Unraveled (15 page)

“Of course,” I murmur, trying to remember who Minister Swander is. The name sounds
familiar, but to my surprise the man who steps forward is young and handsome. I recall
the last gala I attended at the Coventry—when Erik reminded me that every official
was married. Swander’s wife must be nearby. I take his hand, ready to get it over
with.

Minister Swander leads me onto the dance floor, keeping a proper amount of space between
us and dancing formally, which is to say, stiffly. For a moment I wish I was dancing
with Erik, but I immediately put the thought out of my head. Then I notice that with
each careful step, he is leading me farther across the dance floor, farther from Cormac.

“Cormac has finally landed himself a new Creweler,” he says in a light tone.

I study him closely. He’s exactly how I imagine Cormac would have looked at the same
age. Too slick, too quick with a smile.

“I suppose he has,” I respond. “Pardon my saying so, but you seem a little young to
be a minister.”

“You seem a little young to be a Creweler.”

“Touché.”

“I was born into Ministry service,” he explains to me. “My father was an official.”

“Was?” I ask.

A confused look passes over the minister’s face. “He died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He waves off my regrets with the ease of someone who never mourned the
loss.

“You weren’t close?” I guess.

“No, we were,” the minister assures me, “but that’s life.”

But it’s not life, I think. Not for the Guild. Officials don’t just die and ministers
don’t forget what happened.

“How did your father die?” I press.

“Old age, of course.”

I can see I’m not going to get far with him, so I change the subject.

“Is your wife here?” I ask.

“I’m not married,” he says.

I can’t help myself. “That’s unusual.”

“I suppose I was married, but my wife is gone.” He stumbles over the confession, blinking
as if to clear his head.

Suddenly I know where I’ve heard his name. The old memory resurfaces and my stomach
rolls over.

She had an accident.

Amie’s words. Before I can compose myself, he stops and drops his hands from me.

“The song has ended. I suppose I must return you to your fiancé.” He offers me his
arm. His gaze stays unfocused, as though he’s searching for something in the distance
as he leads me back to Cormac and thanks him for the dance.

“Of course,” Cormac says. “It looked like you were having a nice chat.” I can tell
Cormac wants to know what the minister said to me. Of course he does.

“He was telling me how his father died,” I admit.

“He was?” Cormac asks. I can’t gauge his reaction.

“Actually, he was
about
to tell me,” I say, turning to Minister Swander expectantly.

“Excuse me, I see Brient,” he says, avoiding the question once more. “Thank you for
the lovely dance.”

He hurries away, and I can’t help but notice that he dashes straight for the washroom.

“How did his father die?” I ask Cormac. “I thought the Guild had gotten around that
inconvenience.”

“We can still die, Adelice,” Cormac mutters.

“You could have fooled me.”

“Death is a tricky thing. He wears many faces.”

I wonder what face death will wear when he visits Cormac. I wonder if death will look
like me.

“And his wife?”

Cormac shrugs.

“There was an accident,” I say. “You made an example of her.”

I recall the reverent account Amie gave about her teacher, at our dining table. I
remember the hushed fear in my parents’ voices. I remember everything about that night.

“You do love your stories,” Cormac says, taking my elbow and steering me out of earshot.

“The truth is much more interesting,” I say in a low voice.

“Truth takes time,” he warns me. “Someday, when you’ve lived a lifetime, you’ll understand
that.”

“And how long will it take you to believe it?”

He flashes me a murderous look, and I duck back toward the crowd, my heart beating
fast as my past and present collide.

*   *   *

The dinner is served in courses. The first is the onion soup I despise. I slurp it
loudly, pretending to relish every drop. Cormac ignores me, chatting with the other
guests at the table. I pick at my roasted pheasant and finally abandon it.

“When is the wedding?” the wife of one of the ministers asks me from across the table.

I blink at the question. We haven’t set a date, which is fine by me. It gives Cormac
more time to milk this distraction and me more time to figure out what he’s hiding
from me.

