Harrison was right—Levi had been wrong to trust anyone. Once again, Enne had betrayed him and played him for a fool.
But it was worse than that. She’d claimed it was too dangerous. Which meant, in her mind, she’d left him to die. Even the wordfuryfelt inadequate to describe the way his stomach twisted.
“Well,” Bryce said, rubbing his hands together as they each sat down. All of his actions, no matter how trivial, made Levi’s pulse spike. Bryce was a human jump scare. “If you could all just reach into your pockets, then—”
“I said no games,” Fenice snapped.
Bryce gave her a pointed look. “You’ll have your turn after I have mine.”
Harrison shot the Chancellor a warning glance, as though he felt as alarmed by Bryce as Levi did. Then Harrison reached into his pocket and retrieved a golden Shadow Card. Levi had seen him clutching one at St. Morse the other night, same as him, but now he glimpsed the Lovers on the face. It was rather appropriate, if not depressing—Vianca had killed Harrison’s girlfriend during the Great Street War nineteen years ago, which was part of the reason Harrison had ultimately killedher.
On the golden side, red words were scrawled across the foil, in an ink that looked like blood.
THE SUN.
Levi reached into his own pocket for the Emperor and found a word also scribbled across its back.STRENGTH. A chill crept across his neck. That word hadn’t been there before, but no one had touched his card but him, not since he’d received it. That meant this wasn’t a trick; this was another piece of Bryce’s power. His talent went beyond anything Levi understood.
His eyes flickered to the door again, his thoughts spiraling. St. Morse. The Shadow Game. His father.Run. Run. Run. The only reason he didn’t was because his fear had frozen him in his seat.
Josephine shakily slid her hand into her purse and retrieved her own card, the World.THE LOVERSwas written across it.
“What does this mean?” Harrison asked.
“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Bryce told them smugly. “These are your targets. These are the rules to my game.”
ENNE
Enne would’ve felt worse about lying to Levi if she hadn’t thought he was making a horrendous mistake. This was not the time for negotiations, when they had nothing to exchange with the Chancellor for their safety. And as much as she wanted to stop him—and protect him—she couldn’t. The moment he had looked at her like she was a stranger, he’d made it clear that they were not in this war together. And so while he met with the Chancellor, likely with a hundred whiteboots aiming guns at his heart, he could make his move.
And she would make hers.
Grace snapped her fingers in front of Enne’s face. “Séance, come in? Stop staring off into the distance, looking lovesick. You need to focus.”
Enne resented being described so pathetically, even if it was true. “But how is it possible that none of the Scarhands know where the Doves’ hideout is?” She bit her lip. “The longer we wait to approach the Doves, the more time they’ll have to regroup since Ivory’s death.”
Early that morning, behind the closed door of the headmistress’s office, Enne, Lola, Grace, Roy, and Mansi met to hash out how they’d possibly live up to the Scarhands’ ambitions that two gangs of forgers, counters, and weapon salesmen would overthrow the most secretive, formidable assassins in the city.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Grace, perched on the edge of Enne’s desk and clutching a stale cup of coffee. “The Scarhands worked for Jonas, but they weren’t Jonas.”
“And not even the whiteboots know?” Enne asked Roy. He’d assumed his usual position, crossing his arms and glowering out the window at the finishing school’s barren, waste-littered grounds, as though he was frequently reminded that the company he kept was not the law-abiding sort.
“You think Captain Hector would leave the Doves in peace if he did?” Roy answered.
Enne turned to Lola across from her. She looked tired, her pallid green eyes rimmed with red, and her broad, bony shoulders hunched as she straddled her backward chair. Her harmonica was poised beside her lips, though she’d yet to play it.
“Don’t look at me,” Lola muttered. “I still think this is a muck idea.”
“But you say that about all my ideas,” grumbled Enne.
“Because I’m the one who prioritizes self-preservation.” Lola sighed. “Plus, you made me lie to my girlfriend about the Chancellor’s meeting.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that,” Enne told her. “But we can do this. We have more than enough people and weapons, thanks to the Scarhands. This is our chance—maybe our only chance.” When no one echoed her poor muster of confidence, she looked to Mansi. “After Jonas, who was the next best person in the Scarhands to ask for information? There must have been someone.”
“Like I said yesterday, our second died in the battle outside St. Morse.” When Enne mumbled something unladylike under her breath, Mansi stiffened and continued. “But we still have Jonas’s records! For the most part... The important ones. The ones he tried to hide before he died.”
Jonas had kept meticulous records on every person in New Reynes, and if he’d salvaged any of them before the whiteboots had raided their hideout, then he might’ve saved the ones she needed.
“And didn’t Levi say something about Jac being attacked by a Dove two weeks ago?” Roy asked.
