The Conspiracy of Us

by Maggie Hall

  He gave me a meaningful look, but the sarcasm had already crept back into his voice, displacing any vulnerability. It didn’t matter. Somehow, in the space of thirty seconds, he had managed to make me feel bad that I’d made my own kidnapping and interrogation so difficult.

  He cleared his throat. “You’d better put on the dress and get ready. They’ll be unhappy if you delay the ceremony.”

  My eyes were drawn to his neck again, to the tendrils of scar tissue. “There’s a way to see,” I said, suddenly realizing the obvious. “At least about the burns. It won’t be fun, but if you have a lighter . . .”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Realization dawned on his face.

  “You know it’s not true,” he said, staring at the lighter. “It won’t prove anything.”

  He flicked the lighter, and an inch-tall blue-and-orange flame sparked from its tip. The second it did, he flinched, such a small movement I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching so closely.

  He let the flame die, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. Then he scowled and flicked the lighter again, defiantly. We both stared at it for a second, watching the flame dance in the drafty room.

  In one quick motion, he brought it to the inside of his forearm and hissed through his teeth. He grimaced, and looked away, but left the flame in place for five incredibly long seconds.

  When he started to shake, I batted his hand away. “Stop. Enough.”

  Stellan dropped the lighter to the ground and clutched his arm to his chest.

  I reached for it, and he rested his forearm in my hands. I looked for the burn.

  There was nothing there.

  I stared, then grabbed his other arm. He shook his head. “It’s this one. Right there.” He pointed to the spot and grimaced. “Hurts like hell.”

  I had burned myself with a curling iron a few months earlier. It went bright red immediately, and within a few minutes, it had blistered. I reached my fingers to the back of my neck. Even now, I could still feel the welt, and I’d only touched the iron to my skin for a fraction of a second.

  On Stellan’s arm, there was no mark at all. I touched the skin carefully with my thumb. It was warm, but no redness, nothing. “Not even like the ones on your back,” I whispered.

  “Those burns were much worse.” He sounded as awestruck as I felt. “I got them saving Anya. A burning beam fell on us. It took me a minute to get out from under it, and—”

  He looked up, and I could see the doubt shining in his eyes.

  I latched on to his uncertainty. “Think about it. If we were right, and you were the One, and if we all got away before the Dauphins could catch us, and we have all those other clues to the tomb? We might be able to find the treasure ourselves. You wouldn’t have to count on the Circle anymore. You could take Anya and go anywhere you wanted.”

  He still didn’t look convinced. I caught his hands. “Please,” I said, changing tactics one more time. “Just let me out of here so we have more time to investigate. If you sneak me out before Monsieur Dauphin notices—”

  He took his hands back, letting mine fall limply to my sides. “I can’t risk—no. I’m sorry, kuklachka, but no.”

  I closed my eyes, defeated. “Then at least call the Order,” I said.

  Stellan ran a hand through his hair. “Do you even have the phone number?”

  “I memorized it last night.” I rubbed my eyes. “Give me your phone.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket hesitantly. “If I got caught talking to the Order—”

  “Fitz is going to die otherwise!” I grabbed the phone and punched the number in. “Tell them we’re still trying to find the One. They can’t blackmail us unless they keep him alive. I hope.”

  Stellan took back his phone. “I’m sorry,” he said again. And he was gone.

  CHAPTER 39

  Without windows to judge the passing of the day, I wasn’t sure how many hours had gone by, but it had to be evening by now, and no one else had come in to see me. Maybe they’d changed their minds and were putting it off. Or maybe it just meant a wedding took more than a couple hours to plan, even for the Circle. I stared at myself in the small, utilitarian mirror. This bathroom was rustic compared with the marble and gold of the one upstairs, and the version of me staring back from the mirror was an entirely different Avery, too.

