But you don’t send assassins after things that are make-believe.
Two hundred years ago, there was a palace coup and, in the chaos, a baby was smuggled free. The Society hid her among their own. She was raised in secret. Protected. Safe. And, eventually, she grew up, and her bloodline survived.
Until someone started trying to kill us.
I ease even closer, shine the light up and down, sweeping across my mother’s old obsession.
Maps. Articles. Notes. And in the center of it all, a picture.
My mother looks so young. Her hair is long and her skin is tanned, and she’s smiling as if the future would hold nothing but more good days. Two dark-haired girls flank her on either side. One is famous now, the mother of Adria’s future king. And one is a stranger.
“Who is it?” Jamie asks.
“It’s mom and Princess Ann and … is that Alexei’s mother?” I ask. Carefully, I pull the picture off the wall. Then I climb back onto the desk, reach up, and hand the photo to my brother.
“Yeah, that’s her,” he says. “I remember her. Barely. She and Mom used to get together and tell me and Alexei to go play.”
I’ve always known that Alexei had a mother, of course, but for years she was never mentioned, never seen.
“What was she like?” I ask, as if that is the great mystery here.
“I don’t know,” Jamie says, pondering. “She was—”
“Gone,” a hard voice says from behind him. Soon, Alexei is down on the dusty desk beside me. “She was gone,” he says, as if that’s all that matters. And I guess, to him, it is.
I’m not surprised when Dominic appears over Jamie’s shoulder.
The sun must be rising, because a gentle golden glow has begun to fill the room. It’s easy to see the hurt on the Scarred Man’s face.
“I never knew this was down here,” he says. “I came and … She didn’t tell me. I never knew.”
I turn and let the light sweep into the corners, and that’s when I see a box sitting on a high shelf. About the size of a shoe box, it’s covered with dust and cobwebs, but I can tell the wood is gorgeous. There seem to be a bunch of different kinds all melded together in an intricate pattern. When I reach for it, I hear my mother’s voice.
“See this, Gracie? It was Grandma’s. And before her, it was Great-Grandma’s, and so on and so on for a very long time. And someday, sweetheart, it’s going to be yours.”
My finger traces through the dust and through the years.
“How do you open it?”
My mother laughs. Smiles. “You’ll open it when you’re ready.”
“Are you ready?” Alexei’s voice cuts through the fog and pulls me from the dream.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you ready?” he asks again.
“Alexei, if our moms were working together … if your mom was part of this, then maybe—”
“Maybe Karina’s dead? Or maybe she just left me? Which one of those is supposed to make me feel better?”
There are some questions that even I know better than to try to answer.
The light that fills the shop overhead is brighter, and I can hear Dominic return to himself as he says, “We can’t stay here. It’s someplace they might expect to find you. We can’t stay.”
“But—”
“Take it down,” Dominic orders. “Take it all down. We’ll bring it with us. We cannot let it be found.”
Obsession.
That’s the word Ms. Chancellor and Prime Minister Petrovic used when Alexei and I overheard them in the tunnels. I never really understood what they meant until now, as I stand surrounded by my mother’s work.
Her obsession.
Three years have passed, but this room is like a wound, and Alexei and I peel away the layers of it piece by piece, shoving them into boxes and bags, preparing to carry my mother’s obsession away.
When the last wall is empty, Dominic reaches down and Alexei boosts me up. The last thing he gives me is the ornate box. I don’t care about the dust and the cobwebs—I hold it close to my chest and I walk, almost crying, to the car.
I’m not hungry, but I force myself to eat—to keep my body fed, to be a good influence on Jamie, who is still far too thin and too weak.
Besides, the way Dominic is acting, we may not stop for lunch, for supper. We may never stop again, and so I take slow, steady bites of my pancakes. I eat my scrambled eggs. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I have absolutely no idea what any day might bring.
The diner is cold but far from empty. The only noise is the scrape of forks against plates, the distant, sizzling hum of frying bacon. And, beneath it all, there are whispers.
I can see the girls out of the corner of my eye. They’ve piled purses and backpacks into the corner of a booth, and the three of them lean across the Formica-topped table. They’ve pushed aside plates of barely eaten food and filled their cups with more sugar than coffee. But, most of all, they watch us.
No. That’s not true. They watch Alexei.
Eventually, Dominic gets up to pay the bill. The girls slide out of their booth and collect their things, shooting glances our way.
“You have admirers,” I say.
“Excuse me?” Alexei looks at me as if maybe I am speaking Japanese.
“You didn’t notice your fan club?” I jerk my head in the direction of the three girls. They’re all wearing cheerleading uniforms. It must be Friday, I realize. Game night. They’re probably getting ready to go to a pep rally, maybe take some tests. They are getting ready to be normal for one more day.