40
“You shall defer to the Regiment, the authority of which is second only to that of the Savior.”
Utter silence follows Gabriel’s declaration, shock permeating the room.
Slade’s shock, though, is what I focus on.
He’s still being propped up by two of the robed Regiment agents.
He looks like absolute hell. But then another expression crosses his face—one that’s difficult to decipher.
His lovely, cruel mouth tilts upward, his brows drawing closer together.
Something sparks in those disconcertingly pale eyes.
I think it might be awe.
“I don’t understand.” Witmer breaks the silence, his rough voice grating as he glances from me to Gabriel. “Are you telling me this girl is responsible for the fire that killed all those Apostles?”
Gabriel’s smile is placid. “Yes.”
I don’t bother denying it. They won’t listen.
Not when they were willing to believe the Savior somehow protected their prophet from my bullet.
I’m thrust back into a different part of that night, now: the part when Gabriel offered me a deal.
Be his hired sinner, keep his secrets, and in return he would keep mine.
He knew from the start what I’d done. He’s always known.
It was fear that kept me tethered to his side for three long years.
Fear of this precise moment.
I don’t struggle as Witmer yanks me around to read me my rights, of which there are laughably few.
I don’t react when the head chaplain—another of the hooded figures—deems me condemned.
Instead, I keep my gaze locked on Slade’s.
His awe has turned to fear. He attempts to conceal it, but I know his subtle expressions well enough by now.
Here he is, weakened and restrained, doomed to become one of the Regiment’s scientific experiments, and yet his fear isn’t for himself. It’s for me. I don’t understand it.
“Do you have anything you wish to say?” Witmer asks me.
I roll my shoulders, trying to get a bit of relief from the tight handcuffs. I can tell Gabriel is waiting for me to deny everything. He’s crossed his arms, poised and expectant.
“Talin couldn’t have done it,” Slade says suddenly, causing more than one person to start.
Even leaning against one of the agents that restrains him, he looks almost sinfully dangerous.
His declaration doesn’t come across as desperate.
Rather, he sounds bored. “That fire wasn’t started by an uneducated girl, but someone with skill.
A congregation of that size, and no other survivors?
” Slade scoffs, moving his head in a circle as he does the same with his eyes. It’s so over the top. So unhinged.
Gabriel’s irritation flares. It’s etched across his features as he snaps, “Get him out of here.”
The agents flanking Slade attempt to drag him backward, but he digs his heels in.
“Come now, Gabe. You want someone to blame for that fire? You want to give people another reason to worship you? Tell them you not only trapped a diabolist, but one who killed an entire community.” Slade’s goading laugh raises the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
“I just couldn’t help it. I’m a slut for watching things burn. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Slade.” This time his name is a hiss through my clenched teeth. Witmer’s grip on my arm tightens, but I ignore it. “Don’t.”
It’s not that I’m afraid Gabriel will decide to believe his ridiculous tale—I’m more concerned with what might happen if Slade brings up the past. If Gabriel decides the prospect of finishing his brother off is more enticing than using him for research.
I needn’t have worried. Gabriel may be easily agitated, but he isn’t hasty.
He smooths his lapels, collecting himself before speaking.
“Do you truly think me that foolish? I’ll admit, I had feared you might ensnare Talin, but I never considered that it may happen the other way around.
” A light chuckle. “Amusing, really, that you would try to protect the girl who came here intending to kill you.”
Ice shoots through me as Slade’s gaze snaps to mine.
His brows are drawn together in confusion, and I can tell he doesn’t believe his brother.
He’s waiting for me to say something—to deny it, probably.
But I don’t. I let him see the answer in my expression until his own hardens and shutters. The moment feels like a small eternity.
Eventually, Slade coughs a laugh. The sound is both harsh and weary. “Little liar,” he murmurs. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“I could say the same about you.” My voice is frigid. “But you can deal with it, can’t you, Slade?”
A slight narrowing of his eyes is the only indication he understands what I’m referring to. What I overheard earlier today. He spits on the ground by Witmer’s boots, and nothing has ever felt more like a dismissal.
I can almost feel the smugness radiating from Gabriel, but I refuse to acknowledge him.
What am I supposed to say? I can’t confront Slade about what I overheard.
Not here. I have no excuses for my actions, and I wouldn’t offer one even if I did.
We were always going to end up like this: His knife in my back, and mine in his.
I may not be able to kill him, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean I forgive him.
