The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(90)

“Okay,” Noam said, but Dara didn’t speak again, at least not immediately.

After several silent moments, Dara unearthed a flask from his back pocket and took a long pull.

“Okay,” Dara echoed at last. “So. I was fifteen the first time I slept with Gordon.”

He hesitated again, fidgeting with the flask.

“How did it start?” Noam nudged gently.

“That doesn’t matter. But it did, and we . . . it wasn’t the way you’re thinking.” Dara drank again. “I know it was stupid, getting involved with high command like that. I think I hoped it would get back to Lehrer somehow, and he’d have to . . . I don’t know. Pay attention to me, for once. I wanted him to be angry.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to make Dara talk about this. Dara was . . . Noam had never seen him so on edge, not if you didn’t count the time after they had sex. He kept fiddling with the flask, kept reaching up to tug at his hair. His temples glimmered with sweat.

“It’s okay,” Noam said, reaching over to touch Dara’s wrist, only just remembering not to grasp. Dara’s skin was summer-hot. Dara let his hand drop from his hair and, after a beat, he laced his fingers together with Noam’s.

“Not really,” Dara whispered.

“General Ames is dead. You never have to see him again.”

Dara’s grip tightened, and he laughed, a low bitter sound.

“You don’t have to call it rape if you don’t want—but Dara, he hurt you. That’s . . . is that why you killed him? The real reason?”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“Dara, someone did that to you. The bruises—”

“It wasn’t him,” Dara insisted. He yanked his hand out of Noam’s grasp, face pale and eyes dark; he looked like a ghost. “I killed Gordon because of what he did to Ames, and because Chancellor Sacha asked me to.”

The relief was short lived.

Noam felt like he’d been stabbed in the stomach, acid burning on the back of his tongue. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t. But Dara wasn’t lying. Noam should have known this a long time ago, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Dara didn’t just sympathize with Sacha. He killed for him.

For the same man who spent four years undermining and oppressing people like Noam.

The back of his throat was dry. Noam swallowed against it twice, three times. It felt like gagging.

“You . . . you’re working for him.”

“Yes. I have been for a while.” Dara’s gaze was fixed on a spot on the ground some inches ahead of them.

“How?” Noam demanded. “How did this happen?”

Dara’s expression did something complicated. “Someone approached me several years ago, around the time Lehrer . . . around the time I realized the truth about Lehrer. I was planning to do something stupid, but they talked me out of it. You can imagine what a boon it was, to have Lehrer’s ward as your spy. I was able to steal all kinds of old files from Lehrer’s apartment and the MoD servers. We’d hoped some of it might undermine Lehrer’s legacy in the court of public opinion, when we moved against him.” He waved a hand, dismissive. Noam felt motion sick just watching him. “But I’m about to graduate now, so I’ve outlived my utility.”

“That’s why you killed the home secretary. Because it doesn’t matter anymore if you get caught and executed for it.” Noam’s nails dug into his palms. He wished he could walk fast enough to leave Dara behind. “Fucking hell, Dara.”

“You should talk,” Dara snapped. “Everything you’re doing with Lehrer—you know that’s why Sacha had me kill Gordon, right? Because Lehrer’s planning to overthrow Sacha. Texas is practically salivating for the chance to jump on a weakened Carolinia. Sacha thinks maybe, maybe Lehrer won’t usurp him if the political situation is destabilized by an assassination. Of course,” Dara said with a snort, “that just goes to show Sacha doesn’t understand Lehrer at all.”

Noam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “How do you even—how do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dara said. “But I’m not going to apologize. I don’t regret what I did.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re a fucking white knight, galloping in on your mighty steed to save the world. And who cares what you have to do or who you have to hurt?”

Noam said it as cruelly as possible, wanting Dara to feel pain, to feel as cold and hollowed out as Noam did. And from the look on Dara’s face, he was succeeding.

Dara dragged his fingers through his hair, the gesture rough and the curls catching against his knuckles. “I don’t expect you to forgive me—”

“Oh, I don’t,” Noam snarled. “And now you’ll ask me to keep your dirty little secret, won’t you? Do you really think I won’t tell Lehrer?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dara said. “You’ll do what you think is right.” A moment passed, then Dara abruptly turned his face away. His spine was too straight, head bowed like he was waiting for the blade to fall.

“Dara,” Noam started.

Dara looked at him. Noam was shocked to see his eyes were wet. “I’m sorry,” Dara said. “I . . . I had planned to tell you when we came out here. But now I don’t know what I can tell you without putting you in danger. I don’t know how close you are to Lehrer. You might be too close, in which case, the less you know the better.”