“One of us is going to need to pose like a guard if we’re going to get inside,” she said.
“That would be you,” Jin said to him.
“Me?” Matteo asked with a pout.
“Neither of us is a peaky, and Arthie’s too short.”
“That last part wasn’t necessary,” she said, but warmed at his teasing.
With a dramatic sigh, Matteo crouched and untied the guard to peel off his shirt with Jin’s help before moving to the trousers. Jin riffled through the shirt pockets, pulling out a set of skeleton keys, a pair of calling cards, a miniature portrait of what appeared to be the man’s son, and then a folded note.
Matteo took the shirt and buttoned it over his clothes, following with the trousers. “How do I look?”
Dashing, Arthie was about to say before she paused when the light dappling through the trees shone on the sigil embroidered on his shirt. It reminded her of another Horned Guard captain’s uniform, more Arawiyan than Ettenian, but the same rich shade of gray-white.
“Oh, she’s speechless. It’s all right; I have that effect on people.”
Arthie sniffed. “I was only keeping quiet for your sake, really.”
His grin drew a dimple in his cheek. “Don’t limit yourself on my account, darling.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Jin croaked. It was awretched, terrible sound that anyone else might have overlooked, but not Arthie. Every inch of her came alert. She whirled, hand on Calibore, to find Jin was quite safe.
But he had unfolded the parchment from the captain’s pocket.
“They’re alive,” he whispered. “This is my father’s handwriting.”
But something was wrong.
“And? What is it?” She snatched it from him, scanning the neat, slanted script. It was a list of tasks for the Horned Guard captain, but Arthie paused at the bottom.
To be added to Bloodworth’s report: Despite numerous attempts, patients refuse to cooperate. More corpus required to continue our efforts. The Ram would be pleased to hear we are making progress on Rippers, as intended. Send our regards.
Sincerely, S. Siwang
Arthie met Jin’s eyes. Beside her, Matteo readmore corpus requiredaloud and choked.
“They work for her,” Jin whispered, but he sounded as though a part of him had expected this.
Arthie wished she was surprised. For his sake, she had held out a sliver of hope that they could have been blackmailed, or biding time, or—Arthie didn’t know.
“You’ve only ever looked for confirmation,” she said softly. He’d been fighting for the opposite outwardly, but she had seen the resignation in his eyes whenever he spoke of his parents. For he himself had changed, undeniably,thoroughly. “This changes nothing, right? Our plan remains the same. Jin, look at me.”
He dropped the letter and crushed it under his foot before finally looking up at her. “Right.”
“Now get in the carriage,” Arthie said, staring at the fort looming ahead.
If they could infiltrate the Athereum when it was a den of elite vampires poised to kill, they could handle whatever these outside-of-their-element peakies threw at them too.
This was her country, after all, even if it didn’t feel like it just then.
19FLICK
When Flick was younger, her mother would often get angry and leave Flick to stew in her own thoughts, until everything she hadn’t said bubbled up in tears. This room was cold and empty, trying to squeeze the same emotions into her as the hours ticked on and on, but Flick refused.
Instead, pride simmered in her chest. She was learning her mother, and in doing so, she was learning herself. Perhaps. She didn’t know for sure. She was trying to stay positive while her eyes remained glued to the door.
What she needed was to escape. She didn’t have a watch, nor was there a window to see if the sun had risen, but it felt as if an age had passed. Had the Casimirs made their way into the fort? Into the sanatorium? Were they safe?