“Don’t you dare touch me, you bastards,” I heard the king say, and I shook my head at him as Jay pushed him through the window, sideways, having no trouble lifting the man. The king landed on his side hard, and then looked up at us, his eyes wide in fear. “Please don’t kill me,” he wheezed.
I gave him a disdainful look as Jay, having delivered the king through the window, went to help Ms. Dale secure the fallen guards. “We’re not going to kill you, sad to say. If you’re lucky, we might actually get you out of here alive. Tim,” I said to my brother, who looked like he was about to follow Jay across to the other room. “Would you keep an eye on this guy for us?” It seemed like the safest task I could assign Tim at the moment.
He nodded and came to stand watchfully by the king. The king gaped at me as I stepped over him and stooped to pick up, with my left hand, a piece of the mirror glass that glittered on the floor.
Viggo was right behind me. “I’m going to open the door,” I told him. “I’ll use this to see around the corner. Give me some covering fire, but keep it high—I don’t want to kill them if we don’t have to.”
Viggo nodded and held his gun up. “Ready,” he said.
I pulled open the door for him, and he fired a few rounds down the hall. As the shots rang out, I darted down low, under him, and stuck a piece of the mirror glass beyond the doorframe just in time to see a familiar flash of red hair as one of the attackers ducked back around a corner.
“It’s Amber,” I gasped, and Owen looked at me, his brows furrowed. Viggo pulled back into the room’s cover and pointed his gun at the floor.
“Not to alarm anyone,” Ms. Dale’s voice came calmly from the other room. “But they’ve got people on this side too. They might be trying to—” I heard her fire a few rounds down the hallway.
“Ideas?” I asked, ducking back from the doorway as more gunfire went off.
“How did they even know where I was?” cried the king. “This is a secret facility!”
I looked at Viggo, whose expression showed sudden understanding, and then felt a surge of annoyance as I came to the same conclusion. “Please… please tell me they didn’t follow us here,” I said, looking over to Owen.
He shook his head and gave a shrug. “You know I haven’t heard anything from the Liberators since you stopped the bombing,” he replied. “But that sounds exactly like Desmond.”
I groaned, massaging my forehead against my growing headache. “That was why they stopped trying to chase us from Matrus? This is like jumping out of the frying pan, expecting fire, only to find out you’ve been in the oven the whole damn time!”
“Look, let me try something,” announced Owen, creeping over to us.
I looked up at him. “What?”
Before Viggo and I could stop him, he stepped into the hall with his hands up, a slight cringe on his face. “Don’t shoot!” he called.
11
Viggo
I bit back a curse as Owen stepped into the hallway. I was preparing to grab him by the back of his uniform and haul him back in, when the gunfire suddenly stopped, as if someone had flipped a switch. There was a long silence that seemed louder than the sound of gunfire.
“Owen,” called a familiar, older voice from down the hall. I looked through the broken window at Ms. Dale, who was jamming a chair against the door in the other room.
“Henrik!” Owen replied, taking a step back. “I have to tell you something! There’s information you need to know before you complete this mission.”
Again, there was a pause. This one stretched out for much longer, and every second that ticked by, I expected to hear the gunshot that would end Owen’s life.
“What’s the information?” came a feminine voice I recognized from my time in the Liberators’ facility.
I looked at Violet, and she mouthed “I told you, it’s Amber!” at me. I turned back to Owen, keeping my eyes on him through the doorway. He seemed calm, but from this angle, I could see the trickle of sweat rolling down his forehead and past his cheeks.
“Desmond is using the Liberators on behalf of Queen Elena,” he said, his voice flat and even. “She is using you to take out the king, so that Elena can have grounds to come in and take control of Patrus.”
“That’s ridiculous, Owen,” Amber started, but Henrik quickly overrode her.
“How do you know this, son?” he grated, his voice stern and demanding.
Owen gave me a pleading look, and I nodded, sucking in a deep breath before stepping into the hallway.
