The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,41

the ice-cold water she’d scooped from the trough, feeling it freeze her insides. The last time guards had come, they’d dragged away Chicago.

Oh no. Not yet. Not Lucky . . .

“They can’t take him!” she said. “They don’t have any proof of his birth date. You know how time works differently—he must still have a few days.”

Her voice came out desperate, but Dane still wore that thin smile.

“Cora, it’s okay.” Lucky sounded full of resignation. “You and Mali, you’ll watch out for each other.” He faced Dane squarely, and Cora felt like time wasn’t quite moving right. No, this was all wrong. “I’m ready,” Lucky said.

Dane’s hooded eyes flickered between them, his face very serious, and then suddenly he doubled over, fingers digging into his thighs, laughing so hard tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He straightened and clamped a hand on Lucky’s shoulder, squeezing a little hard.

“Oh, that was priceless. That was wonderful. Thank you.”

Cora glared at him. “It was a joke?”

Dane snickered a few more times, fingers kneading Lucky’s shoulder. “That close to nineteen, are you? Well, it seems it isn’t your birthday quite yet.” His smile changed into something far more self-satisfied as he turned to Cora. “They haven’t come for Lucky. They’ve come for you.”

He dragged her toward the door before she barely realized what was going on. Lucky yelled out, but it was too late. Dane had already kicked open the backstage door and there they were: five Kindred guards dressed in black uniforms.

“This is the one,” Dane said, with relish.

“Good,” said a deep voice. “Escort her to the Castle.” Cora twisted her head around toward the Kindred who had spoken, a man dressed in a dark-blue uniform with twin-knot rows down the front, arms folded behind his back, face pinched with that wrinkle cutting down the front of his forehead.

Fian.

Her heart pounded, daring to hope, remember his words the last time she’d seen him. We are on your side. Remember that. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But then she caught sight of another Council member beside him, a stout man a generation older whose uniform bore more knots than she’d ever seen. Twenty, she counted. He had to be the highest-ranking member of the whole Council.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That is for the Council to decide,” Fian said. He turned toward the high-ranking Council member, saying a few deferential words in their language. The Council member never took his eyes off Cora, but he nodded slowly.

The guards led her toward the door, where Tessela stood at attention. Cora twisted her head back to look at the Council member with twenty knots, who was watching her steadily. There was no emotion on his face, but a sense of danger rolled off him nevertheless.

Had one of the Council’s spies seen something? Had they overheard something she and Cassian had said in the alcove? That voiceless whisper in her head . . . what if it was a Kindred?

They led her into the rough-hewn foyer. The hosts and hostesses of the different menageries, dressed in their ridiculous costumes, all turned to watch. But the guards led her straight past a vacant podium and into a menagerie that was dark and smelled like dust. Only faint light came from the wall seams, illuminating outlines of furniture.

“Leave us,” Fian ordered the guards. “I will question her here. Tell Arrowal he will get a full report shortly.”

Arrowal. That must be the high-ranking Council member.

The room filled with the sounds of boots as the guards left. Dust choked the air; there were no sounds of kids, no music or guests. Cora pressed a hand to her throat. Even after Fian’s reassurances, she still had nightmares about being choked.

“What’s going on?” she asked, once they were alone. “You said I could trust you.”

A dim light flickered on.

“And you can,” he replied.

She spun—they weren’t alone. Cassian stood in the shadows, and relief made her heart thump harder, though something seemed different about him. Maybe the uniform. Maybe the black eyes.

Black, she realized. He’s cloaked.

She quickly pinched her arm as Mali had taught her to do, letting the sting of pain shield her mind so that he couldn’t read her thoughts. One slip and he would know that she planned on cheating the Gauntlet.

“I apologize for having to scare you,” he observed.

Slowly, it sank in that Cassian was behind this arrest, not the Council. As her fear waned, she looked around the menagerie. The furniture