“I’m not sure,” I say in a syrupy voice. “Cormac is preoccupied with other issues
at the moment. I wouldn’t dream of distracting him with my silly wedding plans.”

Cormac’s hand lands on my leg and squeezes it tightly. I’m being warned.

“But you must be excited.” The woman folds her hands under her chin, a dreamy look
coming over her face.

“I am,” I lie. “I hope it’s soon.”

Cormac leans in toward me. “I wouldn’t dream of making you wait much longer.”

I force a smile onto my face, hoping it looks right. I don’t find his words reassuring.

He stands and raises his champagne flute, waiting for the other tables to quiet. A
few people tap their own glasses with forks and soon all eyes are on him. The conversation
in the room dies down, but I spot a few people whispering and even a handful of eye
rolls.

“Friends,” he addresses them. “I’m honored that you chose to spend the evening with
us.”

I’m guessing there wasn’t much of a choice when they got the invitation.

“My beautiful future bride and I are eager to start a new chapter in Arras. Joining
the Guild and the Coventry in marriage is rather, shall we say, unprecedented.”

He waits for the few chuckles this elicits before he continues. “Our great nation
is changing and even an old bachelor like me can see this. I’ve been married to my
work for a long time. Adelice has shown me that our values and priorities must be
realigned. The value of the family cannot be understated, and I look forward to finally
contributing”—he winks—“to emphasizing the place of the family in Arras. With the
help of my lovely future wife, of course.”

I try to cover my face with my napkin. Perhaps it looks like I’m crying, because the
woman sitting next to me pats my shoulder.

“So please join me in raising your glass to the beautiful and talented Adelice. The
woman who captured my heart so fully I couldn’t let her escape.”

Truer words were never spoken. I lift my glass, but never get a chance to take a sip.
A blast rips through the room, knocking me against the table. The crowd erupts in
panic and I look to where Cormac stood seconds ago.

He’s gone.

FIFTEEN

S
MOKE UNFURLS ACROSS THE BALLROOM AS PEOPLE
cough and scramble toward the exits. A woman is knocked down but no one helps her
up, each person too concerned with his or her own mortality to notice. I push through
the mass, trying to reach her, but the crowd jostles me farther away. I’m pulled out
by Alixandra.

“What’s happening?” I ask. I choke on the smoke burning my nostrils and my throat.
It leaves the taste of ash on my tongue and my mouth is too dry to swallow against
it.

Alixandra shushes me, peeking out the door and into the chaos.

“I can’t see Cormac.” From her it’s a cold, hard fact: no emotion invested, no anger
or concern. It’s all a business transaction. She has secured one precious commodity
and now must secure the next.

“We should look for him.” I move to step out the door.

“No, my responsibility is to protect you.”

“Fine,” I say, leaning back against the wall, “but at least tell me what I need protecting
from.”

“Revolutionaries, obviously. We haven’t had any issues since Cormac dealt with the
Eastern Sector, but this is an organized attack.”

“Is it the Agenda?” I try to keep the hope out of my voice. Not only because I don’t
want Alixandra to hear it, but because I don’t want to feel it myself.

“Up here? No way.”

“Then there’s a different revolution in Arras?” I say, playing dumb.

“I was told you were present at the severance of the Eastern Sector.” Alixandra eyes
me like I’m a small bug she doesn’t know whether to ignore or squash.

“And I was told that was an isolated incident and that the quarantine would prevent
it from spreading into the surviving sectors.”

Alixandra snorts. “Don’t believe everything they tell you.”

“So there’s revolution everywhere then?”

“Ask Cormac how many sectors there were when they created Arras.”

“Wait! What?”

But Alixandra goes back to ignoring me. She hikes up her skirt to reveal a holster
tightened around her thigh and withdraws a compact gun. Tilting her head, she calls
for transport.

“But we don’t have Cormac,” I remind her. I’m not exactly concerned about his safety,
but a small part of me worries about the chaos that would follow if he’s assassinated.

“My priority is you. Cormac has his own security team. In fact, he probably already
left,” she says.

“But—”

Alixandra raises a finger and takes another com. “Priority one. Access Alpha Two.”

