The Founders

by Dylan Steel

  “His intelligence had little to do with it,” Weston said, still unconcerned. “Like everyone else, he was placed into that role because he was the most fitting member of the graduating class and there happened to be an opening. Nothing more.”

  Sage’s hands balled into fists at her side. “Weston, I know him. He trained me before he graduated, and he—he killed my best friend. He’s capable of anything.”

  “I know what he’s done.” Weston scowled. “In fact, I’ve had many occasions to interact with the man since he graduated—many more than you. I have a great deal of familiarity with how he thinks. What he does. Trust me when I say he wasn’t behind the bombing.”

  More arguments flew through her mind, but it was obvious Weston wasn’t going to be dissuaded of his opinion.

  “Fine,” she mumbled. It wasn’t fine, actually. He was wrong, but it wasn’t a point worth arguing over. The whole thing was hypothetical for the moment anyway. They’d know the truth about the next nominee soon enough. Maybe after she was proved right, he’d listen to her the next time—maybe about something more important.

  His eyes locked on hers, and he leaned forward, setting a hand on her arm. “And, Sage?”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat went dry at the intensity of his gaze.

  “Yeah?” she asked a little more huskily than she’d intended.

  He blinked, breaking the spell.

  “This is a war. Don’t make the mistake of assuming you know anyone.”

  11. SWITCHED

  “Who made it?”

  Sage ran her fingers over the smooth amethyst gem at the top of the hairpiece. It looked exactly like she remembered, but this wasn’t the real relic. It was just an impressive forgery.

  Weston’s eyebrow ticked up slightly. “It’s better for you not to know all the details.”

  Right. Compartmentalize information. Her cheeks reddened.

  He turned his face toward the window. His expression tightened. “Time to put it away. We’re almost there.”

  Blowing out a breath to calm her racing heart, Sage tucked the comb into a pocket deep in the folds of her skirt. She clenched her jaw, staring out the window as they neared the entrance to Grayson’s manor.

  They’d planned and practiced as much as possible over the past few weeks, but she didn’t think anything could really prepare her for what might happen if she got caught today. She wasn’t even sure exactly how bad things could get, but she’d seen the concern in Weston’s eyes when she’d tried to ask. He’d told her a few vague possibilities, but really, he’d refused to answer. That had been more than enough to convince her she didn’t want to find out.

  Turning back to her, he searched her eyes for any sign of nerves. He must have seen some because he set his hand on hers, giving it a light squeeze.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but the trailer lurched to a stop, and his hand slipped away. A moment later, Jonah was standing in front of the door, holding it open for the two of them.

  There was no malice in his eyes as he helped her down from the trailer this time. Sage wasn’t sure if she was imagining things, but she thought she’d noticed a change in a lot of the staff’s attitude toward her ever since she’d agreed to become Lawless. If she had to guess, she’d say well over half of the Bennick estate was Lawless—a number far greater than what she assumed to be true within Eprah’s city gates.

  Of course, it was still just a guess. No one had exactly declared their loyalties to her—not even Eliza or Martha—but they knew way too much to be anything other than Lawless.

  Her heart beat against her ribs wildly as they walked down the path to the manor. She wanted to glance at Weston and see if he was nervous, but she didn’t dare. Besides, he’d had years of practice hiding his true feelings in this world. She needed to worry about herself.

  Sucking in a breath, she steeled her emotions as they climbed the stairs and reminded herself that it was fine if she appeared afraid. Grayson probably expected it.

  It wasn’t too hard to remember that she was supposed to act meek around Edward Grayson. Truthfully, she was relieved she didn’t need to offer any defense for her actions. Her benefactor spoke for her, and that was enough for Grayson—it had to be. As far as he knew, Weston had dealt thoroughly with her former insubordination.

  Now, her job was to sell the story.

  Despite the way it grated on her to do so, she needed to appear tamed and broken, not rebellious. She needed him to dismiss her without going through the conscious effort of doing so. She needed to be invisible.

  Even her outfit had been picked out to make her seem as nonthreatening as possible. She was wearing a fitted black off-the-shoulder top with a modest dip at the neckline and a pale violet skirt—quite full, of course, to be able to hide the relic in it without suspicion. The goal was to appear naive, not overly distracting.

  Of course, she wasn’t thrilled she was still forced to wear something she’d never choose on her own, but that was kind of the point. If Weston controlled her, it wasn’t a stretch to assume he’d even be picking out her clothes. This outfit was well suited to a benefactor’s pair, which meant it was far less subtle than she’d have liked.

  Before either of them could knock, the door opened in front of them. A stern-looking man with a thin mustache stood there, assessing them silently. Sage had never seen him before—or at least, she didn’t recognize him from the party, but everyone had been wearing masks then.

  Weston cleared his throat. “I believe Mr. Grayson is expecting me.”

  The man nodded and finally stepped aside, sweeping his arm in front of him. “This way.”

  He led them inside, down the main staircase and into the same hallway they’d been down before. Sage paid close attention at every turn—she needed to remember how to get back, and seeing the rooms in person was different than studying them on a databook screen.

