Tether (26 page)

“You don’t have a plan?” Callum asked. “Can’t you just negotiate for her return?”

Rocko barked out a laugh. Thomas shot him a warning look, and Rocko scowled.

“No,” Thomas said. “Libertas wouldn’t release her if we offered to sell them the Commonwealth for a string of jade beads. We’ll have to extract her.”

“First you’ve got to know where they’re keeping her,”
Fillmore pointed out. “Libertas has little hidey-holes all over this city. How do you plan on finding out which one they’ve taken her to?”

“I’m pretty sure Prince Callum can tell us.” Callum looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You were held in the same place she was. You escaped Libertas with her. You must know something about where they kept her the first time. Maybe they’ll bring her back there.”

“That’s a big maybe,” Adele said, folding her arms across her chest. “They’d be pretty stupid to do that.”

“Not if there’s a reason they had her there in the first place,” Callum said. He sat down at the foot of the bed and rubbed his temples, as if doing so would coax the memories out. “The whole time Juliana and I were in those cells together, there was one guy in particular who paid her a lot of attention. A Libertas leader called the Shepherd.”

Sasha nodded. “He spent a lot of time with her before, too. When she was their ally instead of their prisoner.”

Callum drew a sharp breath, as if he were only just remembering what he’d recently learned about Juliana’s betrayal. “He was obsessed with her. I don’t know why.”

“Well, she is kind of hot,” Tim said. He turned to Sasha and Selene and said, “Sorry if that was rude, but I mean, you guys
are
kind of hot.”

“Thanks,” Sasha said flatly. Selene shot her a bewildered look, but she just shook her head as if to say,
Ignore him.

“I don’t think that’s how it was,” Callum said. “It definitely wasn’t romantic. But it was intense. He would come to her in her cell and spend hours just talking at her. She never responded or really listened, but it was like he just had to have her in the room for some reason. He hated her, but he wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“Of course he hated her,” Navin said. “She was the princess
of a country he and the terrorists he works for are hell-bent on destroying.”

Callum shrugged. “I don’t know. It just always seemed more personal than that. But I never saw them together or even met him myself. I only heard them through the wall.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the place they were holding you?” Thomas asked.

“They kept us underground, in this maze of rooms and hallways they call the catacombs,” Callum said. “When we escaped, we took a staircase up to the street and we saw Thirteen Bells—that’s what it’s called, right? That huge bell tower in the middle of the City Center?”

Thomas nodded. “What else? Did you get a good look at the building itself?”

“No,” Callum said. “We ran away so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to look around. All I know is that it’s near Thirteen Bells, and if the catacombs are anything to go by, the place is enormous. Our cells were near the kitchens, so we could smell the food being prepared.”

“Tell us everything you remember,” Adele said. “You never know what kind of small details will make a difference.”

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything else.” Callum sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “We were so close to being free. To being safe. I should have protected her.” He looked up, searching for a friendly face, and his gaze landed on Sasha. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect you. Why can’t I ever protect anybody?”

Sasha sank to her knees in front of him. “It’s not your job to protect her, Callum.” She gestured around the room at the KES agents. “It’s theirs.”

“I hate to agree with the analog, but she’s right,” Rocko said. “This is all Mayhew’s fault.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sasha said, shooting Rocko a
cold stare. A wave of tenderness washed through Thomas’s heart. He didn’t need Sasha to defend him, but it made him feel better that she did.

“Maybe not, but it’s the truth.”

“There is one other thing,” Callum said. “Late at night I could hear this thumping noise coming from upstairs. Juliana and I could never figure out what it was, but it happened all the time.”

“Thumping?” Cora’s face screwed up in confusion. “What kind of thumping?”

“I don’t know,” Callum said. “It sort of sounded like music, but why would they be playing music in their headquarters in the middle of the night?”

