I watch the Duke, my ears filled with the scream of memory.
“Let the Obsidian girl up,” the Duke says. Released by the thorns, Volga stumbles to her feet, more angry than afraid. “Only that one was loyal in the end. I appreciate loyalty. So her life is my parting gift to you. A proven, true friend. You are lucky. Such is more than most thieves can manage.”
I face the Duke and swallow back the bile.
“Then I thank you for your patronage, Duke. I trust our business is concluded.”
“For today.”
I turn and help Volga limp away.
“Ephraim,” the Duke calls. I pause, fearing another twist. “I wonder, where will you go now?”
“To sleep.”
“Alone? A pity. But after that…?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You have money now, all for yourself. Money enough to retire. To do whatever you like. But I know you, and you’re not the sort to gather dust. You need this life. Need it to feel alive. To feel anything at all. We always want more—people like you and me. The Queen can give you what you crave. I can give that to you.”
I spare a look at Gorgo, then ask the Duke, “Are you offering me employment?”
The Duke smiles. “Amongst other things.” He gives a card to Gorgo, who brings it to me. A datapad number is printed in white on black. “When you grow bored. I’m always looking for a helping hand.”
Gorgo holds on to the card with his long nails as I try to pull it from him. The card tears in half. He flicks his end at my face. I gather up the pieces and put them into my pocket and Volga and I walk away, doing everything in our power not to run as fast as we can. In the back of my mind, I wish rabbit a swifter end than Cyra’s. Rat or not, the Green was one of mine. And now a debt is damn well owed.
MY SHOES POUND WET PAVEMENT. The sound of the scorchers echoes in my ears. The weapons chewed the ground around my feet as the Obsidians rushed me in the industrial tower. Scarier than the bloodydamn Red Hand. There were three of them in black. Their hair white as bleached bone. They moved faster than the dogs of Camp 121, pushing off walls and support beams like there was no gravity. I thought I was dead, cornered on a level with only open air behind me.
I saw an open ventilation duct. Didn’t even look to see if it had a bottom before I dove in. The sheet metal vaporized behind me from their weapons. I fell ten levels before I managed to jam out my legs and hands to halt my fall. The friction shredded the skin from my palms and dislocated my shoulder. But I managed to slide down the rest of the way, just as my brother Aengus taught me in the vents of Lagalos.
For the first time in my life, I’m glad I’m small.
When I reached the end of the air duct, I kicked my way out, found a construction ladder down, and then limped off into the streets of the reconstruction zone. Still, the Obsidians follow.
I can’t outrun them, so I jump into a dumpster behind a tenement complex and push rotting trash over myself. Rats the size of toddlers and cockroaches the size rats should be scurry around me, biting my back, my arms. But I lay corpse-still and listen to the Obsidians howling to each other in their alien tongue. They’re searching the streets. A searing line of pain works its way down my left forearm. I must have cracked the bone in the fall. Someone’s coming. I hold my breath.
The top layer of skin on my hands oozes blood. I wince as I clutch the shiny pistol I took from outside Philippe’s car. I was too terrified to turn around and use it on the Obsidians. I’ve never even held a weapon before. Could I shoot a man? Who were they anyway? Who did Philippe deliver the children to? The Pink one was the boss, but I didn’t hear his name. If only I’d caught Philippe’s—his real name.
I hate the bastard.
His crow shot Kavax. They killed Kavax.
Are they going to kill Pax and the girl? Don’t let them die. Don’t let it be my fault. Please.
I shift in the garbage. Flies buzz up in my face. The smell brings me back to the dumpsite outside 121. I feel Liam pressed against my chest, his little heart beating so fast. It’s too much. I fling myself out of the garbage bin, swatting the flies off me in a panic. My shoulder stabs with pain. I kneel there in the street amongst burner butts and feel the tightness in my chest fade as the rain soaks through my tuxedo jacket.
Think, Lyria. Think.
I have to run. But where do I go?
The Sovereign will think I’m in on this, and they’ll kill me or put me in a cell for the rest of my life. I can’t go back to the Citadel. But Liam…
Only shadows populate the streets. Cold rain has been falling since we left Quicksilver’s. My teeth chatter together. I think of Kavax’s kind face, how he said that Sophocles chose me. How I was a sign of magic. Bloodydamn lie.
I’m poison. All the time I was in the Citadel, I resented them. I loathed the Sovereign. That’s why the children were taken. Because I was rotten. I was stupid enough to trust a Gray.
I tuck Philippe’s pistol inside my jacket, pick a direction and start moving, sticking to the shadows. I jog as much as I can, but my shoulder hurts so bad I have to rest every three blocks or so. I reach into my jacket to clutch the pistol and duck into a doorway when several hoverbikes roar down the street. On the backs, men in shiny beetle-black helmets scan the shadows. I fall to the ground and start shaking like an addict and scratch under my nose like I’ve just done black dust. One of the hoverbikers pauses, ten meters away, then rips off down the street, thinking me a junkie.