  Stopping in front of a heavy wooden door, the man held up a hand, indicating that they should wait. He knocked once then disappeared into the room.

  Sage curled her fingers inside her gloves, wishing her palms would stop sweating. She bit her lip and glanced up at Weston to see if he was faring any better than she was. He kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring her completely. Dropping her eyes, she berated herself inwardly, not sure why she’d bothered looking to him for reassurance. They were well past that point, already in the middle of their charade. But it still stung.

  “Mr. Grayson will see you now,” the man said, reappearing in the doorway.

  Weston nodded slightly in acknowledgment, pushing the door open the rest of the way as the man left them alone. Sage’s eyes widened when she saw the benefactor’s office. It was a little smaller than Weston’s, but it was far more elaborate. Gaudy decorations dripped from the walls and sprang up from the floor every few feet, leaving a relatively small path open that led to his desk.

  “Edward.” Weston strode forward purposefully, extending his hand.

  His eyes flicked between Sage and her benefactor. For a moment, she didn’t think Grayson was going to reciprocate, but then he stretched out his own hand.

  “Weston.” His tone was nowhere near as warm. He motioned to the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  Weston sat immediately, but Sage hesitated behind him.

  Grayson’s brow quirked up at her indecision. “I’m not going to offer twice, girl.”

  Dropping her eyes, she forced down the indignation that burned in her chest. She knew he knew her name—he just wasn’t willing to use it. Another petty power play.

  Bowing her head, Sage started to move toward the other chair, but Weston held out his arm, stopping her.

  “Actually, Edward, most of what I’d like to discuss with you needs to be discussed in private.”

  An amused smile crossed over Grayson’s face. “No longer sharing everything with your pair?”

  “This discussion goes beyond the
scope of our pairing,” Weston said coolly, “but even if it did not, I know you are aware of certain… issues we’ve encountered.”

  Grayson pursed his lips. “Indeed.”

  Weston released his hold on her. “Wait outside, Sage.”

  She nodded and took a step back, walking toward the door.

  “Oh, and Miss Indarra—”

  She froze, turning to meet Grayson’s icy glare.

  “See that you don’t cause any more issues while you’re here,” Grayson said, the warning clear in his voice.

  “No, sir,” she mumbled meekly, then quickly turned and reached for the door, hoping he had nothing more to say.

  “No need to worry. Her tether will keep her from…” Weston’s voice muffled into unintelligible sounds behind the thick wooden door as soon as she closed it behind her.

  Glancing up and down the hall, she waited a few seconds and listened hard, making sure she was alone. Once she was convinced none of Grayson’s household was nearby, she started backtracking the way they’d come. Weston had loaded the manor’s layout on her databook and insisted she memorize it, but she didn’t need the plans to remember where Grayson’s shrine was. That room had been burned into her memory the last time she was there.

  Clenching her fists, she turned the corner and closed the distance to the room she was looking for. Stepping inside, she sucked in a breath as the eerie nature of the room hit her full force in the light of day.

  Lifting her chin, Sage stood tall as she walked into the room. Grayson might think she’d been broken, but she knew better. Everything about him disgusted her, and she avoided looking at any of the other cases as she headed straight for the one that housed the statue with the amethyst comb.

  Pausing, she shot another quick glance around, straining to see or hear any signs of company. Satisfied no one was about to join her, she walked around the case until she found the lock, then knelt in front of it.

  Exhaling slowly, Sage peeled off the glove on her left hand. She reached inside the sleeve of her right hand and placed her finger on a small sliver of metal there, pressing her fingerprint against it. The glove she was still wearing stiffened, and a strange new pattern appeared over her palm.

  She smirked. Grayson’s hand print. Weston had spent years acquiring prints from all the benefactors and other leaders. The only one he hadn’t managed to procure was the one from the Venerable Nicholas Pruitt, but that no longer mattered now that he was dead.

  Placing her gloved hand on the palm scanner, she held her breath until the light changed colors. The case door unlocked, and she pried it open gingerly, grabbing it by the edges so that she didn’t leave any smudges behind.

  Holding her breath, she stood on her tiptoes, reaching into the case. Balancing precariously on one leg, she teetered a little as she leaned forward and grabbed the handle of the comb. Fortunately, it was delicately placed in the wig and didn’t offer much resistance as she tugged it backward, freeing it.

  Sage pulled out the forgery and dropped the real comb into her pocket, careful to keep the two separate so she didn’t mix them up. Stretching up on her toes again, she tucked the fake comb in the same place on the braid.

  She ran her bare fingers over the hair, smoothing the part of the braid she’d accidentally tugged loose. She didn’t stop until it looked exactly as she remembered, not a hair out of place.

  Wrinkling her nose at the unnatural, wiry feeling of the hair, Sage dropped her hand to her side the instant she finished. At least she could be relieved that Grayson hadn’t gone so far as saving his pairs’ tresses for his collection.

  Small comforts.

  Buffing off a smudge she’d left on the glass, she took one last appraising look at the statue and closed the door, letting out a breath of relief as she stood with a gloved hand against the glass. Mission accomplished.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sage’s heart leapt into her throat. She pulled on her other glove and turned around slowly, seeing a wide-eyed Pippa standing at the edge of the room.

