Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(58)

“Please tell me you gave him hazard pay,” I murmur.

“He volunteered,” Clifton replies, “but, yes, he was well compensated. It’s not perfect. You’d be hurt by a direct fusionmag pulse, but it won’t kill you.” I run my hand over the sleeve of the jacket. It’s a little coarse, but the inside is lined with cashmere, which makes up for it. “We can line the inside of your clothing with Copperscale and use a different fabric as outerwear, if that suits you better.”

“This jacket won’t protect from a head shot, Clifton, unless . . .” I drape the garment over my head like a veil. When I pull it back, I find him grinning.

“We’ll have to learn how to duck,” he says.

Outside, boats draw up to the Verringer. Someone pounds on the metal door, and the sound echoes through the airship. Clifton growls in anger. I want so badly to be able to talk to him about everything I know, including the Gates of Dawn. I need the Rose Gardeners and the Gates of Dawn to agree to coexist. Can I build a bridge between them? Can the Rose Gardeners change?

“The mortician is missing,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry, the what is missing?”

“The master mortician who worked on my father’s body and prepared him for burial. He went missing . . . and then my father’s hearse blew up.”

“You think this mortician had something to do with it?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but Agent Crow was with him. I saw them together. It means something. I just don’t know what.”

More thumps on the door. Clifton clenches his jaw. “You’re not to go around asking questions about it. I’ll look into it. Do nothing.”

“If Census agents are involved, this is bigger than the vendetta between my mother and my father, bigger than the Rose Gardeners. This is an alliance between Census and the Sword.” The thought horrifies me, and it seems to have the same effect on Clifton.

“I’m serious, Roselle. Not a word to anyone. I’ll make inquiries.”

I was afraid before. Now I’m terrified. I nod in agreement. Impulsively, Clifton leans forward, kisses my forehead, and takes both my hands in his. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” He rubs his thumbs over my skin. It reassures me. He’s shelter.

He rises from his seat and moves to the door. Opening it, he swears at the waiting security outside. An argument breaks out between the lead Exo guard and Clifton. I rise from the chair, walk to the entrance, and lay my hand on Clifton’s arm. “Firstborn Salloway, thank you for the tour of your Verringer. It’s really quite lovely. I believe you should definitely make those changes to the Dual-Blade X16 that we discussed.”

I try to hand him back his jacket. “Keep it,” he says, still scowling at the guards.

I step into the boat, Clifton’s coat securely around me, and settle between two well-armed Exos. The stingers follow us when we pull away from the airship. I stuff my hands in the pockets and find Clifton’s cigar case. I pull it from his pocket, and I’m about to ask to go back so I can give it to him, but we’ve almost made shore, and the Verringer is already in the air. I climb out of the boat and make my way back to my apartment amid a swarm of bodyguards.

I pat Phoenix’s head on my way in. Settling onto the sofa in the den, I stare up at the ceiling. Phoenix parks itself in front of me, so I know it’s Reykin. “Phee, can you get me a crella from the commissary?” The mechadome leaves the room. I shove my hand into the pocket of the jacket and pull out the cigar case. Thin brown cigars, the kind with the scent of roses, lie in a neat row. I check for a secret compartment and find one with a thumbprint scanner. Testing it, I’m surprised when it opens for me.

A small holographic screen projects up from the case. Clifton’s face, made of blue light, is grinning at me. “Hello,” he murmurs. “Do you like your new communicator?”

“You could’ve just given it to me,” I reply.

“Where’s the fun in that? I had a bet with my technicians. I said you’d find it in under an hour.”

I rise from the sofa and carry the communicator with me to the door. Closing the door, I lock it and return to my seat. From inside a compartment of the cigar case, I lift a metallic bracelet and examine it. It’s a device that I’ve seen once before at the briefing after the attack on the Sword social club. It’s the mirroring technology that reflects whatever moniker it’s closest to. Right now, it’s showing my moniker, without my crown-shaped birthmark. Clifton notices the device and says, “We’re calling that a ‘looking-glass moniker.’ We’re working on reverse engineering it, but that one is an original; we found it on one of the assassins you killed.”

“Why are you giving it to me, Clifton?”

“There may come a time that you’ll want to, shall we say, ‘part company’ with The Virtue,” he says. “Should that time come, I’d like you to have all the tools you need to take your leave. You’ll find codes inside your cigar case that will allow you to take control of your Halo stingers, just like I did today.”

It’s just like Clifton to be a few steps ahead of everyone else.

“Tell me about the rest, Clifton.”





Chapter 13

The Bottom of the Sea

Reykin wears black. I wear white. We spar with fusionblades, and I imagine it’s like watching someone sparring with a shadow. We tangle and fold in on each other. Our swords are dialed down to their lowest training setting, but if they weren’t, neither of us would survive. As it is, skin regeneration treatments are required after each interaction in Grisholm’s sparring circle. We savage each other. I’ve taken to using protective eyewear when I fight him because he has nearly cut my eyes out on a few occasions. He dons eyewear, too, for the same reason. Neither of us has yet to win a duel.