“Do they,” she said, arranging her face in an expression of utter disinterest. It was one of her great skills, which she’d learned from her father. She was able, through years of steady practice, to fabricate her expressions to show exactly what she wanted them to. Pretending to be sorry for some slight against her stepmother had saved her from going to bed without dinner many times as a child.
“Do you know why?” he asked.
“I don’t care,” she said, knowing he would tell her anyway, because he wanted her to know.
He smiled, showing his teeth, but it was a cold smile. “As you are probably well aware, Libertas is an expansive and ever-growing enterprise. It has many members at many levels and many moving parts that need attending to. I am the one who brings them all together. I am the one who gathers the sheep and makes sure that none wander from the flock.”
“And you’re here because … ?”
“Because right now, you are a wandering sheep.”
She looked pointedly around the room. “That’s funny, because I feel penned in.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mean it that way,” he replied. “I mean that you haven’t yet been drawn in to the flock, incorporated into our plan. There are some outstanding debts to be paid, questions to be answered.”
“I’ve done what I was told to do,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in defiance, but also to conceal her shaking hands. “The conditions of our deal were clear—I would speak only to the Monad about what I know.”
“I’m the Monad’s chief adviser,” the Shepherd told her. “You can speak to me. I’ll relay any message.”
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
“Janus had no authority to make such a promise. He knows very well that the Monad doesn’t consult with outsiders.”
She laughed. “Is that what you call him? Janus?” She paused to appreciate how apt it was. “The god with two faces.”
“Sometimes our names are chosen for us, and sometimes we choose our own.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” she insisted once more. “If you want what I have, you’ll bring me to the Monad.” She was no ordinary person; she was the princess of the Commonwealth, much as she loathed the position, and she wasn’t going to trade secrets with a mere lackey.
“You’re going back on our bargain, then?”
“And what if I did?” Sometimes she wished she could. Sometimes she felt that her freedom—or, rather, the promise of it—had come at too high a price. How could she have betrayed her country for something as transient as personal happiness—and only the potential of it, at that? Other times, she knew that she could have done nothing but what she had done. It had been her only way out.
He stared at her baldly, something she was unused to. Very few people had the temerity to look her in the eye. It had been that way ever since she was a child—even her stepmother avoided it if she could. That was one of the reasons she’d taken to Thomas; she could tell from the first day he was assigned to her detail that he wasn’t afraid of her. At first, she’d thought it was because he hadn’t the sense to be afraid, but after a while she realized it was because he wasn’t much afraid of anything—except, perhaps, the General. Gloria was another, and her childhood nanny, Miss Bix. Her mother and her father. And the dreaded General. That was all.
“That’s a very good question,” the Shepherd said. “We couldn’t return you, of course. Janus made it clear that once you took the bargain, there was no going back, did he not?”
“He did,” she said. She felt as though she wanted to cry, but that was something she simply never did. Her mother had been very strict on this score; she considered it unbecoming of royalty to act as a flesh and blood mortal. It was one of the things Juliana despised about the way her stepmother was raising Simon and Lillian; either of them was liable to dissolve into hysterics, to sob and rage and carry on for hours at the slightest provocation. She had a temper herself, but she had been taught to control it, and to channel it into more useful avenues. She had her moments, but she tried to follow her mother’s advice whenever possible and keep things private.
“Then, you see, if you were to withhold the information you promised, you would leave me no choice. We’ll have to dispose of you.” He spoke of her death as if it was a matter of taking out the trash, and she remembered with great clarity the fear that had washed over her when news of her father’s shooting reached her, the tiny voice in her head that had whispered, You’re next.
What have I done? she thought wildly. It had been monstrously foolish to throw her lot in with Libertas, to take their devil’s bargain and consent to betray her country for some small measure of personal safety. What had possessed her to do it? But even as these thoughts whirled through her head like a tornado, she knew very well why she had done it. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. And she could not call what she’d been doing for the past sixteen—almost seventeen—years living. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to be a flesh and blood mortal, but she was one, and she couldn’t imagine another sixty years of being a pawn in someone else’s game.
“You’ll kill me, then.” It wasn’t a question. His meaning was clear. There was no use mincing words about it. She had always been a very straightforward person, and for some reason saying the words out loud had bled her of all feeling. She was numb.
“That would not be the ideal outcome,” he told her. “But yes. It would be the only way, you see.”
She’d never thought of that possibility, that they would kill her, and gladly, but it wasn’t as though she was surprised by it. They hated her—not just Libertas, but the people. They hated the monarchy and that which it stood for. Not all of them; she was sure that there must be some loyalists still. But the Shepherd was right—Libertas was growing, their influence strengthening with every hour. She had made this deal with them to escape death, but perhaps that was her fate. Perhaps it was the only thing left for her. But she wouldn’t welcome it.
“Yes,” she said. “I see.” That was something else her father had taught her, to know when she had been beaten, and to accept defeat with grace and dignity—if only to save her energy for the next fight. And the truth was, she had been beaten, the moment she decided to leave the Castle forever and put her life in the hands of the fiends who wanted to depose her and all of her kind. But it was done. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. Just, please—help me.”
The Shepherd smiled. “So you’ll cooperate?”
She took a deep breath and reached into her bra, where she was keeping her bargaining chip. It was the last thing her father had ever given her. The night before he was shot, he summoned her to his office, quite unexpectedly near dawn. He’d been frantic, and he’d given her this sheet of paper without explaining, only telling her to keep it close and show nobody. What is it? she’d asked, yawning. Gloria had woken her from a deep, heavy sleep. Maybe nothing, he’d said, although she could see from the expression on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, that “nothing” was the last thing it was. But for God’s sake, don’t ever let the General know you have it, he’d warned her. Don’t ever let him know you’ve seen it, Juli. Promise me.
