“Maybe some men deserve to be left behind.”
I know this isn’t just some army thing, some West Point thing. Spence was alive and now he’s not, and Jamie isn’t mad at Alexei. He’s mad at himself. Alexei is just the closest target.
Alexei is my brother’s Scarred Man.
“Spence was an adult, Jamie. He could take care of himself. He wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Like you’re not my responsibility?”
“No,” I tell him. “Don’t you remember? You gave that job to Alexei.”
“Well, then I guess I’ve made a lot of bad decisions this summer.”
Jamie is my family. My blood. If I ever need a kidney, he is totally my first call. But we have never been so alike until this moment. He is changed. Broken.
It’s the one thing I had hoped we would never have in common.
“Ms. Chancellor?” I say. She’s in front of one of the big round windows upstairs, looking out onto the street, when I find her. Dusk is falling, but she holds a coffee cup with both hands, slowly sipping. It’s the middle of summer on the Mediterranean, but it’s like she’s standing beside a pane of frosty glass, watching it snow. I can feel the cold descending.
The crowd is smaller now, here at the end of the day, but there are still protestors chanting, clogging the street and blocking off Embassy Row. Are these people angry with us or the Russians next door? Sometimes it’s hard to say. Some people, after all, don’t care who they yell at as long as they have a reason to keep shouting.
“It’s not going to go away quickly, is it?” I ask, staring at the crowd.
Ms. Chancellor takes a sip. “No, dear. I don’t believe it will.”
“That’s why the prime minister was here, wasn’t it? Because of the crowds?”
“Because of what they represent, yes.”
That’s when I realize Ms. Chancellor isn’t looking at the street — not at the protestors or the massive television trucks that stand right behind the barricades. No. Her gaze is locked on the building next door. There’s an almost identical window on the Russian side of the fence. I half expect to see Alexei standing there, staring back.
On the street below, people are pushing through the crowds, going somewhere. There is a charge in the air, and even inside I can feel it. The sun begins to dip below the horizon and the shadows come to Embassy Row.
“You know Alexei didn’t do it,” I tell her, but I’m still surprised to hear her say, “Of course.”
“Do you know who did?” I ask.
I don’t know what I’m expecting her to say, but I’m disappointed when she shakes her head. “No, dear. I do not.”
I think about the secret rooms and tunnels and the memory of Ms. Chancellor in a nearly abandoned street, holding a smoking gun.
“Ms. Chancellor, about the prime minister …”
“Alexandra Petrovic is acting prime minister, dear.”
“I wasn’t asking about her.”
Eleanor Chancellor isn’t a cold woman. But the look she gives me might turn the Mediterranean to ice. But I can’t stop — not now.
“About what happened … did I ever say thank you?”
For being there. For believing in me. For saving my life.
“Really, Grace.” The smile she gives me is almost blinding. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
But she does know. Of course she does. But the truth is one more thing that I know she’ll never say.
“Now go on,” Ms. Chancellor tells me with a playful push toward the stairs.
“Go where?” I ask.
“Out. The Festival of the Fortnight begins tonight, you know.” She looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Oh, Grace, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. It’s a very important part of Adrian history. And a very big party.” There is an uncharacteristic twinkle in her eye. I think for a moment that she might be teasing. Then I think better of it. Eleanor Chancellor does not tease.
“I’m not in a partying mood,” I tell her.
“I’m not asking, Grace. You need to get out of this building and enjoy yourself for a little while.” She points toward the stairs. “Now go. Your guests are waiting.”
Is she speaking as my grandfather’s chief of staff or as my surrogate mother? Or maybe this is part of the Society. Maybe I’m not supposed to know.
Then I wonder, What guests?
When I reach the entryway, Megan and Noah are already there. She is leaning against his shoulder as they both look at her phone. His cheek touches the top of her head. Their embrace is so comfortable, so easy, that I almost feel guilty for having seen it.
“Hey,” Noah says when he sees me. He doesn’t pull immediately away from Megan, though — as if they’ve been caught. They aren’t doing anything wrong, I guess. Technically, there’s no shame in being happy.
“Awesome. You’re here,” Megan says, and Noah reaches for the door. “I told you not to underestimate Ms. Chancellor,” she tells him before stepping outside.