“All right,” he says. “Let’s announce our plans to Fallon, then get back to the castle. We’ve pressed our luck too far for one night.”
I wrap my arms around myself, clutching his tunic to me, and follow him back through the camp. A twinge of guilt eats at my stomach, and I press my hand over the ache in my chest, feeling the locket beneath my palm. No, I don’t love Sebastian. That question is easily enough answered.
I keep up with Devlan as we near the Rebel leader’s tent, and the real question begins to plague my mind.
How far will I go to save my father?
Without knowing who Sebastian truly is, and how much involvement he has with his father’s vile conspiracy, I can’t answer that yet. I would never consciously do anything to hurt an innocent, and Sebastian may be just that.
But if he had anything at all to do with putting my father Outside…
I ball my hands into fists. If he’s a part of this in any way, he’ll regret the day he brought me to Castle Karm.
* * *
“She’s taken enough for now.” Devlan gives Fallon a hard stare. “I’ll fill her in on everything she needs to know over the next week.”
Fallon touches her hand to the side of her head, smoothing her hair back toward her bun. “I trust you will, Devlan.” She walks to her desk and sits. The low-burning candles cast her shadow against the tent. “Now that the princess has decided to join our forces, we have more time to work with.”
I wince at princess. “Please, Fallon, don’t call me that.” I meet her eyes before standing and stretching out my legs.
A small smile slides across her face. “Sorry.” She waves a leather-gloved hand through the air. “It’s how we’ve been referring to you. Old habits. But Zara fits you much better.”
I return her smile. “Thank you.”
“Right. We need to go.” Devlan pushes himself up off the dirt floor and nods to Fallon. “I’ll contact you after Sunday.”
I’d forgotten about this Sunday—about all the ceremonies to come and the banns. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could reach inside my head and quiet the noise. Too much has been revealed to me. I can’t grasp all that has happened in a day, or all that I still have to learn. To perform.
“Zara.” Devlan awakens me from my daze. “It’s time.”
Fallon rises from her chair, and I notice for the first time that she’s about the same height as me, maybe an inch or two taller. “Devlan gave you a communicator?” I nod, and she holds out her gloved hand. “Let me program my frequency.”
I scrunch my face. “But isn’t that dangerous? What if someone taps into it?”
“Our transmission is secure, and we have the best hacker masking our signal.” As I pull the device from my bodice to hand it to her, she raises her eyebrows. “Exactly where I keep mine.” She winks.
After we say our goodbyes to Silas and Fallon, we hurry through the camp. It’s early morning, and in a couple of hours the castle servants will be rising to start their work. Madity won’t come for me until the sun is up, but we need to be inside the castle before there’s movement.
My limbs are weak, and I stagger a little as I attempt to mount Fireblood. Devlan catches me around the waist. “Here.” He gets atop Fireblood before reaching down. He grasps me under my arms and pulls me up, placing me in front of him. I’m too tired to argue that I am strong enough to ride from behind, and I lay my head on his chest.
My eyes close as he takes the reins in one hand and his horse lurches into motion. His other arm holds me to him. The crickets, the rocking of the horse, and the warmth enveloping me from Devlan’s body nearly lull me to sleep, but the plans made in the Rebels’ tent continually circle my mind. They flap like angry bats and bare fangs, biting, keeping me awake.
The Rebels believe Sebastian will take me to meet the king. They don’t know where King Hart’s secret chamber is located, but they speculate it’s far away from the castle and well-guarded. I’m to learn how to fight with my hands as well as weapons, small lethal ones I can sneak in under my clothes.
I’m to become an assassin.
I’ll take out the guards while Sebastian is under the influence of a poison—a sleeping potion—that I’ll give him before we enter Hart’s chamber. I’ll steal the antidote to the Virus. I’ll discover the location of the control room that houses the mainframe he calls Excalibur. Afterward, I’ll convince Sebastian that a citizen killed his father—a ghost of a man whom we’ll invent—who can be falsely accused without the threat of Sebastian seeking revenge. Over his grieving period, I’ll sway him to join the Rebels, take down the barrier, and save the Taken.
As Fallon, Devlan, and Silas plotted this absurd plan, I nearly bolted from the tent.
I am not an assassin. I have no idea how I’m to do all these things asked of me.
And if I should fail to convince Sebastian in the end? If I discover he’s in on his father’s operation, he becomes factored into the plot. Fallon stressed that we must try to save Sebastian first. I don’t want to think of what measures must be taken if Sebastian is aware of Hart’s project. I can’t. I’ll take it one step at a time, and discern the truth for myself.
The only thing that keeps me from going mad is my father’s face on that monitor—the lost look in his once-loving eyes, the pallid gray of his skin. And I can see no other holding a blade to Hart’s throat.
I can’t fail.