I CLIMB INTO my makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on Aarya’s living room floor. Ines went to bed an hour ago and Aarya’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth. We haven’t yet agreed on a plan for tomorrow, and we spent most of the evening going in circles about how many guards there would be at the ball and the best way to use the ointment the apothecary gave us. As our conversations wound down, I began stressing over sneaking out to meet Layla and Matteo.
Ash pauses to look at the bathroom door and frowns.
“What?” I ask, although I’m pretty sure I know what he’s going to say.
He sits down on an arrangement of pillows and blankets on the rug near mine. “I don’t trust her,” he says.
I glance at the bathroom door now, too. “She’s eccentric and a real pain sometimes, but you have to admit…the fact that she’s here sort of clears up the trust issue.”
“Not even a little,” Ash says. “We have no idea why she’s here besides wanting to participate in the destruction of Jag, which I grant you is a reason, but not a good enough one for a mission with this much risk.”
“I mean, yes, but—” I say.
“And the way she was encouraging you to steal that necklace…,” he says, shaking his head, but doesn’t finish.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I hate doubting her. It feels wrong after everything that’s happened. And yet I get why Ash is questioning Aarya. He should be.
“Also, Felix isn’t with them,” Ash says.
“For that, I’m actually grateful. I’m not sure I could pretend to be civil with him after he threw me out of that tree,” I say.
“Right,” Ash says like I’m agreeing with him, “and Aarya knows that.”
I study him for a moment. “Are you saying she left him there on purpose in order to gain our trust?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Ash says. “There is something they’re not telling us, and I intend to figure out what it is.”
I nod at him. And for a few seconds we sit there, staring at the fire, both lost in thought. In the quiet, my worries drift back to Layla and Matteo.
“You’re stewing about something,” Ash says, and I realize I’m staring far too intensely at the fire. “I’m exceedingly familiar with that look because Layla is perpetually in her head about something, and has been ever since she could talk. You wouldn’t imagine that a two-year-old could stew, but Layla made it an art form.”
I smile, picturing a small and serious Layla. While I can’t tell him what I’m thinking about in this moment, the overall list of things I’m anxious about is long. “I’m not clear about the plan.”
Ash laughs. “No one is clear about the plan. We’ll be lucky if we sort it all out by the time we get to the ball.”
“I mean the bigger plan,” I say. “We find my dad, and let’s say we actually manage to use his knowledge of the Lions to disrupt the current leadership…then what?”
Ash looks thoughtful. “You mean, do we go back to the Academy or do we stay in Europe?”
“Yes and no,” I say. “I didn’t grow up as a Strategia; it’s like my whole identity has suddenly changed and I’m not sure what that means going forward or if I’m even okay with it.”
“You were always Strategia,” Ash says.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know that,” I say.
“Yes you did.” He sounds so confident that I look at him sideways. “You didn’t have a word for what you were, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t know deep down. You’ve told me multiple times that you always loved knives and swords, that you loved strategy games, that your dad went out of his way to challenge you and teach you survival tactics. You weren’t raised with stuffy history tutors like me and Layla and you weren’t sent to spar with the estate guards while your parents critiqued you, but you learned what you needed to all the same. You haven’t suddenly changed. You’ve just been given context and a word for your identity. And I get that it must be an adjustment, but you’re just as much Strategia as you’ve always been.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it.
The corners of Ash’s mouth turn slightly upward. “See, even you agree.”
I smirk. “You think you’re so clever.”
“That’s because I am so clever,” he says with a sly grin.
“And humble,” I say.
“One of my many winning qualities.”
We share a smile.
“The thing is…I don’t know if I can go back to my old life,” I say. “I know you said there was a possibility I could when we were talking in the woods, but I’ve been over it a thousand times in my head and I just don’t see how it’s possible. Even if I pull off a visit once a year, that’s not the same thing as living there. I never considered a life without Pembrook. But spending time there means putting people I love at risk. How can I ever go back, knowing that?”
“My question is, would you truly want to live there?” Ash says. “And not as a nostalgic idea, but in actuality. Would that be fulfilling for you?”
I grip my cup of peppermint hot chocolate, soaking up the heat through my gloved hands as Emily and I leave Lucille’s diner.
I wave it under my nose. “Mmmm.”
“You act like that drink is your boyfriend,” Emily says as we cross the street toward the green in the middle of the town square.
