“Barrow!” a man’s voice calls, accompanied by a fist knocking on the bathroom door.
They waste no time when I don’t respond, and neither do I.
Egg pushes the door in, his white face almost blending into the tiled walls as he steps inside, sloshing through. Clover does not follow, but stands with one foot in the bathroom, the other in my bedchamber. It doesn’t matter. Both her feet are in the puddle of steaming water.
“Barrow . . . ?” Egg says, slack-jawed at the sight of me.
It doesn’t take much to let the chandelier drop, but the action feels heavy all the same.
It smashes against the wet tile. When the electricity hits the water, a surge pulses through the room, shorting out not just the other bathroom lights, but the lights in my bedroom. Probably this entire wing of the palace.
Both Arvens jump and twitch as the sparks dance through their flesh. They crumple quickly, muscles seizing.
I vault over the water and their bodies, almost gasping as the weight of the bathroom’s Silent Stone melts away. The manacles still weigh on my limbs, and I waste no time searching the Arvens, careful to keep out of the water. I turn out their pockets as quickly as I can, searching for the key that haunts my waking moments. Shaking, I feel a curl of metal beneath Egg’s collar, lying flush to his breastbone. With trembling hands, I yank it free and set to loosening my manacles one by one. As they drop away, the silence lifts, bit by bit. I gasp down air, trying to force lightning into myself. It’s coming back. It must.
But I still feel numb.
Egg’s body is at my mercy, warm and alive beneath my hands. I could cut his throat and Clover’s, slice their jugulars with any one of the jagged bits of glass I keep well hidden. I should do it, I tell myself. But I’ve already wasted too much time. I leave them living.
As expected, the Arvens are trained enough in their duties to have locked my bedroom door behind them. No matter. A hairpin is just as good as a key. I pop the lock in a second.
It’s been a few days since I stepped outside my prison, and then I was leashed to Evangeline, guarded on all sides. Now the hallway is empty. Dead lightbulbs march down the hall overhead, taunting in their emptiness. My electrical sense is weak, barely a spark across the darkness. It has to come back. This won’t work if it doesn’t come back. I fight a swell of panic—what if it’s gone for good? What if Maven took my lightning from me?
I sprint as fast as I can, holding on to what I know of Whitefire. Evangeline took me left, to the ballrooms and the great halls and the throne room. Those places will be crawling with guards and officers, not to mention the nobility of Norta, dangerous on their own. So I go right.
Cameras follow, of course. I spot them at every corner. I wonder if they shorted out too, or if I’m entertainment for a few officers. They might be making bets on how far I get. The doomed endeavor of a doomed girl.
A service stair takes me down a landing, and I almost knock over a servant in my haste.
My heart leaps at the sight of him. A boy, my age, maybe, his face already flushing as he holds on to his tea tray. Flushing red.
“It’s a trick!” I shout at him. “What they’re going to make me do, it’s a trick!”
At the top of the stairs, and the bottom, a pair of doors bang open in succession. Cornered again. A bad habit I’ve developed.
“Mare—” the boy says, my name trembling on his lips. I frighten him.
“Find a way; tell the Scarlet Guard. Tell whoever you can. It’s another lie!”
Someone seizes me around my middle, pulling me backward, up and away. I keep my focus on the serving boy. The uniformed officers ascending from below shove him away, pressing him up against the wall without thought. His tray clatters to the floor, spilling tea.
“It’s all a lie!” I manage to get out before a hand clamps over my mouth.
I try to spark, reaching for lightning that I still barely feel. Nothing happens, so I bite down hard enough to taste blood.
The Security officer drops his hand, swearing, while another comes up in front of me, deftly grabbing my kicking legs. I spit blood in her face.
When she backhands me, the action full of deadly grace, I recognize her.
“Good to see you, Sonya,” I hiss. I try to kick her in the stomach, but she dodges with boredom.
Please, I beg in my mind, as if the electricity can hear me. Nothing responds, and I choke back a sob. I’m too weak. It’s been too long.
Sonya is a silk, too swift and agile to be bothered with the resistance of a weak girl. I glance at her uniform. Black piped with silver, with the blue and red of House Iral on her shoulders. Judging by the badges on her chest and the pins on her collar, she’s a ranking officer of Security now. “Congratulations on the promotion,” I growl in frustration, lashing out because it’s all I can do. “Done with Training so soon?”
She tightens her grip on my feet, her hands like pincers.
“Too bad you never finished Protocol.” Still carrying my legs, she rubs her face on her shoulder, trying to wipe away the silver blood on her cheek. “You could use some manners.”
It’s only been a few months since I last saw her. Standing with her grandmother Ara and Evangeline, dressed in mourning black for the king. She was one of many who watched me in the Bowl of Bones, who wanted to see me die. Her house is famed for their skill not just in body, but in mind. Spies all, trained to discover secrets. I doubt she believed Maven when he told everyone I was a trick, a Scarlet Guard creation sent to infiltrate the palace. And I doubt she’ll believe what’s about to happen.