The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(102)

Why was Sacha here? Why was he interrogating Noam personally when he had an impending coup to contend with? What was his game?

“We know it was you, Noam,” Sacha said from behind him. “Anonymous tip, an hour ago. Everything all tied up in a neat little package. Location, approximate time, victim, villain. Mechanism of death, just in case we doubted its validity. It arrived a little too late for us to save Brennan, but at least we got you.”

Noam faltered midstep. He didn’t recover quickly enough; he knew Sacha saw.

But there were only three people who had that information. Noam himself, obviously. Dara, locked up in isolation.

And Lehrer.

Noam inhaled sharply and turned to pace back the way he came. That didn’t make sense. Why would Lehrer turn Noam in? This was his plan! Noam getting caught assassinating someone would undermine Lehrer’s whole coup. Everyone would know Noam did it on Lehrer’s orders.

Wouldn’t be the first anonymous tip he’s sent lately, a little voice whispered in the back of Noam’s mind.

“Well,” Noam said, fumbling to reclaim his anger. His ears rang. “They’re lying, obviously. Because I didn’t fucking kill anyone!”

Sacha watched him with interest, tracking Noam’s progress back across the room to the opposite corner.

No. Lehrer was a lot of things, but he was ultimately rational. He liked risks, but only when he was sure he could control the outcome.

Surely it wasn’t him.

Surely.

“You know,” Sacha said as Noam reached the other wall and spun around again, “if you hadn’t doubled back into the building, you might have gotten away.”

“I didn’t do it,” Noam recited, stomach writhing.

“Mmm. Yes, you said. Please sit. You’re making even me nervous.”

Which . . . actually, Sacha did look nervous. Sweat beaded his brow; his tie was knotted askew like he’d thrown it on last minute.

Of course. Noam was down here getting interrogated for murder, but to Sacha he was a weapon—perhaps the only one Sacha had left to resist Lehrer’s coup. This whole time Sacha had been a step behind, realizing Lehrer had a plan only after he’d already carried it out. But now he was in the middle of it, Lehrer’s plot unfurling around him like a black flag. That’s why he was down here, with Noam, instead of out there amid the chaos.

Noam was it. Either Sacha got him to turn on Lehrer, or Sacha went down.

Noam sat.

“Thank you,” Sacha said. He exhaled, then twisted in his seat to face Noam directly. He kept his hands folded atop the table, like they were in a goddamn business meeting.

“Noam, where is Dara Shirazi?”

Not the question Noam expected. “Why are you asking me about Dara when I’m being accused of murder?”

Sacha gave him an arch look. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. Protective custody, I think.”

“That’s convenient,” Sacha said. “A threat to Mr. Shirazi’s life arrives right before Lehrer plans to make his final gambit. The telepathic spy is off the chessboard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. You’re friends, aren’t you? And we all know you, Mr. álvaro, are not as stupid as your test scores would have you appear.” Sacha’s mouth twitched up, like it was some mutual joke. “So I’ll ask again. Where is Dara?”

“I don’t know. Probably the Ministry of Defense. I’d tell you to ask Lehrer, but I know you won’t.” Noam crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Sacha with all the hatred he’d stored up these past years. Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a fucking murderer. “You already decided what you think happened. So fuck the truth, am I right?”

“He’s not in the Ministry,” Sacha said. “I checked. I even asked Calix, but he told me Dara’s safety depended on his location staying a secret.”

“Yeah. It probably does. So why are you still asking?”

“Because there’s no death threat, Noam. Not unless you count whatever Calix plans to do to Dara when this is all over.”

“You’re crazy,” Noam said, but that did nothing for the cold that laced down the back of his neck.

“I’m trying to protect him.”

“Yeah. You have a great track record protecting the people who live in your country.” He gritted his teeth so hard it hurt. “Fuck you. I can say that, right? Or is that treason now too?”

“Of course,” Sacha murmured, unclasping his hands. He leaned back in his seat. “You consider yourself one of the refugees, don’t you? You were born here in Carolinia, but your parents weren’t.”

Noam glared in silence.

“Undocumented too. I looked them up. We never managed to get our hands on your father, but he had quite the unofficial record himself. Is that how you got involved with Brennan’s people in the first place? Your dad?”

“How dare you talk about my dad,” Noam snapped. “You have no right.”

“Should we talk about you instead?” Sacha was unmoving. “After your mother killed herself, you filled her shoes well enough. You got two jobs and dropped out of school. You took care of Daddy when he couldn’t take care of himself.”