“We’ve narrowed it down to three pubs in the area,” adds Singh. “I’ll have agents on all of them, and we won’t make a decision until Lord Clarence returns Mr.Baxter’s text.”
“Which will be no more than thirty minutes ahead of time,” says Kit quickly, no doubt in response to the look on my face.“Even if Dylan or the ABR are planning something, they won’t have a chance to implement it. Not with agents and PPOs swarming the place. It’s not foolproof, but we don’t have a choice. Not if we want to find that list before your father is fully conscious.”
My heart drops, which is a feat, considering it’s beating so fast it’s on the verge of taking flight. “I don’t want you to go,” I blurt as Tibby’s warning once again echoes in my mind. “Whatever Dylan has to say—”
“Is the king waking up or not?” says Singh pointedly. “We’ve no time to waste waiting for the perfect opportunity. I would not approve this if I thought it posed any real threat to Lord Clarence—”
“Kit,” I snap. “His name is Kit. And of course it poses a threat. Dylan almost killed us less than two months ago, and neither of us ever saw him coming. How do you know this isn’t some kind of setup?”
“If Dylan or the ABR wanted to kill me, they would have done it already,” says Kit quietly. “They know where I am most days, after all.”
“We’ll be doing a thorough sweep of the premises before the meeting place goes live,” adds Singh, “and the rooftops and nearby buildings will also be secured. If anyone lifts a finger against Lord Clarence—Kit,” he adds hastily at my deadly look, “they’ll immediately be taken into custody. I assure you, Miss Bright—”
“If you do this,” I say, looking straight at Kit, “then I’m going with you.”
He blinks. “I—” begins Kit, but Singh cuts him off.
“Out of the question,” he says, and Kit and I turn to him as one, my face heating with anger.
“I know what Guy looks like,” I argue. “None of your agents or our PPOs do. I’m not saying I want to sit down at a table with Kit and Dylan—I want to be at the pub so I can watch hisback—”
“Out,” says Singh, slower this time, “of the question.”
I stare at him, the edge of my vision red with fury. But Singh doesn’t waver, and I sit up straight on the sofa, my feet hitting the floor.
“What am I even here for?” I snarl. “What’s the point? I haven’t done anything useful. I’m not allowed to go anywhere. No one even knew I was here until today—”
“Exactly,” says Singh. “As far as we knew, Guy Fawkes had no idea you were even in the country. But now that we know for certain he does,” he adds, bulldozing straight over my protest, “I refuse to put myself in a position where I have to explain to His Majesty why his daughter is dead.”
I scoff, even as tears of frustration prickle my eyes. “I’m not quitting, if that’s what you want. Not until we find the list.” And proof that Ben is part of the ABR.
“On the contrary, I’d very much like for you to continue as part of this team, Miss Bright,” says Singh. “Which is why I am asking you to trust that my agents will take every possible step to ensure Kit’s safety tonight, and that includes ensuring yours so he can focus on the job at hand.”
Once again, I look at Kit and thread my fingers through his, and his grimace deepens. “If I do this, I’ll only go for a quickdrink. No more than ten minutes,” he says quietly. “Whatever Dylan wants, if he can’t spit it out by then, I’m leaving. And I’ll only go if you want me to, Ev,” he adds. “Say the word, and I’ll stay, all right?”
Our eyes meet again, and I can see everything he’s thinking. All those horrors he’s witnessed, all those times he’s had to wait to find out if he’d ever see me again—he doesn’t want to put me through even a moment of that. And somehow, despite my frustration and fury, I love him a little more than I did a heartbeat ago.
Singh sighs. “This may very well be our last chance with Mr.Baxter, particularly if His Majesty is well enough to demand your return,” he says. And while his manipulation isn’t subtle, his point is valid, and I chew on my lower lip.
“I need a shower. And a minute to think about this,” I say, my gaze still on Kit’s. But we both know what my answer will be. Whatever Dylan has to say, it could be the key to finding the list. To figuring out who Guy Fawkes is and taking down the Army of the British Republic.
It could be the key to finally unearthing the piece of the puzzle that proves beyond a doubt that Prince Benedict of York has been in on it the entire time, and that he, too, deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life.
“Very well,” says Singh, and he continues to type furiously into his phone. “Lord Clarence—Kit,bring the map over here, and we’ll sort out our final location.”
Kit lingers beside me for a moment longer, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” he says, and I shake my head. If I speak now, I’m sure I’ll ask him to stay,even though I know he can’t. But after a beat, the words tumble out of me before I can stop them, my voice crackling.
“If something happens to you…” I clear my throat, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. It’s supposed to be me, not him. I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking chances, and I can’t stand the thought of him paying the price for my mistakes.
“It won’t,” he promises with good intentions, but it isn’t a promise at all. Just hope. “I love you too much to ever leave you.”
I want to believe him, but after the bombing, after seeing my father’s broken body in the hospital bed and my mother sitting at his side day and night, waiting for him to return to her, I know that love and willpower alone aren’t enough. He would never leave her, either, not if he had anything to say about it. But he didn’t.
“Everything I am to you…you are to me,” I whisper. And that’s all I manage as I finally extract myself from him, our gazes locked until I pass into our bedroom.
I shower quickly, feeling like I’m racing against time. I wash the sweat away, but the helplessness remains no matter how hot the water is, and when I reemerge into the living room in my coziest sweats, my damp hair braided and thick socks over my cold feet, I feel like a ghost. But I know what I have to do—what we both have to do—and I glance around, searching the small space for Kit.
The lights are on, and the curtains are closed against the darkening sky. But the hook by the door, where Kit usually hangs his coat and keys, is bare, and Singh is nowhere in sight.
