My Lady Quicksilver

Twenty-six

Rosalind had never fainted in her life, but she came close that afternoon in the alley. Garrett’s words took her like a harpoon in the chest.

It was him. Or it was you.

Stupid, stupid man! This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. Not of loving—it was far too late for that, it had been for days—but of being loved so much that another man lost his life before hers.

She couldn’t do this. Not again. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she groaned in pain as she bent at the waist. Her fault. All her cursed fault. She couldn’t watch another man die for her. She wouldn’t.

Don’t be weak. Lynch needed her to be strong, especially now.

Biting on her fist, she swallowed the hard bubble of emotion in her throat. Distantly, she realized that Jeremy was patting her back, his voice rising in increments as he demanded to know what was wrong with her. And she was suddenly so grateful that he was alive and well—that Lynch had given him to her. Yet another debt she owed him.

Her brother was safe. She’d done what she came to do. And Jack… Ingrid… It was their turn to look after him.

She looked at Garrett, throat dry and hoarse. Focus. “What are you going to do to free him?”

“Nothing.” Garrett shifted. “If it were just I, I’d take the chance. But I’ve had it explained to me very clearly that if I make one move, then every Nighthawk under my command will be cut down by metaljackets. All the young lads in training… Doyle, Byrnes… Perry.” That last name seemed an oversight but the way his voice softened, she knew exactly which face he was picturing now. “I can’t undo this. Not without starting a war between the Nighthawks and the Echelon. Besides, I’m running out of time. They threatened to execute him today.”

“How long has he been gone?” she asked, thinking furiously.

“An hour. I came to wake you as soon as he left.”

Of course. Because Garrett’s hands were tied and hers were not. She knew what he was asking. All of this had been a ploy to test her feelings for Lynch, the length she would go to save his life.

“I want you to go home to Jack,” she said to Jeremy, the words sounding as if they came from mechanical lips. “There is something that I have to do.”

Jeremy grabbed her hands, panicked. “What the hell’s goin’ on, Rosa?”

“Your sister is going to help me rescue Lynch,” Garrett replied, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Jeremy shook his head. “Aw, no. Ain’t no way I’m letting you do this. You’re goin’ up against the Echelon, ain’t you?”

“You can’t stop me,” she said wearily. “If I need to, I’ll have Garrett put you back in the cell until it’s done.”

“Till what’s done?” he demanded.

She couldn’t tell him. Her eyes met Garrett’s and she glared at him. Don’t you dare.

“I’m going to free Lynch,” she said. His life or mine. Curse the man. Curse him for a fool. Why the devil hadn’t he told her what he was planning? Or had he suspected this might be her reaction?

Of course not. He’d doubted her, doubted everything that lay between them. But the only reason he wouldn’t have told her was if he was afraid that she hadn’t been lying about how she felt.

“How?” Jeremy demanded, his eyes narrowing. He looked so mature all of a sudden—a man grown, not a boy. Then his eyes lost their worldly look. “And why?”

“Perhaps if I give them what they want,” she suggested, pasting a smile on her lips. “Or some part of it. We captured Mordecai last night. In the wake of the opera attack, I’m certain they’ll be after blood. We give them what they want.”

It wouldn’t be enough—not if Lynch hadn’t tried it himself. But Jeremy’s narrowed eyes lost their edge. He believed her. She almost choked on the lie.

“I’ll go,” he warned. “I’ll tell Jack what you’re doing.”

Jack wasn’t nearly as easy to fool as Jeremy. Rosalind kept the smile on her mouth. “Of course,” she said. “Give him…give him my love. And Ingrid too.” Reaching out, she stroked her hand over Jeremy’s arm and the fine red hairs there. Tell them to forgive me. “I’m so grateful to have you back.” At that she couldn’t help herself. She dragged him into her arms and hugged him tight, the smile dying as she pressed her face against his chest.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too,” Jeremy muttered, clearing his throat and shooting Garrett an embarrassed glance.

She stepped back. “You’d best go. Before one of the other Nighthawks realizes you’re missing.”

“I’ll fetch Jack,” he warned again. Perhaps not entirely fooled at all. Then he backed away, glanced up over the grim building, and spun toward the mouth of the alley.

She watched him go, her fingers curling into small fists. The rush of feeling was sweeping back into her now. The breaking point.