  Even if Stellan had called the Order and gotten a reprieve for Mr. Emerson, it was starting to sink in that I was really about to get married. Could they do this without my permission? Would it be legally binding? I’d refuse to sign the papers. I’d run away later.

  But if they could track me as a random girl in Istanbul, there was no way I’d be able to escape as a wife.

  Wife. The word sent a violent shiver through me.

  As if on cue, the door opened and I jumped, flattening myself against the bathroom wall. Elodie came in, along with four other maids who chattered at me in rapid French. So much for putting it off.

  “Sit,” Elodie said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She dragged the single chair in the room across to the mirror and pushed me into it, then pulled at a limp strand of my hair. “This is disgusting. Have you even showered today?”

  I glared at her. “Silly me. I must have missed the spa in this cell.”

  She rolled her eyes and studied me in the mirror, pulling my hair back from my face. This was eerily reminiscent of the plane to Istanbul, when she’d put me in the Herve Leger dress.

  “Up,” Elodie said. “We don’t have time to wash your hair, so dress first, then I’ll see what I can do with . . .” She waved a hand at my head.

  I didn’t say anything while one of the older maids pulled the wedding dress over my head and adjusted the fitted waist so it flowed in a graceful A-line over my hips. The cap sleeves settled onto my shoulders, and she laced up the corset back so tight, I gasped. She gave it one more pull for good measure, and then Elodie gestured to the chair again. I sat gingerly, my back rod-straight in the corset.

  Elodie went to work on my hair.

  “Does Luc actually want this?” I remembered him smiling at that boy at the club. For that and plenty of other reasons, I was pretty sure he had no interest in a relationship with me, but the political implications of it were something different entirely. In the mirror, I could see the older women whispering behind me while one pulled a pair of blush-pink heels out of a box.

  “I can assure you Luc is just as excited about the nuptials as you are.” Elodie tugged a little harder than necessary on a piece of hair before securing it with a bobby pin.

  “Can’t we put it off until we can talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Because it’s fate?” I said sarcastically. “Our fates are mapped together, as the mandate says.”

  “Do you know what a fate map is in biology?” Elodie twisted half of my hair up and set to curling the other half. “It’s a map of which cells in an embryo should develop into which specific adult tissues. But what they should develop into isn’t necessarily what they actually do develop into. They can be manipulated, or change on their own, and end up as something completely different from what they were fated for.”

  I turned to stare at her. That was a strange thing to say.

  She wrenched my head forward again, her honey-dark eyes still trained on my hair. “I’ve always loved science,” she said sweetly.

  So she was just torturing me. I sat in silence while she finished. Another maid handed her a cascade of white lace, and Elodie draped it over her arm.

  “Amazing that you managed to keep your eye color a secret,” she said, smoothing the lace with her fingers. “And now, only the Dauphins and a few of their staff members know. Good thing you have this to cover your eyes.” She affixed the white fabric in my dark hair with a comb. “Your father wouldn’t be the only one who was
angry if the Dauphins’ plan was unveiled. If anyone else at the wedding saw your eyes before the union was official . . . it would be a riot.”

  I glanced up sharply. That was it.

  I watched Elodie, who kept her eyes trained on my hair. Maybe she wanted me to make a scene so Monsieur Dauphin would have an excuse to kill me.

  Elodie stood me up from my chair. There, staring back at me from the mirror, was a bride.

  “Doesn’t it seem wrong to you that a girl has this much power but has no say in what happens to her?” I said, still staring at my reflection. This couldn’t be where the past few days—really, my whole life—had led. “This is so Middle Ages.”

  “Oh, cherie, it’s much older than that.” Elodie worked her fingers under the veil and to the back of my dress. “Now let’s make sure this is tight enough.”

  She undid the corset strings and I started to protest, but rather than pulling them tighter, she let them out enough for me to breathe. I looked at her in the mirror again, and she continued to avoid my eyes.

  Could she actually be helping me? Why?

