Rafe cuts him off. “You should be censured by the Guard for abetting Inquisitor scum.” He practically spits each word. “You too.” He glares over at the other two, and the girl begins to cry.

“Cousin, why are you defending a weed? She’s not even that pretty. What’s Genesis done to you?” Who knew there existed an even ruder elitist ass than Rafe Vanguard?

“I’m defending a Sire over helping our greatest enemy.” Rafe grabs Leo’s hand and points to the bone ring, the stone of the Avant Guard. “An enemy you have sworn on your life to guard our world against. What has greed done to you?”

Leo is taller than Rafe, yet Rafe talks down to him as if he towers over him.

Rafe drops Leo’s hand with contempt. “Tell me everything you know.”

“We don’t know anything. I just received this anonymous pigeon.” Leo pulls an unfolded pigeon from his pocket and hands it to Rafe. “And when I heard about the Sire weed, I thought it might be worth pursuing.”

Rafe reads the note, pockets it, and strides over to me. He uses his spoon to cut the ropes binding me to the chair.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I stand. But once I’m on my feet, all the blood rushes to my head, and I stagger with dizziness. Rafe brusquely pushes my hair aside, checking my neck. He also inspects both of my wrists, ignoring the red chafing from the ropes. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I can’t seem to find the strength to protest the contact. He’s quick and clinical, but every graze of his fingers elicits the strange tingle I’ve come to associate with his touch. He doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Don’t worry. She’s fine,” Leo says, resigned.

“She’d better be,” Rafe responds. Then he goes still, so motionless that he seems inhuman. The black fury has returned to his eyes. He’s looking at a faded light pink line on the inside of my forearm. Was it there before? It looks like a scratch that’s almost healed. Rafe traces the line with his own finger.

Tingle.

I’m scared by the rage in his eyes, and of the fact that, besides for his finger on my arm, he is so unsettlingly still. “You lie to me, Leonardo de Montaigne,” he finally says, icy words that chill the room. Everyone is clearly afraid now.

“Oh, c’mon, cousin, don’t be like that—”

Rafe turns furiously on Leo. “Fie upon you! There’s already one traitor in your family, and you risk doing something like this?” Rafe points at me. “She may have been born a philistine, but she is a Maker. And she is a Sire. A Sire! You have crossed a line that should never be crossed.” My skin prickles with cold, and my knees are weakening.