23

Iwas marched down the passage, a guard on each side with an iron grip on my arm. Two guards walked in front. Two guards walked behind, separating me from Roman who, by some miracle, was walking on his own. He'd been lifeless only minutes ago.

My gaze kept tearing around, desperate to catch a glimpse of him between the guards. His bottom lip was split. His jaw was puffy on the left side. He was walking with a slight limp, but he was walking! And if it was any consolidation—which it wasn't, not really—at least five of the guards marching us looked to be in far worse shape, and that's not counting the three we'd left behind, one unconscious and the other two too injured to resume their duties.

We came to the arched doorways in the vestibule, where more guards stood sentinel. They stepped aside for us to be marched into the hall.

A low buzz permeated the space, tapering into dead silence as all eyes turned on us. The screen was dead. The string quartet huddled over at one end of the hall with the frazzled guests. The empty dancefloor divided them from where the councilmen congregated with General Bickens.

Daniel broke away from the huddle the moment he saw us. Brenda grabbed at him, but he shook her off without a hitch in his stride, a deep scowl on his face as his gaze darted between me and Roman.

Julian hurried across the dancefloor to intercept him. "Daniel."

"Let go!" He slapped away his father's grip on his shoulder.

Julian took a firmer hold on him, forcibly dragging him away with heated, whispered conversation.

I couldn't hear what was said, but Daniel's shoulders sagged and he went to stand by Brenda again, a mutinous expression clouding his blue eyes.

"Put them there." General Bickens waved us into a corner with an aggressive flick of his hand, as if we were gnats to be swatted.

The guards complied, shoving me forward so hard, I stumbled and lost my balance, and went sprawling over the floor.

Roman growled a low curse and I was too busy stumbling to see if he'd been pushed or lunged himself to catch me, but he came sliding to his knees beside me.

"Are you okay?" He reached around my shoulders as I unplanted my face, and tried to help me to my feet.

I resisted, taking his hand and tugging him down instead. I was already on the floor, my bones felt shaky, and I was pretty sure Roman needed to be sitting. We ended up with our backs to the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder, and I could finally get a proper look at him.

My hand came up, hovering an inch from his swollen jaw. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head dismissively, grimly, and cursed again, this time softly and under his breath. "I would be better if you'd gone out that damn window."

He wouldn't be better.

He'd be dead. Or severely crippled by those guards. I'd seen it in their eyes.

"I am so, so sorry," I said. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"What did you think would happen when that screening aired?" he asked. It wasn't an accusation. It was a question without a heartbeat.

He didn't expect an answer, but he did deserve one. And yet, even though Geneva had clearly chosen to sacrifice me, I remained loyal. The Sisterhood was more than Geneva, Calista, Eliza and Rose. The Sisterhood was every Sister of Capra, and all the grandmothers, mothers and daughters they stood for.

That was a lot of lives, too much responsibility, no matter how much I trusted Roman.

Julian returned to our end of the hall, anger blazing in his eyes. Curiously, not directed at us.

"Excessive force is unnecessary," he berated General Bickens.

"Have you seen the state of my guards?" the general stamped out.

"Are you suggesting a defenseless lady is to blame?" Julian demanded.

The general blustered something unintelligible. A network of thin, purple veins erupted on his nostrils.

The other councilmen gathered around us, expressing various states of wariness, distaste, and in the case of Councilman Thorpe, outright hostility. There was so much livid anger in the man, the sagging, loose skin below his jaw seemed to be oscillating with it.

"This is an unholy mess," Thorpe clipped out.

"We can contain it," Councilman Chesterfield said snidely, looking at me down his narrow, hooked nose.

"Are you proposing some form of mass rehabilitation?" Councilman Otter said. He didn't sound opposed to the idea.

Ice slid down my spine. Mass rehabilitation? What did that even mean?

Roman reached blindly, his fingers linking mine as he slid our joined hands between us. I glanced at him, but he was staring straight ahead from beneath a severely lowered brow.

Councilman Langley turned an incredulous look on Otter. "It's not just in here. The screening showed all over town. The square. The pavilion."

"And it's still playing on a loop," Thorpe spat at the general.

"Do you think we haven't tried?" General Bickens glowered at him. "The square and pavilion are overflowing with the festivities, and the screening caused a damn frenzy. The crowd is thick and packed around those screens. My Guard can't get near them. I only have sixty men and they're spread thin with this shit show."

The number sixty shocked me. Is that all it's taken to control us?

"If you'd done your job properly," Thorpe fumed, "there wouldn't be a—"

"What do you suggest?" The general sneered. "Should we Taser half the population? We don't know where they're feeding their screening from. They've hijacked our communications."

