The plaza outside the gallery is noisy, bustling with city life. Many stop to stare, gawking at us as we head for our transport. Maven waves with a practiced smile, causing the crowd to cheer his name. He’s good at this; after all, these people are his birthright. When he stoops to speak with a few children, his smile brightens. Cal might be born to rule, but Maven was meant for it. And Maven is willing to change the world for us, for the Reds he was raised to spit on.
I surreptitiously touch the list in my pocket, thinking of the ones who can help Maven and me change the world. Are they like me, or are they as varied as the Silvers? Shade was like you. They knew about Shade and had to kill him, like they could not kill you. My heart aches for my fallen brother, for the conversations we might have had. For the future we might have forged.
But Shade is dead, and there are others who need my help.
“We need to find Farley,” I whisper in Maven’s ear, barely audible to myself. But he hears me and raises an eyebrow in silent question. “I have to give her something.”
“I have no doubt she’ll find us,” he mutters back, “if she isn’t watching already.”
“How—?”
Farley, spying on us? Inside a city that wants her torn apart? It seems impossible. But then I notice the Silver crowd pressing in, and the Red servants beyond. A few linger to watch us, their arms banded with red. Any one of them could work for Farley. They all could. Even with the Sentinels and Security all around, she’s still with us.
Now the question becomes finding the right Red, saying the right thing, finding the right place, and doing it all without anyone noticing the prince and his future princess communicating with a wanted terrorist.
This isn’t like the crowds at home, the ones I could move through so easily. Now I stand out, a future princess surrounded by guards, with a rebellion resting on her shoulders. And maybe even something more important, I think, remembering the list of names in my jacket.
When the crowd pushes in, craning to look at us, I take my chance and slip away. The Sentinels bunch around Maven, still not used to guarding me as well, and with a few quick turns, I’m out of the circle of guards and onlookers. They continue across the plaza without me, and if Maven notices I’m gone, he doesn’t stop them.
The Red servants don’t acknowledge me, their heads down as they buzz between shops. They keep to alleys and shadows, trying to stay out of sight. I’m so busy searching the Red faces that I don’t notice the one at my elbow.
“My lady, you dropped this,” the little boy says. He’s probably ten years old, with one arm banded with red. “My lady?”
Then I notice the scrap he holds out. It’s nothing, just a twisted bit of paper I don’t remember having. Still, I smile for the boy and take it from him. “Thank you very much.”
He grins at me, smiling as only a child can, before bounding away into an alley. He bounces with every step. Life has not dragged him down yet.
“This way, Lady Titanos.” A Sentinel stands over me, watching with flat eyes. So much for that plan. I let him lead me back to the transport, feeling suddenly dejected. I can’t even sneak away like I used to. I’m getting soft.
“What was that all about?” Maven wonders as I slide back into the transport.
“Nothing,” I sigh, casting a glance out the window as we pull away from the plaza. “Thought I saw someone.”
We’re around a bend in the street before I even think to look at the little paper. I unfold it in my lap, hiding the scrap in the folds of my sleeve. There are words scrawled across the slip, so small I can barely read them.
Hexaprin Theater. Afternoon play. The best seats.
It takes me a moment to realize I only understand half those words, but that doesn’t matter at all. Smiling, I press the message into Maven’s hand.
Maven’s request is all it takes to get us into the theater. It’s small but very grand, with a green domed roof crowned by a black swan. It’s a place of entertainment, showing plays or concerts or even some archive films on special occasions. A play, as Maven tells me, is when people, actors, perform a story on a stage. Back home we didn’t have time for bedtime fairy tales, let alone stages and actors and costumes.
Before I know it, we’re sitting on a closed balcony above the stage. The seats below us teem with people, many of them children, all of them Silver. A few Reds rove between the rows and aisles, serving drinks or taking tickets, but none sit down. This is not a luxury they can afford. Meanwhile, we sit on velvet chairs with the best view, with the secretary and the Sentinels standing just beyond our curtained door.
When the theater darkens, Maven throws an arm across my shoulders, pulling me so close I can feel his heartbeat. He smirks at the secretary, now peeking between the curtains. “Don’t disturb us,” he drawls, and he pulls my face to his.
The door clicks behind us, locking shut, but neither of us pulls away. A minute or an hour passes, which I don’t know, until voices onstage bring me back to reality. “Sorry,” I mutter to Maven, standing up out of my chair in an effort to put some distance between us. There’s no time for kissing now, no matter how much I might want to. He only smirks, watching me instead of the play. I do my best to look elsewhere, but something always draws my eyes back to him.
“What do we do now?”
He laughs to himself, eyes glinting mischievously.
“That’s not what I meant.” But I can’t help but smirk with him.
“Cal cornered me earlier.”
Maven’s lips purse, tightening at the thought. “And?”
“It seems I’ve been saved.”
His resulting grin could light the world entire, and I’m seized by the need to kiss him again. “I told you I would,” he says, his voice oddly rough. When his hand reaches for mine, I take it without question.
Before we can continue, the ceiling panel above us scrapes away. Maven jumps to his feet, more startled than I am, and peers into the black space above us. Not even a whisper filters down, but all the same, I know what to do. Training has made me stronger, and I pull myself up with ease, disappearing into the dark and cold. I can’t see anything or anyone, but I’m not afraid. Excitement rules me now, and with a smile, I reach down a hand to help Maven. He scrambles up into the darkness and tries to get his bearings. Before our eyes adjust, the ceiling panel slides back into place, shutting out the light and the play and the people beyond.
“Be quick and quiet. I’ll take you from here.”
It’s not the voice I recognize but the smelclass="underline" an overpowering mixture of tea, old spices, and a familiar blue candle.
“Will?” My voice almost cracks. “Will Whistle?”
Slowly but surely, the darkness becomes easier to manage. His white beard, tangled as ever, comes into dim focus. There’s no mistaking it now.