The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(64)

I nodded in acknowledgement. “Do you have the list of refugees?” I asked.

It was Henrik’s turn to nod as he approached the desk, placing a piece of paper in front of me. I picked it up. I already knew that Alejandro and Cad weren’t on the list—I had helped Henrik in the interview process. But still, it didn’t stop me from wishing that somehow they had been overlooked, and their names would be here, coincidentally, far from their homes, among these random Patrians.

They weren’t, of course, and I set the paper down and looked at Henrik. “Any thoughts?” I asked. “About our new guests?”

Henrik opened his mouth, and then closed it, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say. I motioned for him to sit down, and he did, taking the time to collect his thoughts. After a moment, he looked up. “Nobody in the group seems to have ever been a warden, but they could be liars. Most of the group consists of dockworkers and laborers from in and around the warehouse district.”

“Well, it kind of makes sense, but then… why wouldn’t they seek shelter in town?” I asked. I had only interviewed people for general details—names, occupations, ages, etc. I had left the more detailed interviews to Henrik, trusting his knowledge of Patrus and interrogation techniques. After all, he was a former warden.

“People wouldn’t take them in,” Henrik informed me. “There was a lot of confusion and rioting and looting. So… they left. Took what they could and high-tailed it out.”

I leaned back in the chair, considering his words. “How are they?”

“Scared, mostly. A few are angry, which could be good or bad, depending on how it’s channeled.”

I nodded slowly, understanding what he meant—anger could get people to fight, but it couldn’t guarantee that they would follow orders. “So how honest do you think we should be with them?”

Henrik’s mouth thinned, practically disappearing behind his graying beard. “If you’re asking about the king—I don’t think there is anything we can do to avoid it. The king won’t like being confined to his room. That one is like a spoiled child. I rarely say this, but he would’ve benefited from a good whooping.”

I smiled at him, amused by the image of King Maxen receiving a spanking. “How can we ensure that if one of them is a spy, they won’t try to escape after learning the truth?”

Henrik drummed his fingers over the arm of the chair, thinking about it. “Well, I think taking their names and making sure there is a description is a good start. Creating a worksheet or a chores list to make sure we know who is supposed to be where at what time is also a good start. But we’re running short on eyes to watch them, Violet—the seven of us can’t handle them, and the king, and Ashabee’s staff.”

I paused to consider the problem from all angles. “Tap the staff to watch the refugees,” I finally said, and Henrik smiled.

“You got there faster than I did—I must be getting old.”

I inclined my head to him, feeling mildly flattered, even through the weariness that held me and my dread of my next task. “No, it’s been a long night for us both. I’m just… I’m just too wired at the moment.”

Henrik’s gaze flicked to the gun sitting on the desk just to the left of me, and I followed it, taking in the black piece of metal that I might be using to end a man’s life in a few minutes. Not a random stranger, either—a person who had fed and sheltered us, though unwillingly. The father of a dear friend. A deeply prejudiced person, but a person who had smiled on the steps to see his daughter drive through the gate. And yet, I couldn’t see a way around making that decision.

Henrik looked at me, his blue eyes filled with empathy. “I don’t envy your position,” he said softly.

I held his gaze. “What would you do?” I asked.

Henrik looked away, his lips disappearing behind his beard in another grimace. “I can’t answer that—I’ve never been in this particular situation before.”

I waved my hand, leaning forward. “None of us have, Henrik. I could really use some help on this one.”

Henrik blinked slowly and turned back to me, his mouth reappearing in the form of a frown. “It’s kind of an issue of point of view—to us, Ashabee murdered innocent people. To him, he murdered trespassers who might have represented a threat to him or the king.”

“He just acted! He didn’t give us any time to make a decision!”

“It’s his home,” Henrik replied, and I fell silent.

“Do you think I should spare him?”

Henrik hesitated. “I think you should do what you think is best for the rest of us. We’re all following you and Viggo, Violet. You two have brought us all together here in this… weird little resistance movement. We trust you, so we’ll support whatever actions you take, no matter how final they are.” Henrik stood up then and offered me a kind smile before turning to go.

I exhaled. Henrik’s non-answers had not been the clear-cut advice I’d been hoping for, but they made me feel as though I really was capable of making this decision, and I appreciated it. I hadn’t intended this to fall on me, had never imagined myself as a disciplinarian. But Viggo had buried the dead, and I had called Jay off, wanting to spare the boy the pain of killing an unarmed man. He had been through too much already to add that particular stain on his soul.