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“You shouldn’t even knowthatmuch,” he said. “Where did these rumors come from anyway?”
“Keane,” I said. “It seemed his father wasn’t careful enough with his secrets.”
“How much did he tell you?” he asked.
“Not much,” I said. “Just that it’s somewhere beneath the Academy and trying to find it was the reason for his banishment.”
“Speaking of Keane,” he said, “we’ll need to put him on the radio if we intend to successfully lure his crew back here.”
“If he believes he’s getting free, I imagine he’ll be more than happy to cooperate.”
Cael pursed his lips. “How many people do you think he’s told about the weapons?”
“I don’t know. Probably just the men from Ash Island. I imagine they swap banishment stories like biscuits—that is, if they had biscuits.”
Cael swiped a hand over his eyes, sighing. “It seems he takes after his father. I’ve heard rumors of more than one incident of Cardiff Pearce becoming drunk and loose-lipped, spilling the Academy’s business to whoever happened to be listening. That’s part of the reason I needed him dead.”
My stomach sank. “Really? You didn’t mention that when you ordered me to kill him.”
“It wasn’t relevant. The task would have been the same, regardless of intentions.”
“If I took a life, the reason matters!” I turned my back on Cael, too angry to look at him. “Did he even need to die or could Graham have elected you without his mother forcing his hand or blackmailing him, as you claimed she’d do?”
“Maeve Brennin would have certainly taken action to get what she wanted. That wasn’t a lie.”
“You wanted to silence him. He was the only other person alive who knew how to get into the arsenal.” I spun around to face him. “And now you’re the only one, aren’t you?”
“I better be,” said Cael.
As I observed the tight set of his jaw and the dark determination blazing in his eyes, a realization dawned on me. “The brandy.”
He looked back at me, his expression unchanging.
“You made him drink the rest of the poison, didn’t you?”
His eyes flickered to mine and then away. “Would it bother you more or less if I did?”
“More!” I said. “You made me think it was my fault!”
“Excuse me.” He stepped forward, pointing at my face. “You mean, I made you believe you were successful in your goal?” He rolled his eyes. “How truly awful of me.”
My fists clenched, every muscle eager to hit him. “Don’t pretend you were being kind! You found him alive and knew I’d chosen not to kill him. You wanted me to feel guilty. You wanted me to believe I was a killer. You were willing to let me confess to his murder!”
He shrugged.
Of all the reactions he could’ve possibly given me, the man bloody shrugged.
I pulled back and punched him hard in the nose, something I’d been wanting to do for a long, long time.
He swore at the top of his lungs and shoved me into the wall as his nose spurted blood. Then he stepped closer and grasped my neck.
“But you are a killer,” he said. “What about the Enforcer found dead and stripped in the aqueducts? Am I supposed to believe it’s a coincidence that I found you wearing an Enforcer’s uniform within days of his murder?”
The hand on my throat clenched, squeezing so tightly that my vision became spotted with black.
I wanted to defend myself, tell him it was an accident, but I couldn’t speak at all.
“Cael!” My father shouted, entering the room. “Let go of my daughter!”