“I don’t know what Lucille does to make it so good, but I’m completely addicted,” I say.
We take up our usual perch on the bench in the gazebo, which has a clear view of the decorated tree.
“Em, what do you think we’re gonna be like as old people?” I ask.
Emily sips her cider and leans back. “Pretty much like this. Only I’ll have taken over Lucille’s and transformed it into a hip bookstore that serves coffee and champagne. Oh, and dogs.”
I laugh. “A bookstore that serves dogs? That sounds like a winner.”
“No, idiot. A bookstore where you can bring your dog.”
“Okay, and I’ll be—”
“A gym teacher,” Emily says, cutting me off.
“Um, no. You get to run some hip bookstore and I’m a gym teacher? I didn’t know you thought so much of me,” I say.
“Wellll,” Emily says, grinning. “You’ll try to do some extreme-sports-type job, but the only place you’ll be able to do it is in Hartford. And inevitably you’ll miss me too much and have to move back here, where the only logical job opening will be gym teacher. Of course after a few years of penance for moving away from me, I’ll let you work at the bookstore.”
I smile. “And eventually we’ll be just as cranky as Lucille. Only difference is that we’ll be able to blame our farts on the dogs.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “And all will be exactly as it should be.”
“I always thought so,” I say quietly. But what I don’t say is that the real dilemma is Emily—I don’t see how it’s possible to be Emily’s best friend and be Strategia at the same time.
Ash watches me and I get the sense that he knows what I’m thinking.
“The one thing I’m not doing, though,” I say, forcing my thoughts away from Emily, “is just killing people all the time.”
Ash laughs so suddenly that it surprises even him, and he coughs. “November, no one wants you to kill people all the time. A surprising number of Strategia live peacefully, without ever harming anyone.”
“Says you,” I say. “But somehow I’ve killed two people in a month. And I’m just…that’s not who I am. I’m not going to do that.”
“First, you didn’t kill Dr. Conner,” Ash says. “You stabbed him, but only in self-defense, to save both our lives. Blackwood killed him. And second, I told you to break that branch; so Harry’s death is as much my fault as yours. Plus, there was no way to know that fall would kill him. The rock was unforeseeable.”
I hesitate, not sure I believe him, but also not sure he’s wrong. “And what about the Lions?” I say. “What’s the plan there? Because the way Aarya talks about it, it seems like she would take out the entire Family if she could.”
Ash sighs. “Let’s not forget that Aarya’s approach is usually unhinged. That being said—”
“I heard that!” Aarya says from the hallway, and appears in the door.
Ash gives her a scrutinizing look and I can almost see the gears in his head moving, adding eavesdropping to the list of reasons he doesn’t trust her.
“And if anyone’s approach is demented, it’s November’s,” Aarya says.
“Because I don’t like the idea of killing people?” I reply.
“Because Jag killed your mother. He killed your aunt. He effectively killed Felix’s dad by sending him after your parents. He killed Stefano by proxy. And at this very moment he’s trying to kill you and your father. Not to mention the countless number of other innocent people whose lives he’s ruined,” Aarya says with feeling.
I stare at her.
“So you go right ahead with your nicey-nicey crap,” she says. “But me? If I get any kind of chance, no matter how small, I’m killing him. And I will dance on his grave.” Then she turns around without another word and slams her bedroom door behind her.
For a second we’re both silent.
“I’m not really sure what to say after that,” I confess.
“I don’t think anyone knows how to follow that up,” Ash agrees. “But what I will say is that the Lions are a special case. Unless Strategia are truly warped, like Jag and Dr. Conner, they only kill when it’s necessary or in self-defense. Think about it; it’s a million times easier to outsmart or circumvent your opponent than it is to kill them. It’s like what Professor Gupta always says: the more you learn in deception class, the less you need to learn in others. You being Strategia doesn’t mean you’re a career assassin, it means that you have a very special set of skills, skills that can greatly impact the world for the better if you choose to use them properly.”
I listen, considering his words. What he’s saying makes sense even if it hasn’t been my experience as a Strategia thus far, and if I’m honest with myself, Aarya makes a point, too. In fact it was just earlier today that I argued for the destruction of Jag when I was under the influence of that truth serum, calling him a tragedy worth stopping. Maybe I don’t know myself the way I always thought I did, or maybe I’ve been unwilling to embrace who I really am. Either way, there is no road back to my life as I once knew it, and no amount of pining is going to change that. I need to start making decisions about what kind of Strategia I intend to be.
