Roman’s breath wavered. “Sir?”
“Have I not been good to you? Have I not given you more freedoms than most?” Dacre stared at him for a long, torturous beat. “Search him.”
The two soldiers who had greeted Roman at the door stepped forward. They roughly tore his coat away and began to pat him down.
Don’t resist it, Roman told himself, even as he bristled.
“Sir?” he said. “I don’t understand.”
Dacre didn’t reply. The soldiers came up empty save for the green bird volume. They tossed it onto the table, and Roman watched as Dacre sifted through the brittle pages. His brow arched when he realized there were no hidden messages to find within it. There was nothing to cast guilt upon Roman. It was simply a book about birds, and Dacre snorted, hurling it into the fire.
Roman flinched as Iris’s book flared into a bright flame. Slowly, it melted into smoke, leaving behind curls of ash. But the words and illustrations remained, seared into his mind.
He thought about the owls, the herons, the albatrosses, the nightingales. The pages that had been worn down the most. Dog-eared and smudged, as if they had been touched by countless hands, read over and over again.
He thought about the birds that had broken their wings, refusing to remain captive.
“Where is the key, Roman?” Dacre asked.
“What key?”
“Don’t play coy. I know you saw it, sitting on this table. It was here this morning before Iris Winnow visited, and now it is gone. What have you done with it?”
Roman’s mind raced. Sweat broke out on his palms. “Sensitive information was removed from the table before Iris visited, to be stored in a back room. So she wouldn’t see anything of note. It was your own orders, sir, and the key must have been misplaced—”
“How many other lies have you told me?” Dacre interrupted.
Roman froze. This is a test. And yet he didn’t know how to answer.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. A lazy, confident pace. A second later, Roman felt the rain-soaked presence of someone tall and intimidating standing behind him.
Roman turned to see Val, jaded eyes boring through him.
“Report,” Dacre said.
Val’s gaze shifted to meet Dacre’s. “He followed her to the printer, as he told you. He waited outside for hours, until Iris Winnow emerged. She walked down the street; he trailed her. When she made a stop at the Tribune, he did as well. They were together for an hour or so before he walked her to her flat. They had … quite the romantic exchange.”
The blood drained from Roman’s face. Up until that moment—when he realized Dacre had sent Val to follow and observe him—Roman had believed he could salvage this situation. Even with Dacre’s paranoia about the missing key. But now he knew his time had come to an end. There was nothing he could say, no lie he could spin, that would free him from the web.
“I take it Iris E. Winnow is Iris Elizabeth Winnow,” Dacre said in a smooth, dark tone.
Roman’s attention snapped back to the god. He finally noticed the papers spread before Dacre on the table. Roman’s handwriting, sprawled across the pages. His confession, which Shane had been holding.
It’s over.
You don’t have to pretend anymore.
Roman glanced at the lieutenant.
Shane appeared bored, his hands laced behind his back, his eyes heavy-lidded. But his nostrils flared when their gazes clashed.
Roman wanted to ask him why. Why betray him now? Why expose him now? His fingers curled into fists, nails biting crescents into his palms, and he wondered if he should likewise expose Shane for who he was.
You have no proof!
The truth rang through him like he was hollow. He had burned the missive Shane had given him, because he had been afraid to have it on his person. A mistake now, although maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the end.
Shane had the upper hand, throwing Roman to the wolves to save himself.
And Roman would not do the same to him. Even now, in the moment before his disgrace took root, Roman wouldn’t see another man brought low and wounded by a devious god.
I’ve played my part, and I’ve been outsmarted.
But his chest stung when he thought of Iris. She was depending on him tomorrow.
Roman’s silence had gone too long. Dacre rose, his full height menacing. Every wall, every person in the room seemed to lean toward him, like he was a whirlpool. A collapsed star. The center of gravity.
“I will ask you four final questions, Roman,” Dacre said. “Four questions, which you may answer. Choose your words wisely because I will not tolerate any further lies from you.”
Roman gave a slight nod, waiting.
“Why did you betray me?” Dacre asked. “Why did you give Iris Elizabeth Winnow the information about Hawk Shire? Was I not good to you? Did I not save you?”
Roman exhaled. He was thinking about his reply, what he wanted to say and how to articulate it, when his father stood abruptly from his chair.
“Lord Commander,” Mr. Kitt pleaded. “Please, my son is unwell, as you can see, and—”
Dacre held up his hand. “Be quiet. Let Roman speak.”
Mr. Kitt bowed his head.
Roman didn’t look directly at his father, but from the corner of his eye, he saw how he was quaking. A strange thing to witness, one’s formidable father brought low.
“I betrayed you,” Roman began, “because I love her.”
Dacre wasn’t expecting that response. He appeared baffled, and then he laughed, a rich but scathing sound. “And that is grounds to destroy yourself? My, you mortals think with your hearts when you should give power to your minds.”
“I betrayed you because I love Iris Elizabeth Winnow,” Roman continued smoothly, as if he hadn’t heard Dacre’s taunt. “She represents all that is good in this realm, and your attack on Hawk Shire, simply put, threatened her.
“I couldn’t bear to live in a world where she was slain by your selfishness, and so I warned her. I couldn’t bear to live in a world where you killed countless of my people or wounded them, only to heal them in part so that they would feel confused, indebted, and beholden to you. You, sir, never healed me as you should have. You are the author of my wounds to begin with. I would have never breathed the gas that has scarred my lungs if not for you. I would have never felt the bite of shrapnel in my leg if not for you.
“And what a cruel and terrible thing it is, to be a divine with such power and magic, and yet find yourself so small-minded and afraid that you decide to live out your endless days harming others. Instead of letting us choose to love you for the good you could be, you have forced us to serve you by way of pain and terror. That is unforgivable, and a lesson you will have learned too late, when you lose this war against us.
“You never saved me, like you claim. In the field of Avalon Bluff. You didn’t save me, but Iris did.”