Greenberg nodded. He put his hand to his earpiece. “Bedford, are you on the mike?”
“Yeah, boss,” Bedford said.
“Circle the perimeter and tell me if you see a timer.”
There was a pause. “I think there’s one … Oh, sh—”
“Bedford!” Greenberg cried.
“We’ve got ninety seconds,” Bedford told him flatly. Thomas’s whole body felt heavy, like his clothes were lined with lead. There wasn’t time to pull in the bomb squad. They’d have to make a run for it.
“Bedford, get the hell out of there now.” Greenberg turned to Thomas. “I’ll handle the evacuation. You find the princess and keep her safe, you got it? Do nothing else.”
Thomas didn’t hesitate; he just took off running. Sasha, he thought as he reached the edge of the stage. The crowd looked up at him, wide-eyed, as a soaring symphony crashed behind him like waves. He counted in his head: Eighty-five seconds, eighty-four seconds, eighty-three seconds … He had to find Sasha. He had to find her now.
Thomas leapt off the stage, landing only three feet in front of her. She stood, surprised and alarmed to see him there. He reached her in the space of a moment—eighty seconds—and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her in close.
“There’s a bomb,” he whispered in her ear. She froze, but he wasn’t going to let her just stand there. No matter what had happened before, it was his job to keep her safe, and he was going to do that if it killed him.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Callum shouted, but when his eyes met Thomas he saw the seriousness in them and backed off. If there was anything the prince understood, it was the importance of letting security do their job. “What’s happening?”
The orchestra was so wrapped up in their performance that they didn’t notice the action that was taking place right at their feet.
“Let’s go,” Thomas said to Sasha. It wasn’t his job to protect Callum, or the queen; they had their own security details, agents who were coming for them now, streaming off the stage behind him and down the center aisle. Sasha nodded and held tight to his arm as they wound their way through the rising chaos. People crowded around them, voices raised, emotions running high, but Sasha shut her eyes and let Thomas lead her through. They had just reached the end of the lawn when Thomas heard Bedford’s voice in his ear—“Thomas?” He looked back instinctively, like Lot’s wife sneaking one last glance at Sodom and Gomorrah, and Sasha followed his lead.
One second.
The aurora in the sky was obliterated by a blinding plume of light.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking up from her book. The matron who had been bringing her meals and cleaning up her room each day since she got to the farmhouse was standing in the doorway, eyeing her suspiciously. The woman had a Libertas patch sewn on to her ill-fitting black button-down shirt; Juliana guessed it must’ve belonged to a man before, possibly her husband, although she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to get into bed with this dumpy old woman.
The woman held up a bowl full of purple goop and a plastic poncho. “You’re ta have yur hair dyed,” she said sharply. She must’ve been from nearby; her Farnham Country accent betrayed her, with its clipped consonants and gutteral creaks. “Sit in the chair.”
“What? I’m not dying my hair, are you crazy?” Her hands flew to her head. She took great pride in her hair, which was a beautiful chestnut brown, thick and straight and glossy. There was no way she was going to let them touch it.
“Shepherd’s orders, ma’am,” the woman said. She pulled the chair out from beneath the desk and gestured to it. “Sit.”
The woman always called her “ma’am,” never “Your Highness,” something that hadn’t escaped Juliana’s attention. No one in Libertas felt any compulsion to show her deference. They didn’t believe in her, didn’t have any loyalty to the crown. She’d never met anyone who refused to defer to her because she was royalty, and she didn’t like feeling powerless.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, moving to the chair. It was worthless to fight them, she’d learned. They had her trapped in this house, and no one who worked here was even the slightest bit inclined to help her in any way. No matter what they asked, or how hard she resisted, in the end she always had to do as they told her. And now that she’d given them what they wanted, it was distinctly possible—even likely—that whatever they asked was part of their plan to fulfill their end of the bargain. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. If she knew the General, he had the KES scouring the country for her, and the KES always found what it was looking for. Eventually they’d find out that she’d been smuggled into Farnham, and then they’d be on top of her. She didn’t want to give them the chance.
“ ’Cuz the Shepherd toll me to,” the woman said. She separated Juliana’s hair into several pieces before coating it with the goop.
“Ouch!” Juliana cried. The woman was not being gentle. “I mean, why do they need my hair dyed?”
“Got no idea. Maybe so’s it’s hard ter reconnize ya wur yur goin’.”
“And do you know where that is?” Juliana pressed.
“Course no,” the woman scoffed. “Ya think they lemme in on their secrets? I’m just a Second Tier. I follow orders. I dunno plans.”
I dunno plans, either, Juliana thought as the woman continued to tug at her hair. But someday. Someday I’ll have my own plans. And nobody has to know them but me.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I sat in Juliana’s bedroom, a coverlet hanging around my shoulders. I was holding a mug of hot tea, but I couldn’t bring myself to choke it down. The royal physician—the real one, this time—had patched me up, promising there would be no scar, but my head ached where it had slammed against the terrace when the bomb blast knocked me over. I hadn’t mentioned the fact that I’d had another vision to anyone; I’d half hoped Dr. Moss would attend to my scratches instead of Dr. Rowland so that I could confide in someone, because Gloria had no idea about my connection with Juliana, and I wasn’t exactly speaking to Thomas. The vision had made something clear to me—they were getting ready to move Juliana. They had a plan, and they were starting to implement it. Soon, she might be so far away that there was no hope for getting her back again. The prospect chilled me straight to the hollows of my bones. If there was no chance that Juliana would return, did that mean I was doomed to stay trapped in her life forever?
“I’m okay,” I assured Gloria, who was rushing around trying to make me comfortable, barking orders at everyone. Shaken as I was, I didn’t want Gloria fussing over me; it was only making me more anxious.
“Gloria, calm down,” Thomas said. “She’s all right.”
“She’s all right? She’s all right? And how the hell do you know that?” Gloria demanded.
“Because she just said so.” I hid my face in the mug of tea, breathing in its strong, jasmine scent. Thomas was riling Gloria up in the hopes that her anger would distract her from her fear; it appeared to be working.
“Haven’t you ever heard of shock?”
“She’s not in shock. You screaming at everybody within a fifty-mile radius might change that, though.”
“You.” Gloria pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You did this. You brought her here, you put her in danger. This is your fault!”