a task I know I can accomplish. “But how will an entrance into Blackcliff help you break Darin out of the death cells?”
“A fair question,” Keenan says softly. He meets Mazen’s gaze, and I’m surprised at the open hostility in the older man’s face.
“I have a plan. That’s all that any of you need to know.” Mazen nods at Keenan, who touches my arm and makes for the door of the tent, indicating I should follow.
For the first time since the raid, I feel light, as if just maybe I’ll be able to accomplish what I set out to do. Outside the tent, the fire-thrower is mid-show, and I spot Izzi in the crowd, clapping as the flame lights the night. I am almost giddy with hope until I see Keenan watching the dancers whirl, his brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Will you, uh...” He runs a hand through his hair, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so agitated. “Will you honor me with a dance?”
I’m not sure what I am expecting him to say, but it isn’t that. I manage a nod, and then he’s leading me to one of the dance stages. Across the stage, the tall Tribal boy from earlier is dancing with a dainty Tribeswoman who has a smile like lightning.
The fiddlers begin a swift, tempestuous tune, and Keenan takes my hip in one hand and my fingers in the other. At his touch, my skin comes alive as if warmed by the sun.
He’s a little stiff, but he knows the steps well enough. “You’re not bad at this,” I say to him. Nan taught me all the old dances. I wonder who taught Keenan.
“That shocks you?”
I shrug. “You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”
“I’m not. Usually.” His dark gaze roams over me, as if he’s trying to puzzle something out. “I thought you’d be dead within a week, you know. You surprised me.” He finds my eyes. “I’m not used to being surprised.”
The warmth of his body envelops me like a cocoon. I feel suddenly, deliciously breathless. But then he breaks eye contact, his fine features cold. The prickle of rejection tingles unpleasantly across my skin even as we continue to dance.
He’s your handler, Laia. That’s all. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought I’d be dead within a week too.” I smile, and he gives me a quirk of his mouth in return. He holds happiness at bay, I realize. He doesn’t trust it.
“Do you still think I’m going to fail?” I ask.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He glances down at me and then quickly away. “But I didn’t want to risk the men. Or—or you.” He mutters these words, and I lift my eyebrows in disbelief.
“Me?” I say. “You threatened to shove me into a crypt five seconds after meeting me.”
Keenan’s neck reddens, and he’s still refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry about that. I was a...a...”
“Jackass?” I offer helpfully.
He smiles in full this time, dazzling and all too brief. When he nods, it’s almost shy, but moments later, he’s serious again.
“When I said you would fail, I was trying to scare you. I didn’t want you to go to Blackcliff.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew your father. No—that’s not right.” He shakes his head.
“Because I owe your father.”
I stop mid-dance, only picking up again when someone jostles us.
Keenan takes that as his cue to continue. “He picked me up off the streets when I was six. It was winter, and I was begging. Not very successfully, either.
I was probably a few hours from dead. Your father brought me to camp, clothed me, fed me. He gave me a bed. A family. I’ll never forget his face, or how he sounded when he asked me to come with him. Like I was doing him a favor instead of the other way around.”
I smile. That was my father, all right.