Tandem: The Many-Worlds Trilogy

by Anna Jarzab

  Since his argument with Sasha a few hours before, all he could think about was her and Juliana and Lucas. He was consumed by confusion and questions and anger, which he’d unfairly taken out on Sasha. She was only trying to help, even if she was wrong. There was no way that what she’d said to him could be true. It was impossible. He knew his brother, and while Lucas had certainly been acting strangely the past few months, Thomas was sure it was because he was attempting to regain their father’s favor, to rise up in the KES the way Thomas had. Otherwise, why would the General have consented to allow Lucas to take the KES Trials this fall? Such a thing almost never happened. There was one way into active KES service and that was through the KES Academy, from which Lucas had been rejected three times—the maximum amount—before giving up. According to KES rules he was ineligible to apply again. That was why he was being so diffident and mysterious; he thought Thomas would resent him for trying to better his situation.

  And Juliana—well, it wasn’t even worth considering Sasha’s claims about her. Perhaps it had been hasty of him to imply that Sasha had developed a romantic attachment to him, that she was jealous, but it was the only conclusion he could reasonably come to. Sasha didn’t know Juliana; he did. He knew her better than probably anyone else alive. She’d confided in him. She trusted him with her life. If she’d wanted out, she would’ve come to him. At least, he thought she would. But even if she had, what would he have said to her? What would he have done?

  Still, he felt terrible about how he’d treated Sasha. She hadn’t asked for her visions, and she definitely hadn’t asked to be brought to Aurora to fill in for Juliana. He had done that to her. And it had been clear from the tentative way she’d broken her news to him this evening that she was trying to shield him from the awful truths she thought she possessed. In return he’d accused her, insulted her, hurt her deeply. He’d seen it all on her face, but he’d kept going, because he was afraid. He wasn’t used to feeling that way. He’d been surprised by it and hadn’t had time to recalibrate, to push it down and deny its hold over him. Sasha would never trust him again. He’d ruined everything that was forming between them, and it was too late to do anything about it.

  After leaving Sasha close to tears in the library, Thomas had returned to KES command central, where Captain Fawley, his superior when he was on Protective Service detail, was asking for volunteers to beef up security at the concert.

  “I’ll do it,” Thomas had said, so eager he practically tripped over the words.

  “You sure?” Fawley had asked. “Thought you might want to stick close to the Sparrow.”

  He’d shrugged. “Social event. She’s not going to want the hired help standing over her the whole night.” He felt guilty abandoning Sasha, fully aware that he was doing it only to get away from her and everything she made him feel, but it wasn’t as if she would be unprotected. There was an army of KES agents patrolling the North Terrace, where the cocktail hour was being held, and when the concert began she would be sitting in the front row, easily within range of his stage assignment.

  He’d spent all late afternoon watching as Gloria’s team set up the chairs and prepared the terrace for the pre-concert event. He’d also gotten a front row seat as a pair of sweaty movers in jeans and T-shirts unloaded the van the Columbia City Orchestra had sent over containing all the instruments and music stands for the night’s performance. Bedford had been with him. At some point they were standing near the van as one of the movers struggled to unload a tuba case with a violin case already in hand.

  “Can I get a little help here?” the mover asked.

  Bedford had shot Thomas a look of disbelief. “He can’t seriously be talking to us, right?” He turned back to the guy. “We’re KES, man. We’ve got our own jobs to do.”

  “Come on!” the guy grunted. “There’s only two of us and we’re running late.”

  “Not our problem,” Bedford scoffed.

  “I’ll help you,” Thomas offered, picking up the tuba case. “Where do you want it?”

  “Mayhew, what the hell are you doing?” Bedford demanded.

  “Just trying to be useful,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to do something active. Physical activity helped keep his roaming mind in check. With his help, the movers got everything unloaded in under an hour.

  But now that the event was about to start, Thomas’s entire being was supposed to be focused on watching out for possible Libertas activity. Thomas glanced around the backdrop and saw that Sasha and Callum were making their way to the front row, which meant everyone else would start filing in soon. He thought he saw Sasha notice him, but he pulled his head back in so quickly he couldn’t be sure.

  You’re a damn coward, Thomas told himself.

  Soon, everyone was seated; Sasha and Callum were in the front row with the queen and a handful of distinguished politicians. The General had been invited, of course, but he didn’t do events like this. He was much more of a behind-the-scenes man. For this Thomas was glad. The last thing he needed was the General’s scrutiny.

  The orchestra took the stage in silence. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the stage and the aurora whirling high above.

  “I’m going to go do a sweep,” Bedford announced. “You coming, Mayhew?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Gotta keep an eye on S—parrow.” He’d almost said her name. How was he supposed to do his job when he couldn’t even get the simplest things right?

  Bedford nodded and disappeared into the darkness of the wings as the orchestra struck up their first piece, a dark, fast-paced number that burrowed into his heart like a drill. The strings cried out, driven wild by the cadence of war drums. Thomas recognized the piece; it was called “Revolution,” composed in the early eighteen hundreds to commemorate the formation of the Commonwealth.

