King Of Fools. Amanda Foody

she was actually a rule-abiding, knife-collecting fraud.

      Lola sat on the bench beside him. She wore her usual top hat, but it was strange seeing her hair down, now that she no longer needed to hide it in public.

      “You’re less scary with the red hair,” he commented.

      She frowned. “It’s blood red.”

      “It’s...cherry red.”

      “Why are we here?” she asked, ignoring him and turning around to look at where the address had brought her. “Is this some kind of school?”

      “It’s my old One-Way House,” Jac explained.

      Because many had fled the city during the Revolution, the wigheads had started shipping in children from orphanages across much of the western coast about two decades ago, in an effort to bring workers and “community” back into New Reynes. Most of those children ended up in One-Way Houses like the building behind them.

      The worst part of the One-Way Houses wasn’t the work—it was the debt. From the moment Jac arrived when he was six years old, he was given a tally. Everything he was provided had a price, and the earnings he made at the factory were supposed to pay for his necessities. But within months, the charges quickly surpassed his earnings. Once in the indenture, it was nearly impossible to work his way out. Jac finally managed it when he was thirteen, through the volts he’d earned helping Levi with his schemes.

      Lola crinkled her nose and turned back around. “Well, that’s depressing.”

      “I’m going to tell you a few things that you have to promise not to tell Enne,” he said. He remembered how she’d ratted him out about the teacup, but he liked to think that’d been a joke. He liked to think that he could trust her.

      She sighed. “Why not?”

      “Because none of this can get back to Vianca.” He rubbed his hands together. Even talking about the donna made him nervous.

      “Fine,” Lola said, though she didn’t sound happy about it.

      And so he told her everything that Levi had confided in him last night—and what he’d asked Jac to do.

      “What happens when everything doesn’t go to plan?” she demanded once he finished.

      Jac pursed his lips. “It’s a gamble.”

      “It’s a disaster,” she hissed. “You’re right—Enne can’t know about this. So why are you telling me?”

      Because he didn’t have anyone else to share the burden with—not that he would admit that.

      Lola took off her top hat and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. The shade from the buildings behind them was creeping back, and now that they sat in the sun, both their faces were slick with sweat. “This will end badly.”

      “Your catchphrase,” he muttered, because he couldn’t help himself.

      “And when Levi’s deadline with Vianca expires? How is he going to help Harrison then?”

      “I’m honestly not sure,” Jac answered. “Which is why the most important piece is the Torrens. If anything happens with Vianca, or if—muck—if Levi loses this wager, at least there’s still the Torrens’ vote. At least Harrison could maybe still win. And then the wager won’t matter, because Vianca will be dead.” It was an awful lot of pressure, far more than he felt he was capable of taking on. His fingers shook as he reached for another cigarette, hating himself for it.

      Lola stared at her knotted fingers for several silent moments. Finally, she looked up, her expression dark.

      “Was it Rapture or Lullaby?” she murmured.

      Jac’s fingers slipped as he flicked the lighter. He hated the idea that she could know such a thing by looking at him, but he also suspected she’d known for a while.

      “Lullaby,” he admitted. “I’m two years sober.”

      He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. It was almost too hot outside to take a full breath. He hated the stifling feeling of smoking in summer, but he didn’t feel like he could breathe without the nicotine.

      “I have it all figured out,” he said quickly, coughing a bit. “There’s this place that’s Torren-owned. It’s called Liver Shot. It’s the only den that—” he counted off on his fingers “—one, has a boxing pit. An easy way for me to get an in. And two, that sells exclusively Rapture, not Lullaby.”

      “And you’ll... What? Fight your way into getting a job? Is that how that works?” she asked.

      “That’s about as far as I’ve worked out, yeah.”

      “Muck, Jac, you can’t do this. The fact that Levi even asked you is... It’s repulsive. He knows, right? Of course he must know—”

      “Levi literally pulled me out of a Lull den when I overdosed and saved my life,” he told her seriously.

      “That makes it even worse, and you shouldn’t be defending him,” Lola chided. “You might have this all planned out now, but you don’t really know what sort of situation you could walk into. If this family feud gets messy, you’ll be right in the middle of it. It’d be dangerous for anyone, but for you—”

      “Well, it’s not like Levi has anyone else he could ask, does he?” Jac snapped. Maybe Lola was right. Maybe he shouldn’t defend Levi, but he still felt he had to. “Anyone else could handle this better, but instead, he has me. Unlucky for him, I’m the only friend he’s got.”

      He threw the stub of his cigarette behind him, toward the One-Way House. “I grew up in that place, trapped by a debt I never thought I’d escape until I met him. And I think all the time about how easy it is to get trapped in this city. How my first real job after that really wasn’t any type of improvement. How I kept feeling trapped, so I took the Lullaby when they offered it to me the first time, and then I trapped myself when I kept going back.

      “I might be the absolute worst person for this job, but he’s my best friend. If it means he’s not trapped anymore, then maybe it’s worth it.”

      Lola leaned back on the bench, still knotting her fingers together. “You realize what this means for the city—for the whole Republic, right? An election that the monarchists could actually win?” She shook her head. “It’s just one seat, but that isn’t what matters. What matters is that, ever since the Revolution, we’ve pretended this is peace. But there are talents that don’t exist anymore because people were systematically killed by the First Party. And not just Mizers—anyone with true power, anyone who could be a threat. That’s been the heart of the monarchist platform for years. That this is not peace. That we cannot stop changing. And to think—the fate of an entire history-altering election could rest on your shoulders.”

      Jac didn’t actually think he could have felt worse, but now he did. “Very eloquent. You have a real way with words, you know that?” he snapped. “But you missed the last bit you meant to say. The ‘we’re doomed’ part.”

      She half smiled, the sort of expression that told Jac there was an element of truth to his joke. “You know how they say this city is a game? Well, I always felt like I was surrounded by players. My bosses at the Orphan Guild, my brothers, and now Enne... I’m the sort of person who watches from the outskirts of the story. Who hopefully lives to tell the story.”

      “I get that,” Jac said, and he did. At least up until the point about living to tell the story. He’d honestly never been quite so optimistic.

      “So when are you going to this place? Liver Shot?” Lola asked. “Tonight?”

      “No, it’s a Thursday. If I wait until tomorrow, it’ll be busier, and my chances of talking to the right people will be better. I have a few volts. I’ll stay at a hostel.” He could save his volts and go back to Levi’s, but he didn’t think