32. Tyche #2
Shey and the others had left after them but were supposed to take a more direct route. Had they sneaked in with this crowd? Were they in there somewhere, lying low and waiting for their moment to cause chaos?
Tyche wanted to believe that he could feel Shey out there in the crowd, scanning for a glimpse of Tyche among the lines of guards protecting the square, but it was just as likely to be wishful thinking on his part.
There was magic sparking in the air, but there was so much turmoil and negative energy churning with the growing accumulation of bad luck that Tyche couldn’t sort through any of it. Some of it had to be dragon. Shey and Adrian had to be in there too, right?
“Ty! We need to hurry!” Jules shouted, sounding as if he’d been trying to capture Tyche’s attention for a while.
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to ten, but we need to get inside in the event they choose to cancel it rather than take the risk.”
Tyche nodded and motioned for Jules to lead the way. He had a good point. There was always the chance that these morons might realize that they were provoking a beast they couldn’t hope to control and decide to cut their losses early.
The young man charged ahead with a kind of single-minded determination that made Tyche think that he’d finally overcome his lingering terror and concentrated on achieving their goal of killing Feng.
Other guards stopped them twice more, demanding to know where they were going.
Jules answered sharply each time, flashing his badge and barking, not allowing them to be bullied.
It was only when they were in an empty corridor that they paused.
Jules stopped and pressed his hand to the smooth, white wall and bent his head.
Even though lamps and fancy chandeliers glowed overhead, there was an eerie darkness to the place, as if the marble floors and the heavy wood that comprised the door and decorative wainscoting soaked up all the light.
After nearly drowning in constant shouting, the silence of the building was stifling rather than a relief. Tyche almost wished to retreat into the square so that he could breathe, but there was no going back.
Tyche drew close and flipped his face shield up. “Are you okay?”
Jules grasped the bottom of his face shield with trembling fingers and shoved it up. “Yeah. Okay.”
A crooked smile lifted one corner of Tyche’s mouth, and he cocked his head so that he filled Jules’s vision. “Okay or not, you were fucking impressive.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. I’m not very good with people, but you handled all that as if you’ve been doing it your entire life.”
His new friend grinned more easily, and his ragged pants slowed to something more normal. “Thanks. I’m not very good with people either. I prefer my books and my computer. Those make more sense. Less chaotic.”
“True, but that gets boring after a while. You stepped out of your comfort zone for a good cause, and look at what you’ve achieved.”
“Thanks, Ty. It means a lot to me to have you say that.”
Tyche shrugged and straightened before glancing up and down the hall. “I wish we could talk to the others. At least tell them we made it inside.” Out of habit, Tyche’s right hand went to the back pocket of his pants.
“You didn’t bring your phone with you, right?” Jules gasped in horror.
A soft sigh slipped from his lips, and he shook his head, dropping his hand to his side. They weren’t supposed to have any kind of identifying information on them—especially phones—in case they were caught. They couldn’t risk having anything that pointed to the group.
But in truth, Tyche had left the phone that he’d acquired briefly in Sirelis in the Caspagir palace.
Shey had given him one and shown him how to send silly images and texts while Shey was trapped in meetings.
He’d had the damn thing for only a couple of days, but he’d instantly fallen in love with the way he could keep in near-constant contact with the prince even when they were apart.
Now the distance between them felt even sharper, and he ached for a quick message or even a stupid winky face. Something to prove that Shey was still alive and waiting for him to return.
“No, I don’t have a phone. Habit, I guess.”
Jules smiled. “Same. After this is over, I plan to text everyone I know just to get me through the withdrawal.”
“I guess we should figure out where they are keeping the chancellor and if they plan to go forward with this charade.”
“Chancellor Feng is supposed to be working out of the former president’s offices, which are on the second floor. They include a balcony that overlooks the square. If they decide they don’t want him going to the actual flagpole, he can make his address from there.”
The flagpole in question was to the left of the main entrance to the building and at the top of the stairs, away from the gathering of people. As they’d made their way to the building, Tyche had spotted a podium set up next to the flagpole with microphones.
“We should probably make our way upstairs,” Jules suggested. “If he makes his way down, we can shadow him. If he stays in the office, we can figure out a way to get into the room.”
An explosion shook the building, sending dust and tiny bits of debris falling onto their heads.
Tyche stumbled and slammed his shoulder into the wall next to Jules.
They both stared wide-eyed and speechless at each other for a heartbeat.
There had been no plans for explosives. While it would not be a peaceful protest by any means, no one was supposed to bring anything more violent than a bad attitude and cutting chants.
As one, they shoved from the wall and ran through the hall, their boots echoing off the marble floor as they headed to the closest window that peered out on the square.
Chaos stretched out in front of them, blanketed in heavy gray smoke.
The peaceful celebrants had morphed into a mix of angry protestors and scared civilians.
Add in frantic police, and it was a dangerous mob.