Julian slashed a hand between the general and Thorpe. "This isn't helping."

Thorpe sucked in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, and exhaled. "We instated you as general, and we can un-instate you just as quickly. I suggest you get out there and do something."

General Bickens turned on his heel and stalked out the hall, barking orders as he went. A handful of the Guard remained behind to oversee us, the rest filed out behind him.

I zoned out as the councilmen resumed their discussion on how to manage the situation. My gaze swept across the hall, and collided with the hawkish stare of Mrs. Bickens. Her brow lifted, and her stare intensified. I couldn't tell if she was disappointed that I'd gotten myself caught, pleasantly surprised I hadn't gotten away, or if she were trying to convey a message across the dancefloor. You got what you wanted. The truth is out there, now.

Whisper. I'd wanted to whisper the truth, not put a target on my back. Not get Roman nearly killed.

This was what the Sisterhood wanted. This was how they operated. Rose had once said it to my face. We will sacrifice the few for the many.

This was the way of the Sisterhood.

And not just the Sisterhood, this was the way of Capra. I'd been born and bred for the greater good of humankind. That's how they controlled us with a mere sixty guards. We weren't docile sheep. We were fierce and passionate, and we would sacrifice everything—almost everything—for the greater good.

The greater good was practically written into our DNA.

My spine stiffened.

What was done could not be undone.

It had been my face up on that screen. I hadn't known they were recording me, obviously. And they'd done some clever editing to transition smoothly between the high impact, bold statements they'd wanted delivered. But they hadn't put words in my mouth. I had spoken those truths.

I would bear the consequences of my actions.

I would be their sacrifice.

Not because I was a selfless martyr for the cause. I'd never been that brave, that fearless. But because I didn't have a choice.

At the very least, my sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.

The message was out there.

The truth would set us free.

Julian stepped forward, his gaze bouncing between me and Roman, and it was hilarious, sickeningly hilarious, that I'd thought, even for those few miserable moments, that my silly little life could ever make some profound difference.

"We will control the narrative," he said, looking at us, speaking at us, although it was for the benefit of his fellow councilmen. "It's all lies. A theatrical production designed to create chaos and undermine the foundation of our society."

His eyes pricked me, his words cut, but his tone wasn't vindictive or angry. He sounded exhausted. Dog-bone tired. "You are a confused, mentally unhinged girl. We are not heartless. We take care of our own. We will ensure you get the best medical treatment Capra has to offer."

He was speaking about Rehab.

Not a surprise. Not a shock. This was the sacrifice I'd already resigned myself to. And yet, a cold shiver quivered through me.

I closed my eyes, and breathed, and breathed.

Roman gave my hand a squeeze, and then his warmth and strength shifted, and he was gone.

My eyes flashed open.

He hadn't gone anywhere.

He'd pushed up against the wall, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, an arrogant, indolent look in his eyes. "That's not how this is going down."

I scrabbled up the wall to stand beside him.

"This time, she's crossed the line." Julian shook his head, grimacing. "Your High Wardens can't help you now."

"I don't need the High Wardens," Roman said. "I've got you." His gaze went to Councilman Thorpe. "And you." He looked at Councilman Otter. "And you."

Otter bared his teeth. "You're over-stepping your boundaries, boy."

Roman's expression blanked. Cold, hard nothing replaced the arrogance and indolence as he looked at Julian. "You had Miriam committed to rehab for five weeks. I have the documents with your signature. You style yourself as the young, warm, charming councilman, the one everyone can relate to. Mothers. Daughters. Fathers. If this got out, that reputation would be forever tarnished."

Julian's face fisted.

Roman wasn't finished with him. "But Daniel is the real reason you're desperate to keep your secret. The Guard never came knocking. Your fellow councilmen never demanded. No one suspected your wife of any insubordinate behavior. It was you, only you, and you would do anything to ensure Daniel never finds out."

Roman didn't wait for Julian to respond. He turned on Thorpe. "Your frequent visits to The Smoke aren't all business. You enjoy the company of certain ladies of the night."

"Lies," Thorpe muttered heatedly, glaring daggers at Roman. "Preposterous lies. Who in their right mind would believe that?"

"I have photos," Roman drawled. "Capra is founded on good, wholesome family values. Imagine what would happen if your dark proclivities came to light? Correct me if I'm wrong," he added innocently, "but isn't adultery considered treason in Capra?"

Thorpe's cheeks blew up like a porpoise. "Those photos don't exist, and even if they did, no one will ever see them. I can make them disappear—" he snapped his fingers "—just as quickly as I can make you disappear."