  When “Revolution” was over, the conductor waited for the applause to die down before leading the orchestra into their next piece, a dreamy sonata. Thomas began to relax. Everything was going well; the audience seemed to be enjoying the performance, the orchestra was playing perfectly, and everyone was safe.

  There was a crackling noise on his earpiece. “Hey Mayhew?” It was Bedford, of course.

  “Yeah?” Thomas spoke clearly, knowing that the rowan pin would transmit his voice despite the background noise from the orchestra.

  “Where’d they put all the instrument cases?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The noise makers are all on stage, but where’d they put their houses?” Bedford said. He was trying to sound jovial, but his voice carried a dark undercurrent.

  “Back in the van,” Thomas told him. “It’s parked behind the stage. Why?”

  “We’ve got to stop the concert,” Bedford said, serious now. “I’m under the stage and there’s a violin case down here.”

  “Just one?”

  “Just one.”

  Thomas knew what Bedford was thinking—a bomb. It was exactly the conclusion he would jump to if he’d found it. But he had to ask: “Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m not sure! Would you like me to give it a little shake?” Bedford cried.

  “I’ll find Greenberg.” Agent Greenberg was the agent in charge, and if the event was going to be evacuated it would have to be on his orders.

  Thomas tracked Greenberg to the stage’s back stairs, where he was standing guard. “Bedford thinks he found a bomb.”

  “Where?” Greenberg demanded.

  “Under the stage. He thinks we should evacuate the area.”

  “How does he know it’s a bomb?”

  “He doesn’t, but he found a violin case down there, and all the other instrument cases are in the van out back,” Thomas told him.

  Greenberg nodded. He put his hand to his earpiece. “Bedford, are you on the mike?”

  “Yeah, boss,” Bedford said.

  “Circle the perimeter and tell me if you see a timer.”

  There was a pause. “I think there’s one … Oh, s
h—”

  “Bedford!” Greenberg cried.

  “We’ve got ninety seconds,” Bedford told him flatly. Thomas’s whole body felt heavy, like his clothes were lined with lead. There wasn’t time to pull in the bomb squad. They’d have to make a run for it.

  “Bedford, get the hell out of there now.” Greenberg turned to Thomas. “I’ll handle the evacuation. You find the princess and keep her safe, you got it? Do nothing else.”

  Thomas didn’t hesitate; he just took off running. Sasha, he thought as he reached the edge of the stage. The crowd looked up at him, wide-eyed, as a soaring symphony crashed behind him like waves. He counted in his head: Eighty-five seconds, eighty-four seconds, eighty-three seconds … He had to find Sasha. He had to find her now.

  Thomas leapt off the stage, landing only three feet in front of her. She stood, surprised and alarmed to see him there. He reached her in the space of a moment—eighty seconds—and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her in close.

  “There’s a bomb,” he whispered in her ear. She froze, but he wasn’t going to let her just stand there. No matter what had happened before, it was his job to keep her safe, and he was going to do that if it killed him.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Callum shouted, but when his eyes met Thomas he saw the seriousness in them and backed off. If there was anything the prince understood, it was the importance of letting security do their job. “What’s happening?”

  The orchestra was so wrapped up in their performance that they didn’t notice the action that was taking place right at their feet.

  “Let’s go,” Thomas said to Sasha. It wasn’t his job to protect Callum, or the queen; they had their own security details, agents who were coming for them now, streaming off the stage behind him and down the center aisle. Sasha nodded and held tight to his arm as they wound their way through the rising chaos. People crowded around them, voices raised, emotions running high, but Sasha shut her eyes and let Thomas lead her through. They had just reached the end of the lawn when Thomas heard Bedford’s voice in his ear—“Thomas?” He looked back instinctively, like Lot’s wife sneaking one last glance at Sodom and Gomorrah, and Sasha followed his lead.

  One second.

  The aurora in the sky was obliterated by a blinding plume of light.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking up from her book. The matron who had been bringing her meals and cleaning up her room each day since she got to the farmhouse was standing in the doorway, eyeing her suspiciously. The woman had a Libertas patch sewn on to her ill-fitting black button-down shirt; Juliana guessed it must’ve belonged to a man before, possibly her husband, although she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to get into bed with this dumpy old woman.

  The woman held up a bowl full of purple goop and a plastic poncho. “You’re ta have yur hair dyed,” she said sharply. She must’ve been from nearby; her Farnham Country accent betrayed her, with its clipped consonants and gutteral creaks. “Sit in the chair.”

  “What? I’m not dying my hair, are you crazy?” Her hands flew to her head. She took great pride in her hair, which was a beautiful chestnut brown, thick and straight and glossy. There was no way she was going to let them touch it.

  “Shepherd’s orders, ma’am,” the woman said. She pulled the chair out from beneath the desk and gestured to it. “Sit.”

