Since his argument with Sasha a few hours before, all he could think about was her and Juliana and Lucas. He was consumed by confusion and questions and anger, which he’d unfairly taken out on Sasha. She was only trying to help, even if she was wrong. There was no way that what she’d said to him could be true. It was impossible. He knew his brother, and while Lucas had certainly been acting strangely the past few months, Thomas was sure it was because he was attempting to regain their father’s favor, to rise up in the KES the way Thomas had. Otherwise, why would the General have consented to allow Lucas to take the KES Trials this fall? Such a thing almost never happened. There was one way into active KES service and that was through the KES Academy, from which Lucas had been rejected three times—the maximum amount—before giving up. According to KES rules he was ineligible to apply again. That was why he was being so diffident and mysterious; he thought Thomas would resent him for trying to better his situation.
And Juliana—well, it wasn’t even worth considering Sasha’s claims about her. Perhaps it had been hasty of him to imply that Sasha had developed a romantic attachment to him, that she was jealous, but it was the only conclusion he could reasonably come to. Sasha didn’t know Juliana; he did. He knew her better than probably anyone else alive. She’d confided in him. She trusted him with her life. If she’d wanted out, she would’ve come to him. At least, he thought she would. But even if she had, what would he have said to her? What would he have done?
Still, he felt terrible about how he’d treated Sasha. She hadn’t asked for her visions, and she definitely hadn’t asked to be brought to Aurora to fill in for Juliana. He had done that to her. And it had been clear from the tentative way she’d broken her news to him this evening that she was trying to shield him from the awful truths she thought she possessed. In return he’d accused her, insulted her, hurt her deeply. He’d seen it all on her face, but he’d kept going, because he was afraid. He wasn’t used to feeling that way. He’d been surprised by it and hadn’t had time to recalibrate, to push it down and deny its hold over him. Sasha would never trust him again. He’d ruined everything that was forming between them, and it was too late to do anything about it.
After leaving Sasha close to tears in the library, Thomas had returned to KES command central, where Captain Fawley, his superior when he was on Protective Service detail, was asking for volunteers to beef up security at the concert.
“I’ll do it,” Thomas had said, so eager he practically tripped over the words.
“You sure?” Fawley had asked. “Thought you might want to stick close to the Sparrow.”
He’d shrugged. “Social event. She’s not going to want the hired help standing over her the whole night.” He felt guilty abandoning Sasha, fully aware that he was doing it only to get away from her and everything she made him feel, but it wasn’t as if she would be unprotected. There was an army of KES agents patrolling the North Terrace, where the cocktail hour was being held, and when the concert began she would be sitting in the front row, easily within range of his stage assignment.
He’d spent all late afternoon watching as Gloria’s team set up the chairs and prepared the terrace for the pre-concert event. He’d also gotten a front row seat as a pair of sweaty movers in jeans and T-shirts unloaded the van the Columbia City Orchestra had sent over containing all the instruments and music stands for the night’s performance. Bedford had been with him. At some point they were standing near the van as one of the movers struggled to unload a tuba case with a violin case already in hand.
“Can I get a little help here?” the mover asked.
Bedford had shot Thomas a look of disbelief. “He can’t seriously be talking to us, right?” He turned back to the guy. “We’re KES, man. We’ve got our own jobs to do.”
“Come on!” the guy grunted. “There’s only two of us and we’re running late.”
“Not our problem,” Bedford scoffed.
“I’ll help you,” Thomas offered, picking up the tuba case. “Where do you want it?”
“Mayhew, what the hell are you doing?” Bedford demanded.
“Just trying to be useful,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to do something active. Physical activity helped keep his roaming mind in check. With his help, the movers got everything unloaded in under an hour.
But now that the event was about to start, Thomas’s entire being was supposed to be focused on watching out for possible Libertas activity. Thomas glanced around the backdrop and saw that Sasha and Callum were making their way to the front row, which meant everyone else would start filing in soon. He thought he saw Sasha notice him, but he pulled his head back in so quickly he couldn’t be sure.
You’re a damn coward, Thomas told himself.
Soon, everyone was seated; Sasha and Callum were in the front row with the queen and a handful of distinguished politicians. The General had been invited, of course, but he didn’t do events like this. He was much more of a behind-the-scenes man. For this Thomas was glad. The last thing he needed was the General’s scrutiny.
The orchestra took the stage in silence. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the stage and the aurora whirling high above.
“I’m going to go do a sweep,” Bedford announced. “You coming, Mayhew?”
Thomas shook his head. “Gotta keep an eye on S—parrow.” He’d almost said her name. How was he supposed to do his job when he couldn’t even get the simplest things right?
Bedford nodded and disappeared into the darkness of the wings as the orchestra struck up their first piece, a dark, fast-paced number that burrowed into his heart like a drill. The strings cried out, driven wild by the cadence of war drums. Thomas recognized the piece; it was called “Revolution,” composed in the early eighteen hundreds to commemorate the formation of the Commonwealth.
When “Revolution” was over, the conductor waited for the applause to die down before leading the orchestra into their next piece, a dreamy sonata. Thomas began to relax. Everything was going well; the audience seemed to be enjoying the performance, the orchestra was playing perfectly, and everyone was safe.
There was a crackling noise on his earpiece. “Hey Mayhew?” It was Bedford, of course.
“Yeah?” Thomas spoke clearly, knowing that the rowan pin would transmit his voice despite the background noise from the orchestra.
“Where’d they put all the instrument cases?”
“What do you mean?”
“The noise makers are all on stage, but where’d they put their houses?” Bedford said. He was trying to sound jovial, but his voice carried a dark undercurrent.
“Back in the van,” Thomas told him. “It’s parked behind the stage. Why?”
“We’ve got to stop the concert,” Bedford said, serious now. “I’m under the stage and there’s a violin case down here.”
“Just one?”
“Just one.”
Thomas knew what Bedford was thinking—a bomb. It was exactly the conclusion he would jump to if he’d found it. But he had to ask: “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure! Would you like me to give it a little shake?” Bedford cried.
“I’ll find Greenberg.” Agent Greenberg was the agent in charge, and if the event was going to be evacuated it would have to be on his orders.
Thomas tracked Greenberg to the stage’s back stairs, where he was standing guard. “Bedford thinks he found a bomb.”
“Where?” Greenberg demanded.
“Under the stage. He thinks we should evacuate the area.”
“How does he know it’s a bomb?”
“He doesn’t, but he found a violin case down there, and all the other instrument cases are in the van out back,” Thomas told him.