“I’m fine,” he says without pausing.
I’m not.
I don’t want to argue with him, so I just sit on the deck to keep him company until Darius leaves the helm to let us know our arrival is imminent. “There’s been a slight change of plans,” he announces.
“Oh?” I ask.
“I’m not going to join the caravan. I’m going to enter the estate separately from you and Eban.”
I don’t like this at all. “You’re not? Why? We already agreed we’re safer and stronger if we stay together.”
“I’ve thought about it and I think it’s better this way. I’m going to enter disguised as a noble. That way if something goes wrong, I can help from the other side. I plan to cause a distraction while you two are raiding the vault. We’ll meet at sundown. More nobles will be arriving for the party after the tournament and there will be guests and servants everywhere. No one will notice as we make our way to the eastern garden of the estate. There’s a path to the water from there, and Perlah will meet us in a skiff.”
“What kind of distraction?”
“The kind that assures success,” Darius says.
There’s a beat of silence. This plan doesn’t seem all that sound. The possibility of being caught is far too high. Now both Darius and Eban look displeased, their arms folded stubbornly and jaws clenched.
“Come on, now, we’re all on the same team,” I say to the boys.
Neither of them respond. Looks like I have to play peacemaker. “Eban, you and I can handle getting into the vault. Darius can take care of himself. And he’s right, if we get into a jam, maybe this way he’ll be able to get us out of it.”
“Gin understands,” Darius explains. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to—” He motions toward the wheel of the ship.
Once he’s out of earshot, Eban and I stand at the side of the ship. “Something is eating at you, and it isn’t only Darius,” I say to him.
He nods and looks out over the sea, the barest hint of light beginning to rise from the horizon. I know what he’s thinking. We’ll soon reach the shore. As we get closer, the reality of what we’re about to do is sinking in. “Even the fiercest warrior has quiet moments of apprehension,” I tell him. “But I’m confident we have a solid plan, and between the three of us, we can pull this off. Let Darius do what he needs to do. You know you and I can get into that vault.”
“It’s not that,” Eban says. “I’m about to do the one thing I vowed I never would—become a servant of a Great House. Little more than a slave.”
I’m floored. That’s not at all what I expected. “You won’t be. It’s just a ruse. You…”
“Gin, I’ve spent my entire life running from this very thing, staying as far from these people as possible. I’ve done anything I can to avoid becoming dependent on them, on their money, on their charity. The whims of their moods. And now I’m going to walk in and volunteer to be their willing prisoner.”
“Like I did, you mean?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I would never judge you.”
I understand then. That for Eban even pretending to be a servant brings an emotional wound. I think of him in the trials, how something so deeply damaging haunts him and caused him to fold in on himself for self-protection. In some ways, Eban’s pain runs even deeper than mine. I wish he would tell me what it is.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONEEBAN
Darius leaves us at the docks. It irks me to no end, how he decides to play nobleman while we’re once again relegated to doing all the dirty work. That he’s so comfortable among the very people who subjugated us. I could never bring myself to hobnob with the highborn. On the other hand I’m also more than happy to be free of Darius for a while. He’s so confident that he can pass himself off as a lordling, while no one would mistake me for anything but a gutter rat from the slums. No wonder Gin favors him.
Gin and I wait beside the road for the servant caravan to arrive. The first few trickle in slowly, one or two at a time. Minutes later, more show up, until there’s a veritable parade coming from the Sleeve. We step in with the line and shuffle along with the rest toward the servants’ gate at the back of the estate. Guards are stationed there, their weapons prominently displayed. A couple of them stand apart and scan the surrounding area, as if they’re prepared for a fight at any moment. Absurd, in my opinion. Who would attack on a mundane morning like this? Then I realize with some amusement that’s precisely what we’re doing.
The procession inches forward. I strain to see around the people ahead of me, to try to catch a glimpse of what’s happening in the front of the line. I want some type of clue as to what we should expect, in case we need to pivot. I notice there are some dejected-looking hopefuls walking away from the house. Their heads are lowered and shoulders drooped. It turns my stomach, the way our people are forced to beg for scraps. We’re here to beg to serve our oppressors. I remember the shining city of Ophir, those crystal palaces filled with music and art.
There’s something odd about those being turned away. Many of them are women. Most, in fact. Highly unusual. Kitchen and serving staff tend to be women. They always have the best chance at being hired during the high holidays. I scoot over to get a better look. It’s hard to see around everyone, but I do see an imposing guard walking up and down the front of the line, sizing people up.
He looks them up and down, spending more time on a few than the others. His face is unnervingly passive. He shows no emotion as he scrutinizes each hopeful worker. They shrink under his gaze.
Out of nowhere, he pulls one young woman away from the rest. “Not you, we don’t need you.” The woman begins crying. She pleads with the guard. “Anything, I’ll do anything. My children haven’t eaten in days. Please.”
The guard’s expression doesn’t change. He’s entirely unmoved by her cause. He continues inspecting the crowd until eventually her begging cries irritate him and he shoves her away with one hand. The threat of further violence is implicit. The woman turns away then, and skulks away, back to the Sleeve.
I whisper to Gin from the corner of my mouth. “Did you notice?”