Roman brushed the threat off with a shrug. "I have powerful connections, and all the evidence is in safe hands. They have their instructions on what to do with it, if anything were to happen to me."

My breath caught. My heart pained. What was Roman doing? He was playing his hand, his full hand, giving up all the blackmail material he'd gathered in Amelia's name, giving it up for me. I hadn't asked him for this. I'd never wanted to take that from him.

I thought Roman was done, but he had more. He looked at Councilman Otter. "You have a gambling addiction. There's a den in The Smelt that could be your second home. Now granted, gambling isn't illegal, but you're the self-claimed face of the Puritans. No doubt your pious brothers would consider that an unforgivable sin, not to mention the duplicity that wouldn't reflect well on the Puritan church."

Otter's mouth flattened. He didn't say a word.

Roman's gaze flicked to the other two councilmen. Chesterfield and Langley. "I'm sure I could find your dirt if I went digging, but that's not necessary, is it? When half the council members fall, you all fall, and the Eastern Coalition is bigger than the Capra Council. The Protectorate and the High Wardens may decide it's time for a clean slate, time to bring in fresh blood, and they wouldn't be wrong."

Silent glances slithered between the five men like a snake, devious and toxic. Who could stab who in the back to save their own skin? Which one of you is more to blame than me? Or maybe they were looking for a collective loophole.

"I don't give a damn about your narrative," Roman told them. "Keep it. Make it known that Georga is committed to rehab. You should probably make that a life sentence. Because my wife comes home with me tonight. She will disappear into The Smoke, and no one will come looking. Is that understood?"

Julian was the first to realize there was no other option. "That seems like a reasonable solution."

"Only if you're gone, too," Chesterfield said. "Rescind your bid for Senior Warden. Take your wife and leave."

Thorpe set a grueling look on Roman. "And on the condition you hand over all this so-called evidence."

"I'll hang onto my evidence, if you don't mind," Roman said. "But I'll be happy to remove myself from your town. I'm done with Capra."

He was done.

I'd made sure of that.

Without his Senior Warden role, and the promise of being elected High Warden, he'd never get his seat around the table.

That's what I'd taken from him.

And yes, there was a part of me that would be eternally grateful for Roman, for this, but I hated how much it had cost him. His ambitions to restore some semblance of governance to The Smoke, to obliterate the chokehold of The Families. His vengeance for Amelia, and his vow to make it right for the girls that came after, in her name.

I hated how much I had cost him.

But I didn't get a chance to dwell on that. General Bickens came charging into the hall. His face was black thunder.

"We have a problem," he ground out as soon as he was within hearing distance.

Thorpe gave him a steely look. "Tell me you've brought down the screening."

"Forget the damn screening." Bickens advanced on me, his snowy brows fluttering out from the deep furrow of his scowl. "What have you done?"

Roman stepped in front of me, protecting me from the man's obvious wrath. "Take care, general."

Julian intervened with a hand on the general's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"It's the armory." Bickens turned on him, scrubbing a hand up his jaw and over the straggling hairs on his scalp. "It's been cleaned out."

Julian frowned. "That's impossible."

Thorpe stood forward. "When?"

"Within the last hour," Bickens informed him. "The guards on duty were taken out. One dead, the other still unconscious. When I got there, the vault door was flung wide open, and empty."

"How?" Langley demanded, looking at his hands, then across to the other men. "The vault has a biometric lock. It doesn't open without one of our handprints, and we've all been here since the ball started."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Roman dipped a look at me. A look that said, What else do I need to know?

I don't know, I mouthed. I honestly didn't. I mean, okay, I'd stolen Julian's handprint for the Sisterhood. But I hadn't known they planned to use it to rob an armory. I hadn't known there was an armory. The guards only carried batons and Tasers.

Just then, Geneva and Rose and a dozen Capra Sisters sauntered into the hall with vicious looking long-barreled weapons cradled in their arms.

My jaw dropped.

The guards milling around the hall hurried to our corner, batons raised and hands cupping the Tasers strapped at their hips.

"Sisters," Geneva called in a silken-iron command, "Come to me."

Thorpe loosened a string of curse words, which had nothing on what came out of the general's mouth when Mrs. Bickens went to stand with them. A moment later, Lisa joined them, and then, more slowly, three, four, five, six, seven other women broke free from the huddle of guests to align themselves with the Sisters of Capra.

My heart pounded.

Shivers spread over every inch of my skin.

Pride, and a feeling of solidarity, honor, glory… so many foreign feelings, unlike anything I'd ever experienced, flooded me.

Before I could even think of joining them—I wanted to, but I didn't want to leave Roman on this side of the divide—Bickens seethed an order and his Guard surrounded me and Roman, bracing us against the wall.