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“How?” Tharsus asks.
“You’ll gain us an audience,” Sevro says. “Get us in nice and tight.”
“But…the Ash Lord hasn’t had an audience in three years. He reigns in solitude.”
“Three years,” I repeat, not believing it. “That’s absurd.”
“Nonetheless, it is true.”
“How the hell is that possible?” Sevro asks.
“There was an assassination attempt, so the rumors say.”
“By whom?” Sevro presses. One of Victra’s? None of mine got even close.
Tharsus looks perplexed. “I assumed by you. No? If anyone wishes to see him, they must go through his daughter, Atalantia.” He looks to his brother, something passing between them, some unspoken knowledge that I don’t like. It was a risk in letting them reunite. Men with unspoken bonds like the one Sevro and I have are always the most dangerous. “But Atalantia has vanished,” Tharsus says.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “A woman like that can’t just disappear.”
“It means I don’t know where she is. If the Carthii or the Saud know, they aren’t telling me. I’ve been frozen out.”
“Is the Ash Lord cloistered on Gorgon Isle?” I ask, hoping Republic Intelligence was correct about the darkzone. “At least tell us that.”
“Yes.” Tharsus nods. “But you cannot approach the island without a summons. The place is a fortress.” Sevro looks over at me. “The air around the island is restricted to House Grimmus aircraft for two hundred kilometers. It will be defended by an army. His Ash Legions. You’ll never get in.”
“Not unless we bring an army of our own,” Apollonius says with a smile.
I RUSH TO CASSIUS AS DIDO sends her men to bring in the safe. He’s fallen to the floor. Color has fled his cheeks. I shake him. “Cassius…wake up!” Holding him now, I feel how limp he’s gone, how much blood of his has stained the white marble. “Stay with me,” I whisper, checking his pulse—so faint I can barely feel it. “Cassius!” His eyes open a sliver.
“Julian?” he murmurs.
I hestitate. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, it’s Julian. Stay with me, brother. Stay with me.”
He blinks up at me, clarity coming to him. “Lysander.” I smile, happy to be seen. “Lysander, what have you done?” Tears leak out of his eyes. “What have you done?”
The accusation puts me on my heels. Robotically, I turn to Dido. “He needs a surgeon.”
“And he’ll have one when I’m satisfied.”
“No, he’ll have one now. His life for the safe.”
“Already making demands? Perhaps you really are a Lune after all.”
Seraphina kneels to feel his pulse. “Mother.”
“Very well.” The woman motions her attendants to collect the man, but Diomedes steps in their way.
“The Olympic Order will take custody of him.”
“Do you not trust me?” Dido asks.
He ignores her. Seeing the worry in my eyes, he says, “Our surgeons will do what they can. If he dies, it will not be by their hand.” I nod in thanks. The stoic man motions two Olympic Knights to carry Cassius out. They hoist him up and pass unmolested through the crowd to disappear through one of the stone doorways.
He will survive. He has to.
Lost in thought, I flinch as the safe slams to the ground in the center of the blood-soaked marble. Dido’s men back away from it. “Your turn, young Lune,” Dido says. “Prove who you are.” I pass Seraphina without looking at her on my way to the safe, conscious of the hundreds of eyes that watch and judge not just me, but the worth of my blood.
I bend before the safe and numbly turn the dial through the combination. My hands are shaking so severely I have to try twice until the tumbler thumps inside the safe. The lock unlatches, then the secondary lock, and the door swings open. I back away, Cassius’s words echoing. What have you done?
