by Lyndsay Ely
The moment the Tin Men gave her back her guns, Pity ran through the halls, not caring who saw, to the nearest stairwell. Then it was down, down, almost tripping over her own feet, until she reached the tunnels. For a brief moment she had no idea where she was. The same dingy pipes and concrete branched out in every direction. She picked a tunnel and began running again, taking corner after corner until, miraculously, some part of her brain forced her in the right direction.
His door was a gaping mouth, wide-open.
“Max!” She ran inside.
He wasn’t there. The lights were on, the bed its usual tangle of blankets. In the center of the floor lay a fold of orange paper, debris incongruous in an otherwise empty landscape of concrete.
As if it had been dropped in surprise.
Trembling, she picked it up. It was nearly identical to the one Luster had delivered to her, a request from Halcyon to report early the next morning, to make last-minute alterations on some sets.
She crumpled the paper in her fist. Other places Max might be crackled through her mind—the theatre, Eden. But she knew exactly what had happened to him.
Selene didn’t make empty threats.
Pity collapsed onto Max’s bed, swallowing a scream. Hot tears ignited as his scent filled the air around her. She wiped at them angrily.
I did everything. The words kept beating through her head. I did everything I was asked.
Regret diffused through her. If only she’d never gone to Max, confessed the deal she’d made. He might be gone, but he’d be safe. Instead, she’d crossed Selene, and Max stood to pay the price.
I won’t do it. Nothing in the world would make her hurt him. But even as she had the thought, she knew it didn’t matter. If Selene forced them both into the arena, only one would walk out, or neither. And no one would intervene—not Halcyon, not the other performers, maybe not even their friends. After all, Beeks had been part of their family, too, and there had been no objections to his death.
Only cheers.
What do I do?
Every minute that ticked by was one less to find a solution to her grim predicament. But no matter which way she turned the situation, looking for a crack, for a way out, she found nothing. No one would defy Selene to help Pity, and if Sheridan departed Cessation, so would any chance she had to save Max.
There was no choice—she needed to go with him.
CHAPTER 35
Evening fell like the lights in the theatre, as if the world was setting the stage for her performance. Downstairs, the Gallery was beginning its nightly upswing of debauchery, but outside the door of Sheridan’s suite, it was quiet. Pity heard a ghost or two of movement, a muffled voice, but nothing more. She stared at the number on the door, hands at her sides, where her guns should’ve been. For once she was glad for their absence. Even if she succeeded in convincing Sheridan to take her along, she couldn’t fathom the thought of murdering him.
It felt like an hour passed before she found the strength to knock.
Hook’s massive form filled the portal. “What do you want?”
“Is Patrick in?”
Her voice dripped with honey, but he gazed down at her as if she were a bug that had flown into his drink. “No.”
Pity smiled wider, praying the dread didn’t show in her eyes. “Can you check again? I really need to talk to him.”
“I said—”
“Let her in.” Sheridan’s voice came from within.
Hook moved aside. In the suite, suitcases and trunks were piled near the door. Pity felt her smile crack. He really was leaving.
“Pity.” Sheridan sat in an overstuffed chair, a drink in one hand, shirt open at the collar. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
She glanced at the baggage. “I heard you were leaving.”
“Yes. Some business came up back east.”
“I know.” She alighted on the arm of a sofa. “Congratulations, Mr. President. Still, I thought you’d at least say good-bye.”
“You’re right.” Sheridan sat a little straighter. “I’ve been rude. I expected you’d be relieved to be rid of me. No more pretending.”
Tell him whatever you have to. “Who says I was pretending the whole time?” Her gut ached, but Pity made herself look back at Hook with an affected sulk. “Do you think we could have some privacy?”
Hook glowered, but Sheridan waved a hand. “It’s okay. Go on and make sure everything is ready for tomorrow.”
The bodyguard reluctantly vanished into one of the adjoining rooms.
Sheridan got to his feet, ice cubes clicking against the side of his glass. “Drink?” He went to the bar and poured her a glass of wine.
“Thank you.” Pity took the glass and sipped, summoning her courage. “I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon. We were just getting to know each other. Then again, as soon as I heard, I thought… well, it’s silly.”
“What is?”
No use dancing around it. She chewed her lip, doing her best to look cautiously excited. “I thought maybe I could come with you.”
“Oh?” Pity searched Sheridan’s face, looking for surprise, interest—anything—but his faint, placid smile remained unchanged. “What about the Theatre? You’ve got quite a following in Cessation. Why give that up?”
Earlier she had searched for the right lie, something that Sheridan would never question, only to settle on the truth instead. “I never meant to end up in Cessation. I wanted to see Columbia and all the cities in the east.” A sick feeling stirred in her gut. “And the Theatre is going to execute Daneko tomorrow night. I don’t want to do it, or any of the Finales. I never did.”
In her mind, she saw the arena. But instead of Daneko, Max stood in the center, lights glinting off his piercings and a glaze of terror in his eyes. A cold sweat broke out on her skin. “You’re going to be the next president of the Confederation of North America. There must be something I can do to help. I mean, I’d make as good a bodyguard as anyone you’d find there.” Her fingers tightened around her glass. “And like you said, us Patriots need to stick together, right?”