Amber was standing at the other end, her gun lowered but still tight to her shoulder. Henrik was next to her, but his gun was resting against his hip and pointed upward. As soon as I appeared, Amber lifted the gun up a fraction, her violet eyes narrowing in hatred.
“Traitor,” she hissed, her eyes flicking to Owen. I held my gun on her. I didn’t want to fire it, but if she pulled the trigger, I was willing to end her.
Henrik grabbed the stock of her gun and pushed it down. “Give them a chance,” he ordered.
Amber looked up at him in shock, then outrage, but she backed down, letting the muzzle of the gun swing back toward the floor.
Owen took a step forward, his voice pleading. “Amber, you’ve known me for a long time. Have I ever lied to you?”
Her mouth tightened, but she shook her head at him. “You’re standing by his side?” she asked finally, her words dripping with disdain and fury.
“Amber, you know Viggo has done nothing but help since his surgery. He got back on his feet and found a way to reach the boys—you think a spy would volunteer for that? He devoted every hour of every day to them. He worked longer and harder than anybody else who volunteered to do it. He was tireless, patient, fair, and kind to them. So don’t you dare buy into that bull that Desmond tried to sell you on.”
By the end of his speech, Owen was practically seething, and I had to blink several times at how vehemently he had defended me, in spite of my rudeness toward him. It was… enough to make me start to respect the man. A part of me was disappointed—if he survived this encounter in the hallway, I couldn’t be a ruthless jerk to him anymore.
Oh well. It would make Violet happy, and Owen had clearly earned it.
Amber looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then shook her head. “How do you know?” she asked finally. “About Desmond—about using us—how do you know?”
“I heard her, Amber. I was using one of the suits, and I heard her say it. She’s been using us. She… she used me.” Owen paused, shaking his head in melancholy, as if he still couldn’t believe the sudden change of events. It was clear he was still reeling from the betrayal—I could only imagine how much it stung. “I don’t know if she planned for me to get caught, but the bombing was designed to fail. Elena already knew it was coming, because she was going to use it to gain public support from Matrians to support her aggression toward Patrus.”
Amber was shaking her head, her disbelief evident. “You’re wrong,” she stated, as if it were fact. But beside her, Henrik looked doubtful.
“He’s not,” I said from behind Owen, moving up next to him. I lowered my gun, hoping that even if Amber got angry enough to fire, she wouldn’t fire on a non-threatening man. “We’ve been played, Amber. The bomb was real, but poorly constructed, with more than enough time to defuse it.”
“You’re spies,” she said insistently. “Patrian ones, Matrian ones—it doesn’t matter. You’ll say anything to try to stop us.”
I heard something from the doorway, and I was surprised to see that it was Tim. He pushed past Violet, then Owen and myself, his eyes twin silver flames of determination. I knew that look by now. It meant something big was about to happen.
“Not spy,” he growled at her, and Amber took a step back, her eyes widening in surprise. “Desmond bad—wants to use us boys. Like puppets.” The last word he spat, as if saying it left a disgusting taste in his mouth. “You help her… you’re bad too.”
Henrik looked at Tim, a
nd then back to Amber. Suddenly, Ms. Dale called out from her small room. “I don’t know what’s happening on your end, but someone’s trying to get through in here,” she said. “Can they make them stand down? They better, or I’ll fire through the door.”
I turned to relay the message to Henrik, only to discover Henrik had heard most of it, judging by the disapproving way he was looking at Amber. “You ordered Quinn to continue with the mission?” he barked, and Amber flinched, but didn’t look apologetic in the slightest.
“It’s the mission,” she retorted defensively, and he shook his head. I watched him press a thin black fabric to his neck and mouth a few words through the subvocalizer. I couldn’t hear anything—it was a function of the subvocalizers—but I understood the gist of it. He was ordering Quinn to stand down.
I looked inside the room. Violet had moved over to the broken window, her head cocked as she listened. I could hear the faint thump of whatever was on the other side suddenly stop, doubling the silence that surrounded us in the chambers. Violet looked back at me and nodded, her face tense. Then she deliberately tapped her watch, a reminder that time was not on our side.
