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FOURTEEN

I LINGER IN THE GARDENS THAT AFTERNOON when the artificial lights are turned high enough to feel like the sun, replaying Jost’s kiss in my mind. Even as a memory it pulls me apart, shattering me into a thousand glorious pieces that only he can put back together.

I feel eyes on me first, drawing me back to the present, and when I finally spot the man tucked behind a large statue, he saunters out. His smile is too wide, and as he approaches me, he bows. He’s about my height, but his features mimic Valery’s—a thick sweep of black hair and sloping, brown eyes. The lighting system fades as he gets closer to me, and I start to feel apprehension ripple through me.

“Scheduled maintenance,” the stranger explains. “You must be our new guest.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes flickering to the doors that lead back into the main house. “I don’t know everyone here yet.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m Deniel.”

“You’re a Sunrunner?” I guess.

“Yes,” he says. His finger traces the air. “But I’m also a refugee from the Eastern Sector. You’re a refugee, too.”

I swallow hard but nod, wanting to keep things friendly. I have no reason to feel so nervous. Kincaid’s estate is impenetrable, but I’ve had little contact with any of the other Sunrunners. I curse the empty-headed romantic reverie that allowed me to let my guard down.

“I saw the Eastern Sector,” I say, recalling my goodwill tour with Cormac.

“There is so much beauty there. No doubt the remains of the culture we brought from Earth.” Deniel’s voice is so low he practically purrs. He offers his arm, and I take it tentatively. Relief floods through me as he leads me back toward the house, and I relax. “I left there long ago.”

“To come here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and pleasant.

“I worked the grey market in Arras until I was forced to come to Earth.” He speaks into the distance, not bothering to look at me.

“You must have left a lot behind,” I offer.

“Yes, but I keep my past close. My ojiisan gave me a piece of ivory. It is very old,” he says quietly. “Your skin is smooth and pure like it. Would you like to see it?”

I agree, but keep my eyes on the doors we’re nearing, counting the seconds until I can excuse myself.

Deniel draws out a smooth, sculpted piece of ivory. He holds it so close to me that I can barely see it. It is flawless, I think, and then he presses it to my chin. As his thumb twitches, I realize the ivory is actually a handle—a thin silver blade extends from it.

“Beautiful and deadly, like a woman,” he murmurs.

In an instant the blade is at my throat and Deniel forces me into the hall of the main house. My skin stings where the blade has slashed a shallow cut near the hollow of my neck. He presses his full weight against me and breathes hot and fast against my ear. I expect him to push me down to the floor, but instead the panel I’m crushed against trembles and rotates back. He drops the knife from my throat as he shoves me through the hidden door.

The room is out of place at the estate, lacking the opulence of the other chambers. It’s spare with cinder-block walls and a long, slick table. I fight the panic spreading through my limbs. It threatens to lock me down and make me an easy target. I turn to see the dark concentration in Deniel’s eyes. The room reminds me of a clinic, like the one where I was mapped in Arras. A realization that does nothing to stem my panic.

“I don’t like dangerous women,” he breathes, lingering in the doorway.

“Am I dangerous?” I ask, locking my gaze on his.

“You won’t be for long,” he says, edging toward me. His eyes bore into me, studying my face and then my body. It makes me want to hug myself protectively, but I stay still, waiting for the right moment.

Deniel inches closer, clutching his knife between us, moving me backward into the room.

“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to fight,” Deniel spits, saliva peppering my ear. There’s a note of amusement in his voice. “Do you think the Guild will let you go?”

The frozen part of me melts at his words. Clearly he doesn’t know me very well.

The blade presses into my throat again and his hand moves to my shoulder. He’s left the panel ajar. I only have to get there and then I’ll be back in the corridor. I feel the tug as his fingers dig into me. But he’s not merely scratching me, he’s ripping me open, tearing into my strands. His touch burns across my shoulder, blazing onto my neck.

The strands of the room come into focus—brilliant and tempting—and as my eyes fly to Deniel’s face, I realize I can see him and the shimmering threads that comprise him as he must see me now. His strands aren’t bright and golden, they’re tarnished brass and pulse with a near-crimson light. Without thinking, I claw at his shoulder, rending the tightly knit threads there, and the skin ruptures in the spot, blood spewing from the laceration. Deniel pulls back with a shriek of agony, clutching his wound. For a moment he looks like he may pounce again, but I raise my hands defensively, feeling his blood dripping down my long fingers. His shock and outrage mirror the raw anger I feel. His eyes slide to my fingers and the calculating look returns. Obviously he’s estimating how much damage I can do to him before he can stop me. But rather than attack, he laughs, shaking his head, his knife still raised.

I scream as loudly as I can.

It startles him, but he jumps at me, lunging to cover my mouth and losing his knife in the process. I know he can do plenty of damage to me without it, so I kick him hard. It only makes him angrier. I’m reaching to tear at him again when a guard bursts into the room and tackles Deniel.

Erik rushes in behind him and pulls me up from the floor, ushering me away from the mayhem as more of Kincaid’s men appear. The tears come then. They spill heavy and hot down my cheeks, washing the fear from my body and leaving me to tremble over what’s happened.

I watch as Kincaid’s men lead Deniel away to a fate worse than what he’d planned for me. I’m sure of that much.

