My Lady Quicksilver

His breathing quickened. He didn’t regret a thing, not truly, no matter how much heartbreak both Annabelle and Rosalind’s deceptions had wrought, for to have done things differently would have meant he would have been a different man.

Yet perhaps it would have been better for others. For the humans, the mechs, and the rogues, the ones the Echelon ignored as inconsequential. He could have held a position of power, of influence.

The lack of power irritated him now—to live or die by this man’s whim.

The prince consort finally turned his attention on Lynch, ignoring the speculative looks between his councilors. Or perhaps not fully aware of them. The queen stood at his side, her pale hand resting on his shoulder and her vacant eyes wandering the room. The fact that she stood while her husband sat was indicative of the power shift between them. Slowly her gaze settled on Lynch.

One powerless puppet to another.

“Do you think this is wise?” she asked quietly of her consort. “Sir Jasper has served us so very well over the years. Remember when he found cousin Robert for me?”

The prince consort shook her off. “Nearly two decades ago. He has not served us so well since. The city is almost overrun with humanists.” He glared at the Council. “Or has anyone forgotten that mayhem last night? Is nowhere safe? I can’t even sign a damned treaty in these halls or attend the opera in peace! No.” He turned back to Lynch. “I gave you a chance and you failed. I swore then that you would share Mercury’s fate and you will. Guards!”

Sir Richard Maitland took great pleasure in kicking his knees out from under him. The man had been stripped of command for failing to find Mercury and wore the ordinary epaulets of a lieutenant.

Lynch hit the marble hard, a fist in his hair wrenching his head back and the tip of a blade against his throat. Light streamed through the glass ceiling and Lynch suddenly couldn’t breathe.

This was it.

The doors slammed open. “Wait!”

His heart plummeted. Garrett’s voice. What was he doing here? Lynch jerked off balance, Maitland’s blade pressing hard against his throat. At least one other person didn’t want the disruption.

“Who is this?” the prince consort demanded.

“Lynch’s second, Your Grace.” Barrons sounded almost relieved. “Temporary Guild Master, Garrett Reed.”

“And your companions?” The prince consort’s snarl was lethal.

“You said he had three weeks to the day to deliver Mercury,” Garrett announced. “Let him up. I’ve come to bring you what you want.”

No. No. No. Lynch grabbed the knife and shoved it away, slicing his hand in the process. But he had to look. Landing on his hands and knees, his gaze went straight to the door.

Garrett stepped aside, revealing a hesitant pair in the doorway. Lynch barely saw the tall mech in chains, with the iron brace holding his knee in place so he could walk. All he could see was Rosa, standing there quietly, swallowing hard as her gaze darted around the room. Their eyes locked. Proud and beautiful and defying him with her knowing gaze.

Don’t.

But it was too late. The council’s breath caught, seemingly at once, as attention turned to the pair in the door.

There was only one reason she could be here. She loved him. Truly loved him. He saw it in her eyes as her weight shifted forward. No! The irony of it tore through him, that she was giving him everything he’d wanted from her—only for it to be the last thing he now desired.

“Where is Mercury?” the prince consort asked coldly.

“Right here,” Garrett shot back.

And Rosa took a deep breath and prepared to step forward.

Twenty-eight

“You wanted Mercury?”

The voice startled her as Mordecai shoved past, pushing her out of the way roughly as he stared cockily at the Council. “Well, ’ere I be.”

Shock tore through her, freezing Rosalind in place. All she could see were Lynch’s furious eyes as he glared at her. He froze too, turning his gaze on the sturdy mech.

“Afraid o’ just one man.” Mordecai laughed. “Look at you all. Perched up ’igh in your Ivory Tower. And ’ere’s me, got to you even ’ere.”

The prince consort shoved to his feet, his eyes glittering with icy rage. But at least they were no longer resting on Lynch.

“I want his head,” he snapped. “Bring me his head!”

The Master of the Coldrush Guards gaped at the prince consort, shooting Lynch a disappointed look. As Maitland moved toward Mordecai, Garrett stepped between them.

“You’ll honor your word?” Garrett dared to ask. He looked nervous; no doubt he was. None of them had expected this. “Lynch brought down Mercury. You said it was his life or the revolutionary’s.”

“Then get him out of here.” The prince consort’s hungry gaze never shifted.

Lynch slowly pushed to his feet. Garrett bowed and stepped out of the way, his hand finding hers in the shadows of his body. She squeezed it back.

Mordecai glanced over his shoulder. She stared at him, an almost inexplicable sense of sadness sweeping through her. How truly she’d underestimated him.

He gave a loose one-shouldered shrug before turning back to the Council. “Aye, kill me then. And know that I’ll die a ’ero. They won’t ever forget me, out there in the streets. And they’ll finish what I started, what we ’umanists started. Your days are numbered, you pasty maggots.” His laughter bounced off the roof. “You think this ends this?” he shouted. “You think my death will stop us ’umans from risin’? This is just the start!”

“Seize him!” the prince consort screamed.

Mordecai’s words echoed in the chamber, but she knew who they were aimed at. Use it. Use this chance. Do what neither of them had managed so far. His sacrifice floored her. He’d already been dead, but at least this way he earned them a chance.

The Coldrush Guards grabbed his arms and yanked him to the brass circle cut into the marble floor. His knees were kicked out from underneath him, the whites of his eyes flaring as they yanked his head back. Rosalind jerked, her fist tightening around Garrett’s. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t find that inner coldness that protected her at times like this. She felt it as the sword rasped over Mordecai’s throat, and swallowed hard against the lump in hers.

“Mount the head on the tower wall,” the prince consort said coldly. “Let the masses see what happens to those who dare defy me.” His voice rose. “Let them come at me and see how defiance ends! I will not be cast down. Not by you. Not by that horde of filthy unwashed humans! You are cattle!”

Then the sword slashed down, blood spraying over the marble floor. Mordecai’s body jerked, blood fountaining from his throat, then it hit the ground.

So quickly. Without even a formality. Rosalind stared at the spreading pool of vermillion on the alabaster tiles, as they dragged the body away. That could have been her. Should have been, except for this one small act of mercy—of heroism. Heat sprang up behind her eyes.

You won’t be forgotten, she vowed. And neither would her own pledge. He hadn’t given her this chance for nothing.

Garrett squeezed her fingers. She was shaking so badly she could barely stand. But Lynch was alive. And so was she and somehow they had pulled the wool over the prince consort’s eyes.

She could hardly breathe for the lump in her throat. And then she saw Balfour.

He watched her with those emotionless black eyes, his lashes so colorless they were almost white. Not a fool. He never had been and he knew; she saw it in him. He alone of the Council had