Sheridan moved closer, regarding her like she was a novel curiosity. The smile turned into a smirk. “So you want to come with me to Columbia. Be my… bodyguard? Hmm, I didn’t realize you enjoyed our time together so much.”
Pity nodded, not trusting her voice.
He leaned in, until only inches separated their faces. Pity’s hand shook as she tried to set the glass down on a side table, anticipating his response. A yes signed his death warrant. But a no…
“Cut the shit,” Sheridan said. “Why are you really here?”
The glass slipped from her fingers and slid off the table, wine splashing onto the carpet. “What?”
He straightened and moved away. “Did Selene send you?”
“No! I came on my own.”
He retrieved his own drink from the bar. “You’re a bad liar, Pity.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words caught in her throat like chunks of food. “I… only want to come with you.”
“That I believe,” he said. “But I don’t believe for a moment it’s of your own accord. You look like you’re going to be sick.”
The shaking spread, overtaking her. She slid onto the couch, eyes downcast. One foot overlapped the wine stain, a scarlet bruise on the beige carpet. She stared at it, unable to think. Sheridan had seen through her in an instant. He would leave without her, and Selene would make good on her threat.
Max. Her breath hitched.
Sheridan loomed over her. “Selene sent you.”
It wasn’t a question this time. There was no use denying it. “Please,” she said, hating the word immediately, loathing the begging tone in her voice. “Please, you can’t go.”
“There’s no reason for me to stay anymore.”
“A few more days. Talk to Selene, let her try to finish what she started for you. That’s all I’m asking.”
“And if I don’t,” s
aid Sheridan, “what is Selene going to do to you?”
“I…”
“Pity.” There was no anger in his eyes, only a curious kind of concern. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You can tell me.”
Pity took a deep breath. “Not me.”
“Then who?”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. What did it matter at this point? The act was over. “Max.”
His hand tightened. “Max?”
“Ow.” Pity shifted away, but he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.
“Has Selene done something with him?”
She blinked at him, not comprehending.
He shook her hard, once, like a dog with a rat in its teeth. “Is that why you’re here?”
She ripped her arm away and retreated. “Why? What does he matter to you?”
Sheridan spun and pitched his glass at the wall. It shattered, sending crystalline shards twinkling through the air and leaving whiskey dripping down the wallpaper.
Frozen with bewilderment, she could only stare as Hook rushed into the room.
“Sir?”
“I’m fine!” Sheridan barked. He kept his back to them, his tense frame slowly relaxing. “An accident. Please leave us alone.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“Go.”
Sheridan turned to her as the bodyguard obeyed, his cool demeanor returned—save in his eyes, which shone with an intensity Pity had never seen before. What is happening? She moved behind the sofa, keeping it between them. First Selene had turned on her, now Sheridan was losing his mind over… Max? It didn’t make any sense. Sheridan barely knew who he was and only knew him through her. Max was no one to Sheridan, a painter in the—
The room lurched. She grabbed the couch to steady herself, overcome by a sensation like ice water flooding her veins.
No one.
But Max wasn’t no one, was he? His parents were powerful enough to worry about kidnappers, to send a retrieval force after him, and to get away with murder.
No. Please, no.
Tears formed in her eyes, the adrenaline in her blood an elixir of utter helplessness. She didn’t want to ask the question, but already drowning in half-truths and lies, she wanted—needed—the answer.
“Who is Max?” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “And what does he have to do with you and Drakos-Pryce?”
Seconds stretched like hours as Sheridan considered her. “He never told you about his life before Cessation?”
“No, not… all of it.”
Sheridan laughed with honest, but hollow, amusement. He collapsed into his chair and stared at her, uncharacteristic indecisiveness etched on his face. Pity waited, every fiber of her being aching to escape, and knew there was no way out of the quicksand dragging her down by inches.
“Pity,” he said finally, “this is very important. Put the games aside and answer me truthfully: can I trust you?”
The meaning carried clearly: he was already trusting her. And if he needed to do that, it meant his situation, whatever it was, had turned desperate. But could she trust him? She eyed the door Hook had disappeared through, aware that he was probably listening, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.
If she tried to leave now, would Sheridan let her?
Leave and go where? She thought of Selene’s eyes, laced with anger, and heard her orders. Selene was willing to serve up both Pity and Max to achieve her ends. She’s no friend of yours. Not anymore.
And maybe Sheridan wasn’t either, but she saw no other choice.
“Yes,” she said. Then again, louder: “Yes, you can trust me.”
“Good. You may be a terrible liar, but you’re no fool.” One hand rubbed his temple as he sighed. “Your ‘Max’? His real name is Edwin Khristos Maximillian Pryce.” Sheridan paused. “And he is the one and only child of Alanna Drakos and Jonathan Pryce.”
CHAPTER 36
Pity sat as her vision narrowed, the edges turning dim.