  “There,” she said. “Now don’t do anything to muss yourself up before the guards arrive to take you to the church. And take this.” She pressed a large black umbrella into my hand. “It’s raining, but don’t be sad. Rain on your wedding day’s said to be good luck.”

  CHAPTER 40

  No one told me where the wedding was being held, but I should have guessed. The drive to Notre-Dame felt like the longest few minutes of my life. I barely even noticed the lights reflecting off the Seine or the golden glow of the ornate bridges arching over it, radiant against the dusk. When we got out of the car, the Dauphins’ guards stayed far enough away to accommodate my umbrella as I sloshed through puddles. The bottom of my dress would be ruined, but it wasn’t like I cared.

  From across the square, a rowdy group of tourists laughed and catcalled at us. I thought for a second about yelling for help, but I knew it’d be a bad idea.

  I hugged the handle of Elodie’s umbrella to my chest, trying to let the rush of raindrops on its canopy drown out the rushing in my head. And then, I felt a click. Where the handle had been smooth a second earlier, now it wasn’t. A thin ribbon of shining metal protruded from it.

  I worked at it with my fingers, drawing the thing the rest of the way out.

  A knife.

  A small, thin blade, about four inches long, its handle part of the umbrella handle.

  Whether it was because Luc was Elodie’s best friend and she didn’t want him to have to do this, or because she’d rather see me gone from France altogether, I wasn’t going to say no. I was so much smaller than the guards that my umbrella hid me, so I was able to work the little knife down the bodice of my dress, under my arm. Its tip dug into my side, but it should be okay if I stood very straight.

  Now I had to figure out when to use it.

  Maybe that little bit of subterfuge opened my eyes, because all of a sudden, I noticed a phone on the belt of the guard in front of me. I didn’t know my father’s phone number, but I might be able to call the Order, just in case Stellan hadn’t. Plus, I could try my mom again.

  I waited until we stepped up on a curb, then cried out and fell into the guard, careful to stay upright enough not to stab myself. As he whipped around, I pulled his phone out of its holder and stuffed it under my arm. “Sorry,” I said, standing back up. “I tripped.”

  The guard scowled, but didn’t say anything. I worked the phone down the other side of my bodice.

  As we got to Notre-Dame, I remembered Jack telling me that the left-hand door, with the triangle over it, represented the Circle watching over the common people. I sniffed. Unlike yesterday, when tourists had flowed in and out of the main entrance, only that left door was open now. We stepped inside.

  After the thundering rain on the umbrella, the inside of Notre – Dame was silent and as echoey as a cave. Tall candles lined the entrance, their flames casting elongated shadows, and dozens of chandeliers bathed the soaring archways along the nave in warm light. When my ears had adjusted, I heard the whispers of the crowd and saw the occasional head turn to sneak a glance at us. I let myself hope for one second that my father had heard about this surprise wedding and showed up to stop it, but no outraged Saxons ran toward us. How ironic. The fact that he actually did care enough about me to search for me meant he wouldn’t be here when I needed him.

  The guards deposited me in a small room near the entrance to wait. I locked the door and pulled out the phone, dialing the Order’s number.

  All I got was dead air. No signal. I cursed under my breath.

  My gaze darted around the room. One small window, high up on the wall. A confessional booth. That was it.

  I shoved back my veil and searched the room for something to climb on. There was a rickety stool in one corner, but it wasn’t very tall. I pulled open the door of the confessional booth and found a chair. I dragged it across the room, climbed up, and tried to grab the windowsill.

  I twisted too far and the knife in my bodice pierced my side. I bit back a whimper and dropped back to the chair, panting. It was too high. I’d never be able to reach, and probably wouldn’t be able to get through the bars, anyway. What else?

  Wait.

  I jumped off the chair. Inside the confessional booth, behind where this chair had been, there was another tiny door.

  Voices outside the room got louder. The guards were coming back.

