Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(52)

“He’s clean,” one guard said. “Okay, you’re free to go inside, sir.”

“Yes,” his partner muttered so low I barely heard him. “Please go. Go now.”

We went through the heavily bolted gates and began our trek down a network of long corridors, each plastered wall glinting pristine white. I had to quicken my pace to keep up with the businesslike stride of their long legs, though Rhys was the taller of the two.

“Did Aidan tell you he had a brother, Maia?” Brendan asked, straightening his suit.

“You literally haven’t stopped talking since we left Communications,” Rhys said before I could. “You want to give that a try next?”

“Come on, Aidan, don’t act like that. We’re brothers.” Brendan patted Rhys on the shoulder, his smile wavering a bit when Rhys ignored the gesture. It was clear Brendan was genuinely enthused about this little family reunion. Rhys, not so much. “I’m four years older,” he told me. “But we look alike, don’t we? Though everyone always tells us that Aidan takes after our mother while I take after Father. How is Mother, by the way, Aidan?”

“Call her and ask.”

Oh, boy. This was awkward. My shoulders slumped as I let out an imperceptible sigh. Why couldn’t Sibyl stay?

“Wait,” I said, suddenly remembering. “You two have different last names. But you have the same parents?”

“Rhys is my mother’s maiden name,” Rhys answered absently, rubbing the cast on his opposite arm. “So I’m not labeled as a director’s son. It’s just easier to be an agent that way.”

Aidan Prince. I smirked. “Aren’t you full of surprises,” I said. “I learn more and more about you every day.”

Rhys kept his eyes on me as he asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not always,” I said, my smile falling. “But sometimes.”

Even from his side profile, I could see the vulnerability reflected in his soft eyes. He walked close to me, close enough for me to feel the heat from his body, or maybe I was imagining it. After I’d spoken, there was a slight uptick in his pace. The softness gone, he looked straight ahead.

“Well,” Brendan said, “his taking our mother’s name isn’t just about living as an agent.”

Rhys sent him an inscrutable glare as we turned a corner. There was a white, double-bolted door ahead of us. Brendan used his keycard, letting the red light from the scanner pass across the white plastic. The bolts unlocked with a click and the door released from its seal. Taking hold of the edge, Brendan pulled it back.

The door opened to a monotony of darkness broken only by some lamps lining a redbrick wall and a trail of steps spiraling downward into the unknown.

“The Hole is where we keep the worst criminals,” Brendan explained as we began to step down the staircase. Brendan went first. Rhys followed after me.

The staircase was narrow, enclosed by two brick walls, narrowly spaced apart. It was as if we’d taken a wrong turn from the slick, high-tech enclave of the Sect and gotten lost inside an ancient castle dungeon. If it weren’t for the electric lights in the walls, I would have believed this place had been built centuries ago.

Brendan was a step below me and Rhys a step above me. I descended carefully.

“The worst criminals. Like Vasily.” Each creak of the steps beneath my feet sent jitters up my spine. They really could have spent more on maintenance down here.

“Vasily Volkov is dangerous. Well, you should know that. According to my briefings, you’ve had quite a few run-ins with him in the past.”

“Quite a few.” That Cheshire grin as he happily sliced off a man’s finger would never leave my memories. “Yeah, I see why he’d be locked up in a place called the Hole.”

“Not the first one he’s been in,” added Brendan, and with his hands tracing the wall for balance, he twisted around and looked up at his younger brother behind me. Rhys kept his eyes ahead, avoiding his meaningful glance.

“You mean the Devil’s Hole,” I said. The Greenland facility’s other name. Rhys had mentioned it once before.

“Keep going,” Rhys said, since his brother had stopped for just that second. I’d never seen Rhys so tense.

“Rhys, you once told me that some facilities are tougher than others. What happened there? What kind of place was it before it burned down?”

“It’s not something we need to talk about, Maia.”

Brendan looked at him sideways with narrowed, disbelieving eyes. “You’re really still bitter about having had to train at Fisk-Hoffman. The very fact that you’d be bitter in the first place is just . . .” He scoffed, shaking his head incredulously. “Unbelievable. You really are something, aren’t you? Like a spoiled child. Complaining about every opportunity you’re given.”

Rhys was very still.

“Maia, did you know that Fisk-Hoffman is—was—one of the most prestigious training facilities within the Sect?”

“Prestigious?” I frowned. That certainly wasn’t how it’d sounded when Rhys had first told me about it in France.

“Not that I would expect a young civilian like yourself to know much about it,” Brendan continued with a certain snooty upturn of his nose, “but since it opened in the sixties, only seven students from facilities around the world were selected as the cohort of a special program. Training the leaders of the future. And leaders they forged. Like Father. And Grandfather. It made them heroes.”