Ash’s lips turn up in a subtle smile, like he can hear my thought process. “And not to add fuel to the fire, but you’re attempting to upend the most powerful Family in all of Strategia. That combined with your parents’ legacies means you will never be anonymous again. In fact, if we manage to pull this off, you may very well become one of the most infamous Strategia in the modern world.”
My eyebrows push together, and despite myself, I laugh. “Thanks, Ash. Here I am struggling with this new identity and trying to figure out where my life goes from here and now I also get to be infamous.”
He smiles his mischievous smile. “Anytime.” But instead of looking away, he holds me in his gaze. “And I’ll be there.”
I tilt my head questioningly. “Be where?”
“With you,” he says, and the affection in his tone envelops me like a hug.
“Oh…right, I’d love to…I mean, cool, yeah, that’d be great,” I say, completely tripping over my words.
Ash’s grin widens. “Very smooth, November.”
My cheeks flush and I laugh. “Right? Just grace upon grace.”
Ash laughs, too, and it feels good to be sitting here with him making light of my romantic ineptitude. So much of our conversation has been about strategy and death recently that it’s easy to forget to enjoy the time we have together. And even if I love the idea that he’ll be with me, I’m not convinced that wherever my life takes me next is a place Ash would want to be—or where his Family would let him be.
“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” Ash says. “Your humor.”
“Really?” I say, genuinely surprised. “I always felt like I was so serious at the Academy. It would be different if you met me in Pembrook. Laughing until I cried was kind of my thing. But then maybe you wouldn’t have liked me if you met me there.” I wag my eyebrows playfully. “To you I would have been a commoner.”
Ash shakes his head. “I think you’re absolutely wrong, November Adley. I would have known you were perfect anywhere I met you.”
“Perfect?” I say. “Okay, now I know you’re full of it. The last thing I am is perfect.”
“Perfect for me,” he says with such intensity in his expression that I think I might melt into the floor. And without me noticing it, the space between us has narrowed.
I open my mouth, once again feeling scrambled. “Well…I…now…”
Ash reaches up, running his thumb over my bottom lip and along my jawline to the back of my neck. “That’s a response that deserves a kiss if ever I heard one.”
This time I don’t mumble nonsense at him. I lean closer. “Then what are you waiting for?” I say, our faces only a couple of inches apart.
He closes the distance between us. His lips part as he presses them into mine. His hand drops from my neck to my lower back and he pulls me into him. And for this moment, it’s just me and Ash in front of a cozy fireplace in a tangle of blankets.
My eyes crack open for the hundredth time and I peer at the clock, which now reads 3:27 a.m. A shot of adrenaline sends me sitting straight up. I stare at Ash sleeping next to me in our makeshift beds, looking for any sign of movement. I listen to his breathing, but it’s long and heavy and consistent with a deep sleep.
I carefully peel back the blankets and pull on my socks, glancing at Ash once more before I get up. I tiptoe across the area rug in the living room and test the wood floor for creaky boards before I step on them. I silently lift my coat off the hook, check the pockets for cash, and pick up my boots. Then I open the apartment door with painstaking slowness to make sure it doesn’t whine.
The instant it closes behind me, I yank on my boots and throw on my coat. I wait a beat to make sure no one in the apartment follows me and then I’m out of there full-speed down the hallway, down two flights of stairs, and out onto the cold dark street.
It only takes one block to find an idling taxi and fifteen minutes to get across town. I repeatedly glance out the back window, making sure that Ash or one of the others didn’t somehow follow me.
The taxicab lets me off on a commercial street filled with cafés and boutiques that are completely dark at this hour. I double-check the street signs and building numbers for the address Matteo gave me. It’s an odd adjustment from always following the map on my phone to suddenly having to use atlases and trust my own navigation skills.
I stand there on the street in the dark staring at the building, which appears to be a run-down Victorian-era shop with boarded-up windows. In faded gold letters the sign reads PASSEMENTERIE. Can this be right—did Matteo really want me to meet him at an abandoned store?
It occurs to me that I never questioned the invitation, not after he mentioned Layla. But Matteo doesn’t like me. And now all of a sudden he shows up in London, follows me from the apothecary, tells me to meet him somewhere because Layla is here, and also tells me I can’t tell Ash. I frown, tucking my hands under my armpits for more warmth.
