by Maggie Hall
“And the Russian prime minister’s son. I did not know Sergei well, but the plane crash was a tragedy. Malik Emir’s death, too. He was a good man. A friend.” Luc’s eyes glinted. “I hate that the whole world thinks it was just militants killing an unimportant Saudi prince.”
Something about the death of a Saudi prince had been on the news last time I was at home, right before my mom told me about the new mandate. “You knew him?” We were barely dancing now, swaying just enough to not stand still. We’d ended up just below a stage, and a mass of arms waved above us. I suddenly felt very small. “The Order killed him?”
Luc nodded. “Since we don’t know who the One is, the Order is trying to take out anyone that could be him.”
That’s why he had said at Prada that the Order could have been after him. “So is everyone in every family a possibility? Are they planning to kill them all one by one?”
“I suppose any male member of the families is a possibility. Like any act of terrorism, it’s partially a scare tactic,” he said. “And partially blackmail. If we agree not to carry out the union, they stop killing us.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“I know,” Luc said. He untwisted my arms from around his neck and led us away from the ever-more-crowded center of the dance floor. “And of course we can’t allow the news to report it as anything more than accidents.”
“Yeah,” I said vaguely. The fact that they could dictate what the news covered hardly surprised me.
“It appears the Order is going to more effort now because of my mother’s pregnancy,” Luc continued over his shoulder. “We hoped they wouldn’t learn that one of the twins is a girl, but it’s leaked.”
Maybe they learned about it the same way they learned about me, however that was. If they were going to that much trouble to kill people who might possibly be the One, they wouldn’t let me go for sure. My dress, or my skin, suddenly felt too tight. I watched the revelers around us out of the corner of my eye. So it was true. Both these groups who started wars and assassinated world leaders had very good reasons to want me.
I found myself looking around for Stellan. Because I was afraid of him, or because I was afraid of everyone else, I wasn’t sure.
Luc grabbed a neon-blue drink off a waitress’s tray. “Now do you understand why I’m not mourning a couple of dead Order members?”
Disturbingly, I kind of did. And I was starting to think more and more that maybe hiding out for an extra few hours on the street was better than staying here waiting for the Order to find me, or for the Dauphins to figure me out.
I glanced around for an exit, but Luc took my hand. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m tired of it, love. Let’s have fun.” His grin looked more forced than it had earlier.
I studied the layout of the club again as we made our way across the dance floor. There were the front doors we’d come in through, and another door nearby that seemed to lead to the back of the club. When we got to the bar, Luc let go of me.
“Did you see we got Clancy Campbell?” someone with an American accent said.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got our eye on a thirteen-year-old from Brazil,” said Luc. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luc shake hands with the guy and clap him on the back.
I leaned on the bar, pressing my palms to the cool, glossy surface. Breathe. Think. I didn’t see any immediate threat. I shouldn’t run off yet. A steaming pink trough ran down the center of the bar, and I passed my fingers over the dry ice, letting the cold pull me out of my head.
“That’s not going to win you Champions this year,” the American guy said.
Luc chuckled stiffly. “Want to bet?”
“You just want to win back Guam.”
“It was my favorite,” Luc whined. “And that bet wasn’t fair.”
Guam? I turned around and my heart stuttered yet again. Luc wasn’t talking to a random friend named Liam. He was talking to Liam Blackstone. And . . . yes. There at the bar, ordering something pink, was Colette LeGrand, her famous curves on display in a cleavage-baring boho lace dress. Luc’s friends Liam and Colette were Liam Blackstone and Colette LeGrand. Li-ette. At least, that’s what Us Weekly called them when they were on the cover every other week.
“Oh, this is Avery,” Luc said. “She’s a relative of the Saxons, and since we’re all playing nice this weekend, she’s come out with us.”
