21st of Thira, Continued

The staccato of my dancing heels on the hotel foyer floor echoed from the polished marble walls like gunshots at the far end of a tunnel, giving the moment an eerie finality: 'pock, pock, pock, pock.'

Don't lose your nerve.

Braeton smiled as I came toward him, his gaze sharpening when I didn't smile in return, or slow down. I tucked my arm through his as I reached him and pulled him toward the vestibule doors.

"Arramy met with a courier this morning," I whispered, quick, before I could talk myself out of it. Tear off the tackyplaster. "He really is working with the Coventry."

Braeton kept right on going, pushing through the main doors when I tried to pause in the vestibule.

He didn't seem surprised. I blinked, then had to hurry to keep up with his longer legs. "So you already knew he was the leak," I said, staring up at him. "For sure. You knew for sure?"

He took a right outside the hotel doors and headed down the carriage ramp.

"Wait. How long did you know?" I blurted. His continued silence spoke volumes. "And you left me alone with him! Why would you —"

"I didn't know for sure until Desmodian let it slip at the veildfaste," Braeton snapped, glancing around while trying to herd me forward faster. "How did you find out?"

"I followed him up to the roof," I hissed. "Were you going to tell me?"

"Of course. Were you?" He shot back, glaring down at me, a spark of the fiery pirate breaking through.

"I just did," I pointed out.

We rounded the corner of the building then, moving at a swift clip, and started along the delivery drive that ran from the street to the hotel kitchen entrance. Braeton's horseless stood outside the loading bay, engine idling, Henmyrre busy loading something into the traveling compartment.

The strangeness of exiting through the front door only to get into a vehicle at the back suddenly registered. I stiffened. "What's going on?"

"Change in plans," Braeton said, tone curt. He tugged at my elbow. "Nothing to worry about. Come on."

I was about to demand more information when the swinging doors from the loading bay slammed open, and Longwater came lurching out, half-dragging, half-carrying something very large and bulky wrapped up in a tarpaulin.

"What in blazes are you doing?" Henmyrre shouted – but quietly, under his breath. He darted forward, eyes on the swinging doors as he grabbed the other end of the large bulky thing.

"A'most got caught by the cleaning filla," Longwater grunted, looking cross. "Couldn't finish 'im off. She'd've found the mess too quick."

Henmyrre' s voice was high with panic. "He's still alive?"

I stopped still, realization dawning. "Is that —" I didn't finish because Henmyrre had drawn a pistol. There was no thinking involved. I tore away from Braeton and sprinted forward before he could stop me, covering the last several meters between me and the loading bay at a full-out run.

"Well, best be done with," Henmyrre was saying, "he'll be too much trouble when he wakes up." He reached into the horseless and brought out one of the bolster cushions. He plopped the cushion over the wider end of the bulky thing, where the head would be, and was about to press the muzzle of the pistol to the pillow, when he glanced up at the sound of my footsteps and Braeton's shout of warning.

Too late. I had already launched myself at him, a kick sending the pistol flying, the rest of me angled to land on Henmyrre's shoulders. He tried to roll away, but my elbow found his spine between his shoulder blades, and I had a handful of his Illyrian braids. With a determined yank, I dragged his head back just like Arramy had taught me, using my weight on his neck to overbalance him and send him stumbling.

That was as far as my surprise attack got. Henmyrre shoved me off and jumped to his feet, breathing hard, shock written all over his face.

Longwater began laughing, his thick shoulders jerking up and down.

Careless of my gorgeous clothes, I scrambled backwards and sat on top of the bulky thing, glaring up at the three of them as Braeton came to a stop next to Longwater.

Braeton raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Get off."

"No," I shook my head, "Not unless you promise not to hurt him. I'll start screaming. I will. It won't look good, beautiful rich girl claiming she's being robbed and abducted by Lord Braeton, I'll have them eating right out of my hand."

Both of Braeton's brows went up, a flicker of something that might have been amusement in his pretty eyes before he ground his teeth and looked around. "Fine. We don't have time for this. Get him in the bootleg box. We'll have to take him with us."

That wasn't exactly a promise. I narrowed my eyes at Braeton, but Longwater was already grabbing my upper arms, caging me in and lifting me as easily as a doll. Throat tight, I stood where he put me, watching as Braeton proceeded to open a cleverly hidden secret compartment in the floor of the horseless. Then Henmyrre took one end of the bulk in the tarpaulin, Braeton took the other, and the two of them hefted Arramy's apparently unconscious body into the bootleg box.

A minute later we were rolling out of the hotel courtyard like nothing had happened. Inside the traveling cabin, though, tension reigned as we waited for some sign that someone had seen us. We passed beneath the arched delivery lorry entrance, and Henmyrre pulled out into the press of traffic in the avenue that bordered the Capitol Square. When we had turned down one side street, then another, and no Magistrate's klaxon had announced an alarm, I finally took a breath.

I should have felt something, then. All I could muster was a sort of numb acceptance that Arramy was under my feet, alive. I was too exhausted to think or feel anything else. The crazy surge of energy that had driven me to jump on Henmyrre was long gone, and in its place loomed the possibility that this would be the last thing I ever did. The purr of an expensive engine, the golden glow of the cabin lights, the rumble of rubber-clad wheels over cobblestone, these were my death-march. I couldn't stop it or slow it down. Everything in the last few months had driven me here, to this moment, and now it was rushing at me like a freighter.

With a sigh, I rested my aching head on the window.

"Why do you insist on protecting him?"

I closed my eyes.

"What do you see in him?" Braeton continued. "Let me in on the secret, because I just... I don't see it. He has nothing. He is nothing. Some mountain-born miner's son." There was a pause, and I imagined Braeton shaking his head, his jaw tight. "He doesn't deserve your loyalty, Bren. He turned his back on his own people. On us. Whatever good he might have done, it doesn't outweigh the bad."

"I know," I whispered, frowning. Fighting to keep him alive made no sense.

"He's dangerous." Braeton's voice took on a tone of correction. "He might be nothing but a tool, but he's a good one. He follows orders without question. He told them your father was on the Galvania, Bren, that's how far back this goes. He was using you as bait."

For some reason that struck me as funny. I chuckled in spite of the pain lancing through my ribs as Braeton's words found their mark. I opened my eyes and looked at him without turning my head. "So, sort of like you are now." I waved a hand in the general direction of Pendar the Midnight Goddess. My laughter died abruptly, turning into a frigid knot in my middle. "I want to hear him admit it. I want to see it in his face. I can't do that if he's dead."

Braeton studied me, green eyes dark in the half-light of the cabin lamp. Finally, he glanced away, his brows furrowing. "You're sure that's the only reason?" His voice was rough. "I'm not blind, Bren." A cold smile curled across his mouth. "I've seen how you look for him in a crowded room."

That knot of ice in my stomach expanded a few inches, making it difficult to draw a full breath. I stared at the man across from me for a long moment. The truth hurt.

Braeton flashed a hard grin and peered through the shutters on his window. "We're almost there." He turned and gave me the usual pre-performance once-over, then leaned across the space between us to secure a hairpin, tucking a fallen curl back into place behind my ear. His eyes met mine. "Ready?"

The huge gates of the Reixham estate loomed ahead of us and the horseless began to slow.

I took a breath. Firmed my chin. Then nodded.

Henmyrre brought the horseless to a stop. The next instant dogs began barking outside and footsteps sounded in the gravel of the drive, followed by a tap on the luxfenestre and a gruff, "Papers please."

We were at the first checkpoint.

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