I suddenly feel terrible. I was freaking out because I got his blood on me while searching under that bed, and I was talking about him as a dead body. And all the while, Layla had lost someone she cared about. Maybe a lot.
Ash and Layla stare at each other.
I speak to cut the awkward tension between them. “But why, Layla?” I ask. “Why are the Lions after me, of all people, first trying to pin Stefano’s death on me, then Nyx, then sending someone to slit my throat? And likewise, why is someone protecting me?”
“Right,” she says. “That’s the question. And if we don’t find out the answer fast, I think we’re going to regret it.”
Ash stays silent, still staring at his sister.
WHEN I WALK into history class with Layla, I’m surprised to find I’m now doing all the things I thought were so weird my first day—walking silently, keeping track of the other students through subtle glances, and speaking in a low voice. And since we woke up this morning, Layla has gone silent on me again. Not her normal thinking quiet, either. She seems agitated and upset but refuses to talk about it. I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with revealing her relationship with Stefano. Even in the short time I’ve spent with her, I know that must not have been easy for her. And I’m almost positive that if I bring it up, I will only make things worse.
Brendan is already in the classroom and looks like he got as little sleep as I did. Layla is practically scowling, and everyone seems on edge—the kind of vibe that has you wanting to look over your shoulder or jump when something grazes your arm.
“Shall we begin?” Kartal says, even though it’s not really a question. She’s standing near her globe and drums her fingers on it while the students take their seats.
Felix and Aarya are the last in the door, and their body language makes me think they might have been fighting.
“Sit,” Kartal says to Aarya, and I can tell she doesn’t want to.
Her fists clench but she drops into her chair.
“Now then…The Knights Hospitallers were trained to fight to the death and to the very last man, no matter the odds against them,” Kartal says, and glances at Aarya. “And they were geared up to do just that in 1271, when Sultan Baybars attacked the Hospitaller castle Krak des Chevaliers in Syria. Over the course of a month, the sultan gradually drove the knights within the castle walls. But the sultan knew that the cornered knights would never surrender. So he cleverly crafted a forged letter that was supposedly from the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitallers and sent it to them.”
She looks around the room and for a brief second her eyes land on me. “The letter told the knights that they had permission to surrender and even contained instructions on how to do so. And wouldn’t you know it, the brave knights fell for the forgery. In exchange for their surrender, the sultan spared their lives.” Kartal smiles. “It’s history’s stories of near misses that I love so much—the ones where you think a certain outcome is inevitable, only to be proven wrong. From the outside, the sultan faced what looked like an inflexible situation. But the sultan was creative; he thought past the conflict. What was the key here? What did the sultan do that is worth remembering?”