The Guild Conspiracy (13 page)

Petra stepped forward and took the handset from Lyndon, her hands trembling as she raised it to her ear. “H-­hello?”

The line crackled in response, and a familiar voice emerged out of the hollow static. “Petra?”

She weakened at the sound, as if time and distance were nothing, the sound of his voice soothing an ache in her heart she had long tried to ignore. “Emmerich . . .” She touched the side of the telephone box with trembling fingers, wishing she could see his face. “I'm here.”

“Are you alone?” he asked.

The directness in his voice sobered her, and she glanced over her shoulder at Braith, now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “No,” she answered softly.

“One of my father's?” asked Emmerich.

She met Braith's cold gray eyes across the room. “Yes.”

Emmerich cursed. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Perhaps we should—­”

“No, don't,” she said, fixating on the telephone again. “Please don't go.”

“The last thing we need is for my father to find out I contacted you. I know I shouldn't have risked it, but—­” He sighed, the sound of it a crackle in her ear. “It was worth it just to hear your voice again. I know it's been a long time, but . . . I've thought of you every day.”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “Likewise.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been able to telephone until now. I suspect my father has—­” A high-­pitched ringing sound cut through the telephone speaker, and his next words were lost in the pop and snap of the long-­distance connection. Petra held the receiver closer to her ear, trying to hear through the noise, when his voice suddenly returned. “—­realized he must be contriving to keep us apart.”

She nodded, remembering too late that Emmerich couldn't see her.

“But that isn't why I wanted you to telephone.”

Petra stood a little straighter, remembering the telegram. “Why did you?”

“I have information,” he said. “About your mother's family. I've been researching their whereabouts since I arrived in France. Most of the records were lost in the University fire. It's been a nightmare tracking the information down, but I think I may have finally found someone—­your mother's sister, your aunt, here in Taverny.”

Petra gripped the receiver more tightly. “You
what
?”

“I telephoned you as soon as I could,” he said apologetically. “With communications being monitored between the Company and the Guild, this isn't something I dared put in a letter, not with the risk of my father intercepting it. So I waited until I could contact you privately.

“That's why I'm in Taverny,” he went on. “To meet her. And, Petra . . . if this woman is truly your mother's sister, if she knows of you, knows of the circumstances of your birth, the truth of who you are . . .” He paused. “We might be able to prove it to the Guild, to the city. You can claim your mother's name and take your rightful place as head of the Guild—­as you deserve.”

Petra's heart stilled. “This is what you've been doing, all this time?”

“Yes. If we can prove who you are, the Chroniker name will protect you from my father, from the council. And then we can end this ruse and stand against him. Together.”

“You think that would work?” she asked.

“It's the best plan we have,” he said, his voice distorted by the static hum. “But, Petra . . . in the meantime, you need to tread carefully. My father isn't happy with the way you've acted since we agreed to cooperate with his plans—­and now he has it in his head that you're trying to sabotage your war project.” He paused. “Whatever it is you're doing, you have to stop. You can't put yourself at his mercy, not again. He needs only the barest of excuses to follow through on his threats.”

“I can't sit here and do nothing.”

“That is
precisely
what you must do.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “It's too late.”

It was too late to stop her rebellion, too late to take back what had already been done. As soon as her engineering team found her sabotage, Emmerich's warnings would no longer matter.

“What do you mean?” He hesitated. “Petra . . . what did you do?”

“What I thought I had to,” she said more firmly.

Emmerich cursed on the other end of the line, and she felt his anger through the tenuous connection. “Why?” he demanded.

“I didn't think I had a choice,” she said. “You left, remember?”

“To protect you!”

“And look where that got us.”

The connection fell silent, interrupted only by the occasional crackle and low hum of static. Then Emmerich's voice came clearly through the speaker, as if he stood right there beside her.

“That isn't fair,” he said.

“No,” she said thickly. “It isn't. But you left me here. Alone. To figure things out on my own.”

“I didn't—­”

“I did what I had to,” she went on. “To survive, to make a life for myself, to
be
someone.” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Without you.”

He stayed quiet a moment, the distance between them seeming to multiply tenfold, held together only by the fragile static link between the two telephones.

“I did what I thought was right,” he said finally, his voice strained. “Everything I have done here, every order I carry out, every design I hand over to the Company . . . I do it for
you
. For
us
. To keep you safe. To keep you alive. To make it back to you someday.” He wavered a moment, and she heard him inhale a deep breath as the telephone line popped and fizzled, the speaker crackling in her ear.

“I love you, Petra,” he said quietly. “I don't want to lose you.”

Petra bowed her head, gripping the telephone receiver with both hands, wishing she could see his face, smooth the frown from his lips. Life had been better when they were together, when she was wrapped up in his arms, the two of them caught up in a world of their own. He never should have left, never should have agreed to his father's plans.

“You haven't lost me,” she whispered, wondering if he could even hear her through the crackling connection. “I'm still here.”

But there was a distance between them now. She could feel it.

Emmerich sighed on the other end of the line. “I never should have left you,” he said wearily. “And I wish I could be there now, that I could come home and be at your side again, but until this war is put to an end, until my father is stopped, I can't—­I
won't
—­not until I'm certain you are safe, that
we
are safe.” He paused. “So please,
be careful
. Now that my father has the war machine you promised him, anything you do, any stand you take against him could be your last. You'll only get yourself killed, and I—­” His voice faltered then, and he cleared his throat. “I couldn't bear for that to happen,” he said more softly. “I can't lose you, Petra. Not now.”

