A moment later, I was gripping the arms of the seat as I watched the ground shrink away below. We rose quickly over fields of green and yellow toward the city of London, which grew closer by the minute. Though it had a river running through its center like Paris, London looked newer and more metropolitan. More gleaming skyscrapers, wider streets, bigger boats sailing down the wide river. The city stretched away as far as I could see.
We zipped over squares of bright green parks, a white Ferris wheel that looked small enough to scoop up with my ring finger—“That’s the London Eye,” came Jack’s voice through my headset—then a bridge straight out of a Dickens novel—“Tower Bridge,” Jack said as it hinged open from the center to let a cruise ship pass beneath.
Paris had come to feel so familiar that being in this new city was more of a shock to my senses than I expected. We passed over Big Ben, Parliament, the British Museum, all names I’d heard a thousand times. My mom would have loved this. One of her favorite things was touring each new city we lived in. And then I remembered with a start that she’d lived in London, too. This was where she’d met my dad.
After what seemed like no time, we dropped onto a rooftop in the city’s center. The rotors were still spinning when Jack swung open the door and helped me down, and I clung to him a little longer than I should have while I got my shaky legs underneath me.
He let go of me abruptly, and I turned to see why. Lydia Saxon was walking across the landing pad. My sister.
I’d only met Lydia once, at the Eiffel Tower ball, where I first realized the Saxons were my family. In the past two weeks, though, I’d taken every opportunity to look her up online. The Saxons’ cover story for being so rich and well connected was that they were minor British royalty, and the tabloids reported on their exploits as such. Lydia dragging her twin brother, Cole, away from a fight at a bar. The two of them, him in a proper waistcoat and her in a hat, attending the christening of a new royal baby. Every time I saw a picture of her, it seemed more and more surreal. Seeing her in person was stranger still.
Lydia was wearing a classic khaki trench over a blue summer dress, her dark hair in a bun. Her eyes were like mine, minus the color. A little too big, a little too wide set under dark brows. Where I was so pale I was almost translucent, she had olive skin, and when she got close, I saw that without her towering heels we’d be just the same height.
Lydia stopped in front of us. “Hi,” she said, twirling a long pendant necklace around her fingers.
“Lydia.” I realized I was twisting my own necklace, and forced myself to stop. Was I supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? I did neither. “Hi. Thanks for picking me up. Is everything okay? I thought we were going to your house.” I was rambling, one doomsday scenario after another running through my mind. She had security waiting to toss me in a cell. They had a wedding ceremony already set up at a nearby church, and I wouldn’t have time to run.
But she shook her head. “Father’s meeting at Parliament ran over. He was going to come get you, but now I’m meant to show you around until he’s finished and then we’ll meet at home.” Her eyes got wide. “Are you okay with the helicopter? I wasn’t sure since you might not be used to them, but Father said it would be fastest, and—”
“It’s fine,” I said, the tension draining out of me. A helicopter was the least of my worries.
Lydia was shifting back and forth on her heels. Could she possibly be acting so weird because she was nervous, too?
As if in answer to my unasked question, she looked up. “When we first met, I didn’t even realize you were my sister,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here now.”
My heart exploded into a thousand relieved, ecstatic pieces. I had to force myself not to throw my arms around her. This feeling—happiness?—was foreign after the past few weeks.
“Me too,” I said. “I’m really happy to be here.” Lydia grinned, and the tension finally broke. I had a sister. I had a family. And they’d have to help me. That was what family did, right?
Lydia giggled at Jack, who had retreated a few feet and was looking off into the distance. “Oh, quit it,” she said, and crossed to plant a kiss on his cheek. Just like I remembered from the ball, Jack didn’t seem anywhere near as comfortable with her as Stellan did with his charge, Luc Dauphin.
“Lydia.” Jack bowed his head formally.
“Father’s not here. You don’t have to be so bloody proper,” she said, and I relaxed even more. Lydia certainly didn’t seem to harbor any ill will toward Jack. “I want to hear all about the adventures you two have been having.”
She took my arm and pulled Jack after us to an elevator that let us out in a dark wood lobby off a bustling street. Jack kept up conversation with her, feeding her our lines about how we hadn’t come to them earlier because I was scared, and about what he’d done to keep me safe.