For a split second, I think about turning around, grabbing another cab, and sneaking back into bed. I’m an inch away from finding my dad and here I am taking a chance on Matteo—meanwhile no one knows I’ve left the apartment or where I’ve gone.
“Damn it,” I breathe, and a white cloud billows out in front of me. No. This is ridiculous. Matteo gave you the apothecary information; he gave you the necklace. Why would he help you just to betray you? Unless he was just trying to lure you into a false sense of confidence so he could make his big move?
I look down at my boot, where for once I have no knife hidden, and shake my head, annoyed at myself. I take out my cell phone and type a draft of a text to Ash with the address. It’s now 3:58 a.m. I lock the phone and walk to the front door of the boarded-up store, grabbing the handle, and to my great dismay, it opens.
“Layla?” I whisper into the darkness. “Matteo?” But no one answers.
I glance behind me at the dark street, realizing that I need to make a decision—inside or outside—and that the longer I linger in the doorway of an abandoned shop, the more likely I am to attract attention. “Dang it,” I say, and slip inside the dark building.
My heart pounds so loudly that it makes it harder for me to listen in the darkness. I pull out my phone, lighting up the screen, but all it does is make the area directly around me visible and make it impossible for my eyes to adjust. So I slip it back in my pocket and stand still in the darkness, silently hoping I didn’t just make the worst decision of my life.
Then suddenly a candle flame appears at the far end of the room and I jump backward, nearly colliding with the door. But behind the candle, emerging from a staircase, is a girl with a high ponytail and a no-nonsense expression.
“Layla!” I squeal, both relieved that Matteo was telling the truth and genuinely delighted to see her.
“Lock the door,” she says in her usual peremptory tone, but even from this distance I can tell she’s smiling.
I click the lock into place and walk toward her with enthusiasm. In the light of her candle, I can make out finely carved wood that must once have been painted a crisp white, and glass displays full of lace and frills. Old cloth mannequins are propped up wearing faded Victorian dresses, and broad-brimmed hats lie forgotten on the floor.
Layla follows my gaze. “This place used to be a dress shop run by one of my relatives in the late eighteen hundreds,” she explains. “Ash and I liked to come here when we were little and trying to get away from our parents.”
At which point I give her a hug. And when I pull away, she looks slightly embarrassed, like she’s not sure why I keep doing that, but she also doesn’t tell me to stop.
“I discovered that we owned this property when I was going through some financial records when I was six,” she says before I can start badgering her with questions about being in London. “It took us about a year before we had the opportunity to seek it out, but I was delighted when I discovered it was essentially a forgotten building, lost in another time. It became our hideout.”
I follow her up a narrow staircase. “Why am I not surprised that you were going through financial records when you were six?” I say, and she looks pleased by my assessment of her.
As we reach the top of the stairs, a large one-room apartment lit by candles comes into view. It has a small kitchen, a couch in front of a fireplace, a canopied bed, an armoire, and a large area rug. Even though it’s dusty and smells a little like talcum powder, the room is well decorated in creams and various shades of blue, giving it a cozy feel. I can almost picture the seamstress who lived here, bustling about in her big skirts.
Matteo sits at one of four chairs around a dining table with his arms crossed.
I look from Matteo to Layla, who sits down beside him. “Okay, now what in the heck is going on?” I say. “How are you two here? Why are you two here? Why couldn’t I tell Ash? You’re both the last people I would expect—”
“Have a seat, November,” Layla says, cutting me off and gesturing at an empty chair. “Matteo will bring us some tea.”
Matteo tilts his head, like he didn’t know he was bringing tea but he’s willing to adjust. And so I slide into the wooden chair while he makes his way into the tiny kitchen.
I want to rattle off twenty more questions, but Layla’s already made it clear that she’s not going to respond to that type of approach. So instead, I sit as patiently as I can and wait for her to explain.
“I know you can’t stay for long without my brother noticing,” she says, and the relief I felt just moments ago shifts to uncertainty. “So I will try to be as succinct as possible. I’m here for exactly the reason you suspect: you and my brother are attempting something that might better Strategia for decades to come, and you will be seriously impeded without me.”
I smile slightly because she’s right that we’re not as good without her, yet her frank delivery is so Layla that it’s charming. “I agree. But why didn’t you come with us when we left? I mean, you made it seem like there was no way you would ever leave the Academy.”
“Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west,” Layla says as she sits perfectly straight in her chair.
