It felt
surreal to watch the party from a distance. On the balcony at the top of a
staircase, Shane watched the swirling movement of the guests below, standing on
full display and yet being invisible to them all. None of them looked up at him
or seemed to know he was there, but somehow, Shane still felt like he was among
them, somewhere between being surrounded and alone.
He didn’t
want to be in a crowd, struggling who to figure out who to talk to. Here, he could
keep a safe distance—and conduct surveillance.
Shane
watched as Mireya and Dawn scurried off in a sudden hurry, exiting through a
side door that led to the courtyard he’d made a quick stop at the moment he’d
gotten here. Maybe they’d found a lead—he’d have to watch that direction from now
on. Closer up, Leilan and Kasumi were trapped in a painful-looking conversation
with Casper Bridger that had been going on for several minutes already. Shane
was glad he wasn’t part of that.
It was
hard to believe Cyrin’s successful, but much less likeable brother was here,
and they weren’t.
Despite
the plan swimming through his head now, Shane didn’t know if he could make this
right.
A hand
landed on his shoulder, and Shane flinched, turning around. He hadn’t been
watching his back. Now, he wouldn’t be able to watch the ballroom.
“Glad to
see you’ve finally made it,” Flint said, in a voice heavy with disappointment.
Shane
resisted the urge to sigh, instead standing tall and meeting his uncle’s hard
stare. So, this was where he got grounded. Or whatever the equivalent was for
an Heir.
“We always
planned to attend,” he said evenly.
Flint
raised an eyebrow. “You and your colleagues have been missing in action for a
week now. Forgive me for doubting your dutifulness.”
“You knew
where we were the whole time,” Shane reminded him. “We were hardly missing.”
Flint
huffed, without an ounce of humor in the sound. “Apologies. You were runaways
we watched attentively with disappointment and scorn. Is that more accurate?”
Shane set
his mouth into a hard line. “The best choice isn’t always the most orthodox
choice, Uncle Flint.”
“That may
be,” Flint said flatly. “But I’m having trouble seeing a rational train of
thought that leads between noticing a delicate security issue and deciding— as
a team with symbolic power, not executive power— to charge headfirst into
‘solving’ it. What delusion infected the five of you?”
Shane
snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye before deciding to turn around and
face the balcony again. He couldn’t escape this conversation, but he couldn’t afford
to let his guard down while he was on watch. Not when the stakes were so high.
“Sorry for
not caving to your will this time,” he muttered, gripping his fingers around
the balcony railing.
There was
a beat of silence. Then a scoff from Flint. “That is your job.”
“No, it’s
not,” Shane said, in a quiet but firm voice. “There are different ways of being
your Heir—some which look like being a trustee allowed some degree of autonomy,
and some which look like a delegate acting out your wishes. But nowhere in the job
description does it say I have to let you walk all over me in all aspects of my
life.”
Flint
stepped to stand at his left, a sharp look in his dark eyes. However armored
Shane had tried to make his heart in the last few years, it wasn’t strong
enough for this. Not on a day when he was already dangerously fragile. Not when
it was family he had to stand against.
“I put you
on top of the world,” Flint said darkly.
“And you
ignored everything I said about how I didn’t ever want to be there,” Shane
retorted. “You wanted me to be Heir, and I think I know why. How
does it feel to have the person you picked because you were sure you could
control them start making their own choices?”
“Is that
what you think is happening?” Flint asked pityingly. “That your little lapse in
judgment is an act of brave rebellion? You’ll be put back in your place soon,
Shane.”
“If I am,
I’ll be glad I did this first,” Shane said evenly.
Flint
shook his head with a marveling look. “Where did you get the audacity?”
“This isn’t
coming out of nowhere.” Shane clenched his jaw. “You’ve just been banking on me
not having the courage to speak up.”
“A
reasonable bet,” Flint said bluntly. “You’ve never been able to uphold the
fundamental value of this House. You cower where you should stand tall. When anyone
looks at you, they don’t see the son of your mother. Just a boy with neither
the strength nor the merit to bear a crown.”
Shane stiffened,
holding back a flinch. It was too soon for this. His parents’ murderer could already
be within these walls, and he was the one with the best shot at stopping him.
Yet here he was, burning precious time and just getting himself hurt.
“Feel free
to think of me as spineless,” he said quietly. “But at least I’m the one with a
heart between my lungs.”
“And that,”
Flint said, “is your problem. You never quite managed to kill it.”
Shane was
about to answer when he caught the sight of a familiar uniform moving through
the crowd below, and he froze. He hadn’t seen her since their first day in
Crystal City, which felt like a lifetime ago, but it was undoubtedly her.
