Chapter 29
chapter
twenty-nine
Ender
Ican’t stop looking at her.
We’re standing in a crowded room full of politicians, high-level military officials, and the wealthiest people in New Foundry.
But my gaze is locked on Haven’s, not Mercy’s, but Haven.
They’re doing it again. One of their silly little schemes.
The moment she tripped, and I caught her, I noticed those familiar birthmarks on her back.
The ones I saw that day in the locker room.
It’s uncanny how identical they look. When I entered Mercy’s bedroom, my gaze initially locked on who I thought was Haven.
But I was wrong, so terribly wrong.
Haven is barely speaking in an attempt to emulate her sister, but as usual, she can’t resist provoking me by comparing me to the worst person alive.
I am not blind to my father’s ruthlessness.
He created a world built on rules so strict it’s stifling, along with a system of government designed to ensure power remained in our family.
Everything I am doing is for the public.
To make sure they do not react negatively when I pass new laws.
Or amend the Code. But my succession is all but guaranteed.
My father always says that people don’t trust one’s actions but their persona. It was the first time I realized that evil wore a mask. It wasn’t frightening or hideous. Sometimes evil had a pearl-white smile and raven hair. Sometimes evil looked kind and trustworthy.
Malric Vale controlled my entire life. I was relieved when I got my acceptance letter to the Forge.
He wanted me to take a spot on the Council, to remain in politics, and not be a soldier.
I applied without his knowledge and called him when I was on the chopper.
By then, I was too far for him and my mother to sway me.
My palm lies flat on Haven’s back as we make our rounds and greet our guests. From the amount of time she’s shifted in the last half hour, I can tell she doesn’t like my touch. Nor does she appreciate making small talk with the Gifted.
My mouth twitches. We’re both playing a game. Haven doesn’t know that I know that she is impersonating her sister.
“Has your sister spoken about me again?” I ask coyly. “I remember last time you mentioned that I’ve grown on her and she finds me quite endearing?”
Haven clears her throat. “Excuse me?”
“It was just last night,” I say, tilting my head. “Strange that you’ve forgotten.”
“No, no, I remember,” she rushes. “I was drunk. She finds you appalling and disagreeable.”
“You were sober. Not a lick of alcohol in your system,” I say. “Are you sure that you’re well?”
I stare at her with mock concern, enjoying myself for the first time in a long while.
“Perfectly, well,” she says. “Yes, I suppose I did say that.”
“Do you remember what you said after?” he asks. “It was the greatest compliment I ever received. And from your sister no less!”
“Yes,” she says stiffly. “Glad to have shared that. It clearly lifted your spirits.”
“You said that your sister looks up to me and there’s nothing she desires more than to serve me loyally and faithfully,” he says. “You know, I wasn’t aware she admired me so much.”
“Now that I remember, I did drink a glass of wine in the kitchen before dinner,” she says with a tight smile. “It explains why I misspoke. The truth is that my sister would stab you with a pen if it were close enough.”
My lips twitch. She is struggling to maintain her composure. It is amusing to watch her keep up the ruse.
Light flashes, burning my retina, as we head back to the foyer where the reporters are set up.
They aren’t allowed in the main room and can only speak to the guests as they enter.
I ignored them when we first stepped down, because Haven looked scared, but I need to feed them a few tidbits about us, so the news outlets can sing my praises.
“Mr. Vale!” A reporter calls, loudly and obnoxiously. “Will you take a picture for The Continental with your new bride?”
Haven stiffens. All four reporters have their beady eyes on me, salivating at my mere presence. They never expected to catch me unattended tonight. Perhaps, they had hoped to capture a photo unguarded, but now that I’m here, they are beside themselves.
“Her name is Haven,” I say. “You will address her as Ms. Warrick until the wedding.”
“Our apologies, Ms. Warrick,” he rushes. “Will you allow us to take a photograph?”
Haven nods stiffly. I can tell she doesn’t like this one bit, but she forces a smile on her face. I draw her close to me and stare into the camera, as it flashes a dozen times.
“May I ask a few questions?” a woman calls, thrusting her microphone in my face while the videographer behind her zooms in on us. “How did you meet?”
“Our fathers are acquainted and made the introduction,” I say.
No need to tell them we were both forced to wed. And that my bride hates me so much that she switched places with her twin sister to escape a life with me.
“Was it a love match or arranged?” she shoots.
“Both,” I answer.
She swoons at my words, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“What do you like best about Ms. Warrick?” she asks. “Besides her beauty.”
