by Tania Hutley
“Who were the people Bayley mentioned? The ones who were killed?”
“Her brothers. The four of us were brought up together, though they objected to my presence. They thought I should have stayed in Triton.”
My heart constricts. Maybe there’s a reason Sentin never wants to show any emotion. Perhaps it was beaten out of him. There were people at the shelter like that, hollow-eyed, and carved out inside. People who’d used up all their fear and had nothing left.
“Sounds rough.” I don’t try to keep my sympathy out of my voice.
He looks back down at the candle’s dancing flame. “Your childhood must have been rougher. I had plenty to eat, and I spent my days learning.”
“My life only got hard after my father died. Before that, we lived in an apartment, and I went to school. Most of my early memories are good ones.” I don’t mention that sometimes in the shelter, I used to curse those memories. The problem with having it so good and then losing it all, is being aware of exactly how far you’ve fallen.
“I have some good memories too. My schooling in Deiterra was problematic, but I liked going to university in Triton.”
“You were bullied at school, as well as at home?”
He hesitates, lifting his drink and taking a sip before he answers. “I was an outsider, who found the lessons simplistic. That seemed to be a point of contention.”
I can guess how it must have been. The other kids must have resented him showing them up.
I think I’m finally starting to understand Sentin. Like me, he wants to change the things that affected him most. For him, that’s the divide between Deiterra and Triton, and I get why he wants to tear down the wall.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I have a strong urge to reach across the table and touch his hand, but I’m not sure how he’d respond. He’d probably look at me as though I’m crazy.
He puts his glass down. “Thank you. But your pity’s misplaced. If I hadn’t lived in Deiterra as a child, we wouldn’t have been allowed to come here, and no treaty would be possible. The imperator has an extreme dislike of outsiders, and we’re lucky he considers me enough of a Deiterran to let me bring you here.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but I know his lack of expression is just a mask he puts on.
“Can I ask you something, Sentin? Why do the legionnaires call you sir?” I’m half expecting him to avoid the question, but his gaze stays direct as he answers.
“Because my father was the ambassador. Like most positions here, it’s a hereditary title, and considered a military post. Therefore, I outrank the legionnaires who escorted us to Reliance.”
I blink at him. “Hereditary title? Are you saying you’re the new Deiterran ambassador?”
He gives a small shrug. “For years it’s been a ceremonial position with no real power.”
“Still. Why didn’t I know you were the new ambassador?”
“It’s not important. All his title did was grant my father access to high-profile events in Triton that he wanted to attend.”
“I guess you don’t need a title to go anywhere, right? You’re the president’s right-hand man, and even if you weren’t, I bet you’d find a way to get in wherever you wanted.”
I drain the last of my drink, and right on cue, Bayley comes over with two more.
“The legionnaires are sitting at one of the outside tables, trying to be inconspicuous.” She places our drinks in front of us. “How are you going to leave without them seeing you?”
“Go out and ask if you can take their order. While they’re distracted, we’ll sneak behind the bar.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You’ll owe me, Sentin. Even more than you owe me now, I mean. I cleared enough space for you to get to the door, except for the heaviest boxes.”
He digs in his pocket for another coin, but stops when she flicks one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not talking about money, stupid. You’re so literal.”
I suppress a smile. Judging from her insult, they must have been close. At least Sentin had one friend here.
“Then I’ll owe you a favor,” he says.
“I’d settle for a proper catch up, sometime when you’re not running from the legion.”
His shoulders drop a little, as though the tension is ebbing out of him, and I finally realize he must have been nervous about seeing her. He nods, and for the first time, a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “I’d like that, Bayley. I promise, if I can find a way to make it happen, I will.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She nods at him, then me, and heads outside to speak to the legionnaires.
Sentin watches her go. A few moments later, he motions for me to follow and scoots out from the booth, crouching low. We dash behind the bar, then through the door to a little storage area filled with bottles on shelves and in cartons. He pushes his way through the cartons, then shifts a couple out of the way to reveal an old, rusted door that’s obviously never used.
The lock turns with a harsh, reluctant sound, and Sentin throws his weight into forcing the old hinges to open. We step through the gap into a small, foul-smelling back alley, and when we’re through, he pushes the door shut behind us.
“This way.” He takes off down the alley, running silently, faster than I would have expected. Because he’s so smart, I hadn’t expected him to be athletic, but I suppose his lean body is probably well suited for running long distances.
We stick to dark roads, but then again, for all I know, the whole of Deiterra might be this dark and quiet at night. Sentin seems to know where he’s going, so I just put my head down and follow, keeping the headscarf pulled over my face and sticking to the deepest shadows in case anyone happens to glance out from a window.
Funny, I used to stand out because of my scars, not because my face was too perfect.
Sentin stops to peer around the corner of a building. “It’s just ahead.”
“What is? The barracks?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “The knights aren’t in the barracks.”
“If they’re not answering when you call, how do you know where they are?”
“Each has a tracking device.”
