I could argue, but then I remember the bonfires and the crowds and the chaos. I remember bodies hanging from four beautiful windows, and that, no matter how high your walls are, no one is ever truly safe. It’s no wonder my grandfather has sent Dominic to find me.
I turn back to Princess Ann one final time. An hour ago I’d hoped that someone who knew the girl my mother was might be able to explain what happened to the woman she became. But that’s not meant to be, I guess.
“Thank you for the tea,” I say, because I can’t thank her for the answers.
“It was my pleasure, dear.” Ann pulls me into a hug too tight to be anything but real. When she pulls away she actually pauses for a moment, pushes a stray bit of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. A motherly gesture.
It makes me want to cry.
Dominic doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smile. I’m walking beside him, trying to keep up. When he leads me through the palace gates I look for a black car with the little US flags flying near the headlights, but the circle drive is empty. I guess we’re going to walk.
The sun is nearly down, and soon the streets will be black and lit by fire. We’re walking quickly through the crowds that are filing toward the palace, over cobblestones and curbs. Tonight, the crowd is different. Most of the men wear long black capes and ornate masks. Women and young girls dance in flowing white dresses with red sashes. Most have flowers in their hair.
It’s beautiful.
And it’s insanely creepy.
Dominic holds me tight, pulling me against the tide of people flowing toward the palace. I should be happy to have his arm around my shoulder, to feel his big, steady, and intimidating presence beside me. I stumble once, but he holds me so firmly I don’t even start to fall.
“Grandpa sent you?” I ask.
He grunts something that sounds like yes, and we keep walking.
“He didn’t know where I was,” I tell him, but Dominic shakes his head.
“I knew where you were, Grace Olivia.”
Of course he did.
“How is your injury?” Dominic asks.
“My what?” It says a lot about me that I don’t even notice the ache of a stab wound anymore, that a part of me is so utterly immune to pain. “It’s fine. I mean, it hurts. But I’m used to that.”
Then, as if on cue, a wave of tourists passes by us, jostling me closer to him. “You should never have left the embassy. It was foolish to come.”
Now that Dominic has mentioned it, my side starts to ache. I feel out of breath. Aware.
“What were you thinking, leaving the embassy tonight of all nights? Are you listening to me? You aren’t safe here!”
“I am safe! I’m fine.”
I’m not fine, and standing before me is one of the few people on the planet who really knows it — who will ever know why.
As the sky grows darker, the crowds grow thicker. People push recklessly toward the palace, too close. Too strong. It’s different from the first night somehow, and I’m not the only one who feels it, because Dominic reaches for me, tucks me protectively under his arm.
“Masks are dangerous things,” he says. “They make people feel anonymous, immune. They give people license to act as they otherwise wouldn’t dare. This is no time to be out of the embassy.”
“That’s okay,” I say, “you’re here to protect me.”
I’m not being flippant. This isn’t my idea of a joke. It is the truth, and I know it. I watch him move — see how strong he is — and even as I know that I am safe, another thought is coming to me. My brother’s words come rushing back.
It’s hard to break somebody’s neck, Jamie said. It would take someone strong. And fast. And trained.
It would take someone like Dad.
The Scarred Man is about as much like my father as one man could possibly be. I suppose my mother had a type.
And with that realization, a cold sense of dread bubbles up within me. A realization dawns.
“You.”
It’s easier than it should be for me to pull myself free of the Scarred Man’s grasp. I think he’s too shocked. But he, of all people, should know better than to underestimate me and all of my crazy.
“You were there. You saw us that night, when Jamie and I got back from the island.”
“Grace, this isn’t the time.”
When he reaches for me I pull away. “No. I saw you! And you heard us fighting about Spence, didn’t you? You knew he tried something. You said you’d always keep me safe.”
“I will.”
“Did you kill him?”
The look on the Scarred Man’s face chills me to the bone. “If I had killed a man who hurt you, Grace Olivia, they would have never found the body.”
He’s not joking, and that’s what scares me. Dominic could kill, would kill — no doubt has killed. But he wouldn’t hurt me, I know it in my soul, and I realize something strange: I’m the only person in Adria who actually trusts the Scarred Man.
Maybe this makes me even more of a fool.
Or maybe it just makes me safe.
“You belong in your embassy,” Dominic says, and nudges me forward.
The crowds are growing thicker, the sky darker. Someone must have lit more bonfires because the smell of smoke carries on the wind.
“I’m going to get you to tell me, you know,” I say, but I don’t glance back as I start down the hill. “About my mom and the island and whatever it is you think you can’t tell me. I’m going to get it out of you. I’m …”