Page 127 of The Rogue's Curse

“Maybe. Who cares right now?” Paris asked. He rubbed his temples. “I’m still in the game.”

“Sounds like the game has changed,” Nikko said.

Paris glanced at Misha, who still looked terrible. “If he wants us as a delivery, that’s what we’re going to give him.”

26

After all their careful planning and strategizing, Carrigan Shea had thrown a bomb on the chessboard and put a death penalty on refusing to make the next move. The pagos potions had tamped down the hallucinations, but his vision was rapidly shifting between normal and arcane sight, leaving him constantly disoriented.

Paris spent another twenty minutes preparing with his strike team, but all Misha could think was, It’s not enough. This wasn’t at all how he’d foreseen this going down. But still, he pressed on. He labeled each of the anchor stones with an assigned location, based on the maps of both the Constitution building and Underground Atlanta.

Misha gathered his supplies and another large dose of the tranquilizing mixture. But when he reached the war room, Paris looked at him strangely. “You can’t come,” he said. The table was covered in dark towels displaying wooden bullets, vials of poison, and carved stakes.

“I barely have to do anything,” Misha said.

“I’m not risking you,” Paris said.“You’re in no condition.”

“I’m not a weak little damsel that needs protecting,” he snapped, throwing back Paris’s words from so long ago. Judging by the flare of his nostrils, the narrowed eyes, he remembered.

Nikko shot him a look, then stared at Misha. “We can do it without you.”

Misha shook his head. “Everything is complete. All I have to do is activate one last stone to build the cage ward. Everything you do inside will be amplified once that’s active,” he said. “It’ll also grant you some protection if I got the calculations right.”

Paris pulled a black shirt down over his armored vest, holding his gaze the whole time. Under better circumstances, he might have appreciated the sight much more, but all he could see was the vulnerable places, all those soft places that could be ripped and pierced. “And what if that’s all it takes to kill you?” Paris asked.

“Then I’ll have died for a good cause,” Misha said.

Paris scowled. “It’s unnecessary.”

Dominic cleared his throat and said, “Paris, you know you’d do the exact same thing. Misha’s an adult.”

“Barely,” Paris muttered.

“Let him decide,” Dominic said.

“No,” Misha said. Even with the unsettling sensation of the pagos tangling with his magic, like fire and ice swirling in his belly, he stood his ground. “I’ve respected your position until now, but I am here at the behest of the Sanguine Crown. I am not your subordinate, and you will not sideline me. You are not letting me decide anything.”

Paris gaped at him. “This is my mission.”

“This part of it is,” Misha said. “I can go alone to complete the spell, but it’ll be much less efficient. You decide if you want to make my job easier or harder.”

For a moment, he felt the tug of barbed wire in his gut, and he realized that this was Paris’s anguish, the terror of losing him. It was touching, but he wouldn’t let it hold him back. Finally, Paris shook his head and swore in French. “Dominic and Danielle will accompany you.”

Misha nodded, but it was not the reconciliation he had hoped for. When the others began to trickle out of the room, Paris looked him over.

“Are you angry?” Misha asked.

“Of course I’m angry,” Paris said. “All this talk of being honest about our limitations, and in the end, it’s about what you want.”

“It’s about doing the right thing,” Misha protested. “I was sent here to help.”

“And you were ordered to stand down for your own safety. We both know it’s not about the orders anymore,” Paris said calmly.

“Do you want to succeed?”

“Of course I do. I also want you to be alive when this is over,” Paris said. He shook his head. “Don’t get yourself killed, you stubborn prick.”

“Same to you,” Misha said, sparing a smile. “Promise you won’t be a fool.”

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