Fillmore’s face lit up. “I know where they’re keeping her. There’s a huge nightclub in the City Center across the street from Thirteen Bells. It’s called Martyr. Used to be a cathedral before the Church abandoned all its holdings in the Tattered City, and it’s rumored to be owned and operated by Libertas.”

“A nightclub.” Thomas smiled. He couldn’t help it. This was the very best piece of news he’d received all day. He glanced at Adele. “You know what that means, right?”

Adele nodded. “Carnival Columbia.”

“Carnival Columbia,” Thomas repeated. “We might just have found our way in.”

“What’s Carnival Columbia?” Sasha asked.

“It’s a national holiday in the UCC,” Callum explained, doing an admirable job of hiding his contempt. The prince likely had no respect for Commonwealth Independence Day celebrations, and Thomas didn’t blame him. It wasn’t as if Thomas had any interest in marking the day the people of
Farnham had seceded from the UCC and declared themselves their own country, either. “It’s tomorrow.”

“And what about Carnival Columbia is supposed to help us find Juliana?” Selene wondered. She’d been silent for quite a while, Thomas noticed. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to be overwhelmed, but the farther they traveled from the Labyrinth, the less in control and confident Selene seemed. She depended on Sasha more and spent much of her time lost in thought. But she was still formidable when she set her mind to something, and he felt her eyes boring into him now, searching for answers.

“Carnival Columbia is kind of an antiquated name,” Cora said. “Most people just call it the Night of the Masks.”

Sasha’s expression changed as understanding dawned on her, and then Selene. The way they shared information along the tether was incredibly unnerving. “Why?” Sasha asked.

Navin, who was a history buff, jumped in eagerly. “Well, back in 1789, John Rowan—he was governor of the New York Colony at the time—held a masquerade in honor of the new prince regent over in England.”

Tim laughed. “Now you’ve got him started, he’s going to lecture you on the last two hundred years. Buckle up.”

“I’ll keep it short,” Navin said with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, everyone who was anyone was at this party—the governors of all the other colonies, most of the high-ranking military officers, global ambassadors—and they were wearing masks. John Rowan’s personal militia provided security, which should’ve tipped everyone off right away, but they trusted Rowan; they thought he was one of them.

“About halfway through the party, just about the time people realized that John Rowan wasn’t actually
there,
word began to spread that armed insurgents had begun a siege of
both Boston and New York, overpowering the British troops. Meanwhile, most of the influential people in the colonies were trapped at St. Lawrence, at the mercy of John Rowan’s guard.”

“St. Lawrence?” Sasha repeated. “Didn’t Juliana’s mother give her St. Lawrence?”

Thomas nodded. “Rowan gifted St. Lawrence to the Deforts after the Second Revolution. Lionel Defort—Juliana’s very-great-grandfather on her mother’s side—played the part of John Rowan on the Night of the Masks and kept everyone from escaping or being smuggled out.”

“You said ‘most’ of the powerful people in the colonies were at St. Lawrence,” Sasha pointed out, turning to Navin. “Who wasn’t?”

“Well, John Rowan, for starters, but also Thomas Warren,” Navin said. “They were in Columbia City—which was still called New York back then—claiming it in the name of the new United Commonwealth of Columbia. Once the war was over, people started celebrating the Night of the Masks every July seventh.”

“With masquerades?” Selene guessed.

“That’s right,” Adele said. “They’ll have a Night of the Masks celebration at Martyr—every bar and restaurant and club in the whole country does—and as long as we’re on the guest list, we should be able to get in without anyone seeing our faces.”

“I’m sorry, but why would Libertas throw a Night of the Masks party?” Sasha asked. “For that matter, why would anyone who lives here, considering how much they hate the UCC?”

“Well, first of all, not everyone in the Tattered City is in league with Libertas,” Thomas said. “And it’s not easy to get people to let go of their traditions. Libertas has only been
around a quarter century; the UCC is eight times that old. Besides, holidays are lucrative opportunities, and if there’s anything Libertas likes more than stirring up conflict, it’s making money.”