I promise, she’d said. And now here she was, handing it over to Libertas. She asked herself for the thousandth time why she was doing this. Because the General tried to have my father murdered, she thought. She was certain of this, as she had never been certain of anything in her entire life. And if this is a secret he wants to protect, then it’s something that can be used against him. She didn’t know how, for she didn’t understand what it was she held in her hand, but she wanted the General taken down, and she was glad to let Libertas do it. They wanted the end of the monarchy? That was fine with her. Because if the monarchy crumbled, so would the General’s hold on the country—and then, maybe, peace would have an actual chance. And she would have an actual life.
The Shepherd tried to snatch the paper from her hand, but she held it back. He narrowed his eyes at her, no longer smiling. “What are you playing at?” he snarled.
“I have one more condition,” she said.
“What is it?”
“You cannot hurt my family,” she insisted. “You will not hurt them. My brother, my sister, my father—if he lives long enough—even my stepmother. You won’t harm a hair on their heads, do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, all right,” he said, impatient. “Now give that to me!” He lunged for it, but she kept it out of his reach.
“I’m not finished,” she said. “My secretary, Gloria Beach. You’ll keep her safe, too. And my bodyguard. Thomas Mayhew.”
“Mayhew?” The Shepherd let loose a bitter bark of a laugh. “The General’s son? The toy soldier.”
“Don’t call him that,” she snapped. She knew how much Thomas hated it.
“All right. Yes. You have my word. They’ll all be safe when—when the time comes.” The Shepherd held out his hand and she placed the piece of paper in his palm. He stared at it for a long time, his mouth curling in an unattractive frown.
“He was right,” the Shepherd whispered. “It won’t be long now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said, standing and putting the chair back in its place. “You’ll stay here for a few more days. We need time to arrange things. When we’re ready, you’ll know it.”
“What are you going to do?”
He paused at the door, his head tilted, as if he was listening for music she couldn’t hear. “It won’t be long now,” he repeated. And then he was gone.
Thomas hoisted me up by my arms, gathering me close and placing me gently on the concrete. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might burst out of my chest and my head was full of so many foreign images I could hardly tell where I was or what was happening. One minute I’d been hanging off the roof of the Tower, and the next I was in the attic room of the farmhouse, everything so sharp it was as if I was actually there. I was shaking so hard it was as if my bones were rattling around loose in my body.
Thomas crouched in front of me. “Are you okay?”
I punched him squarely in the throat. He toppled backward, his hands flying to his neck, his mouth forming a tiny O of surprise.
“What the hell?” he managed to choke out.
“You bastard!” I cried. “How could you do that to me? I could have
died
.”
Thomas shook his head. “I—had—you.”
“Oh yeah? And what if you let go? How were you planning to explain the fact that the
princess
fell from the
roof
?” A sob rose in my chest and I fought to suppress it, knowing that I would crumble to pieces if I didn’t.
Dr. Moss’s cragged face hovered mere inches from mine. “We needed to push you to the very breaking point,” he told me. “There is no other way. You needed to be truly afraid.”
“Shut up!” I screamed. “You’re crazy, you know that? You’re both completely
insane
.”
“You saw something, didn’t you?” Dr. Moss gripped me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know!” I tried to fight him off, but I didn’t have the strength.
“But you made contact,” Dr. Moss insisted. “You saw through Juliana’s eyes—you were able to force your way through to the other end of the tether. Where is she?
What did you see?
”
“Nothing!” Dr. Moss’s eyes were wild, and his desperation was terrifying me. How could I have been so foolish as to think that I could use my connection with Juliana to my advantage? It was only one more way in which they had me trapped.
“That’s not true,” Dr. Moss said.
“Mossie!” Thomas shoved him away. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s scared?”
“I need to get out of here,” I said, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbing hard, as if by doing so I could erase everything I’d seen.
“You can’t,” Dr. Moss cried. “You have to process what you saw!”
Thomas slipped his arms under mine, lifting me off the ground. I leaned against him, too tired to resist his help. “We’re leaving. You and I will talk later,” he said to Dr. Moss. “I’ve got to get her back to the Castle before someone starts wondering where she is.”
I tried not to think about the people waiting for me back at the Castle. I would deal with them later; right then, my priority was getting the hell off that roof.
“Come on,” Thomas said, guiding me back to the elevator. “Lean on me. We’re almost there.”
TWENTY-FOUR
By the time we’d gotten back to Juliana’s bedroom, I was feeling much better. My heart rate was back to normal and I could draw full breaths again; I was calm enough to hold the glass of water Thomas had brought me, taking small sips to soothe my parched throat. I reclined on the bed, propped up by a couple of pillows; Thomas paced like a jungle cat a few feet away.
“I can’t believe I did that,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.
Now that I’d recovered a little, I was less frantic and more forgiving. After all, I’d gone up on that roof voluntarily; I’d agreed to do whatever it took. I didn’t think they’d go so far as to nearly throw me off the building, but now that the experience was over and done with that was not what was bothering me. I’d achieved my goal—I’d opened the connection with Juliana, and any time I wanted to now I could dip back in, find the tether again, and travel through it to the other side, if only in my mind. But after what I had seen I wasn’t sure I wanted to anymore. Because what I’d discovered was the answer to a question I’d never even thought to ask.
Juliana had been complicit in her own kidnapping. She had walked willingly into the hands of Libertas in exchange for her own freedom. And she and I were the only ones who knew. She, and I, and the mysterious Janus, the person with whom she’d arranged her escape. But who was he? Why in the world had she done it? And, the biggest question of all—how was I going to tell Thomas? Because clearly he had no idea. He believed that Juliana had been kidnapped, and when Thomas believed in things, he did so wholly and without question.