The Hidden Twin (18 page)

I don't know what to say, other than, “You're welcome.”

“Breathe easy,” he says, and the high priests echo, “Breathe easy.”

I bow, just a bend at the waist. “Breathe easy.” And the Salt Throne and the two black-clad priests proceed through the temple doors and out into the moonlight.

With the vestibule now empty, Fir, Corvin, and Teppa come through the sanctuary doors. “What did you say to him?” Fir asks as though she is accusing me of something.

“I said we were here to break into his private quarters and draw mustaches on all the Holy Engravings,” I say. Corvin snorts, but Fir shoots him a furious look, and suddenly he appears to be clearing his throat.

The doorway to the servants' staircase is hidden behind the heavy golden curtains, but I remember where it is and find it in only a few short moments. Corvin raises his eyebrows in approval, but Fir just keeps watch, her intense gaze flitting from one corner of the room to the other.

We climb, careful of our footfalls. The detention level is one floor up, a narrow hallway that curves around the outside of the cavernous sanctuary. I do not expect to find the door locked; are servants not required to clean and deliver meals even here? But the others don't seem surprised, and Teppa's tools make short work of the lock. It is clear we need her.

Fir pokes her head out first, then motions for us to step out from the little stairwell. She is brave, I must admit. The bare hallway is a stark contrast to the lush fabrics and colors of the vestibule. Fir proceeds slowly, keeping to the shadows between the few weak lamps, and we follow, silent, always unsure of what we'll find farther along the curve of the wall.

Suddenly, Fir stops, flattening herself against a darkened doorway. Teppa freezes, and I turn to Corvin, who exchanges a look with Fir and then nods. He gestures and I turn. Fir has tied a linen bandanna over her nose and mouth, and holds more out to us. I look to Corvin again, who has already tied a black bandanna just below his eyes and is pulling a satchel from his hip. Teppa and I put on our own bandannas, which smell like oil. I hold my breath as Corvin sidles past me along the wall. Slowly, he creeps past Fir, who slides back toward us, head turned to follow Corvin.

When he has almost disappeared from view, I see Corvin's arm swing—he tosses something from the satchel farther down the curving hallway. Then he retreats, and we all press ourselves against the wall.

A few minutes pass before Fir begins to move forward once again. My heart jumps as the terrifying figure of a Temple guard comes into view, the spikes on his iron helmet casting severe shadows on the bare walls. But as we approach, I see that he is slumped over in his chair.

I turn to Corvin. “Star pods!” I whisper. “That's what you've got in that satchel!”

I can't see the smile under his bandanna, but it changes the shape of his eyes. “Also known as anysleep. I'm never without them.”

“They're a nightmare to grow,” I say, impressed. “They're such fragile little things. And they have a tendency to knock you unconscious. You must be quite a gardener.”

“He steals them,” Fir whispers. Corvin clears his throat. I'm beginning to wonder if he's getting a cold. “Here,” Fir says, a hand on her hip. She stands just beyond the unconscious guard in front of a solid-looking door. “There won't be any other guards. There isn't much security in this area; the prisoners here are just detainees. Your sister may have been asked to come in for questioning simply because you were executed.”

“Well, they didn't ask very nicely,” I mutter. I can still see our broken vase, the overturned furniture.

Fir shrugs as Teppa sets to work on the door. After a moment, Corvin pulls his bandanna down and gives the air a tentative sniff. “It's fine,” he says. “Anysleep dissipates quickly.”

The rest of us cautiously pull down our own bandannas, but aside from a slight bitter mustiness, the hallway seems normal.

“That means he'll be waking up in a few minutes,” Fir says. “Hurry up, Teppa, you revolting old skeleton.”

“Why don't you stuff that oil rag in your mouth, villain?” Teppa says, clinking a jagged metal device into the lock. “It'd probably make your breath smell better.”

My eyes snap to Fir's face, but instead of the rage I expected, she seems amused. I can't help grinning. There is something about Teppa.

Whatever she has been rattling around in the lock gives a satisfying click, and she steps back. Fir turns the handle and gives the door a little shove. We wait, but nothing happens. All seems clear.

