Harlow’s eyes left the scene laid out before him at last, glancing at Ian with distant recognition. After another too-long moment, he lifted his hand. “Major Bradfira, take your men down to the street and assist with the searches. If the rebels are still here, we will find them. High Sergeant Augusto, you can wait at the top of the stairs.”
The muscles in Ian’s jaw jumped.
Ian watched the men file down the staircase, the last of them standing just at the top of the step at attention. For only a moment, Ian wondered if Harlow somehow knew who he was, what he stood for. The man was perfectly blocking any easy escape.
“High Sergeant Martín, what is this information that’s so vital that you see fit to interrupt this operation?”
Ian stepped forward, holding out his hand. The papers were smeared with blood—most of it Tomlo’s but some of it Isadora’s. Just a bit of it transferred to Harlow’s fingers as his hand closed over the letters.
“What are these?”
“Letters, sir. To the resistance. There is classified information within. The moment I realized it, I stopped reading, but...” He let the words fade out, thankful for his sun cycles of learning to act and pretend.
Harlow opened the letter that bore Tomlo’s family seal waxed along the edges. Ian had had just enough time to go back to his aunt’s house and borrow the wax from her study. Tomlo insisting on wearing his family seal on a ring was all he needed.
“Who...” Harlow’s voice was low as he read.
The letter was in Ian’s own hand—the same information he’d told Lumi last week, with a few recent additions that he’d only guessed. Thiswas the test. Ian would either earn a place in the grave beside Isadora or?—
“High Specialist Tomlo, sir,” Ian said, keeping his voice low. “He was acting suspiciously after the bomb when I saw him at the barracks. I followed him and found him attempting to send those via carrier birds.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead, sir,” Ian said, motioning to the wound in his side, still bleeding sluggishly into the torn tunic. “He attacked me when I tried to arrest him.”
Harlow stared at Ian, his black eyes holding his while Ian tried his best to keep his breathing steady.
“And you read what was in the letter.”
“I tried not to, but…” Ian swallowed. He needed to say it. “Yes, sir.”
“And your thoughts.”
“Are irrelevant, sir.” Ian gave a bow. “You are the blade of the king. I wouldn’t question the methods you take to save our people.”
Acid on the tongue.
Harlow stepped forward, and Ian’s entire body went cold. The man grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly. “I thank you for bringing this treason to my attention. Perhaps we’ll have to talk about a promotion. For now, I’d like you to take me to his body. We can discuss what was revealed in the letter as we walk.”
Ian nodded, following the chief commander as he brushed past him and motioned High Sergeant Augusto out of their way. They spoke as the chief commander promised, two men ambling through the city, speaking in hushed tones and euphemisms—Harlow never quite admitting out loud to his use of the bomb today or the training of the dragon beneath the city.
Ian kept his face neutral and his own voice steady. He didn’t take a full breath again until later that night when Harlow finally dismissed him with a promotion and an order to meet him in the upper city the next morning.
And when Ian was lying in bed in the barracks well past midnight, chipping away at the dried blood beneath his nails, he cursed himself.He’d failed to kill Harlow again. Failed his sister and the city. All he’d done was dig himself deeper into the snake pit. He could only hope it wouldn’t be in vain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FOX
It had been over a sun cycle since Fox had stepped foot onto a ship. The last time, he’d been standing next to his father, his mother’s face disappearing into the distance as she watched them sail away. They’d been visiting one of the many women his father had hand-selected for him when Elizabeth had caught Fox with his tongue up the cunt of her best friend—hermarriedbest friend. The woman hadn’t mentioned the married part to him during their flirtations. His father had told him that the least he could have done was lock the library before stripping the woman down and dropping to his knees. He’d known exactly what he was doing.
They’d gone back to Wueco the next day, and Fox didn’t hear about Elizabeth again.
Now, as he watched the shore slip away as the sun rose over the sea, he felt the ghost of his father’s hand pressing into his shoulder, heavy, fingers hard and grasping. And as the wind whistled high and loud against his ears, it growled his father’s disappointment.
Fox shook off the feeling, looking back at the deck of the ship. The crew were running around, easing sails and following shouted orders, while the soldiers that had stayed above board milled about, not quite knowing what to do, but knowing to stay out of the way.
They’d left a couple of hours before dawn, slipping onto the ship in the darkness, but the crack of the bomb that had hit somewhere in the city echoed across the waves. General Luna had insisted they ignore it and keep working, and Fox could only follow the orders, stomach sinking as he recalled the chief commander’s words.