“What is the mission?” asked Owen.
“Kill the king,” Amber responded archly, and Owen shook his head.
“What is our mission, as Liberators?” he said.
I grunted, torn between interrupting Owen to remind him that time was short, and hoping that this would be the moment he could get Amber to see reason. I didn’t want to shoot her, not if I didn’t have to.
Amber’s eyes were malevolent as she sneered at him. “Kill any man who tries to tell me what to do,” she stated, giving Owen a daring look.
Owen tsked, and lowered his arm, resting his hand on his hips. “Okay, one—ouch. Not trying to tell you what to do, just trying to give you information so you can reach your own conclusion. Two—Amber, you’re being purposefully obtuse. It’s not like you. Our mission was to find the boys, liberate them from Matrian control, and overthrow the government for lying to us for so many years.”
“So?” Amber snapped back.
“So how does killing King Maxen accomplish any of that?”
Silence met his question, and I jumped on it, not waiting to see whether Owen’s logic had its intended effect.
“We need to go,” I announced, and Amber bristled. I ignored it, turning my head to look at Henrik. “The king’s backup is certainly on its way.”
Henrik considered me for several seconds and then looked back at Amber, who was frowning at him with increasing consternation. His mouth pursed under his well-maintained gray and white beard.
“It’s up to you,” he finally said, and I felt a flare of irritation that he was giving the decision back to the woman who clearly wasn’t interested in hearing the truth.
Amber chewed on her lower lip, staring at us. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling both longer and shorter than the last. When she finally spoke, I was on the verge of marching everyone out and leaving the indecisive behind.
“Bring the king,” she said finally. “We’ll hear you out in a safer location—if we believe you, we’ll let him live. If not… well. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I ignored her barely concealed threat and nodded. “We need to get out of the city. Let’s get back to the truck and see if we can use it to get out of here.”
Without waiting to see whether anybody would act on my instructions, I walked back into the room in time to see Jay hauling the king to his feet on Violet’s orders. The king glowered at all of us, jerking his arm out from the grip of her left hand.
“Don’t you dare touch me, you Matrian murderer,” he spat at Violet.
Violet’s eyes widened for a moment at the vehemence of his statement. Then, her surprise morphed into amusement. “I prefer ‘murderess’,” she said, grabbing his arm again. “Maybe it’s a pet peeve of mine, but I hate when the masculine version of the label is applied to me.”
The king ripped his arm out of her hand again and took a step back, the look in his eyes threatening dire retributions. “I’m not going anywhere without my guards,” he announced.
“You don’t really get a choice,” said Amber from the doorway, her gaze dark with the promise of violence. He opened his mouth to protest, but she speared him with a look. “Speak again, and I’ll put a bullet in your head and walk away.”
The king’s mouth snapped shut, and he scowled at Amber, trying to gauge how sincere her promise was. “No,” he finally said, shaking his head. “I won’t go with you—I’ll never go with any woman who doesn’t understand her role. HELP! Guards, guards, HELP!”
My patience had finally reached its end, and I leapt forward and swung, my fist connecting squarely with the king’s jaw. That would be the third man I had punched today—but this punch was the most gratifying. I’d never dared to dream that one day I would see the king of Patrus crumpling to the floor in front of me like a puppet whose strings had been cut all at once.
Ms. Dale grinned at me as she moved to open the door in her tiny room, letting Quinn in. He took one look at us—mostly a curious one—and then shrugged, wisely keeping his mouth shut.
Violet moved up next to me, her eyebrows furrowed. “Seriously, Viggo? Jay could’ve easily gotten him there.”
“What? He was being difficult!” I argued, but I wasn’t angry. I felt more amused than anything. Which was weird, considering that this place was about to become a hornet’s nest of angry guards at any moment. And if we were caught with the king, they were going to shoot us first, then shoot us again, and possibly again, before ever asking a question.