When she thought she had herself under control, she looked at Garrett. “Well?”

“An excellent performance.” He bowed his head slowly. “I’ll keep the Echelon off their trail.”

“Thank you.” Her mouth was dry. “You play a dangerous game.”

“I wasn’t entirely certain,” he admitted. “Whether you cared enough.”

“And now you know.”

Garrett scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Now I know. And so will he.”

She swallowed. She hadn’t thought of that. Lynch was going to be furious. “He’ll hate you for this.”

“I know.” Garrett offered her his arm. “That is my price to pay. I intended to present Mordecai to the Echelon but…I don’t think it will be enough. I’m sorry to ask this of you.”

“You don’t have to ask,” she replied. “Just tell him that I made the decision myself as soon as I heard. Tell him… Tell him that what I said last night… I meant every word.”

The prison cart was stuffed with straw, a biting wind creeping through every minute crack. Rosalind found herself shoved up into it ungracefully and spun to bare her teeth at Byrnes. He arched a cool brow at her, met Garrett’s challenging look, then turned and strode out of view.

“Sorry,” Garrett muttered, reaching up to help her to her feet. “He’s a cold bastard, but he looks on Lynch like a brother.”

Rosalind shrugged, sinking onto the narrow plank of wood that served as a seat. Slowly, she looked up and met the eyes of the man sitting opposite her. Mordecai shifted in his chains, squinting at her through a blackened eye. His gaze dropped to her unbound wrists. Not quite sure what she was doing here.

Garrett shut the door and the light faded. By the time the steam engine throbbed to life, her vision had adjusted enough to make out Mordecai’s grim expression.

“So we’re both dancin’ today.” He smiled, revealing a split lip. “Guess we’ll be findin’ out soon if that brother o’ yours is still alive.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. Instead, she curled her hands into her lap and looked down at them. Her stomach was a mess of nerves. The thought of being executed terrified her. For a moment she thought was going to be sick and shifted in her seat, unable to sit still. Her lungs seized.

Don’t think about it. Shove it all in that nice safe box where you don’t have to think about it.

Mordecai’s hot gaze drilled into the top of her head. “How’d they catch you?”

She didn’t particularly wish to speak to him, but at least it took her mind off what lay ahead. The prison cart lurched forward and she grabbed the seat. “I let my weaker emotions get the better of me.”

He laughed softly. “Emotions? You don’t got none. Most coldhearted bitch I e’er met.”

“I wish that were true.”

Silence. “So they got you an’ they got me. Who’s left? I assume none o’ me boys made it out o’ the opera alive?”

“Some,” she admitted. “The Nighthawks had the place surrounded however.”

He grunted. “And that brother o’ yours?”

She didn’t want to think of this either, for this meant she’d failed. There was a reason she’d led the cause and not Jack. “He and Ingrid are still unaccounted for by the Nighthawks.”

“Don’t mean shit,” he snorted. “Jack talks a treat, but I know he’s hidin’ somewhat beneath them clothes of his. He don’t lead no action, far as I saw.”

“He can’t,” she said. “His entire body was burned with acid.” By Balfour. When she’d chosen Nate over him. By the time she’d woken with a new hand and a fever, it had been too late. Balfour’s temper had cooled and he’d actually admitted some remorse over the action, but the damage had been done. “His skin’s too tight now. It hurts him to move quickly, though he can if he needs to.”

“You think he and that verwulfen bitch can ’old it together?”

Rosalind looked up. “I thought you hated them?”

A slow shrug. “Never liked you lot much. Still don’t. But ’ere we both sit. Ain’t no more o’ my mechs. We went at ’em ’ard—’arder than you e’er did—but the truth’s the truth. All the ’umanists left belonged to you and I ’ate the Echelon more than I e’er ’ated you.”

So many times she’d fought and argued with this man.

“We both made mistakes,” she admitted. “I should have included you and your brother in my schemes when you asked.” She took a deep breath. “I let pride and mistrust make my decisions, instead of thinking them through rationally.”

Interest flickered in his dark eyes. “That an apology?”

“The only one you’ll ever get,” she replied tartly.

A soft laugh. “And now you want me to admit I shouldn’t a gone against you? Bugger that.”

“I understand why you did.”