Favia, their bodyguard who had been the one to tell them about the First
Spell’s discovery, was walking among the guests with purpose. Her gaze was
narrowed as her head turned from side to side, clearly on the lookout for
something of interest.
His first
reaction was one of relief, but it quickly turned to concern. It was good to
see her again: she’d been missing, and in the Arcade of all places, after all.
But it didn’t sit right with him that she was here. How come she’d never
reported back? Why hadn’t he been notified of her rescue? What was she doing
here, at this event she wasn’t supposed to attend?
He was
supposed to watch the ballroom and investigate anything suspicious. Shane
wasn’t expecting it to appear in this form, but…
Duty
called. And at the moment, this duty was more important than whatever he owed Flint.
Shane
steeled himself as he grabbed Flint by the forearm, meeting his eyes seriously.
His uncle could’ve easily ripped his arm out of his grasp, but didn’t try,
instead looking at him with his usual intensity.
“Listen to
me,” he said lowly. “You should get out of here. I don’t think it’s safe. I
don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Flint
raised an eyebrow. “What’s the danger?”
“I can’t
explain.”
Favia was getting
farther away by the second. Shane had to follow after her, but he needed to
get through to his uncle first. If Sparrow held some grudge against Shane and
his parents, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he wished Flint harm too.
Flint let
out another scoff. “Fearmongering is a cheap way to get out of a confrontation,
boy.”
“I’m not
bluffing,” Shane said, more desperately. “I just— I can’t tell you any more
than that. Just leave the party. Put some distance between yourself and here.
Please.”
Flint
narrowed his eyes. “Have you created a threat? What are you planning?”
“Nothing.
I’m trying to stop—” Shane cut himself off, shaking his head. He couldn’t
jeopardize their plan. If Flint sounded the alarm, it would likely hurt his team
more than Sparrow.
But he
couldn’t let something happen to the last of his close family members. No
matter how strained their bond was.
“Just get
out of here,” Shane repeated, letting go of Flint’s arm and hurrying off the
balcony.
“Shane!”
Flint snapped, calling after him, but Shane didn’t listen as he ran down the
stairs and pushed his way through the crowd below.
Favia was
clearly still focused on her search, but when she heard his rushed footsteps,
she turned around with a frown. When she saw him, her eyes went wide, and Shane
realized she must have been looking for him or another Heir.
“Where
have you been?” Shane exclaimed, standing in front of her, but he’d hardly come
to a stop before she’d grabbed his shoulder and started pulling him through the
crowd. “Woah—”
“There’s no
time. You’re in danger, and you need to come with me,” Favia ordered, leading
him towards a door leading out of the ballroom. “It’s urgent.”
“I know, I
know,” Shane said, trying to wriggle free so he could walk with her instead of
being dragged behind her, but her grip didn’t loosen. “How’d you get out of the
Arcade?”
“Long
story,” Favia said simply, pulling him through the door and into a hallway
empty of guests. She didn’t stop, guiding him toward a spiral staircase that
went upwards.
“I think I
should know,” Shane pressed. “You disappeared with no warning, in the middle of
a call, and suddenly you’re here. How? Why?”
Favia
didn’t look back at him as she pulled him up the stairs. “Irrelevant.”
“It’s
really not,” Shane muttered.
“What is
important,” she continued, as they reached the second floor, “is that we
get you away from this event. Something’s wrong.”
Well,
something was wrong. But the way she was acting made him uneasy— and his
suspicion turned into alarm bells ringing in his head when she skipped the
floor and led him up the next flight of stairs.
If she was
worried about a threat to him here, the solution would be to get him out of the
building, promptly. But Shane was familiar with the building, and he knew that the
exits out of the palace were only on the first and second floors. The third
floor was an extensive library, and the fourth floor was completely
inaccessible, with its only access point being a magically sealed door that
nothing had managed to open since Summer’s death.
He was
being led into a dead end.
Shane’s
mouth went dry.
“Let me go,”
he murmured.
Favia
didn’t slow, or release her vise-like grip on him. In fact, her fingers only
tightened on his shoulder, and she marched on determinedly.
“I said,
let me go,” Shane repeated more loudly, tugging back and grabbing at her
hand to pry himself loose.
He didn’t
have time to defend himself. His back slammed into the stone wall, and just as
Shane gasped for air, winded, something cold pressed against his neck. He
swallowed, and he felt a prick of something sharp from the slight movement.
Favia was
holding a knife to his throat. Her eyes held no malice, only cold, blank
indifference, when she looked back at him.
“Scream,
and you’ll lose your vocal chords,” she said plainly.
Shane
thought his heart might be beating loud enough for the people one and a half
floors below to hear anyway.
“You’re
one of Sparrow’s,” he said quietly.
“And
you’re supposed to be dead,” Favia said. “But don’t worry. He’ll fix that.”
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