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“Marcus? Where are you?”
“Still in the citadel,” Penelope answered. “Tobias is on his way. He left this for me, but it’s the first time I’ve been close enough to use it.”
“Something Zane worked up,” Marcus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Short distance radio, private channel.”
“So Zane is on our side. And Damien?” I asked. “Have you heard—”
“Damien is alive. That’s all I know.”
“Can you free him?”
“Not without blowing my cover and ending up beside him. And if he’s dead, things get a lot more confusing. An elite ruler, or a human traitor and assassin.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s the story they are sharing. Nigel is telling everyone the king is dead and the prince and his rebel whore killed him—excuse my language. That’s the excuse he’s given for keeping Damien a prisoner. We can’t change the story until we have power. Tobias will tell you everything, but we should keep this channel clear.”
“And my siblings?”
“I’ll find out, I promise. But Emily…”
“What is it?” I asked.
“He’s using the king’s murder to declare himself temporary monarch.”
“He’s going to crown himself? He’d need the curates’ blessing.”
“He has it, apparently. Or, no doubt, he’ll get new curates.”
“Are you in danger?” Penelope asked.
“Not until after the ceremony. I don’t think he’d move before then. If anyone wants to oppose him, it’ll have to be before; after it’s done, most will feel no choice but to support him.”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
I blew out a sharp breath, and Penelope drained her cup.
“I don’t know what he’s planning,” Marcus continued, “but with twice as many people and no way to access the resources from the colonies, things are going to get bad soon. It’s crowded in here. Not enough food. He’s blaming all this on you. Whatever you’re going to do—do it quickly.”
“When was the last time you slept?” Penelope asked, putting the glass decanter away in the wooden cabinet. I blinked at her, but couldn’t remember. Instead my eyes took in the details of the room in the candlelight. The polished wood and high moulded ceilings, the shimmering of gold trim and old frames. Part of me felt like I shouldn’t be here, like I could get in trouble. When I was younger, I got scolded for even playing on this side of town. I was too poor, too dirty, too uncivilized. Penelope had grown up in a house like this, practically a noble, but it was still foreign to me even after all the time I’d spent in Damien’s posh apartment in the citadel.
It should have felt impressive, but instead it felt small and weak. The mayors had no real power, but they got all the best stuff, merely to keep the system running. I could barely remember the face of the man who’d been in charge, and now there was nobody here, in this big expensive house. Nobody but me, and my elite escort. Penelope had been executed for treason, but had still managed to cheat death.
“Hold on,” I said. “I heard the mayor had an electric cold storage.” The house was so large it took me a few minutes to find the stairs to the lower level. I barely recognized the framed paintings and photographs that lined the hallways. I tried to remember the mayor’s children, but couldn’t. He’d never known I existed before my choosing, and even afterward I’d gotten nothing from him but a smile and a nod. I’d never been in his house before, and I still felt like I was trespassing. It was an uncomfortable, childish fear, that I couldn’t seem to escape from.
I found the freezer downstairs and returned to the living room, with a tub of icecream and a silver spoon.
“Oh man,” Penelope said. “I’d kill for some of that right now.”
“Can you taste it?” I asked.
“Not really. What’s the flavor?”
“Chocolate and vanilla. Butterscotch. All swirled together.”
“Sounds divine,” she said.