  “Sage?” Pippa’s eyes lowered, settling on her pocket. Her brow furrowed as her eyes flicked back to Sage’s. “Why are you in here?”

  “I—”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Sage swallowed. Her mind was racing as fast as her heart, trying to come up with an excuse even though she knew there wasn’t one. “Please don’t tell,” she begged softly.

  “You want me to keep a secret from him,” she said, her tone flat.

  “You know what he’s like,” Sage said. “I know what they’re all like.”

  “I can’t keep secrets from him.” Pippa shook her head slowly.

  “Pippa—”

  “You know I can’t,” she snapped. Despite her brusque tone, she actually looked sorry.

  “He doesn’t need all the details.”

  “If I don’t tell him what I saw…” She stopped herself. Her lips twisted in a painful grimace. “I have to.”

  “But what did you actually see?” Sage pressed, trying not to sound too desperate. “You saw an old friend today. Just me wandering around the manor while I was waiting for my benefactor to finish a meeting. That’s all. Not even worth mentioning, but if you want to tell him you saw me, there’s no harm done there.”

  Pippa caught her lip between her teeth, looking uncertain.

  “Please,” she said again, capturing Pippa’s gaze, refusing to let her look away. “I didn’t hurt anything.”

  Silence stretched between them as Sage pleaded with Pippa with her eyes.

  “I guess… it was good to see a friend today while I was going for a walk,” Pippa finally said, her voice strained and dull. She stiffened, then added, “But you should go now.”

  Nodding, Sage hurried to the edge of the room, pausing as she reached her friend. Hesitating for only a moment, she threw her arms around Pippa, squeezing her tight.

  “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear.

  She pulled away before a tear could fall down her cheek, rushing back to the hallway outside Grayson’s office as her heart thumped a strong rhythm in time with her footsteps. As long as Pippa kept the secret, she’d be alright.

  And once they made it safely off the estate, they’d have all the relics they needed to finish deciphering the journals.

  12. SACRISVITA

  In the space between waking and sleeping, Sage sensed a presence hovering over her. Her eyes flew open, and she jerked up quickly, throwing her arms up defensively. A strong pair of hands caught her, holding her still.

  “Whoa, whoa—easy. It’s just me.”

  “Weston?” Blinking in the darkness, she took in a slow, ragged breath to ease the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He released her, and she rubbed the back of her fist over her blurry eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” His figure shifted, and she felt the side of the bed cave under his weight as he sat beside her. “I kept thinking about the journals. Now that we have all the relics…”

  She groaned, rolling her head back so it rested against the headboard with a soft thump of protest. “It’s not like we’ll be able to read them that soon. I added the last pages, and the program’s been running the decryption for two days already. We can’t do anything else right now. Except sleep,” she said pointedly, scooting back down under the covers.

  “The translation’s almost done.”

  “What?” She sat straight up, fully awake now. “How is that even poss—?”

  “I asked Eliza for some help too. She’s an excellent student of linguistics.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now. That’s why I came to get you. I thought you’d like to know.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Yeah. Shoulda led with that,” she grumbled, pushing at him as she tried to scramble out of bed.

  Chuckling, he stood and grabbed her hand to help her up. She snatched her robe off t
he end of the bed, throwing it over her shoulders as she followed him out the door to the library in his room.

  She picked up the databook and plopped down in the chair, settling in as Weston disappeared into the other room. She tapped the side of the screen impatiently, waiting for the file to finish loading. It looked like it was just minutes away.

  Weston reappeared, setting a steaming mug on the table beside her. “In case you need some help waking up.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, scared to lift her eyes from the screen and risk missing the file’s arrival.

  He took a seat across from her. She didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the tablet.

  “It’ll be a few minutes yet,” he said, the edges of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

  She sighed, setting the databook in her lap as she grabbed the drink and took a sip. She shut her eyes and moaned. “That’s good.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “What time is it?” she asked, fighting back a yawn. Her need for sleep was already starting to catch up with her.

  “Late. Or early, depending on your perspective I suppose,” he said.

  She snorted, raising her glass as she stole another glance at the databook. Nothing yet.

  “I don’t think I ever did tell you—” he ran his thumb back and forth over the mug in his own hands as his gaze met hers, cutting to her soul, “—how brave you were. Stealing the relic from Grayson.”

  A little heat touched her cheeks as she dropped her eyes. “It was nothing. Anyone would’ve done it.”

  “That’s not true,” he said firmly. He leaned forward and set his hand on her knee, sending a nervous thrill along her whole body. She licked her lips. “And I’m not just saying that because you were the logical choice. Sage, you—”

  “Ooooh,” she squealed, cutting him off. “The translation’s done!”

  He pursed his lips and nodded, pulling his hand back. Whatever he’d been about to say had been lost. Her leg suddenly felt very cold from his absence, but she pushed the thought from her mind. This was what they were waiting for—what Eprah was waiting for. She didn’t have time to question what she was feeling when the weight of so many lives fell on her shoulders. Besides, she was probably reading too much into it anyway.