“All them years…” He shut his eyes and tilted his head back against the timber slats of the walls. “Locked in the enclaves, servin’ me time for a limb I never e’en wanted.” Bringing his iron fist up, he clenched it, staring at the shifting metal. “They said I owed ’em fifteen years for this. Fifteen years in that hell.” A harsh laugh. “Then you with your pretty promises. All I e’er wanted was some action. Some way to even the score. And you kept urgin’ us to wait, build yon fuckin’ metal army.” He spat to the side. “I worked metal for o’er ten years. What you wanted would ’ave taken at least another three. I couldn’t wait that long.”

“If you did, perhaps we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

“Aye.” He rubbed at the bruise on his face absently, then winced. “Got a mean right ’ook, you do. Never seen you in action afore. You could ’ave done some damage.” Scraping his thumbnail against his mouth, he looked considering. “The Echelon, they want Mercury bad, don’t they?”

She nodded.

“Then answer me this; why you given ’er to ’em?”

The look in his eyes was surprisingly astute. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I saw the way that dandy ’anded you up in ’ere. Whatever you’re plannin’, ’e don’t like it none.” Narrowed eyes. “What are you plannin’?”

He thought this a ploy. Rosalind looked away. “I’m planning to give myself up in exchange for Lynch. They want Mercury, so I’ll give her to them.”

“What?” Mordecai looked incredulous, then a canny expression crossed his face, a smile. “Tole you a woman ought not be in charge. Them weaker emotions be the death o’ you.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “A blue blood, eh. A bleedin’ Nighthawk.”

“The Nighthawk,” she corrected.

“Aye. And still a bleeder.”

“So I used to believe.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. “They’re not like the Echelon.”

“No?”

“No.” A small smile crossed her lips. “If it makes you feel any better, I quite suspect the greatest threat to the Echelon won’t be you or I. It will be the Nighthawks. They’ve already got an army; they don’t have to build one.”

Silence greeted this statement. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. “You believe that?” No matter his bravado, she sensed the need in him. The desire to know that this wasn’t all for nothing.

“I do.”

“You ain’t so bad,” he muttered. “When you ain’t so cold. A pity. We coulda worked well together.”

A humorless smile touched her lips. “I set the Nighthawks on you,” she reminded him.

Despite the bruises, he almost smiled back. “That were clever. I ain’t never suspected that.”

The words trailed off as both of them peered through the barred window at the back of the prison cart. Her stomach fluttered. Getting closer now. They were nearly at the tower. She could almost feel the looming shadow of it over the prison cart.

“What would you ’ave done, if this ’adn’t ’appened?” Mordecai suddenly asked. “If ’is lord Nighthawk were free and you weren’t facin’ the guillotine?”

She had to think about it. Indeed, she’d had so much time to think lately—about everything she’d done wrong or right, everything she might have done differently. “I wouldn’t start a war,” she said. “Not in the streets. Not the way I planned. There was something Lynch said…about war not being the way to win. The Echelon are so strong because they are feared, because no one dares to speak against them.”

“You’d speak against them?”

“I’d find a way,” she said. “Perhaps I’d join the Humans First Party.”

“Join?” He laughed, a rough burr. “You wouldn’t follow. Not for long. You’d want to lead.”

“Perhaps I’ve learned my lesson,” she replied. “Or perhaps not. Who knows? The point is moot.”

The prison cart slowed down, someone shouting in the background. Then Garrett’s voice, cutting through the shouts as he proclaimed, “Prisoners. For the tower.”

Their eyes met. Mordecai paled beneath the swarthy layer of grime. “Do you think they’ll call us ’eroes out in the streets?”

“Anything is possible.” Rosalind’s breath caught. She could taste fear, see it in his eyes and knew he saw it in hers.

“Always wanted to be a ’ero.” He took a deep breath as the lock on the back of the cart rattled. “Guess this is it. A damned shame—after all we did—that it ends ’ere.”

“With nothing gained,” she agreed hoarsely.

Their eyes met. Mordecai nodded slowly, thought racing behind his eyes. “They don’t even want me, do they? All they want is Mercury.”

Rosa nodded.

Mordecai licked his lips and shifted in his seat. “Guess I’m dead then and the bastards won’t even remember me name. Curse ’em. Curse ’em all to ’ell.”