Chapter Sixteen
NIC
I lean my forearms on the balcony railing of the apartment Laurel and I are sharing. When I stand here, watching the sun drop below the waves in the distance, I can almost convince myself I’m on my suite balcony at the Liar’s Den.
I breathe in deep the smell of saltwater tinged with automobile exhaust. It was torture sitting so close to Lola tonight, tasting her orange blossom scent on the air, hearing the angry timbre of her retorts, feeling the softness of her skin under my fingers.
I curl my fists around the railing until the iron bites into my palms. Laurel taking over during that conversation was a deeper violation than any other time she’s done it.
It was wrong. It was evil. No gods, mythical or real, could condone that, no matter their reasoning. I just wish Laurel could see that.
But she won’t. Because that would mean facing her own culpability, and thanks to me, she never will.
The sharpness of Lola’s glare still pierces through me.
The slight quaver in her voice when she spoke—You are not this, Donnic Sinclair—still reverberates in my ears.
I nearly broke when she said that, nearly reached out to soften the crease between her brows, ease the hurt in her eyes.
But Laurel took over my mouth enough times during that conversation, I knew I had to be careful.
So I kept that starsdamned smile on my face and held myself together by my fingernails.
Why did Lola have to bring up Nocturne’s game? How will I keep Laurel away from it?
As if on cue, the door slides open behind me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My body prickles as Laurel joins me, cradling a cup of tea in her palms.
“We have to enter Nocturne’s game,” she says. “Or . . . go to the opening party, anyway.”
“Why?” I hedge, searching for an excuse to keep her as far away from it as possible. “Wouldn’t that distract from our task?”
She shakes her head. “It’s an opportunity. There is no way Salazar and St. James and the other families are going to sit it out. I say we take advantage of them gathering in one place.”
“Take advantage?” I repeat, raising a brow as I turn to face her. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“My magic can control a couple dozen people at a time.” Her eyes dance. “I could eliminate a whole slew of seaspawn if we go to that game. Get done in one night what it would have taken us weeks to accomplish.”
My stomach tightens, and I shake my head. “There will be innocents there.”
“I’ll make sure the innocents are spared.”
“How?”
“The bodies of the guilty are more . . . accessible to me,” she explains. “As long as I keep them focused on each other, the rest will be able to escape.”
I try not to act shocked at the new information. If her influence varies depending on the person, could that mean her power runs on something, the way mine does on secrets and lies? If so, what?
“I’ll be careful,” she says.
“It would be like setting off a bomb.” I choose my words with care. “If people start attacking each other, the rest will panic. The chaos will cause collateral damage.”
She frowns, but she doesn’t immediately disagree with me, which means I’ve got footing here.
I just have to find a way to put off the inevitable violence for as long as I can .
. . If we do have to be around Lola, then I need to keep her safe.
And maybe, if I can buy myself time, I’ll learn what makes people susceptible to Laurel’s control.
This could be the key to freeing myself—and to preventing others from being taken over and hurt.
“A better plan might be to target people outside the game while the city is distracted,” I suggest. “If St. James and Salazar and their ilk are paying attention to the game, they’ll be sloppy about security elsewhere.”
But she shakes her head. “The type of people lured in by the promise of a magical favor are exactly the type of people the gods want eliminated.”
She swallows, fingers tensing and relaxing on the teacup over and over. Her jaw clenches. Purple circles shadow her eyes. It must be exhausting for her, running from her past, from the things her magic has influenced her to do, from the choices she’s made that have brought her here.
It’s not just me she’s trying to save on this quest to cleanse the earth.
She’s trying to save herself, too. Trying to earn back the goodness she believes deep down she has lost. Trying to prove to herself as much as the gods that she is devoted, that she is good, that she is worthy of their protection and their forgiveness despite the fact that she murdered a man, which resulted in her father’s death.
The more people she hurts, the greater her motivation to continue will grow.
“‘To shed innocent blood is to embrace the Deep.’” I quote from the Odelion in an almost-whisper. “If we’re going on the gods’ errand, don’t you think they’d want us to be careful?”
She purses her lips, brow furrowed. “But the gods gave us this opportunity. We shouldn’t squander it.”
“Surely there will be challenges during this game. Places for players to be eliminated. What if we use those to our advantage? Ensure the people who should be spared are removed from the game earlier on? Then, by the time the final rounds commence, only our targets will remain.”
She sips her tea. When she lowers the cup, her mouth is curved in a smile. Not a cunning one or a greedy one—a desperate, hopeful one. She steps closer, setting the teacup on the table as a salty breeze lifts the long brown hair from her neck.
“This is why I came for you,” she says softly, slipping the fedora from my head and setting it next to her teacup before smoothing the hair along my brow.
She’s taken off her gloves, so the moonshard fragments scrape my skin, setting my teeth on edge.
“Because you are good, deep down. Just like I promised them.”
Her hands wrap around mine, and she knots them between us, tipping her head back to the sky and closing her eyes.
She whispers litanies of thanks to the stars.
I try not to fidget, committing fully to my role by pressing my own eyes closed and crumpling my face as though in heartfelt supplication, adding my voice to hers with the words my mouth still knows from years of memorization.
An instant later, her smile deepens, and she opens her eyes. “The stars approve of your plan, I think.” Then she pauses as though a thought has just occurred to her. “Enzo won’t be there, will he?”
I nearly choke.
Of course. Enzo is the answer to keeping Lola safe.
He may be a lot of things—reckless, foolish, selfish—but he loves her.
And Laurel is dead set on participating in this game, so I need someone there who will protect Lola at all costs, since I can’t be certain Laurel won’t puppet me into doing something I don’t want to.
I cough. “He may participate, yes.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I need you to make sure he doesn’t.”
“You seem to be under the illusion that Enzo listens to me.”
“Convince him not to attend.” She straightens my tie. “Please?”
I’m going to have to make sure he comes in a way that will trick Laurel into thinking I’ve tried to stop him from doing so. How will I get him the message?
My hand closes around the last empty voratium die in my pocket—a die Laurel seems to think I’ve used up, because she hasn’t asked for it back.
Perhaps if I put a secret inside it—one that would at least give Enzo a small insight into what’s going on here—he’d get my meaning.
“Nic?” Laurel says. “You’ll make sure he stays away?”
I squeeze the die. It’ll have to work. It’s my only shot. “Very well.”
She sinks against me with a pleased smile. “Thank you.”
“Do you think the gods have forgiven me yet?” I ask, releasing my die, sliding my hands to her waist and pulling her closer in hopes of drawing her attention away from the people I care about. “For being a liar and a criminal?”
“I hope so,” she whispers. “I certainly have.”
Moonlight outlines her irises in silver. She truly is beautiful, just like when I fell for her at sixteen.
But depths, I wish it were Lola here with me.
So when I tip her chin up to me and press my mouth to hers, I close my eyes and pretend it’s my little thief I’m kissing. Lie to myself the way I’ve lied to countless others. Lie and lie and lie and hope that one day one of these lies will make up for all the horrors my deception has wrought.