I pause. “Professor Liu’s mind games class?” I ask, remembering the day Liu introduced the Thirty-Six Stratagems by hanging two ropes in the middle of the room with a flag between them.
“The sixth Stratagem says that the element of surprise is an invaluable tool. Once your enemy has focused his troops in one spot, you gain advantage by attacking a weakly defended location,” Layla says, like that clears everything up.
I look over at Matteo, hoping for a simpler explanation of how this relates to our particular situation, but he’s busy boiling water with his back to us.
“And so you didn’t come with us and you don’t want me to tell Ash you’re here because you plan on attacking us while we’re sleeping?” I say.
Matteo grunts a laugh behind me, but Layla doesn’t appreciate my joke.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Layla says. “We’re going to attack Jag in his weak spot.”
Matteo returns to the table carrying a tray with a full teapot, three cups and saucers, and some biscuits on it. He places it in the middle of the table.
“What is his weak spot?” I ask, and Layla sighs.
“It depends on our strategy,” she says. “Think of it this way—Jag’s main concern in any conflict is going to be you and your father. He’s going to focus all his energy there. He won’t anticipate outside help because no one in their right mind would move against him. This gives him a weakness, one that Matteo and I will exploit.”
I glance at Matteo as he pours the tea.
“And how does Ash not knowing play into all of this?” I ask.
“There are a few strategic reasons,” Layla says. “But the most important one is the same—his energy will be focused on Jag. He’ll be forced to plan and act as though he must succeed alone, without the knowledge that he has help. When he falls short, we’ll be there.”
Having the element of surprise makes good tactical sense, and even if I don’t understand all the details, I trust Layla. She’s the smartest person I know.
“Aarya and Ines are with us,” I say.
“Interesting,” Layla replies, and she and Matteo share a look. But she doesn’t seem overly surprised.
“Did you already know that? Did they tell you?” I ask, wondering if there are more layers of secrecy here that I need to sift through.
“No,” Layla says. “But we wondered. They left the Academy with Brendan the day after you and Ash.”
“Brendan?” I say, and nearly choke on my tea. “You’re telling me Brendan’s in London—” I stop short, looking up at them. No wonder my dungeon threat actually worked on him in the dining hall. I’m sure Brendan wanted to attack me that day and probably would have if he wouldn’t also have been risking his own exit. “But why would he leave the Acad—” I pause. “My dad.”
“Your dad?” Layla says. “I don’t follow.”
I put my teacup down. “My dad is suspected of killing the Regent,” I say quickly. “Brendan’s stepfather, Arlo? There’s a big masquerade ball tonight and we’re pretty sure it’s to celebrate the new appointee. What are the chances that the new appointee is Brendan?” But no one looks surprised.
“Yes,” Layla says. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”
For a moment I don’t respond. I look from Layla to Matteo and back again. “Wait, you know this? We risked our necks multiple times to find it out and you…” I laugh, even though it’s absolutely not funny. “Of course you know this. You’re Layla.”
Layla smiles slightly. “While I appreciate your confidence in me, it’s Matteo who deserves the credit.”
I wait a beat for someone to explain, but Matteo is silent.
Layla sighs. “Matteo?”
He stares a moment longer like he’s resigning himself to once again sharing secrets with me. “In the innermost circle of my Family,” Matteo says, his voice reserved, “it’s been suggested that it was not actually your father who killed the Regent.”
“Of course he didn’t, but how do they—” I start, but Matteo gives me a look that makes me swallow the rest of my sentence.
“I do not know the exact details, but something about the assassin’s style implied that it might have been…Jo,” Matteo says.
For a second I sit very still, blinking at him, positive I must have misheard. My aunt Jo?
“Which is a possible explanation for her recent demise,” Matteo continues, his voice more sympathetic than I would expect.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “Wait,” I manage, trying desperately to unstick myself from this awful moment in time. “You’re saying my aunt Jo killed the Lion Regent? Is that even possible?”
“You would know better than we would,” Layla says, and they both give me a minute to collect my thoughts.
But I don’t need a minute. When Logan told me my dad was suspected of the murder, I knew there was something wrong, that it didn’t fit. I don’t have the same doubts this time. Despite the fact that I’ve only recently started thinking of my family as being Strategia, I can more easily picture my aunt taking out the Lion Regent, especially if she had a strong motive.
