“Probably not. There’s just one person I’d enjoy killing, Agent Crow, but he isn’t thirdborn.”
Reykin steps between me and Agent Crow. “I believe you have the wrong St. Sismode,” he says. “If you’re attempting to uncover information on the disappearance of Orwell Virtue, you should start with Othala and Gabriel St. Sismode.”
“This is the second time you’ve come between me and this secondborn,” Agent Crow seethes.
“Listen, ol’ man,” Grisholm says. “I like your style—it’s creepy, and that works for a man like you.” He slaps Agent Crow on the back. “But Winterstrom’s right. You got the wrong St. Sismode. I can vouch for her. She’s been here on lockdown for weeks. We’re so bored that any one of us might kill Orwell if he shows his face here, just for fun, but he hasn’t, and we didn’t. So go to the Sword Palace, ask those same questions about Orwell, and then report back to me.” Grisholm cuffs him on the shoulder.
He turns and winks at me, completely missing the glowering look from Agent Crow. “Very well, Firstborn Commander,” Crow caves. “I will return with a full report soon.”
Grisholm is already walking away. He puts up his hand in a dismissive gesture. Reykin doesn’t move until Agent Crow disappears down the garden path, then he turns, glowers at me, and sits down on the pool deck, putting his legs into the water. “What was that all about? Who is Cranston Atom?”
“The mortician we encountered on our trip to the morgue. He has been missing for two weeks.”
“You didn’t bother to tell me?” he grumbles and then looks in Grisholm’s direction. The firstborn has returned to the table and is now receiving a massage.
“You haven’t exactly been talking to me, so no, I didn’t bother to tell you.”
“I’ve been busy!”
“Okay. Do you have time to talk about it now?”
“What do you know?”
“You saw Crow’s face when I said the part about the mortician’s moniker.”
“He reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.”
“He’s ready to kill to keep a secret.”
“What secret?”
“I don’t know, but Census and my mother are working together. He came to see if the Halo Palace’s guard is down. He wants to take me from here.”
“You think he’s aligned with your mother?”
“I have no proof, but yes. I’ve thought it since my father’s funeral.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?” His grip on the rim of the pool turns his knuckles a shade lighter. His handsome face is more forbidding than usual.
“Like you said, you’ve been busy.”
“I’m never too busy to discuss something as important as this,” he growls.
Quincy, the young secondborn attendant from Balmora’s Sea Fortress, enters the private sanctuary, clad in a summer dress. Her feet are covered in sand. She’s met at the door by a member of Grisholm’s staff, who turns and points to me in the pool.
Quincy nods and approaches us. “Roselle Sword, Secondborn Commander requests the pleasure of your company for lunch at her residence today at noon.”
Since my father’s funeral, I’ve been spending more and more time with Balmora. She’s kind and easy to talk to, even when she’s painting the same landscape over and over. It’s borderline obsessive-compulsive, but I try not to judge. I do a lot of things most people would find insane, just to keep my panic at bay. Her paintings don’t hurt anyone.
“Tell her I’ll be there at noon,” I reply, “but I can only stay a short time. I have an appointment with the Firstborn Commander this afternoon.”
“Very good.” Quincy sighs with relief and walks away.
“You shouldn’t grow attached to her,” Reykin says.
Heaviness settle on my chest as I climb out of the pool. “I could say the same to you about Grisholm.”
“Don’t be late for our appointment,” Grisholm calls to me as I leave.
Balmora is in her private drawing room when I arrive. Inside the lofty, round tower room, scores of paintings of the same seascape, her secondborn Sea Fortress, hang everywhere: big murals on the walls, small miniatures on the tables.
The moment she looks at me, I know there’s something terribly wrong.
“Everyone leave us!” she bellows in a fine rendition of her father, The Virtue. Her attendants scurry away, closing the doors behind them. The death drones remain hovering near the doors. So do my Virtue stingers.
Balmora opens her palm, revealing a whisper orb. She clicks the device, and an iridescent bubble forms around us. The hovering machines seem not to notice. She motions for me to come closer. I do, and she pulls me into a hug. Her blond hair smells like sunshine.
“I need to ask you for something, but I’m afraid,” she whispers.
“What is it?” I whisper, too, though I know I don’t have to be quiet.
“Please tell me I wasn’t wrong—during the attack on your father’s funeral procession, you were afraid—afraid for Gabriel.”
I nod. “He’s not well, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get better.”
“Your brother needs help,” she insists, “and you’re the only one I can trust. I know where he is.”
“He’s in Swords, right?”
“No. He left Swords after your father’s funeral. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He’s in Virtues.”
My hands move to her upper arms. “He can’t be here. If your father finds out, he’s dead!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Her eyes narrow to slits. “I’m desperate to protect him from my father. I need you to find him for me and bring him here. I’ll hide him until we can figure out how to help him.”
“Why would you protect him?” I ask suspiciously. I know I’m not getting the whole picture here.
“Because we’re in love.” I stare at her, not sure if she’s being honest or delusional. “You don’t believe me?” she asks. “I’m not making it up.” She lifts a small gilt-frame miniature of her Sea Fortress and shoves it into my hand. “Look at that!”
“I’ve seen a hundred of them,” I say softly, trying not to provoke her.
“No, I mean really look at it!” she insists.
I stare at it, trying to see whatever it is in it that she wants me to see. My eyes blur. A gasp hitches my breath, and my heart begins to race. I turn the painting upside down. The negative space forms a profile of Gabriel. The water is his face. The fortress is his neck and torso. My lips part. My head snaps up, and I glance at every landscape in the room. They reveal themselves to be portraits of my brother. Now that I see it, it’s as obvious as a six-fingered hand.
“He gave me this,” she says, pulling a necklace from beneath the fabric of her white sundress. A ring hangs from the golden chain. It’s one of Gabriel’s Sword-Fated rings, very old, small enough to fit on a child’s finger. “When Gabriel becomes The Sword, he’s going to change everything. He’s going to marry me. We’ve been planning it since we were children.” Her voice grows frayed and raw. Tears fill her eyes. “It’s always been Gabriel and me. Who do you think he visited when he came here? Grisholm? Fat chance!” Scorn twists her face. “It was me. He loves me.”
I hug her to me as she sobs. “Shh . . . I believe you.”
She sniffles. “You do?”
“Yes. What do you want me to do?”
“My father isn’t the only one with spies, Roselle. I’ve been able to locate Gabriel, but no one is willing to bring your brother here.”
“Why not?”
“It would be treason. My father will kill them if he finds out.”
“Where is he, Balmora?”
“You’ll get him and bring him here?” Her eyes are both pleading and suspicious.
“Will he come with me?” I ask. “The last time I saw him, he was certain that I wanted him dead.”
“Make him come with you,” she replies desperately.
“Where is he, Balmora?” I ask again.
Pure fear shows in her eyes. She wants to tell me, but she’s terrified of what I’ll do with the information. This is her battle. I can’t fight it, so I wait silently. Desperation wins out.
“He’s at Club Faraway. He has a private room under the name Firstborn Solomon—” She falters. “Solomon—”
“Solomon Sunday,” I murmur.