“Be quick,” Fir whispers as I slide by her. “We'll keep watch out here.”

“Thanks,” I say. I meet her eyes when I say it, unintentionally, and it seems to throw her off a little. She gives a quick nod.

The room beyond looks more like a parlor than a jail cell. It's certainly nothing like the dank, candlelit dungeon below the sanctuary. I move with caution, taking care not to disturb the graceful upholstered chairs or the thin-legged tables set with books and used teacups.

Between a gold velvet settee and an iron coatrack is a slender door, slightly ajar. I creep over to it and snake my head around the edge.

It is a modest room with two dressing tables and a row of beds.
The prisoners on this level really have it nice,
I think, remembering my hollow-eyed guard and her choking device. The room is dim, and it takes me a moment to make out a sleeping form.

I pad over to the bed, where a familiar lock of dark hair spills from under a floral-patterned blanket. I lean down, my face nearly touching the sheets. “Jey.” I touch her shoulder.

She shifts, extending her legs and sliding the blanket off her face. My sister cracks her eyes blearily, then opens them as wide as raptor eggs.

I put a finger to my lips and motion for her to follow me. Jey rises hesitantly and joins me in the parlor. I shut the door to the bedroom without a sound and signal for my sister to come with me. She doesn't move; she is in shock. I go back to her, put my arms around her, and whisper, “It's all right. I know somewhere safe we can go.”

Her body feels rigid and strange, and she keeps looking at me with those raptor-egg eyes. I take a step back. “Jey,” I whisper. “We must hurry.”

Then, slowly and without breaking eye contact, she shakes her head.

I grab her shoulders, and she shrinks. “What's the matter with you?” I hiss. “I've come to get you out of here. But we mustn't be caught—we have to go now!”

“No,” she whispers, so quietly I can barely hear her.

I release her. “What?”

“No,” she whispers again. “I … I know what you are.”

All I can do is stare at her. “What do you mean? What do you mean, you know what I am? You've always known … what I am.”

“I know more than that. More than you think.” She looks down. “You were never educated in the Temple, sister,” she says.

“That would have worked out well, I'm sure.”

“But I go.” Her voice shakes. “I go, and I listen. I thought they were going to—to rehabilitate you. Bonner said that the Onyx Staff would cast a healing light over you.”

“Bonner!” I can barely stop myself from shouting it. “Bonner is a cruel man, Jey! Listen to me—”

“No, you listen!” she says, sounding more like herself. “Do you think I wanted to get you killed? Do you think that was easy for me?”

I steady myself against an overly dainty chair.
“You
told the priests about me? That I would be coming home from the aviary that day?” The realization crawls over my skin like a thousand worms. No longer steady, my legs buckle and I sit heavily on the chair's fine upholstery.

Jey wrings her hands. “Bonner didn't say they would execute you! He said you would be cleansed. I—”

“It's not your fault,” I say, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “It's Bonner's fault. He lied to you, that—that eel of righteousness. He's a lying scoundrel.”

“He's not,” she says, unaware of how young she sounds. “I love him. We can't choose whom we love.”

My cheeks heat up. “What you have with Bonner is not love!” I stop myself, inhaling deeply. “We have to get away from here.”

“No!” She paces away from me. “No, redwing. I understand now. I didn't know before that you were a—a monster. I thought you were just like me.”

“I
am
just like you!”

Her eyes flash. “I saw the priest! The one whose face you burned off!”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I can still see his blood-streaked face.

“And the other one!” Her words scratch with anger now. “His arms were in six pieces! Bonner brought those men here to show me what you really are.”

“Jey, they were trying to—”

“And I saw Bonner's poor hands. His hands, sister. How could you?”

Oh, Jey, why must you be so trusting?
My sister's innocent faith in that vile young man has led us to this. She is safe for now, but to the unshakably righteous, eventually everyone begins to seem tarnished and wicked.

Jey's voice quiets. “I am here for my own protection.” She glances back toward the bedroom. “The Beautiful Ones know you didn't die. They said I had to come with them so they could keep me safe.”