  I sprinted into the confessional and shoved against the little door. Nothing. I jiggled the handle, pulled. It stayed firmly shut. A loud knock came at the door. I lowered my shoulder, ran into the door, and it flew open. Inside was pitch black.

  The outer doorknob rattled.

  I stepped inside carefully—and my feet found stairs. I reached back out to pull shut first the door of the confessional, then the inner door, and fumbled my way up the steps.

  I could feel cool, rain-scented air coming through tiny holes carved in the wall, but there was no way out of the dark, so I hurried up and up and up, as fast as I could, really glad now that Elodie had loosened my corset. I hoped beyond hope that this would somehow lead to an exit. Strangely, no one was following me yet.

  Finally, an outline of a door. I held my breath and eased it open, not sure what I’d find. Empty.

  I stepped out cautiously, and only then did I realize I wasn’t in a room. I’d only made it to the balcony that surrounded the center of the nave, on level with the colorful stained-glass windows.

  I stood behind a pillar, breathing hard, and peered down to see Monsieur Dauphin and Luc at the altar that had been closed off yesterday. After a few seconds, a guard approached. He whispered something to Monsieur Dauphin, who stiffened. He glanced up, almost at me, and around the rest of the balcony.

  He said something to the guard, and the guard disappeared.

  How was I going to get out of here?

  I kicked out of my too-loud heels and tried not to trip on the heavy, soaked hem of my dress as I hurried down the balcony, sticking as close as I could to the wall, trying every door I came across. There had to be another stairway. I kept expecting to hear the clomp of guards’ boots, but the balcony was eerily quiet.

  The clearing of a throat directed my attention downstairs. Then, the sound of Monsieur Dauphin’s voice.

  “Thank you all for coming this evening. As you all know, our family’s tragedy is just the latest in our adversaries’ plan to take down the Circle, family by family.” Murmurs went up in the crowd. “I know some of you suspect, as I do, that the Order’s information about us is too detailed to be coincidence. I am happy to report that we have caught the traitor who has been passing information to the enemy for months.”

  What?

  A roar went up from the crowd.

  “Bring him,” Monsieur Dauphin said, and I had to peek out from m
y hiding place.

  Below me, a guard dragged a prisoner to the front of the cathedral. All eyes were on him as he passed, handcuffed and bound at the ankles, a dark hood obscuring his face.

  When he got to the front, Monsieur Dauphin yanked off his hood.

  The whole audience gasped.

  I gasped with them.

  The man the guards were holding was Jack.

  CHAPTER 41

  This boy has been using his status as a Keeper to betray us.” As Monsieur Dauphin said it, he glanced up to the balcony surrounding the nave. “And now, all of you will watch as his crimes are punished.”

  A guard drew a huge knife. Monsieur Dauphin threw Jack to the ground, then looked up again.

  He knew I was up here. He was using Jack to draw me out. Oh no. Oh no no no. If I showed myself now, we’d never get out of here.

  But I thought of Jack, saying that the Saxons and Mr. Emerson were all he had in the world. The only people who cared about him.

  It wasn’t true, not anymore. They weren’t all he had, and Monsieur Dauphin knew it.

  He raised a hand to the guard.

  “Stop!” I screamed.

  The guard paused. The whole congregation whipped around to stare up at the balcony. I made my way to the railing.

  “I’m here.” My voice, so small, echoed through the now-silent cathedral.

  Monsieur Dauphin waved his hand, and a group of guards ran off. I stayed exactly where I was, staring at Jack. He held my gaze, and it helped calm the desperate thoughts running through my head. We’d find another way. We’d have to find another way. No more than a minute later, the guards burst through a door on the other side of the balcony.

  They bundled me back down the stairs. One of them pulled the veil over my face, and another tossed my abandoned shoes at my feet, and I slipped back into them. We emerged into the nave. My heels clicked loudly on the black-and-white marble floor. A small bloodstain from the knife was spreading on my side, staining the wedding dress. The congregation stared.