“Thank you. This means a lot, and I’m so glad that people are happy about this. I’ve been so nervous about this whole thing, worried that people wouldn’t accept this change. I feel more confident knowing I’ve done some good already,” I say.
Jacinta goes on to tell me some of the less than savoury endeavours the Raven Hands have got themselves into over the years, all in aid of making Amontillado a better place to live. And this conversation has the added benefit of keeping me and Valdemar apart, which means I can continue to dodge his raging temper at my impromptu outburst during the speech.
“What were you thinking promising them Adolphe Fortunato’s head on a stick?”he’d shot down the bond as we’d been separated soon after we’d left the stage.
“I promised no such thing.”
But truth be told, I don’t fully know what I promised. I simply acted on gut instinct and a dormant hope that Adolphe Fortunato would get his comeuppance. It was his fault my brother lost his life, his fault his daughter killed herself, and his fault Valdemar, Jacinta, and Jupiter are compelled to keep quiet about what really happened that night. And these are only the incidents we know about. What about all the other victims? Howmany bricks has Adolphe Fortunato used to hide his crimes and build his empire?
And isn’t this what being a Raven Hand is all about? Making the city a safer place to live? Standing up against tyranny?
It’s when I go to the toilet that Valdemar appears, pushing his way into the bathroom behind me and locking the door.
“Fucking hell, angel.” He pushes his hand through his long hair. “You sure know how to rouse a crowd. They’re gunning for blood out there. And only Adolphe Fortunato’s will do.”
“I’m more surprised at how well they’ve taken the news,” I say.
“They would love anyone who told them they were going to deliver Fortunato to them in a box.”
I fold my arms, and he picks up on his error.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Of course I’m glad they’ve accepted you, but one of the reasons they have is that you’ve promised them something they’ve wanted for a long time. And I promised I’d uphold the safety of the Raven Hands, even if that meant not seeking revenge. Peace for our people. No more dead Raven Hands. Isn’t that what’s more important?”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, and I know what you did was right, but that doesn’t mean we can sit back and let him continue to monopolise this city. So many people are scared of him, and he holds so much power—even more so since you’ve been locked away. Do you know he wants to buy theGazette? Do you know what that would mean for the future of this city along with me and Una and Pierre?” I say.
“But it will start a war. A war I’m not sure we can win. You do anything to harm, threaten, or even slightly annoy Adolphe Fortunato, and he’ll be on us faster than you can say Raven Hand. He’ll shoot us down and pluck out our feathers. Is that what you want?” Valdemar argues.
“No, of course not. But I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“Then what do you suggest? Running into his casino with guns blazing?” He wafts his hand in the air.
I raise an eyebrow. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“Exactly what I just said.”
“Jesus.” Valdemar whistles.
“Look. We have the advantage. We have the element of surprise. We have what Adolphe Fortunato doesn’t even think we have. We have the ultimate weapon.”
His eyes bore into me, and when it’s clear he still has no idea what I’m talking about, I tell him. Then and only then does his scowl turn into a smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
TWO MONTHS LATER
“To the bestfucking headline we’ve had in years!” Una raises her glass, her hands clad in silver rings, nails painted a deep plum to match the new purple streaks in her hair. The glare of the stark lighting illuminates the champagne, making the bubbles look like tiny diamonds floating in a yellow ocean.
Pierre and I join our glasses to Una’s.
“To the ultimate headline,” Pierre says.
“To the best news,” I chime in, clinking my glass heavily against theirs before we all take a glug of champagne.
Pierre winces, bringing the glass down. “God, I hate champagne.” He shivers as if the bubbles are attacking him from the inside.
“It’s not my drink of choice either,” Una agrees.
