Page 41 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Lock. I was hoping to catch you.’

Much as it saddens him that she won’t be here anymore, he knows her leaving is absolutely the right thing to do. Getting away from Penhalyx’s reach is what he wants too. He’s hoping she’ll be in a position to help when they break free of the Estate.

‘Are you all packed and ready?’

‘Yes, I just wanted to say goodbye.’

‘Travel safe.’

‘Thank you. I, uh…’ Her delicate throat works, her eyes shiny. ‘I wanted to give you something.’

‘Oh?’

‘I bought it for Roman. I was going to give it to him the night before we left Sable Key, but…’ She pulls something out of her pocket. ‘Here.’

She’s holding a thin gold chain with a small oval medal suspended from it. Saint Michael is worked into the gold, wings spread behind him, his sword raised over the creature crushed beneath his feet.

‘It’s traditionally for soldiers,’ she explains. ‘To help them find their way home, but, um… I knew he’d have liked it.’

‘He would have, but I can’t take it. Vasily should have it.’

‘I already offered it to him. He didn’t want it.’

It feels unspeakably rude not to take it when she’s holding it out like this, so Lachlan cradles the fragile gift in his palm.

‘I’ll keep it safe for him if he ever changes his mind.’

‘Roman would have wanted you to have it.’

Lachlan swallows but otherwise exudes nothing.

‘You take care, sweetheart.’

Savannah hugs him, pushing a piece of paper into his hand.

‘I’ll always be here to help,’ she whispers.

Later, he’ll open it and see a phone number for a residence in the United Kingdom that he’ll memorise before destroying the paper.

‘And you,’ he says, drawing away. ‘Anything.’

Take care of them.

‘He really did love you,’ she whispers, her thumb brushing over the R on Lachlan’s wrist just once before she leaves. ‘Be safe.’

✴

Penhalyx isn’t happy, that much is clear.

He has no smug greetings, only immediate instructions.

‘My office. Half an hour. Come alone.’

The atmosphere darkens drastically.

‘Wait with Danya outside the West Wing,’ Lachlan tells Jules, glancing down at his well-covered wrist. The tattoo is invisible beneath a thin layer of silicone matched to Jules’ flesh. ‘He’ll probably call on you after.’

‘You’re nervous,’ Jules points out, his hand on Lachlan’s cheek, which makes Lachlan more nervous. Penhalyx was extremely fucking clear about the whole not boyfriends thing last time, and Lachlan has hardly been obeying it. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.’