“We know you weren’t previously aware of your family’s politics,” Layla says, slowly easing me back into the conversation. “But do you have any idea why your aunt may have made such a bold move?”
I look up at Layla, realizing my gaze had drifted to my hands. There is only one answer that feels right. “My mom,” I say. “Aunt Jo’s been furious about her death for the past eleven years, wouldn’t let it go. My dad said it was a car accident, but now that I know what I know…it’s obvious they didn’t tell me the whole truth.”
“And so you think the Regent was the one who assassinated her?” Layla asks.
I adjust my position in my chair. “I honestly don’t know. But what I can say is that if Aunt Jo had a shot at taking out my mom’s killer, there is no doubt in my mind that she would take it.”
“Hmmm,” Layla says, and she and Matteo look at each other.
“What?” I say. “What don’t I know here?”
“It’s not that you’re wrong,” Layla says. “It may very well have been the reason she killed him. It’s just that taking out another Family’s high-ranking officer is the utmost offense.”
“That sounds like Aunt Jo,” I say, remembering all her tirades about my dad’s Family and her penchant for dramatic gestures. To my surprise, a hint of a smile appears on Matteo’s face.
“Still,” Layla says, “it’s never been done.”
I look at her sideways. “You mean in the thousands of years Strategia existed, one Family has never assassinated a high-ranking officer in another? Is that even possible?”
“There have been no assassinations of that kind since the Council of Families was established,” Layla says with a weighty emphasis that makes me think I haven’t been examining the situation with enough gravity. “It’s the golden rule of Strategia internal politics—we do not use force to interfere with another Family. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if we did, and the casualties? We could easily cause irreparable damage to all of Europe and beyond as a result of a civil war among Families.”
I listen to her and frown. “So what does it mean, then, if Aunt Jo killed the Regent?”
“Your father has been accused, at least privately,” Layla says. “Although I assume even the few Strategia privy to that information probably don’t believe it—it’s equivalent to accusing a phantom. So that’s the first thing to consider, that Jag is already twisting the Regent’s death into a narrative that suits his own purposes. And the next thing to consider is the motivation. I know you said your aunt wanted revenge for her sister’s death, and while I understand that’s a reason, I am skeptical that it was enough.”
“Really? Aunt Jo was…well, she was a force to be reckoned with, and she wasn’t what I would call a rule-follower,” I say, and Matteo snorts, only I can’t tell if it’s in amusement or disdain.
“I don’t think you’re understanding,” Layla says. “Collectively, we have been able to prevent the assassinations of global leaders, we dismantle terrorist plots before governments ever know about them, and we circumvent wars. If we were using our energy to fight each other instead, all these missions would be abandoned.”
I take a sip of my tea, wishing the hot liquid were more comforting. “You’re right. Despite my aunt’s hatred for Jag, she had a huge heart. I can’t imagine she would have risked that without a very good reason.”
“Precisely my point,” Layla says, sitting back in her chair with perfect posture. “Which begs the question…what is actually going on here?”
“Point taken,” I say, now not sure myself. I look over at Matteo. “Is that why your Family is in London, because of Aunt Jo?”
Matteo hesitates. “My Family is here because something important is clearly happening and the appointment of a new Regent has far-reaching political ramifications. Beyond that, it’s none of your concern.”
“Look, I get it. You don’t like me. I probably wouldn’t like me if I were you, either, but if things are as serious as you say, then I need to know everything I can. This whole thing is hard enough as it is,” I say.
“Tell me,” Matteo says. “Are you here to save your father or to dismantle the Lions and restore balance to Strategia?”
“Both,” I say, meeting his intense look.
“And if you had to choose between the two?” he asks, and my stomach sinks—I don’t need to think about it because I would choose my dad ten out of ten times.
Matteo doesn’t wait for my answer. “That’s what I thought. And that’s the problem. The consequences of the Regent’s death are already in motion. It doesn’t actually matter whether it was Aunt Jo or your father who killed him; there is an opportunity here that hasn’t existed in decades, one that’s shaken the confidence in Jag’s previously untouchable power. But you don’t understand that because you weren’t raised like we were. And even after you saw the damage Dr. Conner inflicted at the Academy, your goals remain self-serving. So why should I give you information when it will only go to help you do what’s best for you, not for Strategia?”
For a second I’m stunned into silence. First Aarya yelled at me last night and now Matteo, and the weirdest part is that they agree. My cheeks go hot. I want to answer him, but defending myself right now would only reinforce his opinion of me. Not that I should care. So why do I feel this strange need to prove myself to him?
