“I arranged his removal,” Maximus corrected. “Quietly. Efficiently. Through contracted means that could never be traced back to me.” He turned slightly, his eyes glancing toward Shadera’s cell. “A contract carried out by the Daggermouths. By their most talented mercenary.”
Greyson felt as though he’d been plunged into ice water. He tried to twist in his chair, tried to look at Shadera through the cell wall at his back, but the bindings only cut deeper as they held him in place.
“No,” he whispered, the word barely audible. “No, that’s not—she said she didn’t.”
“And you were dumb enough to believe her?” Maximus snapped, making his way back to his chair and sitting. “I framed him as a Heart informant,” he continued. “Made him appear to be betraying the very rebels he was working with. Made his death seem like rebel justice rather than a father’s punishment.” A soft laugh. “The contractspecified to leave his body in the center of the Heart, to make it messy. A fabricated warning to Heart citizens who might consider crossing into the rings. Your Daggermouth performed admirably.”
Greyson couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Shadera had killed Brooker. Shadera had executed his brother, had carried out his father’s twisted punishment.
She’d lied to him.
“You’re lying,” he said again, but the words were hollow now, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this was not the truth.
It couldn’t be the truth.
“Ask her,” Maximus suggested, gesturing toward Shadera’s cell. “Ask her if she remembers the feel of her blade across his throat, of his blood warming her hands.”
He didn’t bother trying to look at her this time. Couldn’t bring himself to try. “I-is it true? Did you do it?”
There was silence for a long moment. Then she answered.
“I didn’t know, Greyson.” The words cracked on his name. Her voice, usually so strong, so defiant, had been reduced to a thready whisper. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”
Something shattered inside Greyson.
A small, choked sound escaped him. The absurdity of it all. The perfect, twisted symmetry. His father’s ultimate manipulation.
“There it is,” Maximus said softly. “The truth. The woman you love, murdered the person you loved most in this world.”
Love.
The word ignited rage in his chest. Greyson couldn’t love her. Couldn’t give form to the feeling that had been growing in his chest, taking root in the very core of him. Not now, not in the face of this betrayal, this devastation. Not after this.
Maximus leaned forward, brushing dirt off his pants as if he had not just placed a grenade between Greyson’s rib cage. “Of course, Brooker’sdeath was merely the beginning. I had planned similar fates for both of you.”
The words penetrated the pain collecting in Greyson’s soul, pulling him back from the edge of complete collapse. “What are you talking about?”
“Surely you’ve realized by now,” Maximus continued. “The contract on your life. The assassin sent to kill you.”
A growl vibrated through Greyson’s throat, but he bit it back. His mind returning to logic as it always did when feeling became unbearable. His father was talking openly, was sharing secrets. Whatever he said, he could use. He needed to keep him talking.
“I had hoped for her to do a better job,” Maximus said, running his fingers over the mask in his lap. “First Brooker’s death at the hands of a Daggermouth, then yours—a devastating tragedy for the Heart, proof that the rings had become ungovernable.” A pause. “The perfect justification for what comes next.”
“The Culling,” Greyson breathed, horror dawning as the pieces started falling into place. “You planned to use our deaths to justify mass murder.”
Maximus waved a dismissive hand. “Population adjustment—”
“They’re people,” Shadera cut in, her voice laced with poison. “Not statistics. Not equations to balance.”
“They’revermin,” Maximus countered, not bothering to look at her. “Parasites draining the Heart’s resources, contributing nothing of value. Better to clear them out, make room for those who deserve the protection of our city.”
“Make room for what?” Greyson demanded, a new suspicion forming.
Maximus met his eyes, and a sickening smile twisted onto his face. “For the future. City-states to the north are failing. Their elites—people of culture, education, wealth—need somewhere to go. New Found Haven has the infrastructure, the security. All it lacks is . . . space.”
The full depravity of his father’s plan ossified in Greyson’s mind.
“You’re insane,” Greyson whispered.
