The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(92)

CHAPTER TWENTY

As it turned out, Noam didn’t have to avoid Dara over the next week. Dara avoided him instead.

If Noam came into the room, Dara found an excuse to go out. He only returned to the bedroom late at night, presumably so he wouldn’t have to undress for bed while avoiding making eye contact. They were forced together for meals, which neither could finish. Noam respected food, he did, but his stomach rebelled against every bite of porridge. Everything he ate congealed in his gut.

It wasn’t that he was oblivious to the effect all this had on Dara. More than once he came into the bedroom only to catch Dara scrambling to hide a liquor bottle under his mattress or lying alone and quiet on his bed at midday.

Guilty conscience, Noam thought cruelly and half hoped Dara overheard it. For all he’d said, “I believe you” to Dara, he knew Dara didn’t love him at all. Dara would have said anything.

And yet Noam hadn’t told Lehrer the truth either. He carried that flopcell in his pocket everywhere he went, feeling out its shape with technopathy even as he pretended to listen to Lehrer’s instructions during lessons. He knew he needed to turn Dara in. But turning Dara in was tantamount to signing his execution warrant, and Noam—that was something Noam wouldn’t do.

“I need you to pay attention now,” Lehrer said one day, just as Noam had been fiddling with the flopcell again. Noam startled, a little guiltily, and sat up straighter. Lehrer looked back steadily, and for a brief, reeling moment of panic Noam thought, He knows.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The expression on Lehrer’s face was wry, as if to say: I doubt that very much. Lehrer shifted in his seat to put down his coffee cup, but when he turned back, it was with that same intensity of focus. “You’ve been following the news,” he said. Not a question.

Noam nodded. And then, because he knew Lehrer liked it when Noam provided his own interpretation of current events, he added, “Between martial law and General Ames’s assassination, I’m surprised there hasn’t been a riot.”

“Exactly.” Lehrer tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “It’s time to start one.”

Noam’s pulse stumbled over the next beat. He leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe. It brought him into Lehrer’s space, but he didn’t care.

“It’s time, Noam,” Lehrer said. “There’s no point in drawing this out any longer. Conditions will never be better. Half the world is itching to attack us while we’re down—and they will, if we don’t move fast. But if I’m in charge, they won’t touch us. The European Federation learned their lesson back in the 2010s; they know exactly how far I’m willing to go to protect this country. Sacha’s government is fatally wounded. We need to strike the killing blow.”

It felt . . . too soon, somehow. Like there was something else they ought to have done, some preparations left unfinished. But Lehrer was right. Both refugees and Carolinians were fed up with the current system; they were desperate to accept any replacement, even a military junta. Lehrer had planned this for years.

And Dara saw it coming a mile away.

“It sounds like you already have something in mind.”

“I do,” Lehrer said slowly, as if tasting each word. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me.”

“We need a large gesture, something we could easily pin on Sacha, that would catapult people into action. It needs to destabilize the refugee population and put them in a position where revolt is their best option.” Lehrer had both hands clasped in his lap, like he was discussing an assigned chapter. “The most efficient way of accomplishing this is to assassinate Tom Brennan.”

Noam stared at him. Just hearing Lehrer say it was enough to make his stomach churn so violently he almost thought he was going to throw up.

“You’re right,” Noam managed. “I don’t like it. There’s another way.”

Right?

“I’m afraid not,” Lehrer said, nearly apologetic. “Killing Brennan will catalyze refugee anger without sacrificing many more innocent lives. It’s better than cutting off food or medical supplies or introducing some sort of disease threat. This way, only one person has to die, and we get an immediate reaction. With Brennan gone, there will be no one in a centralized position of authority to prevent riots. Brennan’s a pacifist; we’ll never see violent revolution while he’s alive.”

It was so . . . so brutally logical. This was almost worse than if Lehrer had given him no reason at all. Noam could have railed against the shapeless enemy of Lehrer’s undisclosed reasons and felt like he wasn’t so fucking . . . complicit.

Instead Noam hated himself, because his first thought was Yes, that makes sense.

Noam’s head hurt. Like a goddamn vise was being slowly tightened around his skull. He gritted his teeth, which of course only made it worse—

This was all Dara’s fault. If Dara hadn’t killed Gordon Ames, if Dara hadn’t been fighting Lehrer every step of the way, they might not be in this position. They wouldn’t need to make a move before England or Texas did. They’d have time.

Lehrer was wrong, had to be wrong. He only chose killing Brennan because it was convenient.

On the other hand, it was convenient for a reason. Brennan was the last thread holding back the cause.