“The masquerade ball,” Layla says, changing the topic. “I’m certain that information was not acquired easily. I understand why it’s important to the larger political picture, but what role does it play in your finding your father?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” I say, glancing at my cell phone, still embarrassed by what Matteo said. It’s 4:36 a.m. “But the gist of it is that my dad’s been leaving me clues since I left the Academy, and one of them is apparently located at that ball.”
Layla looks startled. “And I take it you four have decided it’s a good idea to break into a Lion Family event?”
“It’s unfortunately unavoidable,” I say, because I’ve been wondering the same thing—why would my dad send me into a Lion event, of all places?
“And the plan?” Layla asks.
“Still working it out,” I say vaguely. “But if you have a phone, or some way I can reach you, I can keep you updated.”
“I would say so,” Layla says like she’s not at all pleased by this development. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but is there anything else I should know?”
There is something comforting about her familiar reaction. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, and here she is drinking tea and reprimanding me. “The ball is the main thing. And oh,” I say. “The Ferryman is hunting my dad.”
Once again Layla and Matteo exchange a look.
“We heard.” Layla’s expression turns sympathetic. “Matteo and I will do what we can to help.”
Matteo averts his eyes, dismissing Layla’s attempt to smooth things over.
“But the clock is ticking. We need to be efficient and smart,” Layla continues, nearly repeating what her twin said word for word.
The mention of a clock prompts me to look at my phone again: 4:43 a.m. Before I can say anything, Layla nods.
“I know. You have to get back,” she says. “Give us your number and keep us updated as the plan for tonight develops. I’m certain you will need us in some capacity.”
I open the door to the apartment carrying hot chocolates, coffees, and a bag full of breakfast pastries and almost walk straight into Aarya. I let out a small yelp of surprise and barely catch the cardboard drink carrier before it crashes to the floor.
“Geez,” Aarya grumbles, but her crankiness instantly drops away when she sees what I’m carrying.
“Hot chocolate?” I offer with a smile, and hand her the bag and the drinks, which she gladly accepts. Despite feeling enlivened by Layla and Matteo’s help, I can’t stop thinking about what Matteo said about my aunt Jo and about me being selfish. I take off my coat and gloves, pulling the Sunday newspaper I picked up at the coffee shop from under my arm. I hang my coat, ready to find a comfy place to read and eat pastries, but Aarya blocks my path to the living room.
“You decided to get up at five in the morning and go to the café?” she says with an assessing look.
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep,” I say because it’s part of the truth, “and I wanted to get an early start.” I grab one of the hot chocolates out of the carrier, take a sip, and step around her.
“Hungry?” I say to Ash as Aarya puts the goodies down on the coffee table.
I plop onto the couch with my drink and the paper in hand, momentarily reminded of Sunday mornings with my dad. When I was little he would give me the funnies, but in recent years we would just trade sections back and forth, reading from one end to the other. Of course the news app on my phone is more comprehensive than the paper, but there was something about the ritual of it that we both enjoyed.
Ash rubs his face and reaches for a coffee, but Aarya eyes me warily.
“So what have you come up with?” she asks.
“Huh?” I say, not sure what she’s getting at.
“You couldn’t sleep and you wanted to get an early start, so you must have been cycling through new ideas. What are they?” she asks, and I can only hope the aggression is a holdover from our conversation last night and that she doesn’t suspect more.
Ash looks from me to Aarya and frowns, but when he looks back in my direction there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. I’m one lie away from them knowing I’m hiding something.
I take a sip of my warm drink, buying myself a few seconds. “Well,” I say, frantically searching for something I can tell them that will both be believable and distract from whatever signals of deception I’m unconsciously giving off. “I was thinking…the Lions accused my dad of killing the Regent, right? And while I know that’s untrue, I do wonder if he was involved.”
Aarya tilts her head and I can tell that at the very least I’ve caught her interest. “Go on.”
“See, not long before my dad sent me to the Academy, he was making frequent trips to see my aunt Jo—my mother’s sister—the one the Lion Family killed shortly after I arrived at the Academy,” I say. “I never really questioned it before—well, not in this way, anyway—but now I’m wondering, what if my dad didn’t commit the act himself but was still involved in the planning?” And now that I’ve said it, I wonder how I could have previously missed this.
