“When I, along with the other directors, agreed to the Council’s decision of putting you in charge of the Effigy initiative to capture Saul, I did so under the assumption that you would be able to handle the operation.”
“It was the Council’s decision, sir,” replied Sibyl coolly. “None of you had a choice to begin with.”
“But your management of the situation so far has only placed the Sect under a heightened scrutiny that we cannot afford right now while we are dealing with our own internal issues.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Sibyl said, and I’d never seen her more careful with her words. “I endeavored to stop the press conference, which should never have been held in the first place”—she glared at Blackwell—“the moment I got wind of it.”
“Which wasn’t soon enough.” He looked uncomfortable in his chair as he sat back and placed his hand on his desk as if it were all he could do to keep himself from trying to jump through the screen to get to us. “Not to mention your handling of the Effigies.”
Lake and I exchanged a glance. The four of us sat quietly at the long, rectangular table like we were told, but it looked like it was our turn for a scolding. When Sibyl had told us we were going to the briefing room, I’d expected more angry faces around the table, but it was just us and a host of empty seats under the blinding ceiling lights.
“My handling of the Effigies?” Sibyl repeated.
Blackwell, who looked amused as he watched the former teacher berate his former student, found a strand of his hair, twisting it around his finger. “Ah, yes, your handling of the girls,” he said. “Well, with your experience running the all-girls’ training facility in Botswana, the Council felt that you’d be able to relate to the Effigies better than any of us. And so they gave you the go-ahead to mold the girls’ public images.”
“But embracing the spotlight means training the girls to manage themselves in it,” said Prince. “Just like we need to manage the Sect’s public image.”
Chae Rin kicked me under the table, but I wasn’t about to be the one who interrupted the very mean, scary man yelling at us. I gritted my teeth.
“The Sect has had trust issues with the rest of the world for as long as I can remember. That didn’t start with this press conference.” Sibyl turned to Blackwell. “The bigger issue is that you seem to have gotten a taste for telling the media information they shouldn’t have.”
Sibyl’s glare would have made me squirm in my seat, but Blackwell only crossed his legs, amused.
“As the representative of the Council, it’s not unexpected that I might appear in front of the cameras.”
“Maybe. When you meet with foreign leaders. But giving out information on our operations is a sloppy move, and not the first you’ve made.”
“I would suggest you search your own house before you launch any accusations.” Blackwell leaned back in his chair. “It was under your watch that multiple agents helped Saul escape your custody.”
“It was Vasily Volkov, your personal agent, who led the charge of his escape,” Sibyl fired back.
Vasily. Both of my hands curled into fists atop the cold table. As an agent of the Sect, he would have been used to the battlefield, but he was far more violent than I ever thought possible, from cutting off a man’s finger to almost choking me to death in the backyard of Belle’s old foster home. I could still feel his rough fingers around my neck, could still see his fox grin and his long, faded blond hair grazing my face as he bent over me, straddling my body. My fingers twitched, aching to go to that spot on my neck, but I stayed still.
“Ex-agent,” Blackwell corrected. “Vasily has been dealt with. I have no need for traitors.”
“A traitor to you or to the Sect?”
I hadn’t even meant to speak. But the words flew out of my mouth regardless. I glared at Blackwell from my seat.
He looked shocked and almost insulted that I’d dared to enter the conversation between “grown-ups” without permission. “I beg your pardon, young girl?”
“Is Vasily a traitor to you or to the Sect? As I recall, when Vasily tried to kill me in France, he’d said he was only following orders. So whose orders was he following?”
Blackwell’s smug exterior cracked for just a moment, and I didn’t know if it was because of guilt or because of the affront of being accosted by teenager. It was back up in time for his response. “Believe me, little girl. My will is the Sect’s. If the Sect wanted you dead, the Council would have ruled it during your oath, and you never would have left the cathedral.” He watched me suppress a shiver before continuing. “If the Council did not want you dead, then the Sect did not want you dead. In that case, why would I want you dead?”
To keep me from discovering the message Natalya had hidden for Belle. The box under her floorboards. Alice’s letter. There was no other reason.
“Like I have already told the Council and assured the directors, Vasily acted against my own wishes. The Council has already assessed as much. And you know I have no say over what the Council does or does not decide. However . . .” He turned to Sibyl. “It was under your watch that agents are relaying false information about a classified mission—a failed mission, atop of that. Like Director Prince said, we can only do so much, but hasn’t your mishandling of the situation led to this outcome?”
As Sibyl’s eyes narrowed to slits, Prince rubbed his brow with a throaty sigh. “This is ridiculous. Like listening to children bicker.”
Or listening to parents fight. The other girls looked as stiff as I felt.
“Neither of you need worry. You both have a part to play in this mess and thus have earned the brunt of my disgust.” He spoke bluntly, and though he’d managed to bring the rage in his grizzled voice under control, it still simmered beneath his words.
“You should watch your tone, Arthur.” Uncrossing his legs, Blackwell leaned in, propping his elbows up on the table. “Regardless of what you might think—and the mistakes your students have made—I’m still the voice of the Council.”
“What you are, Bart,” said Prince, spitting out the name, “is a member of the Blackwell family, who have and always will be the useless ceremonial crust on the Sect’s toe. A glorified mouthpiece for the Council. A messenger.” Prince gave him a derisive smirk. “The only reason why Langley and I allowed you to be part of this conversation is because I correctly assumed you would have nothing better to do. Is that why you’ve taken to calling press conferences?” He tilted his head, curious. “Were you under the assumption that taking the position of an underpaid media liaison would finally give you a role better than relaying messages and occasionally dining with whichever prime minister has time for you?” His disgust was palpable. “A spoiled little boy with nothing to offer anyone. Like father, like son, I suppose.”
Blackwell’s face had turned to stone.