The next day dawned bright and sunny, a stark shift from the frigid gray clouds that had gripped the country for the past several weeks. It was a poor omen, Dara thought—like the universe itself granting approval to Lehrer’s speech later today.
Alternatively, of course, the government had discovered another meteorpath and paid them to improve the weather just in time for a patriotic event.
They arrived at the Carolinia National University campus expecting a wildly different security scenario than the one they encountered. Armored tanks, maybe—hundreds of antiwitching units in their iridescent armor, undercover police skulking through the shadows. With all secrets revealed, now, why would Lehrer let them waltz into Duke Chapel so easily?
“This isn’t an oversight,” Priya murmured from the front seat of the car as they rolled slowly past the line of cars queuing up for entrance onto the event grounds. “It’s a threat.”
“Or a trap,” said Ames.
Next to Dara, Noam was gripping his thighs so hard his fingertips blanched with the pressure. Dara reached over and placed his hand atop Noam’s; Noam shot him a small appreciative smile.
It felt like they had to rely on so many assumptions for this to work. They assumed Claire’s contacts in the security detail were still loyal. They assumed they wouldn’t get recognized the second they set foot onto the grounds. They assumed all Dara’s physics calculations were correct, and they could avoid killing hundreds of innocent people. They assumed the suppressant would work on Lehrer if he was weak enough—that they could even get close enough to use it.
Early this morning, before Noam was awake, Dara had sat at the corner of the sofa downstairs with his brow tipped against the cold windowpane and stared at the ice as it cracked and melted off the tree outside. He’d tried to imagine death: a quiet dark embrace welcoming him home.
Such dreams had come easily, once. When Dara was sixteen, he’d chased after death with both arms outstretched—and death had felt like warm bathwater and drugs in his veins, had smelled like spilled blood.
He couldn’t reclaim that feeling now. He couldn’t imagine stepping out of this life and leaving Noam behind—or Ames, or Leo, or even Priya. That story Noam wove last night about their future had sunk deep into his bones, and he couldn’t excise it.
Darawantedthat.
For the first time in years, Dara wanted to live.
“Equipment check,” Claire said, and they all counted off: no guns, of course, but earplugs—a weak defense against Lehrer’s persuasion—and two vials of suppressant.
It was almost time.
At least one assumption held: they made it onto campus without being stopped. It was next to impossible to secure the entire Carolinia National University grounds, but even so Dara’s heart was in his throat as they parked the car and walked right by all those guards in uniform, all the soldiers with guns and magic in their veins.
The quad was a mass of people, citizens and journalists and security murmuring into their walkie-talkies. The whole of Black Magnolia blended in almost seamlessly—Claire and Priya and Ames in street clothes, Noam and Dara both wearing press badges around their necks.
“Time to split up,” Priya said when they reached the center of the quad, cordoned off by white ropes that kept a path clear from the drive up to the chapel itself—the path Lehrer would ascend when he arrived. The same path he’d walked on his coronation day.
Lehrer always did have a flair for symbolism.
“Good luck,” Ames said to them both, extending a hand to shake Dara’s first, then Noam’s. “See you on the other side.”
I hope.
The three of them—Ames and Priya and Claire—faded into the crowd, quickly consumed by the anonymity of three hundred unfamiliar faces.
And Noam and Dara made their way toward the chapel.
“Over there, maybe?” Dara asked as they drew closer to the front doors—which were well guarded, a dozen soldiers in antiwitching armor checking identification with guns at their hips.
Noam nodded, and they split off, weaving against the current of the crowd as it filtered into the narthex.
As they passed one of the chapel’s side entrances, Dara was suddenly very glad they’d decided against positioning themselves inside the chapel itself. The Chancellarian Guard was already here, wearing dark suits and lining the arched walkways; soldiers in antiwitching armor stood watch by the doors.
They were early enough to get a good position near the portal at least, flashing press badges when they needed to elbow in closer. Dara leaned out over the path, peering down toward the drive where Lehrer’s car would pull up. His stomach curdled; it was a long walk. Plenty of time for Lehrer’s gaze to scan the crowd and see two familiar faces staring back at him.
“It’s going to be okay,” Noam said from over his shoulder. His hand caught Dara’s, their bodies pressed together by the mob. Dara turned to look at him—and for a moment it was like nothing else existed. He tipped his face forward and rested his brow against Noam’s. He focused on Noam’s eyes, on the little threads of gold weaving through Noam’s irises like striations in marble.
“I’m scared,” Dara admitted, softly enough he couldn’t even hear himself say it.
But Noam must have, because he curved an arm around Dara’s waist and drew him in, burying his own face against Dara’s hair. “Me too.”
Noam smelled like the shampoo they’d borrowed in the Lakewood house, like vetiver and smoke.