“So they went silent, then they moved? That doesn’t sound good.”
“Come on.” He slips around the corner, keeping low and close to the building. This street is just as dark as all the others, but instead of cute houses with gardens, it’s lined with ugly block buildings. They’re all dark and quiet, and I assume they’re buildings where people work, rather than homes.
Sentin stops outside one of them and peers in its front window. Then he tiptoes down the side of the building, looking into every window he comes to, and testing them to see if they’ll open. At the rear of the building, there’s only a narrow gap between the building and a high brick wall. The windows on this side are smaller.
He stops beside one and takes off the light jacket he’s wearing.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’ll break the glass.” He starts winding the cloth around his hand.
“You’ve already been injured by broken glass.” I take the jacket from him, though the wound on his hand is healing well. “Let me do it. I’m stronger, and I don’t cut easily.”
Using the jacket to cover my fist, I punch out the glass. The noise seems much louder than it should be, because the night is so silent.
I drape the jacket over the windowsill in case there are slivers of glass, and give Sentin a boost up. He scrambles inside, and I follow, dropping lightly inside a small room that’s pitch black. It looks like a storage room, lined with shelves. It’s only because my vision is so good that I can make out the door.
I turn the handle slowly and ease the door open. The hallway outside is silent, and almost as dark. The building feels empty. I can’t hear any movement.
Sentin must be thinking the same thing, because he touches a switch and a light flickers on in the hallway. Rooms come off it on either side, their doors all open.
The only closed door is at the far end. Stepping forward, I peer into the first room.
A familiar sight sends a chill down my spine. It’s some kind of laboratory.
A trolley has medical instruments laid out on it, next to a long table that holds a lot of other equipment. I recognise a microscope, but little else.
Sentin steps into the room and looks into a glass cabinet in the corner. He opens it, and cold air blasts out, along with a terrible smell. It’s a fridge, and whatever in there has gone bad.
He pulls out a dish. “They didn’t get all the tissue out,” he murmurs.
I move next to him, and frown at the mass of circuitry in the dish. Some has bits of meat embedded in it. My stomach starts churning, and not just because of the horrible stench coming from it. “Is that part of a Skin’s brain? Is it what happened to the knights we brought with us?”
He shakes his head. “It’s older than that. The brain matter has long decayed.” He puts the dish back and closes the fridge door. “Come on.”
In the next lab, we find a knight’s dismembered arms and hands. In the next, its legs. Each room has more parts, but together they must make only two or three knights, at the most.
In the last few labs, we find bigger machinery that barely fits into the small lab rooms, and reminds me of the manufacturing equipment I worked with in the factory.
“They’re trying to manufacture their own Skins,” explains Sentin. He turns on a bright overhead lamp, then uses a pair of tweezers to pick up a chip. “Not functional yet,” he mutters. Frowning he peers more closely at the chip. “I’ll need to put this under a microscope to be sure, but they’re closer than I thought they’d be to duplicating our technology. This part of it, at least.” He brings his gaze up to meet mine. His usual mask has dropped away. His brow is creased, and his expression troubled. “I’d considered it unlikely they’d be this far advanced. They must have a source of information I hadn’t factored into my calculations. Perhaps some help from a scientist involved in the Skin program.”
“They can create their own Skin army?” I ask.
“Not yet. But soon.”
I swallow, imagining the carnage if that happened. We’d have to rebuild our own Skin army to hold them back. It would be the Skin Hunter contest all over again, but on an epic scale, with hundreds or thousands of Skins. Whatever battleground they fought on would be destroyed, along with any civilians caught in the crossfire.
“Where are the knights we brought with us?” I ask.
“There’s only one more place left to look.” He puts the chip down and we move to the closed door at the end of the hall.
I’m in front of Sentin, so I’m the one who slowly opens the door. My eyes focus on what’s inside, and I jerk backward, my heart racing. The room’s full of people.
But of course it isn’t.
I drag in a deep breath, then push the door fully open so the light from the hall shines in. The room is full of knights, not people. They’re all standing perfectly still. I step inside and check all the Skins, searching for…
There he is. One knight has a bright yellow stain on his armored hand, and my gut clenches. It’s Clayton.
Sentin is busy examining one of the other Skins. “No visible damage,” he says. “That means their chips were wiped. They must have developed a method to erase data from the internal chip from a distance. Perhaps they used a sonic pulse, but the equipment in the labs suggested it was a directional weapon. We need to do a more intensive search of the building.”
“Now they have forty-seven more Knight Skins. We’ve already given them a ready-made army.”
“Not yet. They’re missing an important piece of the puzzle.” He lifts one hand to tap the back of his neck.
“Our chips. They don’t have any to copy?” I lift my own hand to touch my neck. “The one in your human body’s different to the ones in the Skins?”
He nods. “It’s complicated to explain, but in a sense, one is the controller.”
“They know we have chips. You and Cale, anyway, because you were in the Skin Hunter contest. And they probably think I have one too. What’s to stop them cutting us open and extracting our chips?”
