“We’ll have to think of a way—now, everyone, move!”
Shaw had a fail-safe. It had died with him. Arthie didn’t have Calibore to slow them down. Around them, the Ram’s forces were pressing closer, tangible black shadows creeping to the gaudy, eye-catching gowns and sleek attire of the rich. The Athereum vampires were too, waiting for their enemies to make the first move.
Arthie wove her way through the guests, ignoring any who tried to stop her. She didn’t have time to answer their frantic questions, not if she wanted to keep them alive. She stumbled through the rabble of the rich and reconvened with the others just outside the din.
“There might be a chance the Rippers are still in their cylinders. Can we stop them from opening?” Matteo asked.
“The tunnel,” Jin exclaimed. “If we can collapse it while the Rippers are trying to escape, we can bury them. They might not die, but it will at least buy us time to get everyone out of the palace.”
“Collapse it, how?” Matteo asked.
“Dynamite,” Flick and Laith said at the same time. Laith gestured for her to continue. “There’s dynamite in one of the bunker’s storerooms.”
Jin was nodding. “If we can line the tunnel and set them off, it’ll work.”
It was reckless, it was destructive, but Jin was right. Itwouldwork.
They dashed down the hall. The lights dimmed, the extravagance fading as they reached the back of the palace. Black-clad figures were everywhere. Surprisingly, not a single Horned Guard was present.
“A kitchen!” Jin said as they ran, detouring inside and returning with knives and a heavy iron pan.
“A pan?” Laith asked.
“It’s for me, assassin,” Jin said, handing them each a knife.
Arthie gripped hers tight, wishing, once again, she had Calibore by her side.
“You don’t need it,” Matteo said softly. He was watching her. How, in the midst of this mayhem, did he know what she needed to hear?
“You don’t need it,” he repeated. “You are our greatest weapon, Arthie. Look at what you’ve done.”
What she’d done was misjudge the Ram. She’d underestimated, yet again, how far the Ram would go. Arthie shook her head. “This is a mess; it’s not—”
“Artists know to trust the process, darling. For twenty years, she worked her infamy in the shadows. This is the first time someone’s forced her to show her hand.” He extended his arm toward her. “Now give me yours, and let’s stop the Rippers and give her the end she deserves.”
Arthie took it. But what was the end she deserved?
He closed his fingers around hers, and she realized she’d asked the question aloud. “The end you wanted to give her. Save those high society snobs you loathe, and they’ll do what we hoped the press would in the Athereum. They’ll spread the word. Her image will be thoroughly ruined. She can’t wear that mask again, nor could the Council allow her to.”
No, they could not. Arthie gripped the knife Jin had given her and ran, her shoes skidding on the polished floor, her hair coming undone. Until she came face-to-face with a man carrying a stake.
She had a sudden, sinking feeling when Matteo shifted, knowing with utter certainty that he would step in front of a thousand stakes to keep her safe so that she would see the Ram’s destruction through.
It froze her in place, even when Matteo stepped in front of her, even when the man tightened his grip around the stake, his aim clear and true.
A loud clang rang out.
The man wobbled and fell. Jin was standing behind him, pan raised in his hands as if it were a bat. Arthie snatched up the fallen stake, shaking away whatever had locked her limbs in place and caused her to freeze.
“You’re welcome,” Jin said, Laith behind him. “The bunker entrance is just up ahead. Where’s Flick?”
“She must have stayed with the guests,” Arthie said.
She would have too, if that was her mother who was about to be ruined in front of high society. Jin pulled open the heavy door. A gaping abyss lit by scant sconces stared back, and Jin disappeared inside without a second’s pause. Arthie, Matteo, and Laith followed. The tunnel was deceptively long, and when they emerged on the other side, they were met with men shouting, calling orders back and forth, footsteps pounding. Arthie heard weapons being tossed from hand to hand.
“This way,” Laith said, steering them to the shadows until they reached the storeroom. It was stocked with everything the Ram could need in an emergency such as this, from preserved foods to even the green darts they’d seen on Ceylan. Laith grabbed several bundled sticks of dynamite.
Arthie snatched a lighter from the shelf, and the four of them stacked as much dynamite as they could hold and circled back, footsteps as light as could be.
