Crown Prince Katsura ordered the criminals to kneel before lifting the hood of the first prisoner, revealing a young Caucasian woman with auburn hair and a broken nose. She wasn’t Marty, though, and Ren released a pent-up breath.
“Alma Palmer, you are charged with offering refuge to members of the Resistance. For these crimes you are sentenced to death,” said the crown prince. Then he said to Major Endo, “Go ahead.”
Major Endo stepped behind Alma and pressed her fingers against the young woman’s scalp. Alma opened her mouth, but whatever she planned to say never exited her lips. There was a crunch and a spurt of blood, and her body slumped onto the cliff. It was over within seconds.
The proceedings carried on. The Empire didn’t want to waste any time.
Crown Prince Katsura un-hooded the next victim, a quivering lump of an elderly Asian man with precious few teeth. He cringed in the sunlight, as if he hadn’t seen the daytime in weeks.
Ren stared at the man until something clicked in his head. It was the gardener from his bunkroom, the same one who had called Ren’s mom a traitor. Ren paled at the realization. He never thought the old man deserved to die.
“Harold Nguyen, you are charged with redistributing the words of the Viper. For this crime you are sentenced to death,” said Crown Prince Katsura.
Harold wheezed. “My wife —” he began, right as Major Endo placed her hands atop his head. Harold made a gurgled sound and a gasp, and then his face broke from within, like a puzzle shattering.
Ren felt ill at the terrible sight. He didn’t even know if the charges against Harold were true. The old man had been caught with one of the Viper’s essays, but that didn’t mean he had been distributing them. Hugging his sides, Ren hoped he could slip out of the room, but one of the soldiers was blocking the door.
The cameras panned back to the crown prince, who looked a little green himself, but that didn’t stop him from moving on to the last criminal. Ren shut his eyes. He was done with this broadcast. But his eyes flew open as he heard multiple gasps in the common room.
The crown prince had pulled off the last hood, revealing the third criminal.
Ren went cold all over. It can’t be him. This can’t be happening.
It was Jay on the screen, dressed in a gray jumpsuit like the one Daisy Montgomery had worn. Bruises covered his face, and his bottom lip was swollen and bloodied.
The room tilted sideways, and Ren stumbled into the maid in front of him, who threw him a frosty glare. He leaned back against the wall, his chest constricting. He’d seen Jay just hours before, down the hall from here. They were supposed to rendezvous after dinner with Fräulein Plank and discuss their next steps.
But now Jay was on the cliffs and he was going to die. And there was nothing Ren could do to save him.
Crown Prince Katsura continued. “Jay Park, you are charged with supporting the Viper and funding his efforts.” He turned to Major Endo. “Open his mouth.”
Major Endo forced Jay’s mouth open and yanked his lip downward, showing the tattoo that marked Jay a traitor. Somehow the soldiers had discovered it.
A sudden fear cloaked Ren’s heart. The crown prince’s men had likely spent hours questioning Jay last night, and Jay could have leaked intel about the mission — or coughed up Ren’s or Fräulein Plank’s names. Trembling, Ren glanced at the soldiers in the common room. Would he be next on the cliffs? But the soldiers weren’t paying Ren any attention. For now.
“I sentence you to death for these crimes,” said Crown Prince Katsura.
Jay raised his blackened eyes to the camera. There was no trace of his usual smirk. He looked like a bombed-out shell of his old self, which made Ren want to curl into a ball on the floor. He didn’t want to watch what would happen next, but Ren didn’t want to hide while Jay met his end. He owed this much to him — they were allies, they were friends.
Major Endo walked behind Jay, but before she could rest her fingertips on his skull, Jay cried out.
“The Viper lives on! In the darkest of nights, we strike!” he shouted, his voice hoarse from the effort. “In the darkest of nights —”
Major Endo wrapped her hands around Jay’s neck, and within seconds Jay started gurgling. Soon, his face changed color from pink to a burning red, and his eyes turned a gruesome scarlet, the color of an open wound.
Ren realized in horror what was happening. Major Endo wasn’t crushing Jay’s bones. She was using her dual power, the more gruesome one by far — boiling blood.