The telephone connection crackled and whined.

“Just let me be the one to take care of things,” he said. “Let me be the one to protect you. I have a plan. I just need you to stay alive long enough for me to see it through.”

She stared at the telephone box, her chest pinching with guilt.

“Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you'll stay out of trouble.”

Petra bowed her head, knowing she could make no such promise. The moment the engineering team discovered the hidden sabotage within the quadruped, that would be the end of it.

“I'll try,” she said, certain he knew it was a lie.

“Just stay alive,” he said, his voice heavy. “Promise me that, at least. I need to know you'll be there when I return.”

She nodded silently, hoping against hope that she would be. “I'll try.”

A deadly silence stretched between them, painful in its vastness.

Finally, he spoke. “There's someone waiting for the telephone. I'm sorry, I have to go,” he said, his voice breaking. She couldn't be sure if it was the pain in his voice or the poor connection. The handset speaker crackled and popped against her ear. “Be safe, Petra.”

“You too.”

The line clicked and he was gone. She lowered the receiver, her knuckles whitening around the handset as a deep void opened up in the center of her chest, the sound of Emmerich's voice still ringing in her ears. The happiness she felt just moments ago turned to a harrowing ache, the bitterness of their separation growing within her like a malevolent seed. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth until her jaw ached. She hated that she could feel this much pain, this aching absence that consumed her from the inside.

All she wanted was for him to come home. Nothing else mattered. Not the war. Not his father. She just wanted to see him again, to kiss him, to wrap herself in his arms, to punch him in the chest and tell him what a coward he was for leaving, for surrendering, for thinking he knew what was best for her.

“Petra?”

She turned to find Braith standing next to her. She felt bled dry, the very center of her gouged out with a knife. She was suddenly exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to lock herself in her dormitory for the rest of the day and sleep off the pain in her chest.

He touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Let's just go,” she said wearily, turning toward the door.

He stepped out of her way and she brushed past, ignoring the vice-­chancellor as she left the office. Emmerich's words weighed too heavily on her mind for her to care about anything else. Had he really found someone from her mother's family? Her mother's own sister? If he had, and the woman knew the truth of Petra's identity, if she could prove that Petra was a Chroniker, Adelaide's heir . . .

Petra shook her head. It was too much to hope for. As much as she wanted to believe that Emmerich had found her family after all this time, she couldn't stake her freedom on it, hinging everything on a feeble hope that this woman might know the truth about her. No . . . if she wanted to protect herself from Julian, it would take more than a name. Surely Emmerich knew that.

Braith fell into step beside her, remaining silent as they walked from the Guild offices and headed down the stairs to the main floor. She wondered how much he had overheard, how much he might have guessed, and a slight panic rose in her throat as she wondered whether he suspected her of anything.

It wasn't until they climbed the stairwell to the dormitories and reached the door to her room that he finally spoke. He withdrew the room key from his pocket and turned it over in his hand, staring at the number stamped into the metal. “Petra, who was that on the phone?”

She pressed her lips together, the urge to lie pushing against her teeth.

“Look . . . I understand that you don't trust me,” he went on. “But you don't have to be afraid of me, Petra. I'm on your side.”

Petra bit her lip, wanting to believe him, wanting to believe that she could trust him. But he was a soldier. He was the enemy. If she told him the truth, if Julian found out she had contacted Emmerich, it wouldn't matter that it had nothing to do with the quadruped, nothing to do with her sabotage. All that mattered to Julian was her defiance, that she had disobeyed him. How could she tell Braith the truth, knowing that? Knowing what it might cost her?

“How can I not be afraid?” she asked, her voice shamefully weak. “How can I allow myself to trust you when you wear that uniform? One wrong word from you is all it takes for me to lose everything. Don't you see that?”

Braith glanced down at his jacket, the stiff collar unbuttoned. “Because I'm a soldier?”

“You said it yourself,” she said. “If it came to a choice between me or your orders, we both know which you would choose.”

“Is that what you think of me?” He scoffed. “Damn it, Petra. What more must I do to prove myself to you?”

She held his gaze. “I don't know that you can.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and then raised his hands to the collar of his coat, unfastening the top button and then moving to the next, his fingers working quickly down the front of his jacket.

“What are you doing?” she asked, following the movement of his deft fingers. He reached the last button and then jerked his sleeves from his arms, tossing the scarlet jacket to the floor.

“There,” he said, gesturing to the heap of fabric at his feet. “Is that it? Is that what I have to do to gain your trust? I am more than just a uniform, more than a nameless soldier who follows orders without question. Have I not proven that?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Damn it, Petra . . . I'm not asking you to put your faith in me as a British soldier. I'm not asking as your military escort . . . I'm asking as your
friend
.”

She swallowed hard. Braith was the enemy. He couldn't be trusted. She had told herself that often enough to believe it, but in that moment, laid bare in front of her, she wondered if she'd been wrong.

“And if I trust you?” she asked, her voice shaking. “If I tell you the truth? What will you tell your superiors? What will you put in your report?”

He hesitated. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you're afraid of, I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. You asked me to trust you, to let you make that phone call, and I did. Now I'm asking you to trust me.”

Petra stared at him, her throat tight. She had trusted him with the mech, had trusted him with the mech fights and her nightly rendezvous with Rupert, and he had yet to betray her for that. Maybe she could trust him with this.

She bowed her head, slipping her hand into her pocket where her fingers brushed the edge of Emmerich's telegram.

Maybe she could even convince him of the truth.