“Are you okay?” Erik asks, taking my shoulder. When I don’t respond, he pulls me into a hug and I let him. I count his heartbeats, trying to breathe in rhythm with him, but his heart is racing too fast to calm me.

He takes me to my room and pulls a dress from the wardrobe. I look down and realize mine is torn. It flaps at the shoulder, ripped in the attack. I reach for my zipper and start to pull off the damaged gown. As I do, Erik throws his hands over his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice muffled by his hand.

“Are you covering your eyes?” I ask in disbelief. The gesture surprises me.

“I’m being a gentleman,” he says, still looking away.

“That would be a real first,” I tell him as I slip the dress over my head.

“I guess I’m a changed man,” he teases.

“You can turn around now,” I say after I’m sure that I’m completely covered.

When he does, I can’t help but notice that his cheeks are a little pink.

“Zip me up?” I ask. My hands are still shaking too hard to manage the last bit of zipper on the back of the dress. I pull my hair up and Erik tugs at the slider in a slow, gentle motion, one hand on the small of my back.

“What’s going on?” Jost asks, coming into the room. I pull away from Erik and fall into Jost’s arms while his brother explains what’s happened. Jost’s eyes travel between our faces, growing darker until they flame with anger. He jerks away from me and heads down the hall, forcing Erik and me to follow after him.

“Where are you going?” I call, but he doesn’t respond so I sprint to keep up with him.

“I’m going to have a little chat with Kincaid about his men,” Jost says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I murmur. “We’re his guests—”

Jost cuts me off. “And one of his guests was attacked. He needs a lesson in hospitality.” He whirls to face us, but I can’t think of anything to say that will stop him now that he’s reached this point.

“You don’t think he’s going to do something about this on his own?” Erik points out. “I doubt Kincaid will be happy to hear this has happened.”

“I think Kincaid is the one who sent him,” Jost says.

“Why? What purpose would that serve?”

“Everything serves a purpose,” Jost responds. “We can’t trust him. Do I have to remind you that he was Guild? The only thing we can trust is that he knows how to lie.”

“Maybe we should get Dante,” I suggest quietly, trying to draw down the volume of Jost’s voice so we aren’t overheard.

Before we can talk Jost out of it, he’s bounded down the stairs to the main floor of the house. It doesn’t take long for us to hear the shrieking castigations coming from the assembly room.

“Yes, sir,” a guard says.

“This is poor form. What will my guests think?” Kincaid squeaks.

“He’s prepared to make amends for his … mistake,” the guard says.

“Oh, amends will be made,” Kincaid says.

For a moment we hang back, but something pushes me forward.

“Adelice,” Kincaid croons when I get close enough for him to see me. “I have been informed of what happened. In fact, I was about to send for you.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting. It was rude of me,” I say, “but I was hoping you had learned why he attacked me.”

“The boy is new, came in with a refugee group only a few weeks ago,” Kincaid says. “He had an introduction letter and everything. Standard protocol for someone who has come in through our contacts in Arras.”

“You should reconsider your contacts in Arras,” Jost says.

I put my hand on his arm as much to calm him as to warn him to be careful what he says to Kincaid.

“Deniel,” Kincaid says, “is going to be seriously punished.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’d like to know why he did it, but I don’t want him to be hurt.”

“I want him to be hurt,” Jost says.

“You should listen to your friend,” Kincaid says. “It’s not sensible to allow a man like this to prowl around.”

“And”—comes a voice to my left—“it’s important everyone gets the same message.”

I turn to Dante and stare at him. “Which is?”

“You aren’t to be touched.”

I follow Dante’s gaze to see it burning into Kincaid. His words are fiercely protective, and it feels strange. It’s not something I welcome exactly. Jost might treat me like I’m breakable, but his actions are rooted in his loss of Rozenn, something I’m only beginning to understand. Dante barely knows me though. He can’t turn on fatherly emotions like that. I don’t want him to.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Kincaid says from behind me. His voice is low and even, not his usual airy, bouncing tone. “None of my guests are to be touched…”

“We can put him in the cells until—” the guard begins.

But Kincaid waves off the suggestion and gestures for him to be silent by raising his hand merely inches from his face. “I want Adelice to sleep tonight. How can she if definitive action isn’t taken now?”

“I’m fine,” I say, but I know I’ll ask Jost to stay the night. Then I’ll be able to sleep.

“Bring him into the gardens,” Kincaid says, ignoring my input. The guard nods and walks a few steps away to use his complant more quietly.

“And how do you plan to make her feel safe after this?” Dante asks Kincaid, coming into the hall’s light. He’s dressed in a thin tank-style shirt and soft flannel pajama bottoms. His shirt reveals a techprint on his biceps—three braided bands circling his arm.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be pleased,” Kincaid says.

“Your defenses were penetrated. This may not be the only threat. I’d like permission to investigate further.” Dante isn’t asking him.

Kincaid’s jaw twitches, but his mask of authority stays in place. “That won’t be necessary. I assure you that your daughter is my priority. Remember that.”

My eyes fly to Dante. How could he have told Kincaid? Dante claimed it would be a secret until I decided I wanted to share the information, if that day ever came. But Dante looks confused. He has no more idea how Kincaid found out than I do. I consider how quickly security responded to my screams when Deniel attacked me. They couldn’t have heard me unless they were watching me.

Which means it isn’t Dante’s fault that our secret is out. It’s mine.