While the soldiers stretched and yawned and gathered their bayonets, Patrick spoke. It was soft. Reluctant.
But he spoke for me, in a quiet aside, as though he couldn’t bear not to say it. “You have something the House needs,” he told me. “It gives you power. You understand?”
I stared at him, nodded. He was looking dead ahead at the forthcoming soldiers. “They can’t take that from you,” he said. “Whatever else they might take, they can’t take who you are.”
I remembered what he’d said to me once, when we were twelve.
You’ve got a mind of your own. Don’t let those fuckers take it.
I shivered.
I meant to say something more to Patrick, or to Theo. I felt suddenly, frighteningly, as though it might be my last opportunity.
But any words, all words, now seemed futile. What could possibly be said in these last few seconds to dispel the rot?
We prisoners were blindfolded again, our hands retied, threats spat in our ears about being belted senseless if we tried to magic our way out of capture, but with hundreds of soldiers surrounding us on all sides, that promise seemed extraneous.
I could do nothing but listen. I listened to the train cranks settle and the steam chest let out a final sigh.
Hundreds of feet and voices rent the cold air. Some were gleeful, wives and fathers and children fishing their soldier from the trough, delighted they weren’t dead. Some cried, their soldier not among the school. I was shoved and herded onward until the sound dwindled, and the music of the city rose up, though not as I remembered it.
I tried to bring to mind the National House, the citadel and its domed roof, the clock tower, the steepled rooftops, the thin channels of fresh water running street side, the horseless wagons and red bricks.
I wondered if it looked as different as it sounded—subdued. On edge.
I noticed the change underfoot when we entered the courtyard of the National House. Cobblestone became dirt, then steps, then mosaic, until the city was muted. Heavy doors closed. I heard Theodore arguing to have his blindfold lifted, Patrick breathing heavily. I wondered how long it would take for his wound to foul.
I had spent enough time in the House to know where we were heading. Up the grand winding stairs, down one corridor and another, into a vast, sparkling room normally occupied by—
“Lord Tanner,” said a soldier. It sounded like the general, the very same one who had taken us hostage. The one who had run Gunner through with a knife. “I apologize for the hour. You said to bring them straight to you.”
“And so you have.”
The blindfold lifted away, and before me, Lord Tanner clacked his teeth together and stood from an oversize desk. He looked older. Gaunt. There were even fewer hairs on his head. His jowls didn’t quiver as much as I remembered. It all served to make him seem more severe, and no less frightening.
“Miss Clarke,” he said to me. “Well done.”
My throat closed over. I did not have the courage to look to my left at Patrick. I felt Theo’s stare burning into me, willing me to stay quiet, to be clever.
I knew I ought to smile and bow my head and let my charade of loyalty to the House continue, but I was done playing their games. I was bone-tired and burning with anger. “Where is my mother?” I bit out.
Tanner’s slippery grin wavered. He turned to Theo, who looked, by all accounts, haggard, his eye swollen nearly shut and his shirt torn at the sleeve.
“Mr. Shop,” Tanner continued. “I wish I could offer you the same praise.” He then pulled a scribble from his pocket, an eyeglass from his robe, and poised it over the bridge of his nose. He read aloud.
“To the right honorable Lord Tanner…Where is it?” his eyes skimmed the page. “Ah, here…three fire Charmers found dead in the canals… the former Lord Theodore Shop found deserting at Kenton Hill and resisted detainment…My, my.” Tanner quickly folded the parchment again, then walked to his desk to discard it. “I cannot say I blame you, boy. You’ve come up rather short these past years.” He clasped his hands before him. The words were mild, but I sensed a spiking fury behind them. Tanner’s eyes flashed. “Two years, the Alchemist eluded you, and he was under your nose the whole time.” He tsked, and again the noise was too clipped, too overzealous. “And now I come to find you tried to abandon your post. The very oneyouvolunteered for. Am I to believe that you’ve turned to the side of the rebels?”
Theodore straightened, though I saw the slight flinch. “No, my lord,” and he said, glancing once at me. “I only meant to escape the Union’s recapture. It wasn’t my intention to flee the Lords’ Army. I… I suppose I lost my wits for a moment.”
Tanner regarded him as though he were a lowly insect. “Your father will be much relieved to hear it,” he said. “I, however, remain unconvinced.” He nodded once to the soldier at Theodore’s side, and there was a flurry of movement.
One soldier pulled a switchblade from his belt.
Another seized Theodore’s tied wrists, ripped his shirtsleeve to the crook of his elbow.
Theodore struggled. “What are you doing?”
And the blade sank into his Artisan brand, brilliant red pooling and thenflowing freely over Theo’s forearm. Theo shouted in pain, the blood spilling quickly. His knees sank down to the tile, black-and-white checkers now slickened.
