I couldn't see what she was looking at, but whatever it was, she found it damned interesting. Warning bells went off in my head. Noticing my sudden stiffness, she turned the screen toward me.
My own face stared back at me. My stomach fell as I read the ticker beneath the old photo. "Fugitive still at large. The Troika is offering a reward of ten thousand charns for her capture—dead or alive."
"Meridian Six, age twenty-three, daughter of rebel sympathizer, Alexis Sargosa," she read, her brows rising. "Wanted for violation of Troika code 439."
My stomach churned, and my hands grew damp. Given the conditions of the rectory, it was possible the Chatelaine was mentally tabulating the repairs she could make with that kind of reward.
I lifted my chin, waiting for her to make the next move.
"Code 439?" she said. "That's assault, correct?"
I gave a jerky nod to confirm that was, indeed, the crime assigned to Code 439, but I didn't feel the need to confess my innocence. After all, if things had gone as planned the charge would have been murder instead.
The nun's eyes took on a speculative gleam. My fingers slid down my leg toward the shard of metal I'd strapped to my ankle using a bit of bandage the nuns had left in my room. They'd been smart not to leave me with any glass or cutlery, but the metal bracket had torn away from the bed frame easily and its sharp corners could inflict some pain.
"Keep your weapon where it is, child. The Sisters of Crimson are no friends of the Troika, no matter how well they pay."
I paused and looked at her. "Ten thousand Cs would buy a lot of food for your acolytes, sister."
"True, but then I would have a debt on my soul I'm not prepared to repay."
"If you knew all of this I'm surprised you let me in here to begin with. Some consider me quite dangerous."
Her lips lifted in a slight smile. "Especially the Troika."
"What makes you say that?"
"Ten thousand charns seems a bit steep for assault," she said, leaning back in her chair. "No, I think they want you for another reason."
I looked down. How much should I tell her? Even if I knew I could trust her, I'd be risking her life by sharing information she shouldn't know.
"Let's just say I have intimate knowledge of a few skeletons in the Troika's closet," I said.
"Oh, I bet you do." Her lips twitched. "So they made up the code violation then?"
"Not necessarily." I didn't elaborate. I crossed my arms to let her know that was all I had to say about the matter.
"Fair enough," she said. "I suppose you've already guessed that a crowd of Troika guards have gathered outside?"
"I figured as much."
"You got a plan?"
"Run like hell."
"In other words, you've got no plan at all." She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk. If she hadn't been wearing the robes of a holy order, her expression would have reminded me of a conspirator. "Lucky for you, I do."
* * *