As she rattles off the security clearance, she turns away from the door and I see
my chance. Before she can stop me, I duck back into the smoky room. A few people have
collapsed on the floor, but other than that the room is deserted. The lingering haze
stings my eyes, but I move forward, looking for Cormac, unsure whether I want to find
him among those on the floor.

The cock of a gun stops me in my tracks. I raise my hands dramatically. “You found
me,” I say to Alixandra.

“Turn around,” a male voice commands, and icy fear races through me. The man is wearing
a gas mask and I can’t see his face. I can see the gun extended to my forehead, though.

As soon as I face him, his hold on the gun slips. Before he can say anything, Alixandra
cracks him on the head with her weapon.

“C’mon.” She grabs me by the arm. “Are you trying to get killed?”

“He was lowering his gun,” I tell her, trying to work through the confusion I feel.

“It’s good to know that a group of armed mercenaries won’t shoot an innocent girl,”
she says, dragging me out a back exit.

“No, it was more than that. It was like he wanted something from me.”

“He probably did, and it probably wasn’t anything pleasant,” Alixandra says. Outside,
our transport screeches up and two officers in tactical vests rush out to help us
into the back of the van. Alixandra shoves me inside before I can protest.

“Our orders are to escort Miss Lewys directly to Minister Patton’s private residence,”
one of the guards tells us.

“Look at that, Adelice,” Alixandra mutters with a grim smile, “you’re going home.”

*   *   *

Cormac’s house sits on a hill overlooking the Cypress metro. It’s a concoction of
glass and steel beams that jut out in strange ways. As we pull closer, I can see him
through the window, pacing. The interior is bare. The
click
of our footsteps on the slate-tiled floors echoes in the large empty foyer, and the
scent of bleach clings to the air, no doubt a side effect of keeping the home’s surfaces
so gleaming, pristine. There are no pictures or artwork. No sign that the man who
lives here has led an extraordinary life. Perhaps Cormac knows the meaninglessness
of objects in a world where anything can be conjured. Or maybe he simply has nothing
to cling to—even after two hundred years.

The officers march me past three different security doors. As soon as they deliver
Alixandra and me, they leave.

“I’m fine,” I tell Cormac when he asks if I’m okay. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I knew Alixandra would get you out of there,” he says, almost apologizing.

“I went back, looking for you,” I accuse.

“Well, that was very stupid.”

“Don’t worry. I learned my lesson,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

“And what were you doing letting her out of your sight?” He turns on Alixandra.

“She’s quick and she doesn’t listen,” she says.

I like to think this is the understatement of the year.

“What do you know about this attack?” he asks her.

“Security is sweeping the scene,” Alixandra informs him. “If revolutionaries managed
to get in, I’d guess they have someone on the inside.”

“I’ll have to deactivate the personnel we used this evening.”

“Sir?” Alixandra visibly pales at his threat.

“Not you,” he roars. “I want you to check the reinforcements we installed there and
double-check the Coventry—”

“I can assure you that the Coventry can’t be breached from the inside or the outside,”
Alixandra interrupts him.

“Check again.” His tone is impatient.

Cormac gestures for me to take a seat and Alixandra leaves the room to make her calls.
He hasn’t stopped pacing since I spotted him through the window. His bow tie hangs
loose and he’s lost his jacket. It’s the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him. I have
to admit he’s been through a lot this evening.

“We need to assume that was an assassination attempt,” Cormac tells me.

Yeah, I figured.

“But we don’t know their target,” he continues.

I stare at him. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I’m not interested in jokes right now. This is serious,” he says.

“Pardon my delivery, then, but I
am
dead serious. You can’t possibly think they were after anyone but you.”

“They could have been after
you
,” Cormac says. “You’re a high-profile target now and your death would cause major
upset among the population.”

I think back to the man in the gas mask. He was definitely lowering his gun. “They
weren’t after me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If I were you I’d stay focused on how they got into the ballroom.” There was security
everywhere. Cormac can no longer trust his own men.