“In light of recent events, I would think our lessons have been canceled for the time being,” he says over the pages of his book. Still, he shuts it with a snap, turning his full attention on me. “Not to mention it’s quite late.”

“I need you, Julian.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Sun Shooting? Yes, they’ve already thought up a clever name.” He points to the dark video screen in the corner. “It’s been on the news for hours now. The king’s addressing the country in the morning.”

I remember the fluffy blond newswoman reporting the capital bombing more than a month ago. There were few injuries then, and still the marketplace rioted. What will they do now? How many innocent Reds will pay?

“Or is this about the four terrorists currently locked in the cells of this structure?” Julian presses on, measuring my response. “Excuse me, I mean three. Ptolemus Samos certainly lives up to his reputation.”

“They’re not terrorists,” I reply calmly, trying to keep myself in check.

“Shall I show you the definition of terrorism, Mare?” His tone stings. “Their cause might be just, but their methods . . . besides, what you say doesn’t matter.” He gestures to the video screen again. “They have their own version of the truth and that’s the only one people will hear.”

My teeth grind together painfully, bone on bone. “Are you going to help or not?”

“I am a teacher and somewhat of an outcast, in case you haven’t noticed. What can I possibly do?”

“Julian, please.” I can feel my last chance slipping through my fingers. “You’re a singer, you can tell the guards—make them do anything you want. You can set the prisoners free.”

But he remains still, sipping peacefully at his drink. He doesn’t grimace like men normally do. The bite of alcohol is familiar to him.

“Tomorrow they’ll be interrogated. And no matter how strong they are, no matter how long they hold out, the truth will be found.” Slowly, I take Julian’s hand, holding fingers worn rough by paper. “This was my plan. I’m one of them.” He doesn’t need to know about Maven. It will only make him angrier.

The half lie does its job well. I can see it in Julian’s eyes.

“You? You did this?” he stammers. “The shooting, the bombing—?”

“The bomb was . . . unexpected.” The bomb was a horror.

He narrows his eyes and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. Then he snaps entirely. “I told you, I told you not to get in over your head!” He slams a fist down on the table, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. “And now,” he breathes, staring at me with so much sorrow it makes my heart hurt, “now I must watch you drown?”

“If they escape . . .”

He throws back the rest of his drink with a gulp. With a snap of his wrist, he smashes the glass on the floor, making me jump. “And what about me? Even if I take away the cameras, the guards’ memories, anything that could implicate either of us, the queen will know.” Shaking his head, he sighs. “She’ll take my eyes for this.”

And Julian will never read again. How can I ask for that?

“Then let me die.” The words stick in my throat. “I deserve it as much as they do.”

He can’t let me die. He won’t. I am the little lightning girl, and I am going to make the world change.

When he speaks again, he sounds hollow.

“They called my sister’s death a suicide.” Slowly, he traces his fingers across his wrist, dwelling on a long-ago memory. “That was a lie, and I knew it. She was a sad woman, but she never would have done such a thing. Not when she had Cal, and Tibe. She was murdered, and I said nothing. I was afraid, and I let her die in shame. And since that day, I’ve been working to fix that, waiting in the shadows of this monstrous world, waiting for my time to avenge her.” He raises his eyes to me. They sparkle with tears. “I suppose this will be a good place to start.”

It doesn’t take long for Julian to figure out a plan. All we need is a magnetron and some blind cameras, and luckily, I can provide both.

Lucas knocks on my bedroom door not two minutes after I summon him.

“What can I do for you, Mare?” he says, jumpier than usual. I know his time overseeing the queen’s interrogation of servants must not have been easy. At least he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m shaking.

“I’m hungry.” The rehearsed words come easier than they should. “You know, dinner never happened so I was wondering—”

“Do I look like a cook? You should’ve called the kitchens, that’s their job.”

“I just, well, I don’t think now’s a good time for the servants to be roaming around. People are still pretty on edge and I don’t want anyone getting hurt because I didn’t get dinner. You’d just have to escort me, that’s all. And who knows, you might get a cookie out of it.”

Sighing like an annoyed teenager, Lucas holds out an arm. As I take it, I glance at the cameras in the hall, making them die off. Here we go.

I should feel wrong about using Lucas, knowing firsthand what it’s like to have your mind toyed with, but this is for Kilorn’s life. Lucas is still chattering when we turn the corner, running smack into Julian.

“Lord Jacos—” Lucas begins, moving to bow his head, but Julian takes him by the chin, moving quicker than I ever thought he could. Before Lucas can respond, Julian glares into his eyes and the struggle dies before it even begins.

His honeyed words, smooth as butter and strong as iron, fall on open ears. “Take us to the cells. Use the service halls. Keep us away from patrols. Do not remember this.”

Lucas, usually all smiles and jokes, falls into a strange, half-hypnotized state. His eyes glaze over and he doesn’t notice when Julian reaches down to take his gun. But he marches all the same, leading us through the maze of the Hall. At each turn I wait for the feel of electric eyes, shutting off everything in our path. Julian does the same to the guards, forcing them not to remember us as we pass. Together, we make an unbeatable team and it’s not long before we stand at the top of the dungeon stairs. There will be Sentinels down there, too many for Julian to take care of on his own.

“Speak not a word,” Julian hisses to Lucas, who nods in understanding.

Now it’s my turn to lead us. I expect to be afraid, but the dim light and the late hour feel familiar. This is where I belong, sneaking and lying and stealing.

“Who is it? State your name and business!” one of the Sentinels shouts up at us. I recognize her voice—Gliacon, the shiver who tortured Farley. Perhaps I can convince Julian to sing her off a cliff.

I draw myself up to my full height, though it’s my voice and tone that matter most. “My name is Lady Mareena Titanos, betrothed of the prince Maven,” I snap, moving down the steps with as much grace as I can. My voice is cold and sharp, mirroring Elara’s and Evangeline’s. I have strength and power too. “And I don’t share my business with Sentinels.”

At the sight of me, the four Sentinels exchange glances, questioning each other. One, a large man with pig eyes, even looks me up and down in a rude manner. Behind the bars, Kilorn and Walsh jump to attention. Farley doesn’t move from her corner, arms curled around her knees. For a second I think she might be sleeping, until she moves and her blue eyes reflect the light.