outside.”
Cyrus could feel water draining out of his sinuses and down the back of his throat. He spat on the carpet, rolled onto his face, and shut his eyes.
six
ORDO
C YRUS MOVED QUICKLY through the narrow hallway, following close behind Antigone. Ahead of her, Rupert disappeared down the stairwell. Arachne had stayed behind with her spiders.
They had eaten—but only cheese and a dry brick of strange bread. It would have been too hard to chew if Cyrus hadn’t dipped each bite in water. Rupert had said that it was fortified and would fortify. He’d also said that he needed to know how their bodies reacted to it while they were still in a controlled environment.
Cryptic, but Cyrus hadn’t cared. He’d been hungry enough to eat anything, but a steaming pile of noodles from the dining hall would have come back up as quickly as he pushed it down.
Antigone shoved back her hair with a headband and put on a linen safari shirtdress that Diana had given her. She belted it at the waist and pulled on caramel-colored boots. Cyrus wore straight trousers, his own shorter boots, and a black cotton tee with the Polygonermonkey on the chest under his flight jacket. Once clothed, Rupert had them heading for the Galleria without much explanation.
Cyrus adjusted his leather flight jacket as they went. It would make him sweat soon enough, but while he’d been unconscious, Arachne had stitched on his two new patches. Rupert eyed them as they walked.
Antigone groaned. “Rupe?”
“He is a Smith,” Rupert said. “Those who hate that crest already hate him, and they will not have forgotten who he is simply because he wears no label. The motto speaks truth, and Cyrus honored it when he killed Maximilien. Soon enough, he may honor it again.”
Cyrus smiled, though he didn’t care to think about fighting anyone else like Maxi. High on his right shoulder, above the boxing monkey in its yellow shield, he now had the white circle and black ship that signified the Ashtown Estate. On his left shoulder, Arachne had removed the French World War I tricolor and replaced it with the sign of the Smiths—the three heads. The tricolor was now on the inside of the jacket.
At the bottom of the stairs, Rupert paused by the door.
“Ignore the dragonflies. They’re expecting us and will stay with us across the green. And no matter what any transmortal says or does, do not flinch, do not respond, and do not show fear.” He opened the door and stepped through. “Stay close.”
The evening air was still and wet and warm. At the green, Cyrus noticed the change in the Acolyte tent city right away. There were no water fights. No bread wars. No games of tag, and no pranks. They were all at their tents—all but a small group on the gravel path, huddled together and talking.
“Quarters!” Rupert shouted, and the group scattered, racing toward the tents.
“What’s going on?” Antigone asked. “What happened?”
“I have placed the Estate under Field Rules.” He glanced back at Cyrus and Antigone. “Every member above Journeyman is to be armed at all times. Acolytes are under curfew, and every member above Acolyte has been assigned to a Field Unit and a Field Captain, to whom they report.”
“We’re not Acolytes,” Cyrus said. “And we haven’t been assigned to anyone.”
Rupert laughed. “You two are mine. And you didn’t need a special assignment to know that. The protocols we are following were designed for large explorations in hostile territory. As long as the transmortals are here, Ashtown has become hostile territory.”
As they walked, Cyrus could hear the giant watchful dragonflies hum and rocket through the darkness above him as they circled. Massive wings and abdomens like baseball bats flashed shadows across distant lit windows.Somewhere, he knew, Rupert would have men carrying little domed monitors, seeing what the dragonflies were seeing.
And then he heard the shriek of a bird.
Antigone grabbed her brother’s
Cyrus could feel water draining out of his sinuses and down the back of his throat. He spat on the carpet, rolled onto his face, and shut his eyes.
six
ORDO
C YRUS MOVED QUICKLY through the narrow hallway, following close behind Antigone. Ahead of her, Rupert disappeared down the stairwell. Arachne had stayed behind with her spiders.
They had eaten—but only cheese and a dry brick of strange bread. It would have been too hard to chew if Cyrus hadn’t dipped each bite in water. Rupert had said that it was fortified and would fortify. He’d also said that he needed to know how their bodies reacted to it while they were still in a controlled environment.
Cryptic, but Cyrus hadn’t cared. He’d been hungry enough to eat anything, but a steaming pile of noodles from the dining hall would have come back up as quickly as he pushed it down.
Antigone shoved back her hair with a headband and put on a linen safari shirtdress that Diana had given her. She belted it at the waist and pulled on caramel-colored boots. Cyrus wore straight trousers, his own shorter boots, and a black cotton tee with the Polygonermonkey on the chest under his flight jacket. Once clothed, Rupert had them heading for the Galleria without much explanation.
Cyrus adjusted his leather flight jacket as they went. It would make him sweat soon enough, but while he’d been unconscious, Arachne had stitched on his two new patches. Rupert eyed them as they walked.
Antigone groaned. “Rupe?”
“He is a Smith,” Rupert said. “Those who hate that crest already hate him, and they will not have forgotten who he is simply because he wears no label. The motto speaks truth, and Cyrus honored it when he killed Maximilien. Soon enough, he may honor it again.”
Cyrus smiled, though he didn’t care to think about fighting anyone else like Maxi. High on his right shoulder, above the boxing monkey in its yellow shield, he now had the white circle and black ship that signified the Ashtown Estate. On his left shoulder, Arachne had removed the French World War I tricolor and replaced it with the sign of the Smiths—the three heads. The tricolor was now on the inside of the jacket.
At the bottom of the stairs, Rupert paused by the door.
“Ignore the dragonflies. They’re expecting us and will stay with us across the green. And no matter what any transmortal says or does, do not flinch, do not respond, and do not show fear.” He opened the door and stepped through. “Stay close.”
The evening air was still and wet and warm. At the green, Cyrus noticed the change in the Acolyte tent city right away. There were no water fights. No bread wars. No games of tag, and no pranks. They were all at their tents—all but a small group on the gravel path, huddled together and talking.
“Quarters!” Rupert shouted, and the group scattered, racing toward the tents.
“What’s going on?” Antigone asked. “What happened?”
“I have placed the Estate under Field Rules.” He glanced back at Cyrus and Antigone. “Every member above Journeyman is to be armed at all times. Acolytes are under curfew, and every member above Acolyte has been assigned to a Field Unit and a Field Captain, to whom they report.”
“We’re not Acolytes,” Cyrus said. “And we haven’t been assigned to anyone.”
Rupert laughed. “You two are mine. And you didn’t need a special assignment to know that. The protocols we are following were designed for large explorations in hostile territory. As long as the transmortals are here, Ashtown has become hostile territory.”
As they walked, Cyrus could hear the giant watchful dragonflies hum and rocket through the darkness above him as they circled. Massive wings and abdomens like baseball bats flashed shadows across distant lit windows.Somewhere, he knew, Rupert would have men carrying little domed monitors, seeing what the dragonflies were seeing.
And then he heard the shriek of a bird.
Antigone grabbed her brother’s
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