Mark smiled. “Exactly.”
“But still, we cannot defend Ethan’s innocence as vigorously as we might wish, lest certain unfortunate matters come to light,” Charles said.
They could not let people know it was Carwyn who had committed treason, not Ethan, because they could not let people know that Carwyn existed. I nodded to show I understood.
“As Charles said, the guards who made the rash accusation, and the commander who gave the orders to apprehend Ethan, have been dealt with,” Mark contributed. “But . . .”
That meant that they had been killed. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to understand that, so I just looked at them.
“Ethan is going to have to make a public statement about the unfortunate misunderstanding,” Charles continued. “On a live morning show today. Just to clear everything up. So that he will be found innocent in the court of public opinion.”
So that he would not mess up the Strykers’ chances in the next council elections.
“You have a certain well-deserved cachet with the media,” Mark commented.
“And of course, a lovely young couple, side by side . . .” said Charles helpfully.
For a moment, I wondered how much of his weakness was real and how much was for show. With Charles there, everything Mark meant got said, and Mark did not have to be the one who said it. The way they worked meant Mark’s standing was untouched and Charles was underestimated.
I looked from Mark’s face to Charles’s, then back at their hands, with their nails buffed and their rings shining. Of course they would not ever have killed anyone themselves. Of course their hands were clean.
“Whatever I can do to help Ethan,” I said. “I’m happy to do it.”
At Home with Seth and Gina was the most-watched morning talk show in Light New York. Every time a politician committed an indiscretion or a celebrity had a scandal, they tried to smooth it over on At Home. People trusted it more than the prerecorded shows, because they knew it was live, but they never considered how carefully every appearance had been prepared for.
Except for this time.
Mark and Charles must have bargained that the more I was caught off guard, the more likely I would be to agree to do it. Even if it meant going on television totally unprepared the day after rebels rose up in my name.
A bevy of makeup people ushered me into the building and instantly away from Mark and Charles, carrying me in an inexorable tide from hall to elevator to dressing room. A woman blew my hair out very carefully, the shine in her rings lending my hair an extra luster even after her hands had left it. Two more women painted my face like it was a canvas, with tiny brush strokes and tints of magic. They had laid out a white bandage dress for me. When I stepped into it, I felt the cool heavy weight of silk on my skin and saw that it fit me well enough.
The women had turned off the bright lights that surrounded the mirror. I stood and looked at my reflection, my hair shadowing my face, my body a woman’s body.
That was television: if you had a woman’s body, you were expected to show it off. But they were making a mistake. The wardrobe people clearly knew I had always worn white for the media, but they did not seem to realize why: draped white on a child made her seem pure, as though her soul were snowy white and free of stain, as though every word out of her mouth must be truth. Audiences believed children’s words. They did not believe the words of women. Just having this body made me suspect. Putting it on display was even worse.
I remembered the guards on the train platform, who had not believed me when I said who I was.
I didn’t look like the innocent child, like the Golden Thread in the Dark anymore. I didn’t know if this was going to work.
Ethan was standing outside the studio, waiting for his turn. I laid my hand on one of his shoulders, resting it gently against his perfectly pressed shirt.
When he turned around, he looked stunned. “Lucie. What are you doing here?”
I hesitated. It was strange for him to be anything but happy to see me. “Your father and your uncle asked me to come.”
“And you came?” Ethan demanded.
I straightened my back and gazed up at him. “They said I could help you. Of course I came.”
I expected him to be grateful. I certainly did not expect the look of agony on his face, as if I had hit him.
“I don’t want you anywhere near me right now,” Ethan whispered.
I was left speechless, my hands hanging empty, and it was at that moment the door opened and a woman with gelled silver hair that made her head look like a tiny moon said, “We’re ready for you.”
The two presenters were a man in a shirt his stomach was trying to break free of, and a woman in a shiny pink dress so stiffly constructed, she had to perch at the edge of her chair. Ethan and I were shown to a sofa.