I forced a smile in Liam’s direction. I wasn’t used to seeing him in clothes. He mostly did movies where his abs were the main character. “So you play . . . fantasy soccer?” Guys at every one of my schools had been into fantasy football. What a bizarrely ordinary thing for Luc and one of the world’s most famous actors to be talking about.
“I wish.” Colette LeGrand slipped an arm under Liam’s jacket. Her light, lilting French accent was even prettier in person. “They have bought the teams. Their little game takes up all Liam’s time.”
Of course they owned professional sports teams. That could be the most normal thing that had happened all day.
“Jesse knocked us both out last year,” Liam said. He must have meant his younger brother, who was the lead singer in Shadow Play, Lara’s favorite band. “He has Man U.”
Colette LeGrand pushed her wavy auburn hair behind her shoulder and rolled her eyes like, see what I mean? I gave her a tight smile, still a little shocked to be talking to people I’d only seen on screen and in tabloids, but I couldn’t help being wary of them, too. As far as I knew, anyone could be a spy.
We stayed at the bar for a few minutes, and I made sure to stand so I could see the whole club. Colette complimented my dress and I fished for something normal to say, finally settling on how her curls looked so perfect all the time—when I let my hair dry wavy, it was a frizz ball. While she told me, I studied Liam, who was laughing over a video on Luc’s phone. He and Colette both seemed to be acting normal, and I relaxed just a bit, looking around more widely. I noticed how Luc was already looking a little tipsy. And how he was paying no attention to me at all anymore—in fact, he seemed to be shooting surreptitious glances at the bartender. The bartender who was very cute, and also very male. I watched him for a second, and yes, that was definitely a little smile on his face when he caught the guy’s eye. And then I remembered how I’d seen him eyeing the people sitting next to us earlier. Now that I thought about it, there hadn’t been any girls at that table. And Luc was definitely a little more . . . vibrant than the other guys. Oh. I turned away so no one would see my sudden grin. Not that it was any of my business, but I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before, and for some reason, even more than Luc being nice to me, seeing this glimpse of what I assumed was a secret made me feel just a little better about being here with them. Like they were just people after all, going about their own lives.
Or Luc was, at least, I reminded myself, searching for Stellan again.
Colette looked around. “Our booth’s open. Let’s sit.” She slipped an arm through mine with a smile, obviously trying to make me feel comfortable, and I could see why she and Luc were friends.
“Why did you two come out tonight, anyway?” Luc said as we slid into the dark leather booth. Liam’s sandy-blond hair gleamed in the booth’s low red lights, and Colette lit a cigarette and blew smoke up at the ceiling, pursing her trademark full lips. “It’s dangerous for any of us to be out in public.”
Colette shrugged. “You’re here.”
“I have a reason to be. Plus, I’m less recognizable than you, and I have my Keeper with me. He has knives.” Luc pouted. “And guns.”
Colette peered over the crowd at Stellan, who was headed toward us but stopped halfway down the bar, looking at his phone. “He certainly does have ‘guns’ . . .” She gave Luc a wicked grin.
Liam cleared his throat.
“What? Can’t a girl look?” Colette batted her eyelashes and kissed him n
oisily on the cheek. Liam rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“Did any photographers see you arrive?” Luc said.
“A couple.” Colette played with her pendant necklace, which I now realized was an aged copper version of the Dauphins’ sun.
Luc’s cheerful face clouded over.
“I like to live dangerously, Lucien,” Colette teased. “Anyway, Liam is only a second cousin of the Fredericks, and I’m the same to you. You’re in more danger than we are.”
Luc raised a finger at a waiter for yet another drink. He turned to Liam, who was watching not entirely subtly while, next to our booth, a girl with a green pixie cut danced with a girl in a long pink wig, tracing a finger over the dragon tattoo covering her back.
“I hear one of your Keepers was terminated,” Luc said.
Liam snapped back around and frowned. “Yes. Xan was a good man. I wish my uncle hadn’t needed to punish him so harshly.”
