Taylor leads me to the back of the longhouse near the kitchens and through an unmarked green door. Only one picnic table rests on the floor, surrounded on two sides by folding tables with food steaming from silver serving trays. The room is empty save for the incredible food driving me insane. With my last meal a distant memory, I’m ready to slay someone to eat.
Taylor hands me a plate. “Help yourself.”
Trying to temper my insane hunger, I pretend to peruse the wares when really, I’m wondering if it is uncouth for me to shove my face into a serving tray like a pig at a trough. I plunk a honey-covered biscuit onto my plate, followed by eggs, bacon, and cubed roasted potatoes, using my other hand to grab an apple. Taking a seat on the nearest side of the bench, I dig into the foodbefore me. The eggs are like light fluffy clouds, perfectly cooked and flavored to perfection.
The man from last night, Hel, walks in and gives me a nod. Mouth full, I nod in return. Suddenly I’m parched, and as I look around frantically for a beverage, Taylor climbs into the bench across from me and slides me an orange juice. I take it with a silent thanks and swallow down unladylike gulps.
Taylor’s portions are meager in comparison to the feast I served myself. Once I can swallow and speak again, I raise my eyebrow at her. “Is the food poisoned? Why don’t you have any?”
She chuckles and bites into her toast, slowly chewing while keeping that corked champagne gaze on me. “As I said, if I wanted you dead, you would be.”
We fall into a silence as I focus back on my giant meal and Taylor picks at her tiny helping. Of course, I can’t help but beat an issue to death. “For someone who’s a big-time assassin, you don’t bulk up on the protein, do you?”
She looks at me like I’m a chore. “I do not eat meat, but I can assure you I meet my daily nutritional requirements.”
“I imagine so, with this tremendous amount of food to yourselves. Doesn’t preferential treatment sort of fly in the face of your righteous cause of equality?”
Taylor shrugs. “This is not preferential treatment. It is solitary.”
Quizzically, I shift my gaze between my captor and her friend. Like, this is jail? A comfy, plush jail with a hot buffet served at breakfast and who knows what else for lunch? “Okay. Why are you sequestered?”
“Many reasons,” Taylor says. “I will not be divulging extraneous information to a prisoner.”
Her words sting, pricking my chest. Doing what any cornered animal does, I swipe back, claws out. “Well, if the prisoners geta breakfast like this, I can’t imagine how well Lady Leather must be eating.”
This makes the mute man choke, and he uses his large hand to smother both a cough and laughter. Taylor picks up her banana and points it at me. “You do not know what you are talking about,” she says in an aggravated mumble, peeling her banana with a comically unnecessary amount of force.
“Oh? Explain it to me, then.” Feigning rapt interest, I lean forward and take a deep bite of my biscuit.
“No. Eat your breakfast, please.”
With a melodramatic sigh I switch my attention to her friend. Her guard? Whatever this guy is who randomly shows up, and is the only person I’ve seen her smile at since we left the ball. “So, you’re Hel? That’s an interesting name.”
Taylor glares at me but doesn’t intervene. “Code name,” he says, his voice like the creaking of an old staircase. “It’s supposed to be pronounced ‘heel,’ like a foot, short for Helios. Taylor couldn’t pronounce it as a little kid and called me Hel. Name stuck.”
They’ve known each other a long time, then. The annoyed but affectionate look Taylor gives him conveys the sibling bond I’ve always envied. “I’m Lucy. I don’t have a code name because, as you can see by the hideous shade of burnt orange I’m wearing”—I pluck up my sweater from my shoulder—“I am not worthy of an earth tone, never mind a code name.”
“My name’s Mason. Don’t sweat the code names. Only me, Taylor, and Theia got ’em.”
“Why’s that?” I stab my fork into these delicious potatoes which hopefully I can enjoy not only while I’m here, but every day for the rest of my life.
“Because we are carrying out the main missions. The use of code names differentiates us and creates an atmosphere of respect,” Taylor interrupts with authority. “It ties us to Theiadirectly, and helps keep communications clear. Also, it prevents an enemy from learning our rank and trying to take us prisoner.”
“We the big guns,” Mason says and gives Taylor a fraternal nudge with his elbow, which softens her expression.
“So, the sequestered mealsarepreferential treatment,” I say. “You’re the go-to team.”
“We eat alone so we can discuss our missions in privacy. The fewer people who are privy to the assassinations, the higher their rate of success.” The weird, high-tech watch around her wrist beeps and she dismounts the bench, dabbing her face with a napkin. “Theia.”
Mason understands what this means and nods his head, taking one last bite of bacon before getting up from the bench as well.
“Not you,” Taylor says to him. “Us.”
I’m still sitting down with food on my plate, fork halfway to my face, mouth full of potatoes. “What? What ‘us’?” I swallow. “Me-and-you us?”
“Yes. Me-and-you us,” she replies. Mason shrugs and sits back down, happily returning to his potatoes. Lucky bastard. “Get moving.”
I pop another potato cube in my mouth and get up, clumsily maneuvering around the bench in my military boots. I’m not exactly a boots kind of gal, but this is probably the smallest life adjustment I’ll have to make in the coming days. If I even have any coming days.
