If Dara still had magic, he could have draped an illusion over himself like a cloak and looked like anyone. A grizzled old war vet, maybe, dripping with medals of honor and scowling at the world through filmy cataracts. Someone no one would mess with. If Dara still had magic, he’d have every thought in this room at his fingertips. He could dip his hands into the mind of the minister of finance, sifting through emotions like glittering jewels, and sense the precise moment Kurt Langley recognized him.
“If it isn’t Dara Shirazi,” Langley said, clearly delighted with himself for having spotted Dara first. He reached forward with both hands, and Dara had no choice but to let him clasp one of his between them. Langley’s palms were moist with lotion. “My dear, dear boy ... I thought ...”
Dara smiled back at him, waiting as Langley fumbled for the correct words.
“Weren’t you,” Langley managed at last with a delicate little cough, “missing?”
Dara patted his hand. “Hardly. And as you can see, I’m back now. Didn’t Calix tell you?” He detached himself before Langley could answer, drifting toward the refreshment table and leaving the man to wonder why, in fact, Lehrerhadn’ttold him.
Although something about the way Langley had saidmissingkept itching at him. Dara rather suspected Lehrer hadn’t said he was missing at all, but hidden away in some clinic in a foreign allied nation, kept comfortable as fevermadness ate away his brain and his life.
Even Dara had to admit it was a deft move. No one would expect Lehrer to lie about such a thing, as Dara’s behavior reflected upon his own reputation. The story was just embarrassing enough to be believed. And that explanation would cast in new light anything Dara had ever said to suggest he was less than enamored with Lehrer. The promiscuity. The drugs.
What a shame,they all used to think—always with that mental note of comingling disappointment and delight, pleased that their own children, at least, were not so fundamentally broken as Lehrer’s.What a waste of talent.
Dara might have chosen to take on this mission, but he hated being here. He hated that this was that kind of party, filled with the kinds of high-society people who would recognize Dara Shirazi even if Lehrer had kept Dara’s face hidden from the rest of the world.
Still, he was glad he’d be the one holding the gun when its bullet tore through Lehrer’s brain.
Now that Langley had recognized him, though, it was only a matter of time before that knowledge made the rounds. Dara had to find Lehrer before Lehrer heard that Dara was here.
Lehrer was taller than anyone had any right to be, but in this crowd picking him out was impossible. Too many military uniforms, too many fine suits and fair-haired heads. After watching a moment, though, Dara noticed a pattern to the way people moved through the room. It was as if they were all asteroids in orbit around a knot of people at the far end, by the fireplace. And—
Yes. There. Just a glimpse was enough, just the sharp line of a cheekbone and the neat part of Lehrer’s hair, and god, but Dara would recognize him anywhere.
He wanted to reach for the gun strapped to his right hip. He wanted to start shooting right now, damn the consequences. He was nauseated down to the marrow of his bones, sickness seeping like venom into his blood. Even breathing was difficult, like his rib cage was constricting round his lungs and squeezing all the air out.
He couldn’t do it. He—he couldn’t, he couldn’t walk over there and look Lehrer in the eye again, hear that soft voice twisting reality with every syllable he spoke. Not even to shoot him.
You have to.Think about Noam, still in Carolinia, still trusting Lehrer and blind to what Lehrer really was. Maybe Lehrer’s persuasion would break when Lehrer died, every thread of that lethal magic snapping at once and freeing the nation from its bonds. Maybe Dara would miraculously manage to get out of here alive. And Noam would remember.
That only happened if Lehrer died. Which only happened if he drank the suppressant first.
Dara took in a sharp breath and made himself exhale slowly.
All right. Where was Claire? He had to wait for the signal.
He felt people’s eyes on him, gazes snagging on his face and dragging after him as he walked deeper into the room. They were thinking about approaching him. Dara didn’t need telepathy to know that. And if they weren’t thinking about approaching him, they were thinking of approaching Lehrer, waiting for a break in conversation to say,Dara looks well. You must be so relieved.
He scanned the faces of the passing servers, meant to be unobtrusive in their plain black uniforms. What if something had come up with Claire’s papers and she hadn’t been able to get past security? He should find Holloway, perhaps. Make sure.
Only—no. There she was, tangled up in a knot of giggling socialites who’d clearly already had enough to drink. She had a tray in hand, little glasses of schnapps. Which one was meant for Lehrer? Or had she poisoned them all?
Their gazes met. He arched a brow. She shook her head, however minutely.
Not yet.
Maybe Dara could go hide in that bathroom after all.
He started off in that direction, slipping his hands in his pockets and trying to look like he was headed somewhere in particular so he wouldn’t be interrupted. He made it about ten feet before the crowd shifted, a knot of partygoers departing toward the refreshment table, and Dara could see clear through to where Lehrer stood. He was facing away, toward the hearth, momentarily free from sycophants. But he wasn’t alone.
Dara froze in place.
He’d spent eight months memorizing the shape of that body, the long limbs and narrow waist now flaunted to great effect in a tailored suit. How his hair looked almost red in the firelight, neatly trimmed for once and swept out of his beloved face, briefly visible in profile as he glanced toward Lehrer and said something inaudible.
Dara’s pulse roared in his ears.
And Lehrer.