I looked around at all their somber faces. “What did he do?”
“Went against a direct order.” Luc swigged his drink.
I leaned my elbows on the shiny black tabletop. “They fired him for going against one order?”
A glance passed between the three of them. “Fired is one way to put it,” Colette said carefully.
Wait. They weren’t saying the guy got put to death for going against an order? Before I could ask, Stellan emerged from the crowd. He nodded to Liam and Colette, then looked at the drink in Luc’s hand when Luc hiccuped.
Luc narrowed his eyes and downed the drink in one gulp. “Gonna go smoke.” He slid out of the booth and flopped onto a stool at the end of the bar.
“What’s wrong with him today?” Colette asked. “He’s been acting strange.”
Stellan watched Luc light a cigarette. “He’s been having a hard time with the babies coming and the mandate and all.”
The three of them started talking. At the bar, Luc rubbed a hand over his head, mussing his hair. I scooted out of the booth, too, pulling down my dress, which wouldn’t stop trying to inch up, and slipped onto the bar stool next to Luc.
“Hey,” I said. He didn’t look up, and I studied the sharp curve of his jaw, his angular, lanky frame. Besides the eyes, he looked nothing like me. But what if the Dauphins were my real family? If Monsieur Dauphin was my real father? That would mean Luc was my half brother. I felt a wave of affection for him.
“Everything okay?” I said. It was like the couple extra drinks had flipped a switch in him. He stared at his glass with big, miserable puppy dog eyes.
“Cherie, you’re so lucky.” He wasn’t even trying to talk over the music anymore. I could smell the sour liquor tang on his breath even over the cigarette. “You, Colette, Liam. You get the perks without the . . . devoir. Without the anxiety.”
“Are you worried about not being able to interpret the mandate?” I said.
“That, and everything.” He pawed at the back of his neck. “This thing. This tattoo.” He was slurring now, and pulled clumsily at the collar of his shirt. “This tattoo is so . . . heavy.”
I could see the edge of the sun, in the same place as Stellan’s, at the top of his spine.
“Even more than my blood,” he mumbled, “this thing is the weight of my family—of our whole territory!—on my back. Literally.”
He snorted with drunken, derisive laughter at his own joke, but just as quickly, his face fell.
“What does it mean?” I asked gently.
He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray, and the last bits of smoke curled up toward the lights over the bar.
“Everybody in the Circle gets their family’s tattoo on their seventeenth birthday. Family members, of course, but also the Keepers, the house staff . . . everybody.” He traced his tattoo with a fingertip, like he knew the lines by heart. “They are a physical sign of our fidélité. They mean unwavering loyalty. To the death.”
“To the death?” So I’d been right about the guy who worked for Liam’s family.
He nodded blearily. “As in, we swear to die for the family, and we recognize that treachery can be punishable by death. When you hold as much responsibility as we do, there has to be incentive to stay in line. There are plenty of stories.”
I stared at the tattoo. Just like Stellan’s. And Jack’s. I thought of Jack, desperate for me to come to the Saxons. “Like what?” I said.
“All kinds of things.” A rowdy group of guys leaned on the bar right next to me, calling for drinks. I scooted even closer to Luc, who hardly seemed to notice. “Grant Frederick is not . . . tolerant. His Keeper might have refused a kill order, or he might just have talked back when he shouldn’t’ve,” he said, starting to slur his words together. “And there’re more. Like the Rajesh Keeper who leaked information to a media outlet we don’t control. Or the Emir Keeper, who had a relationship with a family member. They got caught . . . you know. Together. He was terminated immediately.”
My thoughts flashed back to Jack asking me to prom. If being with a family member was grounds for termination, it really must have meant nothing.
“Some families are more harsh than others, of course,” Luc went on, “but you don’t want to test it. And for family members, the tattoos are a constant reminder of our place in our family. And in the world.” Luc swirled the ice and lime wedges in his empty glass. “And yet, despite all that power, I can do nothing. Not to stop the Order, not to find clues to the mandate, not even to stop my new baby sister from being married off.”