In the end, Jay didn’t scream, but the sounds he made were ones that Ren would never forget. The muffled moans of pain. The last splutters of life.
The broadcast went quiet before Crown Prince Katsura spoke one more time. “To the Viper, come forward and account for your crimes. The blood of those who perished today is on your hands and yours alone. And those who support you will continue to die until you turn yourself in.”
The television screen slowly faded to black, replaced by the Viper’s Wanted poster. Nobody said a word while they exited the common room. Four public executions in less than a week — that hadn’t happened since Imperial Japan’s takeover after the war. As Ren shuffled along with the others, it took him a minute to realize that he was walking in the wrong direction, but he didn’t care.
Keep moving, Ren told himself. He wandered from corridor to corridor until he saw the janitorial closet where he had first met Jay. That was when his shock twisted into guilt, and a spark of anger ignited inside him. Before it could spread, Ren barreled toward the employee lounge outside. He needed fresh air. He had to clear his head.
“There you are,” a voice slithered into Ren’s ear. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Ren froze in the middle of the hall. Before he could turn around, Sasaki grabbed his arm and yanked him across the bleached linoleum floor. It took everything inside Ren not to twist away and make a run for it. He couldn’t deal with any more of Sasaki’s taunts, but Sasaki was hauling him toward the hotel lobby.
“Don’t drag your feet. There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” said Sasaki, tightening his grip until pain shot down Ren’s arm.
Ren’s wrath gave way to fear. “Who wants to speak with me, Sasaki-sama?”
“Just shut your mouth.”
Ren almost tripped. This was bad news. Very bad news. Had Jay let something slip during his interrogation? And yet Sasaki didn’t drag Ren into a back room for questioning. They marched toward the lobby elevators instead, which soared skyward to the hotel’s upper levels. Sasaki swiped his ID on the card reader, and the nearest elevator doors pinged open. After shoving Ren inside, Sasaki punched his knuckle on the button that accessed the twelfth and highest floor of the Mission Hotel, the penthouse.
Ren began to sweat. Where was Sasaki taking him? The penthouse was the royal apartment. Did the crown prince have his own interrogation room up there?
As the elevator whooshed upward, Ren felt dizzy. Something wasn’t adding up. If Jay had mentioned Ren’s name during his interrogation, then the soldiers should have arrested Ren hours earlier. The Empire would have sent a troop of soldiers to take Ren into custody, too, instead of Sasaki alone.
The elevator opened into a small foyer, covered from floor to ceiling in white marble. There was a set of heavy doors opposite the elevator, but to walk through them Ren would have to deal with the four armed guards who blocked his path. They demanded to see his employee badge before they roughly patted him down. Sasaki watched the proceedings with a satisfied sneer.
“He’s clean,” a guard announced, and knocked twice on the double doors.
Seconds passed, and Ren couldn’t feel his fingers. He didn’t know what he’d find on the other side of those doors. It could’ve been an interrogation room or a torture chamber or something worse, like a locked room with only Major Endo to keep him company.
One of the doors opened, and the soldiers all fell into a bow. Ren couldn’t believe who stood in the crack of the doorway. He almost forgot t
o bow himself.
Aiko regarded him coolly. Then, with a slight tilt of the head, she opened the door farther to let him in. Ren stood dumbly for a few more seconds until Sasaki gave him a push from behind.
With no other choice, Ren stepped into the royal apartment.
As soon as Ren stepped over the threshold the guards shut the door behind him with a thunk. Ren’s head whipped around, ready for an attack, but there were no interrogators waiting for him in the large white room. From what he could see, it was only Aiko and himself. No soldiers. No servants. And that was very odd.
Aiko stepped toward a hand-carved table at the center of the room, surrounded by plump sitting pillows. Ren hurriedly took off his shoes, as was customary. He didn’t see any slippers to slide his feet into, though — even if he did, those slippers wouldn’t have been meant for the hired help like him — so he shuffled forward on socked feet.