Max… How was it possible? Drakos-Pryce was more than a powerful corporation. It was an empire. How had Max managed to elude that for so long?
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Sheridan. “Facts, figures, and faces—those are my talents. I never forget them, though years and the dye and piercings did a good job of obscuring his features.” He registered her confusion. “In all my time in Columbia, Drakos-Pryce might have never turned their eyes toward me, but, oh, I watched them. The deals they made. Who they talked to at parties and who they didn’t. And even the skinny, bored little boy they ignored more often than not.”
“He said he hated the parties.” The words trickled out of her as she fought to process her bewilderment. One thing was clear, though: the payment Sheridan had offered up in return for the corporation’s endorsement.
“For years he was assumed to be abroad—hidden away until he was old enough to join his parents’ business. I should thank you. If not for your debut, I might never have noticed him that evening in the Gallery.” He leaned toward her. “Pity, where is he?”
A sour taste filled her mouth. “Locked up, where no one can get to him. Selene won’t let him go unless I go with you.”
“And…?”
“And kill you.”
“Ah.” Sheridan was silent for a moment. “What happens to Max if you don’t?”
Again, Pity’s eyes fell to the scarlet stain. “She’ll tell everyone that he was working with Daneko, put him in a Finale, and make me kill him. And when I refuse to do that…”
“Yes, I understand.” Sheridan’s tone turned jarringly light. “Well, since I’d rather not be killed, and you would rather not kill Max, I think we are both on the same side.”
Were they? “It’s too late. You need Max, and he’s in Selene’s hands.”
“But she doesn’t know what she has.” He paused, pensive again. “Or what is happening around her.”
She looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Pity, what if I told you that Selene’s plans no longer matter?”
A new kind of dread ignited in her belly. The territory they were traversing had changed suddenly. “I-I don’t…”
“Selene isn’t as universally beloved as you might think. And she’s a fool if she thinks anyone would believe Max an accessory to her assassination attempt. Even if I didn’t know he was the prince of a cutthroat corporation, I never would have tried to acquire his assistance.”
At first she thought she misheard. “But it was Daneko who—” She stopped. The help in the east. “Oh, Lord, it wasn’t Daneko who tried to kill Selene. It was you.”
“Oh, Daneko was involved,” Sheridan said. “But as my cat’s-paw. He was more than willing to sell Selene out if it meant he’d take over the city, even if only as my proxy.” He chuckled. “It was a bit ambitious—I see that now. But how could I have known that my plan would fail simply because Serendipity Jones came to breakfast?”
Pity stood, freezing in place when she realized she didn’t know what she was doing. More than trust, this was a confession. Sheridan had tried to murder Selene.
Sheridan, not Daneko.
Her thoughts cast back to that morning. To the assassins who had offered to take them alive and Sheridan’s words before the final rally: You don’t need to do this. At the time, she’d heard it as the sentiment of a man believing surrender would save his life. Now she realized he’d never been in danger to begin with.
Be careful, she thought. Be very careful. “Why? Why would you do all this?”
“I told you: Cessation is the power in the west,” Sheridan said. “Like Columbia is in the east. Together they form a conduit through which authority over the entire continent flows. Selene is partially right in her machinations. I want Cessation… though not with her.”
The blood drained from Pity’s cheeks. Finally Sheridan’s intentions were illuminated. It was one thing for him to be allied with Selene. But singular control over CONA and Cessation was unprecedented, each city
a bastion of influence that could be used to covertly benefit the other. Sheridan would effectively command the entire continent, with an amount of power unseen since before the Pacific Event. This was what he had wanted all along, she thought, why he made a deal with Drakos-Pryce. Even if he’d once thought Casimir’s secrets and sway could gain him the presidency, he’d never intended to let Selene live.
“But without Selene,” she said, “there’s no Cessation. It will all come apart.”
Sheridan sniffed. “A useful fiction that has served Selene well. But any old soldier can tell you that when a general falls, the troops will fall in line so long as a strong leader is there to replace him. Which is where our friend Daneko comes in.”
Our friend? “The city hates him.”
“This city will accept whoever gives them what they want.”
“Selene is already doing that, remember? He’ll be dead come midnight tomorrow.”
“No,” said Sheridan, with a sly smile. “Selene doesn’t know it yet, but there will be no show. Daneko will be free well before that, and her reign will be over.”
Pity tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone as dry as chalk. “How?” That one word nearly took the breath out of her, and a moment passed before she could continue. “She’s more careful now. Casimir is a fortress when it needs to be. And you’ll never be able to get to her, not with Beau and security around her.”
“Don’t concern yourself with Selene. As to Casimir, tomorrow the Reformationists will march on it. But this time hidden among them will be a force of my own, courtesy of Drakos-Pryce. Once they get inside, it will only be a matter of time.”
So it hadn’t been her imagination. The camp had gotten larger since the last time she saw it. It was so perfectly simple—the Reformationists were fanatics, but peaceful ones, who wouldn’t raise suspicion. “They’ll never get past the front door.”