The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(94)

Lehrer looked positively anguished. Noam didn’t have time to care about that.

“Are you sure it’s not just—Dara hates you. Maybe he just—”

“Dara’s fevermad, Noam.”

Was he? Noam struggled to sift through all his memories of the past several months, stringing them together like beads on a thread. It fit. It . . . fit.

And a part of Noam felt as if he’d already known that.

Lehrer squeezed his knee. Noam barely felt it. “It’s the early stages,” Lehrer told him. “He can be treated. It will take a few months. But it’s possible, if I keep him safe.”

Noam thought about saying, Convenient, how “keeping him safe” also keeps him out of our way.

As if he knew what Noam was thinking, Lehrer sighed. “I know none of this is ideal, Noam, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I will. I . . . do.”

What the hell had this come to? How had he ended up here?

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Lehrer’s voice said. Noam couldn’t see him, had closed his eyes. “The life of one is worth nothing compared to the lives of many. This is why I chose you as my student. You’re capable of things that others are not. You’re intelligent enough to understand why such things are necessary, and strong enough to pursue what’s right. Don’t disappoint me now.”

Noam floated back to the barracks in an odd haze, his mind drifting far above his body. He took the long way back. He needed time to think.

Think about what? There was nothing to think about.

Just Brennan, who would die.

Dara, who might be dying.

He was walking in circles, had passed the same security camera five times. Somewhere on the other end, a guard was probably wondering what the hell Noam was doing. Noam really couldn’t afford to get caught loitering in the government complex a second time.

And that was another thing. Security cameras. He’d have to remember to take care of those when the time came to kill Brennan.

His feet dragged as he turned into the hall toward the barracks. He considered turning around and doing another loop of the training wing, but . . . but. He needed to get this over with.

He had to face Dara.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Bethany launched out of her chair the second she laid eyes on him, face white. On the sofa, Taye and Ames sat in silence, both of them staring at the TV, although Noam got the sense they weren’t really watching.

He dropped his satchel by the door and said slowly, “Where’s Dara?”

“He’s gone,” Bethany said, every word agonized. “Soldiers from the Ministry of Defense came by just a few minutes ago. They took Dara. We don’t know where he went.”





Stolen from C. Lehrer’s personal collection

Wolf,

Here are the files you wanted from Azriel.

I need to talk to you when you get a chance. It’s about your brother.

Let’s put it this way: there’s something I can’t tell you. I hope you understand what that means.

—Raphael





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“They have to say what they’re arresting you for,” Bethany said over breakfast, which none of them ate. “That’s Carolinian law. They didn’t tell Dara anything. Just, ‘Mr. Shirazi, you need to come with us,’ and Dara went.” She twisted her napkin between her hands, tighter and tighter. None of them could come up with a good reason why Dara hadn’t asked questions.

Except Noam, of course. Noam knew.

“He’s fine,” Lehrer assured him during their meeting the next day, as he pressed a warm cup of coffee into Noam’s hands. “He’s sedated and on a steroid drip. He’ll feel better in no time.”

“Can I see him?”

That was all Noam had thought about all night. Dara, locked away in Lehrer’s apartment like some damsel in a fairy tale.

Dara was no damsel, perhaps, but the thought still nauseated Noam. Maybe Dara only thought he hated Lehrer because he was sick. But even so, until he was better, Dara would loathe being alone with him.

And what if it wasn’t just fevermadness? What if Lehrer had figured out Dara worked for Sacha? What if this was all part of Lehrer’s ploy to take Dara out of the game at the crucial moment?

It couldn’t be. Right? If Lehrer knew Dara was a traitor, Dara wouldn’t still be alive.

Was Dara still alive?

“I’m afraid not,” Lehrer said. “He needs to rest. He’s probably sleeping.”

Probably.

But what happened if the madness got worse before it got better? If Dara lost control and told Lehrer everything—confessed to working with Sacha, to killing General Ames—

“Can’t I just—”

“I told you he’s safe. Now stop asking.” Lehrer turned away, toward the cabinet, pulling down a bottle of scotch and pouring himself a dram. “You have better things to worry about.”

Lehrer put Noam through his paces, the same as every other day, sparring first with magic and then with fists. He didn’t seem concerned about conserving Noam’s energy for Brennan. Just about making sure Noam was still as powerful as he’d been last week.

Back in the barracks, the other three cadets accosted him as soon as he stepped inside.