“Is that so?” I clench the delicate arms of the chair. “Did you smash our birthday vase because you were so happy about being safe?”

She lowers her eyes. “I didn't want to go at first. I didn't understand.”

“Yes, you did.” I look at her face—my face. “You always understood.”

Now she stares back at me, hard. “They said you were an angry beast. That you would come for me. And you did.”

I jump to my feet. “I came to save you!”

Jey recoils. “Please! Please don't hurt me, redwing. If you ever loved me at all, if there is anything human in you!”

I can't speak. I stare at my sister cowering at the thought of leaving her prison.

“Bonner and I are going east tomorrow,” she says. “We're going to join Papa. You won't follow us there, will you?” She swallows. “They said you would seek revenge against Papa, too, once—once your mind starts to go. We're going to take him away, and then you'll never find us.”

Heat trickles down my face, worse than worms, worse than blood. In a fragile whisper, I ask, “Do you really believe all those things about me, Jey? Do you really want to go east with Bonner?”

She says nothing, but I can see her shaking. Jey, who has never been afraid of anything in her life, is afraid of me.

“I want to be far away from this madness,” she says, sniffing. “And you … you can be me now.”

“I'll never be you,” I say. And for the first time in my life, I don't want to.

I turn and walk silently from the room. I make sure to close the door behind me.

 

thirteen

The cot in the bunk room of the Under House is not as comfortable as the mattress in the Dome, and it smells of beer instead of hay, but I sleep anyway, then wake in a curl under the thin blanket. I certainly don't need the blanket for warmth in this sweltering basement, but right now I need a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I pull the fabric over my face.

Murmuring from the common room buzzes in my ears, the words indistinct but the tone heated. I stretch an arm over my head, resting its weight on my sore ear to block out the sound. I keep my eyes closed.

The door opens and closes. Footsteps draw near. I sense someone sitting on the cot next to mine, but I don't open my eyes. I listen to him, the whisper of his every breath keeping me from unconsciousness.

“I brought you something.” Corvin's tone is a little hesitant, almost as though he is asking a question.

I slide the corner of the blanket off my face and look up at him. “Is Jey right? Am I a monster?”

His expression becomes distant; a dullness creeps into his eyes. “You can't start asking yourself those kinds of questions.”

I let my head flop back onto my pillow. “Well,
that
helps.”

Corvin's focus becomes more present and his features soften. “Sorry. All of us—we can be a little … intense. Especially—”

“Fir,” I mumble.

“I was going to say my sister. Nara.” Nara. If she were here now, she would sweep that stray lock of light hair from his bruised face. “We came here with nothing, and the city held us up,” he says. “She wants to protect the people here who can't protect themselves.”

I roll onto my back. “They don't know to protect themselves. From—from whoever.”

Corvin reaches behind himself. “Do you want what I brought you or not?”

I turn my head. “All right.”

He pulls out my wrench-box, the one from the top of my wardrobe. All my penny pulp redwings, photographs of Jey and my father, my mother's tablecloth. I sit up, gazing first at the box, then at him. “How did you…?”

He smiles and shrugs. “I got some of your clothes, too. I hope you don't mind. I figured you'd want your own things. I watered your garden, too, for what it's worth. All those green plants up there, in the middle of the city. It's quite amazing.”

“I've got a watering system,” I say. “My father designed it. And the raptor poo. The plants love it. Never could figure why the raptors have to wait until they're inside to do all their business.”

“Sounds … delightful?” Corvin holds out the box. “Anyway, when I found this, I knew it was special.”

I reach for the box, wrapping my arms around it. “It is,” I say. “Thank you.” I let my upper body fall backwards onto the cot. The box isn't cuddly, but it calms me.

Corvin is silent for a moment. Then he asks, “What do you know of Others?”

“I know very little of anything I haven't read about.” I close my eyes. “In the stories, Other princes and princesses—they're always princes or princesses—are lovely, intelligent, kind. They admire humans enough to use their magic powers to come to the aid of lowly servants and noblemen alike.” I open my eyes and study the dark metal ceiling. “They are everything redwings are not.”