“Married?” That was an abrupt change of subject.
Luc chuckled again, but it was a hollow sound. “Of course, no one finds it odd to be betrothed to an infant. They’re all at our home groveling to my parents for the chance. I find it repulsive, but it’s what the mandate says, so we will do it.”
I wasn’t listening anymore. My heart pounded in my ears, off the beat of the music.
Married. The mandate. Betrothed.
The rightful One and the girl with the violet eyes. Their union.
Suddenly, Luc wasn’t the only one swaying on his bar stool.
CHAPTER 18
Luc stared at me, waiting for an answer. “Because union in the mandate means ‘marriage,’” I clarified, hoping I’d misinterpreted. “Right? The girl with the violet eyes marries the One, once you figure out who the One is.”
“Merde. Why do I say thissthings?” Luc slurred. “I should not talk this way. The mandate, it is good. And, it is destinée,” he said, putting air quotes around the word. “‘Their fates mapped together.’”
Their fates mapped together. Another line of the mandate—it had to be. I’d been practically kidnapped and almost killed, all so I could be married off like a princess in a fairy tale?
I felt myself starting to shake again. It was like the shock had been waiting just under the surface since Prada, held back by a thread that had just snapped. I clenched clammy fingers on my bare thighs.
Luc belched and set his glass down. The music broke into a hard beat, and everyone on the dance floor jumped up and down in unison, hands in the air.
So I was to be married to whoever the Circle decided was the One. If they didn’t figure out the mandate, it sounded like the Saxons would marry me to whatever son they had available. The Dauphins would choose someone to unite me with, if I was their family. If I wasn’t, they might kill me so I wouldn’t take their baby girl’s birthright.
My mom had always known about this. Suddenly, I knew exactly how she must have felt. Trapped. Hunted.
I glanced behind me at the booth where Stellan still perched, talking with Liam and Colette. Colette gestured with a cigarette, her big sleepy eyes laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world, even though they’d been talking about a staff member’s “termination” a few minutes ago.
The music swelled too loud, and the cigarette smoke was too thick.
“Whasswrong?” Luc squinted one eye.
I scrambled off my bar stool. “Bathroom,” I said, and fled.
I shoved past bodies writhing on the dance floor, dizzy from the lights and the heavy bass and the heat. There had to be an emergency exit somewhere.
Stellan appeared by the bar, a head taller than everyone else.
In the second I stood frozen, watching his face come in and out of the lights, he turned and saw me. He must have read something in my face, because his eyes narrowed. I spun on my heel and darted toward the back door I’d seen earlier, shoving it open hard.
The steam hit me first, so heavy it felt like I could drown in it. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim pink light. The room was a long, narrow cave with recesses along the wall. In each one, a steaming fuchsia waterfall splashed down in front of one of the dancing girls I’d seen from the bar.
A short woman with an earpiece and a scowl yelled something and grabbed my arm, propelling me to a waterfall that was missing a girl.
She thought I was one of the dancers, late for her shift.
I was about to rush back out and find a real exit, but the door opened. Stellan peeked in. I could go with him. Pretend I got lost on my way to the bathroom. But after seeing me run just now, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight again.
I leapt onto the pedestal and caught my balance on the slimy stone wall. I let my hair fall in my face and swung my hips to the music, which was muffled like I had cotton in my ears. Keep walking, I urged him with my mind. You were wrong about seeing me come in here. Just keep walking.
I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. Stellan strolled down the row, an outline in the steam.
Right behind me, his footsteps stopped. I glanced back once more, and his eyes bored into mine.
“What are you doing?” He reached for me.
The next song started, and a plume of sparks erupted behind me, blocking him. If I wanted to get away, it was my chance. I ducked through the waterfall, gasping as it doused my hair and ran down my shoulders.
