“An eyewitness sighting doesn’t count if the person reported has a doppelganger,” I said quickly. “Everybody knows that.”
“Because it could have been me,” the doppelganger agreed. “I mean, maybe it was him. Maybe he was out prowling the streets with his low political companions, and I was somewhere warm, having a lot more fun—possibly with this gorgeous thing.”
He cast me a brief glance. The brown eyes I was used to seeing soften as they looked at me were flat and expressionless. His look made me feel colder and more exposed than the night wind did. I was deeply and horribly conscious that I was standing on this platform in nothing but a thin shift that hung open so my goose flesh was on display.
Very alluring. But this hideous charade had to be continued.
I tossed my long hair over my shoulder and sent the doppelganger a wink. “Maybe.”
He spread his hands, as if to say “What can you do?” He was still slouching, which was fairly impressive when there was nothing in sight to slouch against. “Maybe he is guilty and I’m totally innocent.” His mouth curved, as if he was amused by the very idea. “It only seemed fair to point out that you don’t have all the information.”
“Now you do,” I stuck in. “It could have been either one of them, and if you kill the wrong one, it will be murder.”
“Killing a beast isn’t really murder,” muttered the guard who had wielded the whip, spitting at the doppelganger’s feet.
“You might not think so,” I said, “but you’ll be punished just the same.”
I tested the grip of the guard still holding me. His fingers twitched, relaxed, and, under the steady pressure I was exerting, released. I walked forward, past the cluster of guards, to the doppelganger. He started when I approached him, oddly, as he had not flinched when the whip came down. I reached out, grabbed his hand, and towed him over to Ethan.
When the guards let me pass, I could almost believe we might get away with this.
“The only thing you can do is take us to the Light city,” I said, sounding as certain and casual as I knew how. “All of us.”
The guards parted and I could finally, finally see Ethan, my Ethan. They had knocked him onto his hands and knees, his broad shoulders were bare and his wavy, sleep-mussed head was still hanging, but he looked up as I stooped toward him. I gave him my free hand, and when his fingers closed around my shaking, sweat-slicked fingers, I felt steadier, my lost anchor regained, warmth and security a possibility once again.
Ethan got to his feet. A moment later, I had them both safe, keeping myself a step ahead, between them and the guards.
“Remember what I suggested earlier?” I asked. “Put us back in our compartment. Put a guard at the door if you like—I don’t care. And call Charles Stryker. Let the Light Council sort out this misunderstanding.”
They were off balance enough to do what I wanted, and uncertain enough now to listen to the name Stryker. When the guards ushered me, Ethan, and the doppelganger into the compartment that had been just mine and Ethan’s, the leader was already looking worried.
Another guard said, as he shut the door in our faces, “I didn’t know any of the Strykers had a doppelganger.”
The door closed, and I sagged against it. I watched Ethan and the doppelganger retreat to opposite sides of the compartment.
“Funny thing,” I remarked. “Neither did I.”
I was furious, but there was something I had to do before questioning either one of them.
“Come here,” I said, and advanced on the doppelganger. He took a step back and wound up sitting on the bunk, looking surprised and mildly irritated.
I held up my hands as if in surrender, though it was anything but. I held them so the doppelganger could see the Light magic rings glittering on all my fingers.
“I’m a trained Light medic,” I told him. “Now let me see your wrist.”
He gave me an unfriendly look, but he let me kneel down and snatch his hand again. I pushed back the worn fabric of his sleeve. The material tried to adhere to the burn, but I pulled it off despite the hiss of pain that slipped through the doppelganger’s teeth. I had to loop my fingers around his wrist, over the burn, thumb and middle finger touching. I concentrated, coaxing to life the light hidden in every sparkling stone, letting it form a bright bracelet over his skin and mine. When I let go, I knew the light would wash the burn marks away. I was able to help, because he was not too badly hurt. My mother had been able to save people on the brink of death, but I was not a tenth as brilliant a magician as my mother. I could only do this.
I blinked away the remnants of Light in my vision, like dissolving stars, until all that was left was his intent gaze.
“There,” I told him.
“Am I supposed to thank you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m supposed to thank you. You saved his life and I love him, so I owe you more than I know how to repay. Thank you . . . what’s your name?”