Gabriel lets out an impatient huff—obviously he expected his words to have more of an impact. “Are you incapable of taking orders?” he snaps at the agents, thrusting an arm out in an arcing gesture. “I told you to get him out of here.”
A shudder ripples through my body as I watch Slade dragged from the room. Right before he disappears, though, he glances at me over his shoulder. His eyes are colder than ever. I expect him to hurl some stinging indictment my way, but he says merely, “Tell her he’s fine.”
An agent shoves him hard in the lower back, then, and he stumbles on. I feel wrong, all wrong, down to my very core. I want to hit something, but I don’t move. I want to scream, but I don’t make a sound.
“Who was he talking about?” Gabriel demands, turning back to me.
I shrug. My shoulders seem to hold an unbearable weight. “No idea.”
But I do know, of course. Slade wants me to tell Ceri that Emeric is okay. I wonder if he convinced his friend to leave him behind. I wonder why he’s under the impression that I’ll have a chance to speak to either of them again. I’m as trapped as he is.
Right up until the bitter conclusion—if that’s what this is—Slade worries about his friends. Maybe I am worse than him. There is no one for whom my loyalty is nonnegotiable.
Gabriel sighs as if this has all been a great inconvenience.
“The rest of you are dismissed as well,” he tells his followers.
“I apologize that this hasn’t gone as originally planned.
I expect it goes without saying, but say nothing of what happened here tonight.
You can rest assured, however, that the Regiment’s future is brighter now than ever. May the Savior bless you.”
One by one, the robed figures begin migrating in the direction of the door, save of course the agents. My rage and apprehension only grow as the number of people dwindles. When Gabriel’s attention finally returns to me, I’m expecting it.
“Let me guess,” I say. My voice is wry. Hollow. “I’m going to prison.”
The female agent yanks on my arm, forcibly leading me to the other exit.
Gabriel keeps pace at my side. “Don’t be absurd, Talin.
Do you really think the Regiment would trap a diabolist in the hopes of finding a cure if we didn’t have anyone to test it on?
Felix Astor was planning to the blow the whistle on the whole thing, but I found a way to have him dealt with.
His vague resemblance to my brother was a happy coincidence. ”
I’m forced to a stop as another agent works on propping the door open. It’s good timing—I think I would have halted nonetheless as Gabriel’s words crash over me. I try not to gape at him, but my lips part of their own accord. “You planned this. You were always planning this.”
“To help you, Talin.” A muscle tics in his jaw, and I get the sense there are a thousand other things he wants to say. His voice is sharp as he tacks on, “Not that you deserved it.”
“Fuck you.” I sever my gaze from his, instead focusing it straight ahead. “You know what happens to Prophets, right? They’re martyred.”
“If that is the Savior’s will, then I will happily die for my convictions.”
“As long as you’re dead.”
Gabriel laughs again, though nothing in his face indicates humor. Leaning very close, so that only I can hear, he murmurs, “You know full well that I can’t die.”
I stiffen. Hearing him acknowledge it though—that he’s a diabolist—has a thread of satisfaction weaving through me. Part of me wondered if he’d managed to convince himself of his own ridiculous lies. “We’ll see about that.”
Gabriel clicks his tongue, the action so reminiscent of Slade that I’m momentarily startled.
“You wanted freedom, didn’t you, my lamb?
I could have given you that. I would have cured you of the Bloodrot, then let you live your life as you wished.
I could have made you happy.” He cuts me a sidelong glance.
“Instead you’re about to find out how it feels to have no freedom at all. ”
With that, he strides past me and out into the dark.
I stare after him until the female agent jabs me in the back. “Walk.”
Gabriel is right. I wanted one simple thing, and I’ve ended up in a worse place than I started.
I think of Ceri, waiting by the entrance to the Sanctum.
Of Slade, trapped like a rabid animal. I can’t even fathom what horrors he’s about to endure.
Perhaps I should have thanked him when I had the chance.
His presence nearly made me forget that I was the villain.
Oh, Slade is the villain too. So is Gabriel. That’s the thing about evil—it manifests in near-infinite ways, whether justified or otherwise. After all, when it comes right down to it, I was just a girl who didn’t want to die. A girl willing to do anything to live. I never intended to be a murderer.
Until, of course, I did.
“Fucking walk,” the agent snaps again, this time jamming one of her steel-toed boots into my calf.
This time, I do as I’m told.