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Lila watched it a few more times, peering at the crowd. Only Chairwoman Holguín looked the least bit odd. Her mouth had widened in alarm after the assassin had lifted his gun, her eyes on fire, as though someone held a lighter to ten million credits on stage.
Her ten million.
Lila sent the footage to her palm and returned Dixon’s device. Then she brought up the footage of their heist, scanning it frame by frame.
“What’s that?” Tristan asked, peeking over her shoulder.
“Security footage from tonight. He didn’t appear out of nowhere.”
Tristan grabbed a cable and connected her palm to the screen in the front of the room. They sat in a row on the couch, watching the basement footage.
It was Tristan who saw it. The gunman peeked around the door, spied the heist-in-progress and the impotent cameras, then scowled and left.
The LeBeaus discovered the loop a moment later.
“Oracle’s wrath! He tipped them off. He’s why the plan went to shit,” Lila said. “You saved Oskar’s life, you know. The gunman had to find another way to carry out his plan.”
“By creating a distraction so he could kill some innocent lowborn instead.” Tristan kicked up his legs on the coffee table. “If I’d seen him, I could have—”
“That man’s death is not your fault. It’s the fault of the man who pulled the trigger.”
“I’m getting Oskar out of there. I’m not leaving him with those people.”
Lila glanced at Tristan’s face and saw the darkness that passed over it. “What did the Holguíns do to you? To both of you.”
Tristan’s eyes traveled to Dixon. His brother stood up and walked to the window, brooding once more, the crisscross of scars marring his back like raised, writhing serpents. Dixon had never hidden them from her, but he’d never explained them, either.
Tristan had kept his brother’s secrets.
“What I don’t get is why the loyalists tried to kill Oskar now,” Lila said, changing the subject. “He’s been a slave in the Wilson compound for years without attention.”
“Yes, but the German masses have been a bit too interested in their long-lost king lately. That makes all sorts of important people nervous. It provides hope to the traditionalists, too. After all, Oskar is young enough to be molded.”
“My mother said the same thing.”
“Also, King Lucas got caught with his mistress a few days ago. Photos of the kissing couple are all over the news in the empire.”
“Romans are bizarre. My father has seeded children for eight different women over the years, and my mother has had children with three different men. That’s not even counting all the lovers they—”
“Sometimes I don’t understand how you can be so smart and yet not understand the very simplest of things.”
“What’s to understand? The empire labors under some misguided pretense of monogamy. Whatever happened is an issue between him and his wife, if she cares at all. Not his country.”
“It’s not like the wife knew,” Tristan said. “It’s cheating, and Romans consider it a personal failing. So do the workborn. If a man cheats in one part of h
is life, he probably cheats in others.”
“How do they know the king and queen don’t have an arrangement? If the queen is smart, she has lovers of her own. She lives in a palace full of young, virile bodyguards. You can’t seriously expect me to believe she doesn’t dabble with one or two.”
“Why not seven, if we’re throwing out numbers? Perhaps a different lover for every night of the week?”
“Seven? I admire her stamina.” Lila grinned. At Tristan’s narrowed eyes, she took a sip of her Sangre and cleared her throat. “So how badly do they consider cheating in the empire?”
“It’s a public disgrace. Someone likely had the photos ready, waiting for the right time to embarrass the emperor.” Tristan rubbed at his evening stubble. “Have you eaten?”
Lila shook her head.
“You should eat.” He picked up his palm from the coffee table and typed in an ID, most likely for the Plum Luck Dragon next door.