Sentin turns toward the door. “They won’t do that until we’ve outlived our usefulness as hostages.”
“What?” I go after him, putting my hand on his arm to stop him. “We’re hostages?”
“Without the knights to protect us, we’re at their mercy.”
“Then we need to get Cale and go back to Triton.” I swallow, thinking of Tori. I have no idea how to find her, but how can I leave without trying?
He shakes his head. Although he sounds calm, his gray eyes are as hard as iron. “Not without negotiating a peace treaty. It’s vital we do that now. If we leave, communication will cease and another war is inevitable.”
“How are we going to negotiate a peace treaty when they’re holding all the cards?”
Sentin sweeps his gaze around the knights and his jaw tightens. “We’ll find a way.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I’m awake early and seated at the table in the imperator’s fancy dining room before Cale or Sentin appears. Breakfast is a selection of pancakes and fruit laid out for us to help ourselves. It smells good and probably tastes just as delicious as dinner did, but I feel as enthusiastic about eating it as if it were the bland stew spat out by the machines in the shelter.
It doesn’t help that there’s a waiter standing by the door who’s supposedly there to make sure we have everything we need, but who’s standing in a military pose and looks suspiciously like a guard.
We’re hostages. If the imperator decides to carve one or more of us up for our chips, the only thing going for us is that I’m a lot stronger than they’ll expect me to be. But the wall is quite a distance from here. Even if we made it out of the palace, I doubt we’d get all the way to Triton before they stopped us.
Cale eventually joins me at the table. “The knights must have changed the access settings for their swarm network,” he says as he piles his plate up with food. “I can’t connect.”
He obviously has no idea about what happened last night. I force myself to wait until he’s had time to enjoy some breakfast before murmuring the entire story in his ear. When I’ve finished, his face is pale, and he pushes his plate away. Like me, he’s lost his appetite.
“We should have made a break for it,” he says quietly, echoing my thoughts.
When Sentin comes in, he nods a greeting, his expression serious. He serves himself a plate of food, and sits opposite me.
“What now?” asks Cale in a low voice. “Do you have a way to get us out of this mess?”
I wait anxiously for him to say that he does. After having all night to think about it, surely he’s figured out some clever way to turn the tables.
But Sentin hesitates, his brows drawing together. “Do you trust me?” he asks after a moment.
Cale and I exchange a confused look. Then I nod. “I trust you,” I murmur, surprised to realize that it’s true.
Cale nods too, though he doesn’t look so sure.
“I need you both to make a promise,” says Sentin. “It’s vital the peace treaty is negotiated. We need to continue pushing for the deal I’ve proposed, no matter what happens.”
“What do you think might happen?” My sense of dread is growing.
He picks up his knife and fork, glancing at the waiter who’s still standing to attention by the door. “Promise you’ll sign a peace treaty, no matter what. This is important.”
“Why do we need to promise?” Cale narrows his eyes. “What are you planning?”
Sentin cuts a neat slice in the pancakes, but doesn’t make any move to lift the food to his mouth. He’s waiting for an answer.
“Fine,” I say impatiently. “We promise. Just tell us your plan.”
Cale leans forward, his gaze fixed on Sentin. “This isn’t the time for secrets.”
Sentin
glances at the waiter again and his voice drops even lower. “It’s neither the time nor place to speak openly.”
I can’t help but glance at the portraits hanging on the wall behind him. The imperator is staring down at us. No wonder I feel like we’re being watched.
A muscle ticks in Cale’s jaw. “Just tell us. I hate sitting around like this, when I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen.”
Sentin lifts his fork. “I doubt we’ll be sitting around for long.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when the door flies open and the imperator sweeps in. He’s wearing a long red robe and an impressive scowl. Behind him are the legates we met last night, all three of them frowning. The imperator’s son isn’t far behind them. Otho is the most sympathetic of the Deiterrans we’ve met so far, but even he looks stern this morning.
The imperator fixes Sentin and me with a glare. “Where did you go last night?” he demands.
“To a bar. We had a pleasant drink and enjoyed some music.” Sentin puts a forkful of food in his mouth and chews.
“You fled the bar through its back door.”
Sentin swallows. “President Morelle wanted to see a little more of Deiterra.” His eyebrows go up, as though he’s surprised. “We had no idea you were tracking our movements.”
“For well over an hour, you were unaccounted for. Where were you?”
“Walking. It was a pleasant evening and the streets were nice and quiet.”
The imperator lets out an exasperated breath. “Very well, we’ll try this a different way.” He turns to the two legionnaires who followed them all in, and are standing ramrod-straight next to the door. “Bring in the other one.”
One of the legionnaires nods and slips out. The other stands even straighter.
Sentin moves his gaze to me and I frown back a silent question. The other one? As usual, his expression is unreadable, and Cale looks as confused as I am.
A few moments later, the legionnaire comes back, pulling someone along with him. She looks spitting mad, and snatches her arm out of the legionnaire’s grip as soon as she’s inside the door.
