We follow the same path inside HQ as we did when we arrived, down a crowded hallway to the thick oak door. Anxiously, I glance at Taylor. “I would rather not be killed today.” It’s an attempt at humor, but it falls flat on its face as my voice holds the genuine panic in my chest.
“Most people do not choose when they die,” she says under her breath. Should I be relieved or more frightened Taylorappears to share my nervousness? “Maybe a fortunate few choose how.”
We are beckoned into Theia’s office in a manner somewhere between a royal summons and a military command. Theia sits in a bonded leather chair with a high back. Her sweater is green and not leather, but her skirt is, and both form to her tighter than her bun. I want to comment on how bad that is for her follicles. Maybe next time. Maybe if she’s going to execute me, I’ll use my last words to let her know. Sarcasm is certainly a more dignified exit than begging.
“Sit down, Eos.” I side-eye Taylor as she nods and settles into the seat next to me. Lady Leather clears her throat and crosses her legs. She has an air about her like a strict headmistress and Taylor and I are two kids caught fighting on the playground. Her gaze moves from Taylor to me, a tight smile on her lips. “Hmm. Eos has been quite generous with her jackets as of late.”
I don’t know why I feel defensive of the jacket, but I don’t like her insinuation or accusatory tone. “I was not prepared to be taken from my home, otherwise I’d have packed a coat.”
Theia raises an eyebrow at me, then looks at Taylor. “I assume you provided your ward with the necessary amenities, aside from your jackets?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Not exactly a class in hospitality here, but I suppose a beggar cannot be a chooser. “Is there an update on Target Two?”
Theia bristles at Taylor’s brusque tone, plastering on a smile so saccharine sweet it gives me a toothache. “Target Two? The man you should’ve dispatched less than twelve hours ago?” Taylor bows her head. “Well, Leader Piccolo has increased the Force presence on the island by seventy percent. He’s unleashed Lightbringers. A family specialty.”
I gasp. “Oh, God.”
Taylor looks between us. “What is a Lightbringer?”
Theia gestures to me. “Go on, Luciana. Inform my soldier how grievous her actions were last night.”
“My great-great-grandfather Dante Piccolo assembled the Lightbringers. They’re automatons, like twenty or thirty feet tall, armed with laser rifles. The technology is beyond me, but as I understand it, the beam from their gun either mutilates or eviscerates its target.” Gazing upward, I try to recall the information handed down to me in bits and pieces. Nobody is particularly proud of how excessive the Lightbringers are. “They were operated remotely by Force members at headquarters. They quelled my great-great-grandfather’s rebellion and roamed the streets for decades until my mother insisted they were unethical and Papa had many of them dismantled for parts. Many, but not all.”
“How do you destroy one?” Taylor looks like how I imagine a Lightbringer does in operation—gears turning, calculating, seeking weakness.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “As far as I know, nobody ever has.”
“Precisely. I imagine most of our operatives there will be hard-pressed to get out alive with his crackdown. As such, it would also be unwise of us to anger him further by dispatching his spawn. Until I can arrange otherwise, Miss Piccolo will be your ward. Where you go, she goes. No exceptions.”
Taylor’s spine goes ramrod straight. “Even on the missions? But—but if I am compromised…”
“If you are compromised, or Miss Piccolo dies, it will be your fault,” Theia says with a harsh snap. “This is not a punishment, Eos. You are the only one I trust with this task. It is not an ideal situation, but we make do with what we have. My decision is final. Am I understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Do not make me repeat myself, it is quite wasteful.” Theia unscrews the cap on a glass decanter of liquor and whenthe scent wafts toward me, I recognize it as scotch. The sudden ache of homesickness takes my breath. Papa drinks the same brand. “You have two weeks to train her, starting today. She seems to be in acceptable form, though I’m sure her athleticism may need work.” I sit up straighter in my chair. “I have no doubts you will get her as ready as possible. Though.” Theia stands, taking with her the intricate glass of scotch. She gives it a tentative sip as we wait for her to finish her sentence. Early in the day to be drinking, but who am I to judge? “She was quite a distraction for you at the ball, wasn’t she,Taylor?”
Taylor shrinks back at the decidedly intimate address. “I did the best I could under the circumstances.”
“I asked you a question. One that requires a yes or no answer, not another one of your flimsy excuses for poor performance.”
“No, ma’am. Miss Piccolo was not a distraction.”
Theia purses her lips like a suckerfish and swims around the desk to rest her backside on the scalloped wooden edge in front of Taylor, who is as cool and still as a marble statue. “Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The following silence is agonizingly awkward. Theia leans in closer to scrutinize her, as if the pores of her face will reveal a hidden truth.
“Just so, like, the people in the room who could kill me are on the same page, I’m not being executed, right?”
Theia’s watchful brown eyes pierce me into my seat. “Correct. Until I reach a satisfactory accord with your father, you will remain in the protection of the Order.”
“And what kind of accord is that?” I ask, crossing my arms. Papa will not want to negotiate with those he finds so below his station.
“Most likely, his life for yours,” Theia replies, and I inhale a breath so sharp it hurts my lungs. “Eos, you will report to meals and mandatory meetings on schedule, but your free time will bespent preparing your ward. Our training facilities are instructed to be at your disposal. Plan wisely.”
Taylor stands up and rigidly straightens her posture. She’s pissed. Doesn’t feel like that bodes well for me. “Anything else?” Her voice is tight and controlled. “Ma’am?”
