Cal scoffs, too busy examining the Center’s defenses to spare a glance for her. “We could get in just fine. It might mean sending the whole place up in smoke. Not exactly the subtle approach.”
“No, not at all,” I murmur, if only to distract myself. But no matter how hard I try to focus on my feet or Cal’s capable hands, I can’t stop worrying about Shade. Up until this moment, I never truly doubted he would meet us. He’s a teleporter, the fastest thing alive, and a few dock thugs shouldn’t pose him any threat. That’s what I told myself back in the Paltry, when I left him. When I abandoned him. He took a bullet for me a few days ago and I threw him to the Seaskulls like a lamb to wolves.
Back in Naercey, I told Shade I didn’t trust his word. I suppose he shouldn’t trust mine either.
My fingers stray into my hood, trying to massage the ache from my neck muscles. But it brings me no respite. Because right now we’re idling in front of a veritable firing squad, waiting like stupid chickens eyeing a butcher’s knife. And while I fear for Shade, I fear for myself too. I cannot be taken. I will not.
“The back entrance,” I say. It’s not a question. Every house has a door, but it also has windows, a hole in the roof, or a broken lock. There is always a way in.
Cal furrows his brow, at a loss for once. A soldier should never be sent to do a thief’s job. “We’re better off with Shade,” he argues. “No one will even know he’s in. A few more minutes—”
“We put every newblood at greater risk with every second we waste. Besides, Shade won’t have a problem finding us later.” I take my first steps off the Port Road and onto a side street. Cal sputters, but follows along. “All he has to do is follow the smoke.”
“Smoke?” He blanches.
“A controlled burn,” I continue, a plan formulating so fast the words barely have time to pass my lips. “Something contained. A fire wall just big enough to hold them back, until we get the names we need. A few nymph grunts shouldn’t pose much of a threat to you, and if they do”—I ball my hand, letting a tiny spark spin in my palm—“that’s what I’m here for. Farley, I assume you know the records system?”
She doesn’t hesitate to nod, her face shining with an odd sort of pride. “Finally,” she mutters. “No point in lugging you two around if you’re not going to be useful.”
Cal’s eyes darken into a fearsome glare that reminds me of his dead father. “You know what this will do, don’t you?” he warns, as if I’m some kind of child. “Maven will know who did this. He’ll know where we are. He’ll know what we’re doing.”
I round on Cal, angry that I must explain. Angry that he doesn’t trust me to make any kind of decision. “We took Nix more than twelve hours ago. Someone will notice Nix is gone, if they haven’t already. It will be reported. You think Maven isn’t watching every name on Julian’s list?” I shake my head, not knowing why I didn’t realize sooner. “He’ll know what we’re doing the moment he hears of Nix’s disappearance. It doesn’t matter what we do here. After today, no matter what, it will truly be a manhunt. Citywide searches for us, orders to kill on sight. So why not get ahead of the curve?”
He doesn’t argue, but that doesn’t mean he agrees. Either way, I don’t care. Cal doesn’t know this side of the world, the gutters and the mud we must throw ourselves into. I do.
“It’s time we stop pulling our punches, Cal.” Farley joins in.
Again, no answer. He looks dejected, disgusted even. “They’re my own people, Mare,” he finally whispers. Another man would yell, but Cal is not the type to shout. His whispers usually burn, but I feel only determination. “I won’t kill them.”
“Silvers,” I finish for him. “You won’t kill Silvers.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.”
“And yet you were willing to end Crance not too long ago,” I press on, hissing. “He’s one of your people too, or he would be if you were king. But I suppose his blood’s the wrong color, right?”
“That’s—” he sputters, “that’s not the same. If he ran, if he was captured, we’d be in such danger. . . .”
The words stick in his throat, trailing away. Because there are simply no words left for him to say. He’s a hypocrite, plain and simple, no matter how fair he claims to be. His blood is silver and his heart is Silver. And he will never value another above his own.
Leave, I want to say. The words taste bitter. I can’t force them past my lips. As infuriating as his prejudice, his allegiances are, I can’t do what should be done. I can’t let him go. He is so wrong and I can’t let him go.
“Then don’t kill,” I grind out. “But remember that he did. My people—and your own. They follow him now, and they’ll kill us for their new king.”
I point one bruised finger back at the street, to the banners bearing Maven’s face. Maven, who sacrificed Silvers to the Scarlet Guard, to turn rebels into terrorists and destroy his own enemies in a single swoop. Maven, who murdered everyone at court who truly knew me. Lucas and Lady Blonos and my maids, all dead because I was different. Maven, who helped kill his own father, who tried to execute his brother. Maven, who must be destroyed.
A small part of me fears that Cal will walk away. He could disappear into the city, to find whatever peace still lingers in his heart. But he won’t. His anger, while buried deep, is stronger than his own reason. He will have vengeance, just as I will have mine. Even if it costs us everything we hold dear.
“This way.” His voice echoes. We have no more time for whispers.
As we round the back corner of the Security Center, my senses reach out, focusing on the security cameras dotting the walls. With a smile, I push against them, shorting out their wiring. One by one, they fall to my wave.
The back door is just as impressively made as the front, albeit smaller. A wide step like a porch, a door grated with curving steel, and only four armed guards. Their rifles are polished to a high sheen, but heavy in their hands. New recruits. I note the colored bands on their arms, denoting their houses and abilities. One has no band at all—a lower-class Silver, with no great family, and weaker abilities than the others. The rest are a banshee of House Marinos, a Gliacon shiver, and a Greco strongarm. To my delight, I see no white and black of House Eagrie. No eyes to glimpse the immediate future, to know what we’re about to do.
They see us coming, and don’t bother to straighten up. Reds are nothing to worry about, not for Silver officers. How wrong they are.
Only when we stop before the steps of the rear door do they notice us. The banshee, little more than a boy with slanted eyes and high cheekbones, spits at our feet.
“Keep moving, Red rats.” His voice has a painful, razor edge to it.
Of course, we don’t listen. “I would like to lodge a complaint,” I say, my voice high and clear, though I keep my face angled to the ground. Heat rises next to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Cal’s fists clench.
The officers break out in hearty guffaws, exchanging grotesque smiles. The banshee even takes a few steps forward, until he stands over me. “Security doesn’t listen to the likes of you. Take it up with the Red Watch.” They break out in peals of laughter again. The banshee’s hurt my tender ears. “I think they’re still hanging around”—more disgusting laughs—“in Stark Garden.”
Next to me, Farley’s hands curl into her jacket, to feel the knife she keeps tucked close. I glare at her, hoping to stop her from stabbing someone before the right moment.
The steel Center door opens, allowing a guard to step out onto the entryway. He mutters to one of the other officers, and I catch the words broken and camera. But the officer only shrugs, darting to look at the many security cameras dotting the wall above us. He doesn’t see anything wrong with them, not that he could.