Alex sinks onto a wooden crate across from mine, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging down. “I see that. I thought we had things carefully planned. But someone along the way must have betrayed us.”
“You mean someone aside from you?”
Alex meets my gaze for half a second before dropping his eyes again. “The killing of James was rigged. Or it was supposed to be anyway. There were Uprising soldiers stationed at the estate to protect James until you could get to him, Cal.”
“I didn’t see any Uprising soldiers, Uncle.” Though there were a host of bodies littering the hallway outside my father’s suite of rooms. But the other two I encountered certainly weren’t trying to clear the way for me or they wouldn’t have attacked me in the first place.
“Something went very wrong tonight.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Dom mutters.
Alex stands, new determination in his gait. “But we can fix this. I have been working with the Uprising.”
“You did mention that already.” The mere idea of it still churns my gut.
“That means I have a direct line to their leader. I can fix this.” He claps a hand on my shoulder.
I wince, shaking off his touch. I’m not ready for that yet. “How in the bloody hell are you going to fix this? Father is dead at the hands of a madman, and we no longer can trust a word you say.”
Alex’s face falls. “I know it seems like that now, but you will see that I did this for all of us. I don’t know how I’m going to make it right, but the killing period doesn’t officially end for six more days, so we have time. I’ll get a message to August, and we will figure this out.”
Dom shoots me a questioning look. I nod for her to continue. “If you think there is a way to correct this course of action and give Callum a chance to represent Scota, then you should do so. But it won’t make up for what you did, Uncle.”
He nods, his lips pulling down. “I understand. I know how this all must feel right now, but I hope you will come to see the reasonsbehind my actions, and how my goal was always to secure Callum the leadership position we all know he is meant for.”
I don’t feel meant for much of anything in this moment, and I don’t have the strength to be angry. I also can’t immediately accept his words as truth. It’s been a day full of betrayal, and I can’t even trust my own thoughts in this moment.
I don’t want to believe it, but the look in Cate’s eyes when she talks about him, the reports I’m hearing about how much time the two spend together, even outside these supposed “lessons,” leads me to believe my earlier suspicion to be true.
I worry for them. I worry for her. Bonds can be beautiful, but they are just as likely to be dangerous.
—excerpt from the journal of Harold MacVeigh
21
Cate
The guards areposted in front of my door from that point on. Food is delivered three times a day, still warm and hot and delicious, the only difference being that I’m forced to eat alone in my room, a room I’m not allowed to leave. But it means Eliza is still here, which gives me hope that some of my friends are still here. Eventually they will have to wonder where I am, and when they come and find me locked in my room, surely then they will know Lady M is the one behind all of this.
The door separating my room from Andra’s has been permanently shut. I heard the banging from my side of the room and when I went to push through the door, I found it wouldn’t be budged. I know she’s not in there anyway, that there is much more than a door separating us, but it still feels like a link to my sister has been severed.
No one else has come to see me, or at least, no one has been able to make it past the guards.
It’s been three days, and I have no idea where my sister is. Noidea what happened to Callum. Who killed King James. Where my friends might have gone—or been taken.
The urge to see Callum again, to try to explain, to hold him close, itches under my skin. Worse than the loneliness and the uncertainty, the ache for him is physical. I need him in a way that would be frightening if I allowed myself to think on it too much.
The morning of the fourth day, the door opens and instead of a tray of food sliding across the floor, an actual person strides into the room.
Not strides. Limps. Practically falls into the room.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Harold looks worse than before.
The sight of him sends a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through me. Harold is safe, and that news brings no small measure of relief.
But what about Callum? If Harold is here, what are the chances Callum is still alive?
I rush to Harold’s side, helping him into a chair. “Where’s Andra? What happened with the king? Why haven’t you seen Bianca? Callum, Harold, what happened to Callum?” The questions fall from my lips faster than he could possibly answer them.
