“I told Mr. Rasmussen everything I knew about Tieman, the apartments, everyone I’d seen with him and where they met.” She leans forward, her eyes burning in defiance as if I’m about to accuse her of being a traitor. “I’m a protestor, not a terrorist. I don’t want blood on my hands and I don’t think blowing people up is going to get us anywhere. Tieman’s dangerous. The sooner he’s arrested, the better.”
I asked Tieman to help, and his idea of help was making a bomb. A smoke bomb, sure, but a clever and well-made one, full of red smoke. Red just like Varga’s flag that once flew over Paravel. I sit there in stunned silence, remembering how I lied for him. Nearly stole for him. All the while Briar was sitting in this prison spilling everything she knew to Jakob.
“You do believe me, don’t you, Sach?”
I take a shaky breath. “I believe you. And I think I’ve been very stupid.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Tieman used your loyalty to me to get what he wants.”
“What’s going to happen to you now?”
“After everything I told Mr. Rasmussen, I’m too scared to leave. This is the safest place in Paravel.” Briar smiles ruefully. “It’s not too bad in here. The cell’s a bit cold, but the guards leave the door unlocked and I can sit in their lunchroom and watch TV.”
I chew my thumbnail, my stomach churning, trying to remember everything I told Tieman and whether I’ve put anyone in danger.
Briar hesitates. “What’s going on between you and Mr. Rasmussen? I wondered if your engagement was arranged, but the way he talks about you… He hasn’t said much, but when your name comes up, all the uptight security attitude goes out of him. He’s asked me what you were like when we were at school and when we were kids, and not in an interrogation way. I think he just likes hearing my stories about you. They made him smile.”
I’m conscious that Jakob is listening to our conversation right now. “Oh, it’s complicated. Briar, listen. Tieman asked me to steal the plans for the palace offices just over the street from here. He said he wanted them so they could bust you out of here.”
She snorts in derision. “To come in here and kill me, more like.”
I put my head in my hands. That nearly happened because of me. I’m such an idiot.
Briar pats my hair. “It’s all right, Sachelle. I know better than most how convincing Tieman can be. You’re not like him. You’re a good person.”
Being a good person doesn’t count for much when you nearly got someone killed.
The door opens, and I look around, expecting to see Jakob, but it’s one of the guards who drove me to the palace. “Mr. Rasmussen asked me to take you home, Lady Sachelle.”
I stand up and hug Briar as hard as I can, trying to convey all the sorrow I feel for her situation. For the way Court has treated her, and then Tieman. Now she’s locked away in here and in fear of her life.
Briar smiles and squeezes my hands. “Don’t worry about me, Sachelle. I’m safe in here. Mr. Rasmussen won’t let anything bad happen to me.”
16
Jakob
My heart is thundering in my chest as I walk up the front steps of Balzac House. It’s seven in the evening and I must have been over those photographs and the recording Sachelle received a million times. I’ve scoured all the evidence that I’ve collected the past few weeks, trying to discover any clues, but I’ve drawn a blank every time.
I don’t know where Tieman or any of his people are. They’re out there somewhere, and they want Sachelle dead. When she asks me, the man who’s meant to love and protect her, if she’s safe, I’ll have to tell her that she’s not.
I’ve failed her.
The butler shows me through to the drawing room where Duke and Duchess Balzac are waiting, dressed for dinner. I scour the room and see her. My bride, in a stunning cream dress that clings to her breasts and hips, and metallic high heels. There are diamonds sparkling at her ears and her luscious chestnut hair is at the top of her head in a crown braid.
She lifts her big, violet eyes to my face and then looks quickly down at the floor again.
My heart lifts, and then plummets again.
At the dinner table we’re seated next to each other, opposite the Duke and Duchess. Sachelle and I are painfully aware of each other, as if accidentally bumping elbows might detonate a bomb. The tension isn’t helped by the fact that my fiancée’s parents are eating in steely silence.
Finally, the Duke clears his throat and asks, “Have you had a busy day, Mr. Rasmussen?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I mutter, without looking up.