“You suspect it was something other than an inheritance issue?” Agent Crow asks.
“I wouldn’t rule that out.” Grisholm sets another card against the growing house of cards. “But it could be something much more sinister.”
“You believe someone covets the title of ‘Firstborn Commander,’ by chance?” Crow’s eyes shift from Grisholm to me, as if they cannot stay away. His voracious stare takes in my every detail. My mind flashes with images of Agnes Moon, Hawthorne’s ex-girlfriend, who helped gain my release from the underground cell where Agent Crow had planned to kill me. Grisholm had sent Agent Crow a gift basket of soaps on my behalf once I was freed. Agent Crow used them to bludgeon Agnes to death.
My eyes move between Grisholm and the Census agent. Grisholm sets another card up. Its balance is precise, the angle correct. I suddenly feel buried in a cell with no way out.
They continue to talk about the murder of Rasmussen Keating, neither knowing many of the details, but I’m no longer listening.
A thigh nudges mine. I pretend I don’t feel it. I can’t look at Reykin. Agent Crow will know. He’ll see. A part of me believes I’m being irrational. The cold-hearted Crow who drowned his own sister to gain his firstborn status couldn’t possibly know anything about Reykin, but I stare straight ahead just the same.
Without looking up from his house of cards, Grisholm asks, “What do you need to start your investigation?”
“I’ll need security access to all of your systems,” Agent Crow replies.
“That won’t be possible, but I can grant you limited access to systems that lie outside the Halo Palace.”
Agent Crow’s eyes smolder, but Grisholm doesn’t see it because his attention is on setting the next card. “We can start outside the Halo Palace, if you wish,” Crow says. “I’m particularly interested in tracking the movements of Sword monikers.”
“Why Swords?” I ask.
“Swords are the second-best killers in the Fates.” Agent Crow believes the best to be Census agents, like himself, hunters tracking down thirdborns and terrorizing them before killing them. I disagree. Swords fight other soldiers who have weapons. Census kills unarmed people without the power to fight back. “And Swords have the most to gain from the death of Rasmussen.”
“Not true,” I reply. “His Virtue-Fated brother has the most to gain. The next in line after that is—”
“Kennet Abjorn,” the agent states. “Your father.”
“He’s not Sword-Fated.”
“I know. He’s a Virtue, but he’s your mother’s husband—the Fated Sword.”
“My mother wouldn’t lift a finger to help my father, especially if it were to obtain a position of power above hers.”
“What about you, Roselle? You’re not above suspicion.”
Grisholm snorts. “Someone just tried to have her killed a few nights ago. I think it’s safe to say she’s not involved in this plot.”
“With all due respect, you’re assuming whoever attempted to kill Roselle is the same person who murdered Firstborn Keating,” Agent Crow replies. “They’re separate incidents. I’d like to speak with Roselle Sword about the details of the so-called failed attempt on her life.”
“I don’t answer questions, Agent Crow, unless I have—” I stop. I was about to say “Dune present,” but I don’t want him anywhere near this Census agent. Agent Crow’s eyebrows rise as he waits for me to finish. “—my family fusionblade back.” I couldn’t care less about the weapon. It means nothing to me now, but I know it’s a trophy for Agent Crow—one he’s unwilling to part with. But it has the desired effect of throwing Agent Crow off, and giving me a reason not to be alone with him.
“I cannot accommodate your request,” he says, “but you may come and visit it whenever you wish.” He touches its hilt on his hip. Etched upon the hilt is the St. Sismode crest. Roses and vines entwine along its length. Agent Crow’s possession of it used to be salt in a wound, but it’s only a symbol of bad blood for me now. “And I don’t need permission to talk to you.”
Reykin yawns, stretching his arms with an obnoxious groan. With the unmistakable tone of firstborn privilege, he says, “If I have to sit here for another second and listen to the boring details of your investigation, I might die.” He slaps his palms against the top of the onyx table. The impressive house of cards comes crashing down, prompting Grisholm to hiss and scowl at him. “Last one into the pool has to be my slave for a day.”
All around me, chairs slide away from the table. The Firstborns fight tooth and nail to get to the water. Arms flail. Elbows fly. Palms cover faces and shove them in opposing directions. Grisholm is first in the pool, cannonballing with the biggest splash I’ve ever seen. The others follow with ungraceful twists and harrowing belly flops. I’m as surprised as Agent Crow at the lack of decorum among this so-called elite. They act like children. Frivolous children.
Reykin snatches me from my seat with little effort. I clutch him around the shoulders, afraid he’ll drop me. His strong fingers grip my thigh. Sweeping me up, he rests me against his abdomen as he runs to the water’s edge. The last thing I see before Reykin tosses me like a coin into a wishing well is Agent Crow’s homicidal expression over Reykin’s scarred shoulder. The Census agent’s favorite prey is snatched away once more.
I plunge into the cool water and sink down. The whoosh of Reykin entering the water just next to me pulls me toward him. As the bubbles clear, his dark hair waves hello to me. Concern lines his fuzzy expression. I press my index finger to my lips, and then I run it across my neck like I’m slitting my own throat. When I point upward to the pool deck, Reykin nods. Everyone else is at the surface, treading water. Agent Crow appears at the edge of the pool above, casting a shark-shaped shadow over us.
I kick to the surface. Reykin emerges just after me. Grisholm splashes me in the face. “You were the last one in! You have to be Reykin’s slave for a day!”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” I reply, unwrapping my skirt and tossing the sodden fabric to the side of the pool so that it splashes Agent Crow’s boots. “I can train him at your sparring circle. If we go in the morning, I can cut him in half with my fusionblade and have the rest of my day to myself.”
Reykin chuckles. “Show me the blood I’ll bleed,” the roguish firstborn replies. He glances at Grisholm beside me. “You up for this, Grisholm?” His tone is a challenge. “Between the two of us, we can defeat this tiny Sword and then make her evaluate the stock with us. She can probably help us separate the secondborn winner from all the losers.”
Grisholm arches an eyebrow at me, as if he’s just seeing me for the first time. “Maybe you’re right. Tomorrow we’ll see what she knows.”
The sinister voice of my nightmares interrupts. “Firstborn Commander, might I take my leave now so that I may begin my investigation?” Agent Crow gives Reykin a lip-curling scowl. My belly quivers at the sight of his steely teeth.
Grisholm makes a shooing gesture with his hand, dismissing Agent Crow. “Yes, yes. Go and report back.” The death-tally notches by Agent Crow’s eyes are the feathers of a black bird, twitching before flight. Whatever he’s planning, it’s coming soon.
Chapter 7
The Gods Table