Bring Me Their Hearts(92)

I give her a mock salute, and she flashes me a little smile—one of her real ones—before sinking farther into the shadows of her hood. We follow on her heels, the four lawguards flanking the stairs moving for us only when we reach for the door.

“Whoa, one minute.” A lawguard holds up his hand. “Archduke Gavik said there were to be no further visitors tonight. We’ve got enough bodies working in here.”

“There’s been a leak in the storage units.” Fione’s voice is startlingly deep, different. “We must let our superiors know as soon as possible!”

The lawguard sniffs, his eyes roving up and down our tool belts like he’s checking for something. “Sorry, not happening. The storage unit fellows can take care of it.”

“The storage unit fellows are knocked out from the mercury’s gasses,” she says sharply. “All seventeen of them.” The lawguard looks taken aback. Fione doesn’t relent. “So unless you’d personally like to explain to Archduke Gavik why his entire supply of white mercury has gone up in smoke overnight, I suggest you let us through. Now.”

“Y-Your hoods—”

“We inhaled the smoke, too. Our eyes are sensitive to even moonlight because of it. For Kavar’s sake, let us in, before we pass out with the details of this leak still in our heads!”

The lawguard starts, saluting suddenly and pressing the door open. Fione darts through with all the alacrity of a house cat, and we follow. Her strides are huge and fast, never slowing as she leads us through stone corridors and rooms of hissing copper machinery over which scores of polymaths are bent. Finally, she slows in a stairwell, removing her hood and clipping the same copper rod I saw Gavik use to amplify his voice during the purge to her belt. Is that what made her voice sound so strange? She points to a steel hatch.

“That’s it.”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks.

“Reasonably,” she snarks. “I’ve pored over the blueprints for this place for only six months.”

“How—” Malachite starts. “How do you know so much about white mercury containment and stuff?”

“Why are your eyes glowing red?” she fires back. “You first.”

I peer just enough to see beneath his hood—Malachite’s crimson eyes glow gently, as if lit up from within by some inner fire, his pupils thin.

“Beneather thing during full moons,” he lilts. “What’s your excuse?”

“My uncle’s an arsehole.”

Malachite nods, impressed. “Fair enough.”

“If you’re done, we should go,” Lucien mutters, dagger-eyes darting about. “Standing in any one place for too long goes against my personal beliefs.”

Fione fishes a ring of keys from her tool belt and looks up at Malachite and Lucien. “Keep watch.”

She kneels at the hatch, fiddling with the lock as she tries each key.

Malachite suddenly hisses, “Bogey coming west. Get that thing open.”

“I’m trying!” Fione grits out.

“Try faster,” I singsong.

“Vetrisian blueprints don’t exactly have key-to-lock ciphers on them,” she argues, shoving a gold key in the lock.

Lucien never takes his eyes off the polymath approaching, his hand moving slowly to the hilt of his sword under his robe as he murmurs to Malachite, “Remind me to change that when I become king.”

Malachite groans and fingers his serrated dagger on his hip. The droopy-eyed polymath is already shooting wary looks our way. Middle-aged, greasy-haired, and ready to blow the whistle on us. A danger.

“I’ll catch up to you,” I whisper to Lucien and Malachite. “Just make sure the rest of you get down there.”

“What are you planning, Lady Zera?” Lucien narrows his eyes. I wink at him, and start down the hall. I peel my hood off slowly, using every trick I’ve learned since coming to court to make my smile irresistible. This guy’s a polymath—not a royal one—so the chances he knows my face and the title that goes with it are slim. I pout my lips and bat my eyelashes at him, imagining for the briefest moment he’s the prince behind me, instead. I know I’ve got him when he trips a little on the hem of his own robe. He’s distracted—and now for the final touch. I stumble, thrusting my not-insignificant chest into the polymath’s shoulder and catching myself on his arm. I smile up at him and fake being winded.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry. This is my first week here, and I’m just not used to walking these halls quite yet.”

The man goes red in the face, stammering, his eyes roving over me, over the soft V shape where his arm presses between my chest. “Y-You—I didn’t—I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” I simper. “It was my fault. I’m such a clumsy idiot.”

Behind me I hear a half-choked protest and the closing of a metal hatch. Utter silence follows. Good. The others must’ve gone down. The polymath’s eyes rove behind me, and I quickly tighten my grip on his arm.

“I’m still so lost in this place—could you show me where the washrooms are, by any chance?”

“W-washrooms,” the man manages, clearly not experienced at speaking to women. “Yes. This way!”

So enthusiastic is he that he strides off, quickly and furiously, and I laugh to myself before turning to the metal hatch and climbing down. Fione waits, locking it behind me the moment my foot reaches the ground. Lucien won’t meet my gaze, instead ferociously staring at a nearby torch. Malachite smirks at me.