Ash joins me on the couch with his coffee. “Are you suggesting that it was your aunt who assassinated the Regent?”
I look at Ash, coming to terms with what I suspect is the truth. “I am. And I think her death was retaliation.” I swallow. “The thing is…all this time I’ve been assuming that the Lions were hunting my family and that’s what prompted my dad to send me to the Academy. But I don’t think that’s exactly accurate. If my dad and my aunt were somehow responsible for taking out the Regent, then it had to have been planned. Which means that my trip to the Academy was also planned. Maybe for years.” What I don’t say is that it’s just one more item in a long list of lies from my dad.
“This helps,” Ash says. “This is a piece of the puzzle that we were missing—the event that started the whole chain reaction. Now we have some context.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Well, for starters it tells us that the clues he left for you aren’t the trail of bread crumbs left by a man in hiding; they’ve been carefully planned and executed,” Ash says, and I can almost see the gears in his head turning. “It explains why he knew Logan’s sign was there, and also gave him time to make a negotiation that would have Angus point you to it.”
“That makes sense,” I say, and while I’m happy to have more information, I’m not thrilled with the revelation that my dad had always planned to leave me behind at the Academy and then make it nearly impossible to follow him.
“If he and your aunt had planned to take out the Regent, there is still the question of why now?” Ash says. “Something must have prompted the timing.”
Aarya nods, wiping a smear of melted chocolate from her croissant off the corner of her mouth.
“While we don’t know why he acted now, we do know your father must have had an alliance within the Lion Family,” Ines says as she enters the living room and grabs a coffee. “He would have needed inside information to successfully plan the Regent assassination.”
We all sit there for a few seconds, considering the new development.
“Well, one thing is for sure,” Aarya says. “We need to get to work. If your dad planned this for what I’m assuming is years, and part of his plan is for us to go to the Lion ball, then we damn well better deliver.” She stands. “I’m going to make us a frittata, and then we’ll get to it.”
Ash sips his coffee, lost in thought, and I unfold the newspaper with a snap, looking for something comforting and familiar more than feeling any desire to read the news. I straighten out the pages, but before I even read the top headline I sit straight up, nearly spilling my drink down my shirt. There on the bottom left-hand side of the page is a photo with a caption under it that reads: Displaced lions confuse zoo workers.
“Uh, guys…,” I say, and spread the page out on the coffee table in front of me.
Ash immediately moves closer.
“ ‘London Zoo Lion Family Mysteriously Found in the Wrong Habitat,’ ” I say, reading the headline.
Aarya reappears in the doorway.
I continue reading out loud. “ ‘The much-adored pride of lions at the London Zoo were discovered at eight a.m. on Christmas Day as having swapped habitats with the antelopes. What is baffling the local authorities is that based on footprints, the swap seems to have been orchestrated by a single individual. “One man or woman moving four lions and six antelope alone without injury or incident is nothing if not astounding,” says the zoo director. “Even our best animal curator couldn’t accomplish such a feat.” The local police have reviewed the security cameras but have no clear images of this magical intruder. The animals have been returned to their rightful cages and are healthy and happy, the zoo director assures us, and then jokes that “It’s an odd day indeed when the prey supplants the predator.” ’ ”
Aarya leans over the coffee table, casting a shadow on the paper, and to my surprise, she starts laughing. “Oh my god, that’s brilliant. Tell me that was your father.”
I look up, not sure if I find this amusing or further disorienting. “Has to be, right?” I say, figuring if it were Layla and Matteo, they would have said something earlier. “It was timed so the story would run in the Sunday paper, which my dad and I always read together. But what does it mean?”
“Are you kidding? It’s a blatant warning to the Lions,” Aarya says.
“Obviously,” I say. “But what else?”
“The timing,” Ash says. “Your father killed the Regent and timed this to coincide with Jag’s new appointment.”
Brendan, I think, but I don’t say it.
I stare at the article. “So then he’s trying to provoke Jag.”
“Definitely,” Aarya agrees. “And clearly he wants it to be public. Well, not public public, but Strategia public. He’s taking a shot at Jag’s reputation, making the point that he’s not as untouchable as we all think. Your dad has flair.”
Does he, though? It’s not that I disagree with Aarya’s assessment, but the person she’s describing doesn’t sound like my dad.
I reread the short article, looking for some other meaning or something that makes sense to me. But I find nothing and am left once again feeling like the person I thought was my dad is a lie.