The room was sparsely furnished, but each piece of art and furniture looked meticulously selected and incredibly expensive. The table and tansu cabinets must have been centuries old, and the scrolls of calligraphy hanging on the walls could have belonged in the national museum in Tokyo. Warm sunlight splashed through a bank of windows overlooking the Pacific, offering a view so blue and vast that Ren couldn’t tell where the sea ended and the sky began.
This had to be the royal family’s receiving room, where the crown prince and crown princess would entertain visiting relatives or their most distinguished guests. The family’s private apartment probably lay beyond the closed wooden door, where only close family and servants could gain entrance.
“You must be wondering why you’re here,” Aiko started off. She wore a casual silk blouse and a floor-length skirt, but Ren still felt woefully underdressed next to her. “I know it’s unusual, but I wanted to thank you for fixing my dress the other night.”
“It was my honor, Your Imperial Highness,” Ren said, still baffled. Royalty like Aiko didn’t have to thank a worker personally, much less invite Ren to the royal receiving room. This had to mean that Aiko had summoned Ren for another reason — but what? Ren resisted the urge to chew his nails and said, “May I offer my congratulations on your engagement?”
Aiko didn’t reply. Instead, she glanced out the windows. “It’s a little warm. Let’s get some fresh air.” She stepped toward the glass door and threw it open, with her skirt billowing around her legs. It was clear that she expected Ren to come with her.
Ren had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he had severely underestimated Aiko. To the cameras she looked and acted the part of royalty, but that was only a mask that she had learned how to wear. There was something simmering beneath her surface. What that was exactly, Ren didn’t know.
They entered a half-circle balcony overlooking the sea. The wind thrashed against their skin, but Aiko didn’t seem to care or notice. She walked forward until her waist hit the metal railing, but Ren hung back by the door. Down the coast he could see the white killing cliffs, where Jay had died not even thirty minutes before. Jay’s body was still warm, and yet here was Ren now, standing in Crown Prince Katsura’s private apartment. Pain sliced through his chest. If the crown prince stepped onto the balcony right now, Ren didn’t know what he would do.
“Are you unwell?” said Aiko.
Ren shook his head, realizing that his fury must have shown on his face. “I’m not the best with heights.”
“We don’t need to stand so close to the railing.” She retreated from the rails and drifted into the corner of the balcony where an artist’s easel stood. A watercolor was clipped to it, a swirl of bold blues and moody grays and an angry black line. It was an abstract piece, but it reminded Ren of a sea storm.
“I forgot to take that in,” Aiko said absently. She started to unclip the paper, but a gust of wind swooped onto the balcony and yanked the piece from her fingertips. Ren made a grab for it, but the paper tumbled through the air like a lost kite before disappearing below.
Ren watched the paper fly out to sea. “I’m so sorry, Your Imperial Highness.”
Aiko, however, didn’t appear alarmed. She looked defeated. “I’ve been meaning to pack up that easel anyway.”
Ren considered what she meant by that. Was she packing it away for her pending move to Berlin? Or was she packing it up because she had to become a proper wife?
Aiko turned to stare at the ocean, her eyes as stormy as her watercolor. “There used to be an art conservatory a few miles down the coast, but it was closed after the war. Have you heard of it?”
“I don’t believe I have, Your Imperial Highness,” Ren said. He glanced nervously at the glass door. If Aiko’s parents discovered them out here, there would be a lot of questions and accusations that he wouldn’t be able to answer. But he couldn’t leave until Aiko dismissed him.
“It was an art conservatory that only accepted female students. Women from all over the old United States would study there. Figure drawing. Oil painting. Watercolors.” Hope laced through her words, but then the corners of her mouth tightened. She returned to the railing and gripped the cold metal, reminding Ren of an animal stuck inside a cage. “You know, I’ve heard all my life how backward America used to be, but when I learned about this conservatory I had to wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Ren said before he could stop himself. He started to apologize for being so forward, but to his surprise she answered him.
“About a lot of things,” she said vaguely.
It sounded like Aiko was speaking another language. She shouldn’t be praising the old America, and she shouldn’t have painted dissidents’ names onto a beaded necklace. And she never should have revealed any of this to a tailor. More questions popped into Ren’s head. Would she try to break her engagement? What was she hoping to accomplish? And if she didn’t see the US as a backward country, then how exactly did she view it?