  The woman always called her “ma’am,” never “Your Highness,” something that hadn’t escaped Juliana’s attention. No one in Libertas felt any compulsion to show her deference. They didn’t believe in her, didn’t have any loyalty to the crown. She’d never met anyone who refused to defer to her because she was royalty, and she didn’t like feeling powerless.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, moving to the chair. It was worthless to fight them, she’d learned. They had her trapped in this house, and no one who worked here was even the slightest bit inclined to help her in any way. No matter what they asked, or how hard she resisted, in the end she always had to do as they told her. And now that she’d given them what they wanted, it was distinctly possible—even likely—that whatever they asked was part of their plan to fulfill their end of the bargain. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. If she knew the General, he had the KES scouring the country for her, and the KES always found what it was looking for. Eventually they’d find out that she’d been smuggled into Farnham, and then they’d be on top of her. She didn’t want to give them the chance.

  “ ’Cuz the Shepherd toll me to,” the woman said. She separated Juliana’s hair into several pieces before coating it with the goop.

  “Ouch!” Juliana cried. The woman was not being gentle. “I mean, why do they need my hair dyed?”

  “Got no idea. Maybe so’s it’s hard ter reconnize ya wur yur goin’.”

  “And do you know where that is?” Juliana pressed.

  “Course no,” the woman scoffed. “Ya think they lemme in on their secrets? I’m just a Second Tier. I follow orders. I dunno plans.”

  I dunno plans, either, Juliana thought as the woman continued to tug at her hair. But someday. Someday I’ll have my own plans. And nobody has to know them but me.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I sat in Juliana’s bedroom, a coverlet hanging around my shoulders. I was holding a mug of hot tea, but I couldn’t bring myself to choke it down. The royal physician—the real one, this time—had patched me up, promising there would be no scar, but my head ached where it had slammed against the terrace when the bomb blast knocked me over. I hadn’t mentioned the fact that I’d had another vision to anyone; I’d half hoped Dr. Moss would attend to my scratches instead of Dr. Rowland so that I could confide in someone, because Gloria had no idea about my connection with Juliana, and I wasn’t exactly speaking to Thomas. The vision had made something clear to me—they were getting ready to move Juliana. They had a plan, and they were starting to implement it. Soon, she might be so far away that there was no hope for getting her back again. The prospect chilled me straight to the hollows of my bones. If there was no chance that Juliana would return, did that mean I was doomed to stay trapped in her life forever?

  “I’m okay,” I assured Gloria, who was rushing around trying to make me comfortable, barking orders at everyone. Shaken as I was, I didn’t want Gloria fussing over me; it was only making me more anxious.

  “Gloria, calm down,” Thomas said. “She’s all right.”

  “She’s all right? She’s all right? And how the hell do you know that?” Gloria demanded.

  “Because she just said so.” I hid my face in the mug of tea, breathing in its strong, jasmine scent. Thomas was riling Gloria up in the hopes that her anger would distract her from her fear; it appeared to be working.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of shock?”

  “She’s not in shock. You screaming at everybody within a fifty-mile radius might change that, though.”

  “You.” Gloria pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You did this. You brought her here, you put her in danger. This is your fault!”

  Thomas said nothing. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t raise mine to meet them. I didn’t want to look at him. Every time I did I heard his voice in my head, his accusations and his insults, and I got angry all over again.

  “You KES won’t rest until we’re all dead in the ground, will you?” Gloria said, her voice taut. “Frank, Bedford, Sasha … you don’t care who gets hurt as long as you get what you want.”

  “I’m sorry about Frank,” Thomas told her. From his tone, I could tell he meant it, but I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Who was Frank?

  Gloria worried her engagement ring between her fingers. She straightened her shoulders. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

  “He was a good agent,” Thomas continued.

  “I know he was!” she seethed.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Who’s Frank?”

  Gloria ignored the question, and Thomas chose not to answer it in deference to her. �
�Your fiancé?” I guessed, noting the way Gloria continued to play with her engagement ring.

  Gloria drew in a deep breath. “Frank was KES. He was with the king the day he was shot.”

  “Did he … ?” I couldn’t bring myself to complete the question.

  “No. But a bullet tore through his spinal cord. He’ll never walk again.” Gloria closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again they were wet with tears.

  “Oh, Gloria.” I stood, shrugging off the blanket and putting my arms around her. Gloria leaned into the hug, patting my back softly and then stepping back. When I looked at her face, the grief was gone, a mask of professionalism in its place. What was it about the people in the Citadel that made them so adept at doing that?

  “So,” Gloria said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “The question is, how do we move forward?”

  “What do you mean?” I wondered.

  “Clearly you’re not safe here,” Gloria said. Thomas nodded in agreement. “We need to remove you from the Castle for the time being, put you somewhere that nobody can get to you.”

  “Like where?”

  “The royal family owns several estates up and down the East Coast. Any one of them is safer than the Castle right now, it seems, but we can’t take you too far away, with the wedding set for Saturday.”

  “That’s still happening?” Surely with the Libertas threat so high they would rethink the circus wedding in favor of something more private. The treaty didn’t need a huge, expensive ceremony to be ratified, only that Callum and Juliana be officially married. Or so I’d gathered.

  “It’s all planned,” Gloria said. “The queen won’t be moved. She refuses to be intimidated into canceling.”

  “Right now the plan is to take you and Callum away from the Castle until Friday evening for the gala. The queen will stay here to maintain some semblance of strength and defiance,” Thomas said. “We leave tomorrow morning, so, Gloria, you should help Sasha pack.”