The king’s men lead him through the escape passage first. Marco stands to the side, waiting to follow us in. I notice something in his hand, but I never get a good look at it. Behind me I hear a muffled clink of a heavy object out in the hallway.

“Grena—!” My words are cut off by the explosion.

My body’s thrown forward, right into Marco. The two of us fall in a tangle of limbs just outside the passage entrance. A plume of ash and dust obscures the room, but I can hear the tread of feet.

“Close the door!” Marco shouts.

The king roars something in response, but it’s cut off by the slam of the blast door. The sound is a death knell; there will be no escaping now. Once again, the king’s been shuffled away while I remain in the fray, this time with Marco, one of the men I revile most in the world.

I scramble to get up when Marco’s hand presses me back down into the floor.

My gaze flicks to his. “Get the fuck off of—”

The side of Marco’s fist slams down against my chest, and I choke on my words. A sharp, burning pain punctures my heart. I can’t make sense of it until Marco withdraws his fist, and with it, an empty syringe.

“What’ve you done?” I ask, drawing in a ragged breath and touching my chest.

Shots are fired on the other end of the room, and I have no idea who’s killing whom.

“It’s a serum to make you forget.”

My eyes widen in surprise. Those dazed technicians, that article on memory suppression—I’m staring down the terrible invention behind it all.

“The king’s told you his secrets,” Marco explains. “They’ll torture them out of you unless they’re not there.”

“You bastard,” I whisper. My memory is all I have left. I’ll forget who I am, where I came from. I’ll forget my father, my mother, my entire life.

I want to scratch the liquid out of me.

“The king possesses an antidote. It’s reversible.”

I huff at that. “Like that’s going to do me a lot of good if I can’t remember the king.”

The sounds of gunfire are getting closer.

“He’ll find you. Trust me, he will.”

Marco rolls off me and pulls out a gun.

My breath catches. “What are you doing?” I ask, scrambling to sit up.

He clicks off the safety. “I only had one vial.”

Marco doesn’t hesitate. He places the gun barrel against his temple and fires. Blood and viscous things hit me.

And that is the end of Marco. For only a moment I find it strangely poetic that my father and my father’s killer both died from the same wound. Then the thought is whisked away from me.