Ren, however, couldn’t ask her any of that — and what did it matter? He had a job to do at the Fortress, and he would have to kidnap Aiko no matter what. But guilt tugged at Ren for the first time. Aiko was no longer a faceless princess — she was a girl made of flesh and blood and bone who painted dangerous names on glass beads, who was bound to a duty she didn’t want, and who had been a pawn to be married off since the day she was born. Ren couldn’t rummage a heart full of sympathy for her situation — Aiko had never gone hungry and she never had to fear the killing cliffs — but his guilt stubbornly remained. For some reason, Aiko had opened up to him, but he was going to use her like a pawn, too.
Aiko turned around and stared straight at Ren. He shifted nervously under her eye contact, but she wouldn’t let go. “I summoned you here because I am commissioning a dress.”
Ren blinked. “Pardon?”
“I need you to make me a dress,” she said again. “I’ve already chosen the fabric and sketched out what I want.” She reached for a small paper bag under the easel and held it out for him to take. “I have everything you need right here, including my sketch and measurements.”
Ren stared down at his socked feet. This was the last thing he had expected to hear out of Aiko’s mouth. He wondered all over again if this was a trick, and he struggled with what he should say. “I’m only a temporary hire. Ms. Clarke has more experience than I do and —”
Aiko ignored his protests. “I need the dress finished by tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow evening,” she repeated, her tone brooking no argument. “When you’re finished, put the dress back into this bag and leave it in Classroom Five B. That room isn’t being used, and I’ll have one of my staff pick it up.” She spat out her directions as if she had been rehearsing them. “I think it’s understood that this conversation stays between us?”
“But, Your Imperial Highness —” Ren started, then stopped. He began to realize that Aiko was serious about commissioning a new dress from him — this wasn’t some ploy — but even then he had no time to create an outfit by her deadl
ine. Why did she need another outfit right before the ball? And yet he couldn’t turn down a royal request, no matter how preposterous the terms. Aiko could have him jailed for insubordination, and Ren felt foolish for feeling sorry for her a minute ago. He gave a small nod.
And then Aiko went and surprised him again. “Thank you,” she said. “I know this request is unconventional, but I had no one else to ask.” She reached for the door handle. “I can see you out.”
Ren left the penthouse the same way he had come in, out the apartment’s double doors and through the foyer, but it felt like he had aged a year. As the elevator doors closed, Ren slipped a hand into the bag and pulled out a corner of fabric wrapped in delicate silver paper. It was yard upon yard of creamy ivory silk. No pattern, no design, merely a blank canvas.
Resting his forehead against the elevator wall, Ren sighed. He didn’t have time to make Aiko a dress from scratch, but he had to do it. He didn’t know why she needed it by tomorrow evening, but he didn’t have another choice. And he couldn’t figure out the princess at all — what she was planning or what she wanted to accomplish. All he knew was that she had dragged him into her plans, and like it or not, he could only hope that it wouldn’t backfire on him.
The day marched on and Ren tried to march along with it, but he couldn’t find his rhythm. His thoughts were too crowded with Aiko’s sketch and Stairwell 15 and Jay’s execution, and if he could, he would shut off the lights and sleep for a week. But he had to push forward and he had to keep his hands busy, so he tackled the dress uniforms at his workstation one by one, taking in shirtwaists and shortening pant hems until the rest of the workers left for the night.
Ren didn’t leave his own station, though; he had to start on Aiko’s secret dress. She had sketched a simple enough design — a sleeveless A-line gown that cinched at the waist before flowing into a skirt that reached the floor — but it would take days of work that Ren didn’t have. Figuring he would have to forgo sleep for the night, Ren wheeled out a spare dress form and marked out a silhouette with drape tape before he began pinning the muslin. If his dad were here, he would chide Ren’s sloppy work, but Ren wasn’t worried about perfection. He needed to get this dress done and refocus on the mission. There was so much to adjust now that Jay was gone. Just remembering the afternoon execution made Ren pinch the bridge of his nose to fight off tears. He couldn’t believe that only twenty-four hours had passed since he heard Jay call him “tailor boy” and wish him good night.
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