Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(28)

The two men glared at each other.

“None of that is a worry to me, though,” Blackwell added, his fingers playing with the cuff links on his sleeve. “A handed-down, ceremonial position offers its own benefits, Arthur. Job security, for one.”

And with that, he left, the slam of the double doors echoing across the ceiling.

Prince’s bottom lip curled, but he kept himself in check. He shut his eyes. “What are you proposing, Sibyl?”

Sibyl tapped her fingers against the table. “If Saul is planning an attack, he’ll need his rings. With them he could control phantoms again.”

“Both are still in your custody?”

Sibyl nodded. “Yes. Fortified and under twenty-four-hour supervision. But we—”

The director put up his hand once more to silence her, much to her annoyance. This time, it was to take a call he’d just received. He gave a few curt nods before answering back. “Very good. If he’s already arrived at the facility, then tell him to head directly to the briefing room. I’ll speak to him there.”

“Sir,” Sibyl said once he hung up. “Who are you referring to?”

“To be honest,” Prince said, “I’ve been considering this ever since it was clear that you were struggling to recapture Saul.” His Adam’s apple slid against his skin as he swallowed. “Like you said, Saul wouldn’t launch an attack on the Sect or make another attempt for Maia without arsenal. At this point, he’s at a disadvantage. He’ll need at least one ring. However, with the current situation of our recent breaches, I’m not confident that the rings are safe at your facility under your care.”

“Since Saul escaped from our custody, I’ve made sure to conduct intense screenings of our agents here at the London facility,” Sibyl said in a low voice. She didn’t let on, but her rigid posture told me she was on the defensive. “I’ve done everything I can to ensure their security.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced,” Prince answered flatly. “Don’t worry, Sibyl. This is good timing. I’ve already been preparing for the possibility of moving the rings to a more secure location. It’s a delicate operation that would require the support of the Effigies and only a handful of trusted agents. I have a few I can spare.”

“A task force,” Sibyl said.

“I’ve already generated a short list of agents from my division. Some have worked well with your team in the past. I sent them to London the moment I heard about the mission’s failure. Especially now that Saul’s declared his intentions, I think it’s time we move up my original timeline.”

Sibyl frowned. “Which agents have you contacted?”

“He should be here shortly.”

We didn’t have to wait too long.

I was already on my feet by the time he walked in.

I should have known.

Two months since he’d nearly died protecting me against Saul. He looked perfectly fine standing in front of me, his black hair trimmed, a healthy flush to his high-angled cheekbones. During the weeks he’d spent at a London hospital recuperating, I’d visited only when I knew he’d be asleep. And once he was released, I ignored him, even after he’d gone back to his own post in rural New York, together with all of his unanswered texts, to resume his original job as a run-of-the-mill field agent. His voice messages were still saved on my phone.

And for a time, I thought it would work. I thought that if I didn’t see him, didn’t speak to him, didn’t talk about him, and didn’t think about him, then I could properly deal with the fact that he may have murdered Natalya. I could take the information Natalya herself had given me, real or not, and stow it back in the recesses of my mind. I could forget him.

I should have known.

“Rhys.” I stupidly stared at him with my jaw slack, my shoulders slumping hopelessly.

But Aidan Rhys did not look at me, did not even respond to the sound of his name from my lips. His eyes had already found the screen at the front of the room, and the man whose stone gaze he matched.

“Aidan.” Prince clasped his fingers together, peering down at the young man with a businesslike chill in his expression. “Good, you’ve arrived.”

I’d never seen Rhys so stiff. “Yes,” he said with a formal voice and straight back, though the sharp glint in his eyes told a different story. “Hey, Dad.”





7



“WAIT.” LAKE LOOKED AT RHYS, then turned to Prince. Then back to Rhys. Then back again. “You guys are father and son . . . seriously?”

The two men left the question unanswered as they stared each other down.

Rhys had told me once that he belonged to one of those Sect legacy families—the ones who’d been loyal for generations.

My dad fought. I could hear his voice in memories. My brother, too.

What he hadn’t told me was that his father was the leader of an entire Sect division. He’d left that little detail out.

“Not ‘Dad.’ Director Prince,” Prince said, correcting Rhys’s initial greeting, and it was then that I noticed the difference in their surnames. Was Rhys a pseudonym? Code name? Was it for security reasons? Personal reasons? My mind raced. There was so much I didn’t know about him. Too much.