“You tell me,” she spits right back, “or you’re goddamn right I’m going to kill you, and I’ll make it last. Which one of you killed Molly?”
Turlough sucks in a shaky breath, his round face losing all color—from fear or rage, I can’t tell. “Me. I acted alone.”
“You didn’t,” she shouts, voice cracking. “Those burn marks on his skull, only a Gleidel does that. You’re carrying an antique.”
“You carry a Gleidel,” he shoots back. “You killed our people, our children.” His gaze pins her now, eyes boring into hers. “You killed my husband. I hope you rot in hell.”
My brain’s still stuttering, and I’m pinned against the wall by the door, unnoticed by either of them. Molly was shot? I find my own stomach twisting with grief.
Jubilee stares back at him, and I know by her silence that she’s recognized him. Then she squares her shoulders. She doesn’t bother to deny his accusation, and I ache for her, but I know why. What could she possibly say that he’d believe? “I’m giving you one more chance, rebel. Names. Now.”
Turlough just glares, terrified but determined. Only grief could give such a gentle man this kind of strength. Another time, I’d almost be proud of him for showing so much spine. Now, Jubilee’s going to rip it out if I don’t do something. I step away from the door and into the light. Turlough’s gaze slides past Jubilee, and his mouth falls open as he recognizes me. “What are you doing here?” His whisper is like a bullet straight through me. “She killed Mike,” he goes on, voice rising to a ragged shout, “and you’re standing next to her.”
“It wasn’t her. I give you my word. She was there, but she didn’t do it.”
He watches me in silence, making me wonder if my word holds any value for him now. Beside me, I can hear Jubilee’s harsh breathing, keeping time with the pounding of my own heart. If Turlough can trust me, then I can believe Sean might. I can believe the gulf between us might close, that we might be able to grieve together.
My voice is soft. “Where’s McBride, Turlough?”
His expression flickers, the grief and anger giving way to a quick, icy flash of fear. “I don’t know,” he says tightly. But his loyalty is brittle, that terror more real than anything he’s shown Jubilee.
“You’re afraid of him,” I say softly. “Tell me.”
He hesitates, gaze flicking from me to Jubilee and back again. “He shot him,” Turlough gasps finally. “The bartender, the big one. We went in looking for Captain Chase—we were only going to scare people until someone told us where to find her.”
“Go on.” Jubilee’s expression is unreadable, her anger draining away to something else, something cold.
“McBride kept screaming at the guy, over and over. The guy wouldn’t tell us where to find you, trodaire. So McBride shot him and set fire to—” His voice catches, fear making it difficult for him to speak. But when Jubilee turns away, her shoulders tense, Turlough’s grief surges again. “She was there, Flynn. Everybody knows it. She has to pay.”
I feel like there’s a weight on my chest. “I know she was there, but her weapon was never fired.”
“Well, those people—Mike, the others—they weren’t killed by ordinary gunfire. It had to be a Gleidel. Who else has a weapon like that, except a soldier?”
Suddenly the room’s silent. Jubilee’s looking up, and the same realization hits all three of us. The bottom drops out of the world, and my skin’s all pins and needles as a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. We all know who has that kind of weapon, because he just used it to shoot Molly in the back of the head.
Gunfire roars in the distance as Jubilee and I cross the base. The air splits with the crack of the old-fashioned ballistics weapons the Fianna use and the shriek of the deadly Gleidels. The stench of singed plastene and burned chemicals hangs in the air. I want to put as much distance as I can between us and the holding cells. Away from Turlough Doyle, away from Molly’s, which will never be Molly’s again. As my feet drag and I start to stumble, Jubilee grabs at my arm to keep me moving.
McBride. For all our differences, for all his thirst for war, I always believed we wanted the same thing—prosperity for Avon, peace and justice for our people.
But he murdered Fergal. He murdered Mike. He murdered every person who lay dead in our sanctuary, just to light the fuse behind this war. And now Molly, because he wouldn’t betray Jubilee.
And he’s still out there somewhere, with Sean. Oh God.
I’m jerked back to the present as the com-patch on Jubilee’s sleeve buzzes, and she ducks into the shelter of a building to hear it better. The voice is tinny with interference, but familiar. “Lee, this is Merendsen, report.”
She lifts her wrist to speak into the patch. “Go ahead, sir.”
Merendsen’s voice is muffled, but clearly identifiable. “Lee, Commander Towers has raised your threat level and ordered all nonessentials off the base and off Avon. That includes me.”
“Because of Molly’s?” She closes her eyes as she speaks his name.
“Because they’ve confirmed the Fianna have anti-aircraft weaponry. The next shuttle out of here could be the last, and I’m on it. I’m willing to accept the risk if I stay, but the commander said if I don’t board myself, she’ll have me escorted. I’m heading for the orbital spaceport. You’re my security detail, but if you aren’t here to pilot it, someone else will.” He pauses, the static hissing. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to say good-bye.” Though the words are casual, I can tell what he’s trying to say. I tried to stay, they won’t let me. I have to talk to you before I go. But their comm system is not private.