“Her humor,” I reply. “She never fails to amuse me.”
Haven’s head turns towards me. My answer must surprise her, after all, her sister is rather serious.
I look down at her, trying to ease the anxiousness in her eyes. My palm lies flat on her waist, thumb rotating gently.
“Her strength,” I continue. “And fearlessness inspires me.”
The reporter asks another rapid-fire question, but I don’t make out the words. All I can see are those bright green eyes locked on mine.
“Excuse us,” I murmur.
I guide Haven away from the vultures. She looks a little pale.
“Do you need a drink?” I ask. “Fresh air?”
Haven opens her mouth when a voice cuts us off.
“Haven,” her father greets.
My chest lurches when Haven steps closer to me, as if she is seeking my protection. A part of me likes that she reaches for me. She did it earlier when we first entered the room, and the crowd overwhelmed her.
“Warrick,” she replies dully.
Her father stands before us in full military regalia. The high-collared jacket fits him like a glove, the regime insignia gleaming at his shoulders and breast. His medals are aligned so perfectly that they look like they’ve been carved into the fabric.
“Has she been behaving?” Warrick asks, barely sparing her a glance.
I stiffen at his words. There is no warmth in his tone.
“She’s been wonderful,” I say, pulling Haven closer. “Everything I could have wanted and more.”
Warrick’s brows rise, and I can feel Haven’s gaze on me.
“That is unexpected,” Warrick says slowly. “Haven’s never been one to follow orders. It’s why I never accepted her requests to train at the Forge. She lacks discipline. Unlike Mercy, who is thriving there. Her accomplishments are a great thing to behold.”
His mouth twists in a cruel smile. His words are worse because everything he speaks of is what Haven did. She carved a place for herself at the Forge despite her father’s disapproval. His pride should be directed at her.
“Does it hurt, Haven?” he asks. “To see her living your dream.”
Haven steps away from me. Her mouth downturned, and her fists clenched to her side.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need the ladies’ room,” she says.
I reach for her, but she’s gone before I can speak a word.
I glare at Warrick, who watches her with a cruel smile.
“Satisfied?” I ask coldly. “You’ve spoiled her night.”
“Whatever sweet words she plies you with, it is all a lie,” he says, staring at Haven as she cuts through the crowd. “She’s plotting something. I can sense it. I’m surprised she didn’t force her sister to trade places with her, so she could run away.”
“How would you even know if she did?” I ask. “You don’t know them at all.”
If he had, he would have known that Mercy was not a fighter and Haven was too stubborn to fall in line.
“I know their heat signatures,” he says offhandedly. “I’m a Kinetic, after all. They cannot trick me.”
Everything makes sense. The first time they switched was after they left their house, and then again tonight. They were hiding their secret from Warrick. I was wondering why they switched tonight. And this answers my question.
“Look at her,” Warrick says, pride tinging his voice. “She is stronger than I could ever imagine.”
I follow his gaze to where Mercy is standing with a few of the recruits from Black Star. She looks nervous, like she’s trying to fit in. It is painfully obvious that she isn’t Haven.
“Perhaps, I will have Mercy wed to Grayson Sullivan,” Warrick says. “Though your wife may not appreciate the match.”
I’m silently fuming at the mention of that loser. He doesn’t deserve either sister. And he certainly isn’t going to put his dirty paws on Haven while she is pretending to be Mercy. I forbid it.
Warrick’s eyes sparkle at my reaction.
“Did Haven tell you that they were lovers?” he asks. “She’d sneak out every night to be with him in the barracks.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to react. He’s trying to get under my skin. And the worst part is that it is working.
“Speaking of Sullivan,” Warrick says. “Here he comes.”
Grayson strolls over to us in a gray suit. Fists tucked deep into his pocket.
“Vale, did you see—”
I pin him with a dark look.
“Stay away from my wife,” I spit.
“I was looking for Mercy,” Grayson says. “Relax. Haven is all yours.”
It hits me then that he knows. Haven confided in him about the switch. It explains why he’s been sticking close to Mercy when, apparently, Haven and he were in a relationship.
This enrages me more than any taunt Warrick could speak. It is quite obvious that whatever is between them is still going strong, and I have been none the wiser.
I spin on my heels and begin to track down Haven. We have to discuss this Grayson issue. I don’t want him anywhere near her. Tamsin, the wedding coordinator, directs me to the first-floor bathroom, which Haven picked to hide out in.