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“So we’re not talking about this?” he asked.
“No. We’re not.” Her voice. With resonance.
The words punched his ears good and hard. He tried to read her but empathy was at the bottom of his skill set. Still, of all the ascenders now living on Second Earth, he knew this woman best—and something had happened. Something had changed.
His mind skated to the Superstitions. He’d flown out to the Fortress an hour ago, just doing a flyby. He’d forgotten how locked down it was. The cells housing a hundred Seers were around the perimeter, but the windows were maybe four inches tall, by three feet wide. A cat would have had trouble escaping.
One section on the northeast side was cloaked in mist, no doubt Stannett’s creation. Whatever else he might be, he was one powerful sonofabitch.
He’d come away from the recon mission with lead sinking his gut. He’d need dy***ite to break in and even if he did, COPASS would have the right to prosecute him—and who knows how that would end up. At the very least, he’d spend some time in prison. At the most, he could be executed for breaching the sanctity of an institution heavily regulated by COPASS law.
And now Endelle was in a state he couldn’t read and his woman was incarcerated by a sociopath.
Perfect.
He knew one thing for sure. He wouldn’t sit much longer with his thumb up his ass. If Endelle didn’t act, didn’t get this travesty figured out, he would blow a hole in the Fortress and get Marguerite the hell out of there.
“You’re in a weird f**king mood,” Endelle said.
“Right back atcha.”
Then Darian Greaves and an entourage of twenty of his uniformed Militia Warriors marched through the door.
Thorne crouched, threw his left arm in front of Endelle, and folded his sword into his right hand.
But the little peach smiled and lifted both hands as if in surrender. “I come in peace and with a reward, for it would seem the Ruler of Second Earth has brought to justice one of the most deplorable war criminals of the past century.”
The cage rattled. Rith tried to sit up but Greaves merely looked at the man and he settled back down, his eyes once more rolling back in his head.
“We brought your pet back,” Endelle said. “Thought you might be missing him.”
His large brown eyes opened wider still. “I am sorry, but I don’t take your meaning. But never mind that, we have a presentation to make.”
As if on cue, another entourage entered, or rather poured into the landing area. Music started, a lively march, Sousa maybe. Lots of trumpets. There must have been at least forty scantily clad beauties, all in full-mount and chosen, no doubt for matching wingspan and color, for the wings were all in shades of cream and white, but average in size. They arrayed themselves in equal numbers on opposite sides of the cage.
Thorne growled. “What the f**k is this, Greaves?”
But Darian moved close to Endelle and two more beauties, not sporting wings this time, moved in front of them both. They carried one of those ridiculously oversized checks.
“I will apologize for keeping you waiting, but it took a few minutes to print your name on the check.”
A host of reporters and flashing cameras came next, also like a flood that had been restrained then unleashed, many of them calling out questions that none of them would answer.
“Who caught the monster?”
“Will he stand trial?”
“Madame Endelle, is PETA suing you?”
Thorne wanted to get the hell out of there. He was the only real security for Endelle in this huge farce, though, so he stuck close but folded his sword away. The blade was extremely sharp and the grip, identified only to him, was always a potential danger to anyone who got too close and accidentally made contact.
Endelle, still to Thorne’s surprise, didn’t seem to be reacting to much of anything. He didn’t get it. Usually, she’d be snarking away, snapping at Greaves and never for a second tolerating his present proximity.
“You still smell like lemon furniture polish,” Endelle muttered. But she smiled for the cameras.
The cameras flashed away.
Greaves didn’t respond to the snipe, but stepped forward and made a rousing speech about the Coming Order, his plans to assist the Ruler of Second Earth in improving all of Second Society, blah, blah, blah.
When Greaves was finished, however, he made a sweeping gesture and the entire press corps reversed direction and headed back into the hallway beyond. The winged beauties followed, as well as the two lovelies carrying the oversized check.
Greaves’s uniformed warriors took charge of the cage. Without even looking at them, he lifted his arm and vanished.
Just like that, Thorne was once more alone with Endelle, except for the landing area security detail. They squatted near the side wall shooting craps over a pair of tickets to Dark Spectacle.
Endelle turned to him, her jaw still grinding. “I think we’ve just been had.”
“Ya think?” She was being way too calm given what had just happened.
“Well, you don’t have public enemy number one show up in a cage with a bow and expect anything else. My guess is that Greaves will have COPASS do a monthlong trial, televised of course, presided over by Greaves himself, staged, filmed, edited. Maybe he’ll even throw in a few spectacle-grade flying swans and geese for good measure.”
Finally, Thorne took her elbow and squeezed. Hard. He rarely touched Endelle, but she was bugging the shit out of him. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“With me? Nothing much. Did I tell you Braulio came to call?”
“Who the f**k is Braulio?”
Endelle lifted her arm and vanished.
Thorne folded after her, following her trace, straight to her office. He found her leaning over her desk, her hands planted on the marble.
Now he was f**king worried. “All right. Give. Who the hell is Braulio and why are you acting like this? You’re not yourself or haven’t you noticed?”
She lifted up and turned toward him. “Everything is changing, heating up. I’ve got a sick-gut feeling now, Thorne, like things are going to start moving … fast … and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t stop it. I can’t fix it. I can’t do a damn thing. I can’t even get into the Superstitions and something’s going on over there.”
He would sift through most of what she’d just said later. For now, he addressed the one thing that possessed his mind. “Give me the word, and I’ll use my best hand-blast and take the front door off the Fortress.”