He turned to Fillmore. “This is where you come in. We need tickets to the Martyr masquerade, clothes, and masks. Can you do that?”

Fillmore shot him a frog-faced grin. “This is what I was built for, Mayhew. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll have everything you need.” Fillmore hopped to his feet, and in a matter of seconds he was out the door.

“So we’re supposed to spend the next day and a half in this tiny room?” Callum asked.

“Oh no, Your Highness,” Tim said. “This is just the antechamber. It’s only for short-term stays. There’s much more to this safe house than that.” He strode to the bed and twisted the finial off one of the posts, exposing a small control panel. “Behold.”

There was a door in the wall right next to the bed, and when Tim pressed a button on the control panel, it slid open, revealing the cavernous interior of the safe house beyond.

“After you,” Tim said grandly.

hood off Juliana’s head, and she realized with sinking dread that she was right back where she started: a dark, damp cell in the catacombs of Libertas’s headquarters. But this time she wasn’t alone. In fact, she was the furthest thing from alone: the room was full of people, but it was so dimly lit that she couldn’t see any of their faces.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

“Turn on the light,” said a disembodied voice. Its owner was shielded by the darkness of the room, but she recognized him anyway. She’d spent so much time with the Shepherd over the past weeks, she heard him in her dreams. “I want to get a good look at her.”

Suddenly it was so bright she had to cover her face with her arm. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes; she bit her lip to keep from shedding them. Crying in front of Callum was one thing, but no way was she going to do it in front of the Shepherd.

She was surprised to see Lucas among the crowd. So much had changed after what happened in that Farnham prison. She’d become an inconvenience to Libertas instead of an asset, and Lucas had paid the price for it. He’d visited her sometimes, but he hadn’t dared to speak to her. He’d seemed so broken. She’d understood why he felt the need to sit with her, though: she was his coconspirator, someone who knew the size and shape of his guilt because it haunted her, too.

Lucas was silent as death in the corner. He
looked
like death, his skin pale and sallow, with sagging dark bruises under his eyes, his
lips chapped and bitten. He’d lost so much weight in the past weeks, his clothes hung wrong on his bones. He’d never been very strong to begin with, and Libertas was a demanding mistress.

There were a half-dozen other Libertines in the room, men and women. The Shepherd circled her slowly, taking special note of her face and hair, even going so far as to reach out and touch a lock of it.

“We’ll have to fix you up,” the Shepherd muttered. He gripped her chin in his hands and canted her head back and forth, side to side. “She’s bruised—who did this?” He threw an angry glance toward his cohorts, who shrank back and shook their heads:
Not me.
“Nobody touches her anymore, understand? We’ll have to cover what’s already here with makeup. Go tell Makenna.” The Libertine closest to the door—one of the men—hurried off with a sigh of relief. The Shepherd’s hold slackened, and Juliana ripped away, stumbling back. He caught her by the wrist, steadying her. She wrenched away again.

“Strip her down,” he said. He was, as always, dressed head to toe in black, every inch of skin covered by fabric except for his face, neck, and hands. She wondered what this getup was hiding; there was some faint pink puckering of the skin between the ear and shoulder of his right side: burns, long healed but permanent. She was so focused on the marks that it took a few seconds for his words to sink in.

“No!” she cried, wrapping her arms around her chest.

The Shepherd ignored her, addressing himself to the remaining Libertines in the room, Lucas exempted. She had a feeling he was there only to witness her humiliation, perhaps as his own punishment. “I want to see where we stand.”

She fought them, but they overpowered her, and soon she was shivering in only her underwear, which had grown too big for her. She was skinnier than she’d been when she left the Castle, and she could tell from the way his eye roamed the landscape of her body that this was what the Shepherd meant to discover from her nakedness. There wasn’t any lust in his eyes. To him, this was business.