“Punching someone’s lights out cannot be your solution to every problem,” Violet replied, and I flashed her my most charming smile.
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” I asked as Jay helped Ms. Dale out the window, then stooped to pick up the unconscious king, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Let’s get out of here—you can continue chastising me in the truck.”
Violet gave a deep sigh—one of eternal patience—and then stepped back, following Jay into the gray hallway ahead.
12
Violet
All the guards we had seen when we first came into the corridor were dead or dying—blood pooling around them from numerous wounds. I shot a condemning look at Amber, but she scowled back, completely unbothered by my disapproval. Still, their sad fate didn’t stop me from scavenging a pistol, a loaded handgun, and some extra ammunition.
There were more weapons lying around, and others in the group who had been frisked before coming into the tunnel outfitted themselves as well. A little uncomfortable shock ran through me at the sight of my brother holding a pistol in his hand. I opened my mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again when I realized he was going to need it, whether I liked it or not.
Viggo was at the door to the tunnel, his hand on the knob, naturally taking charge. “The truck we’re taking is across the tunnel from us, in a parking space behind a concrete barrier. I’ll go first, followed by Ms. Dale, Violet, and Henrik. We’ll take up positions around the truck and give covering fire to Jay and the king. Jay, get the king in the back and stay low. Owen, Amber, Quinn, and Tim, you’re with them. Your first priority is getting the king to safety. It looked like there was a lot of construction debris in the tunnel, so remember, there could be guards anywhere.”
We nodded, and I pushed past everyone to line up against one wall, between Henrik and Ms. Dale, taking a moment to raise my gun and click off the safety. Viggo looked at us steadily, watching the rest of the group line up against the wall on the other side of the door, waiting in silence for everyone to be ready. As soon as we were, he swung open the door and peered out, the two groups of us lining the walls on either side.
The tunnel was quiet for a moment. From my position I could just see the bodies of more guards strewn about the steps we had gone up, an abandoned escort vehicle sitting in the middle of the two clea
r lanes we would have to cross. Amber’s group had certainly left destruction in their wake.
And then, just as Viggo was about to step through the door, a burst of gunfire bombarded the doorway, bullets thudding into the wall across from our group. If any one of us had been standing in the doorway, we’d have been dead.
Owen, who was closest to the door on the side opposite me, peeked out and shouted over the gunfire, “Looks like they barricaded this side of the tunnel!”
Viggo swore. “It’s gotta be the rest of the king’s guard. Plan’s still the same. Take cover in the construction zone, and then cross the lanes when they have to reload.”
During a momentary pause in the shooting coming toward us from the left, he leaned out and returned fire, and I heard somebody shout from the tunnel.
“First group!” Viggo yelled. “Let’s go!”
And then we were running out down the stairs, hopping over the bodies of dead guards. I pointed the pistol in my left hand wildly and pulled the trigger, barely even looking—I was such a bad shot with my left hand that it hardly mattered. I dipped and weaved through the construction debris, bullets zinging around me, and before I knew it my feet were on the pavement and I darted behind the escort vehicle to catch my breath.
I looked around and realized I’d made it closer than anyone I could see—Ms. Dale and Henrik had peeled off to take up defensible positions in the construction zone. I didn’t know where Viggo was. I could see that Ms. Dale was in the worst position to defend herself, ducked down behind a couple of overturned signs at an angle that would make her easy to hit.
Now that I was in the middle of the tunnel, I could see the whole scene in the tunnel’s eerie yellow light. Along the low metal barriers the king’s guard had set up, men crouched low, firing in bursts. As I watched, a guard popped up and fired at Ms. Dale’s vulnerable position.
She ducked down low, caught my eye, and gave me a signal—covering fire. I leaned out over the hood of the vehicle I hid behind, unloading several rounds in the direction of the shooters. They ducked, and Ms. Dale immediately leapt over the pile of signs, heading for Henrik’s position behind a sand barrel, closer to me. But then one guard stood and began unloading at her as she ran.