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Everybody knew not to cross Damien Moreau. You’d have to be a fool to cross a king with his power and influence. But of course, the world is peopled with fools. And so Moreau had his elite police, to enforce the laws he laid down.
For the little stuff, the barely overdue loans and small slights where all that was needed was a hefty dose of intimidation and maybe a broken bone or two to remind of the perils of offending King Moreau, there was Chapman and a rotating cast of thugs whose names Eliot pretended not to know.
For more severe offenses, for the poor idiots who got on Moreau’s really bad side, there was Eliot.
If it was a good day, Moreau would have Eliot leave them alive, only maimed, terrified, and removed of their valuables. More often, Eliot was the last sight anyone who crossed Moreau would see. Some of them were bad people, nearly as awful as Moreau, but many weren’t. Just got into something too deep and drowned. None of them deserved to die.
Moreau had a thirst for blood, and Eliot was the needle from which he drew it.
Eliot’s reputation made him a bargaining chip. Eliot knew his part, the snarling dog, kept only barely restrained at his master’s side. Moreau would take Eliot into business meetings where the sight of his crossed arms and blue-green Graceling eyes were more than enough to sway the deal in Moreau’s favor. Their eyes would shift around, discomfited by Eliot’s stare but unable to avoid it. No one met Eliot’s eyes for long, except Moreau. Moreau was the only person not afraid of him. Moreau was the only one who didn’t need to be.
After a deal Moreau would be in a good mood, and praise him, and Eliot would have time to himself. He’d slip in contacts to hide from his reputation and drink at some bar filled with fragile, normal lives, filled with people who didn’t know of Eliot and his cursed Grace except in story and rumor. There, he could pretend to be a person again.
It was one of those nights, sitting in a bar, flirting with a cute redhead, that Eliot started his resistance. He chatted with the redhead, went home with him, and when Eliot snuck out in the morning a thick wad of cash from Eliot’s emergency fund was left behind, enough to pay for car repairs and get rid of some of the man’s student loans.
Moreau laughed when he found out. Of course he found out, because Moreau knew everything, eventually. Laughed, and tossed Eliot a bundle of cash.
“Here, Spencer. You may as well spend it on an actual whore this time. Helping someone pay rent won’t wash away your sins; you may as well embrace them.”
Eliot didn’t care about washing his sins. His ledger had drowned in blood ages ago. He just wanted to feel human, sometimes. Just a little.
After that, Eliot’s resistance began. He was a terrible, despicable excuse for life, a snarling monster to be kept in check; Eliot knew this, and knew it was irrevocable. Only a monster could do the things Eliot did under Moreau’s command. But even a monster could pretend to be nice sometimes, could hide their monstrosity and make a small difference, some small positive change.
It wasn’t much, but it helped keep him sane.
Eliot got better at hiding things from Moreau. Either that or Moreau just didn’t care. Eliot was pretty sure it was the former. He was careful, and in the end, Eliot was just a tool to Moreau. Tools didn’t rebel, and so Moreau never needed to worry about Eliot doing so.
It was the man’s fatal mistake. That Moreau, as everyone did, took Eliot for the simple muscle he pretended to be, incapable of higher thought or independence.
It was an effective grift, because Eliot all but believed it himself.
Eventually, Eliot’s resistance grew to more than petty acts of charity.
Eventually, Eliot became the Council.
Not many people have a reputation of any significance. Eliot had two, for he became two people. A feared, ruthless Graceling killer, and the cunning leader of a resistance movement that sought to help remedy the reckless disdain for life of Moreau and the other kings.
‘The Council’ wasn’t Eliot’s name. He hadn’t thought to give name to his resistance, but one of the Kings, disgruntled at Eliot’s actions, had insisted that there must be a shady black-ops council working against him, and the internet had jumped on it. It became a meme; everything that went wrong for the kings was blamed on the Council. It was something the people could laugh about, poking fun at the cruel kings--buoyed by drink and camaraderie, of course. They didn’t know, couldn’t know that the Council was only one man, doing what he could to remedy the cruelty of the kings of the realm.
Eliot had picked up the expression himself. Thought of his actions as those of the Council. He was the Council, even if the council was rather less peopled than councils typically are. Even named as such, Eliot worked alone. He always worked alone, whether for Moreau or for the missions he carried out in secret. Other people just got in the way, made things messy. And with his council work, every person that saw him was a threat.
He planned his missions carefully. Obtained blueprints, worked out how to bypass security systems, and ensured that he would never, ever be seen by anyone. Moreau had every pair of Eliot’s contacts destroyed after the last incident, and forbid him to purchase more. Moreau wanted Eliot known and terrifying to all, wanted Eliot’s eyes to remind everyone who saw him of the King’s power, and to punish Eliot for pretending at a normal life. Eliot’s face wasn’t known--he didn’t exactly have a social media presence--but the reputation of his eyes, one bold green and the other bright blue, was spread across the land as a warning and a bogeyman.
So Eliot was careful not to be seen. The chance that someone might recognize him and know who he was wasn’t worth risking, because if someone knew him then Eliot would have to kill them to protect his secret from Moreau. Moreau could never know, and Eliot couldn’t kill someone for a council that operated to end the senseless cruelty and killing of the kings.
Given these precautions, when Eliot walked through the darkened hall of Driftonics Corporation headquarters, carefully bypassing the many security protocols that the paranoid CEO had set into place, the last thing he expected was for someone to fall on him--let alone two someones. He was walking across the high ceilinged atrium of the building, heard a shriek of glee and a yell of terror, and looked up only to have two people fall directly onto him.
Admittedly, it wasn’t so much of an actual fall as a controlled, quick drop with some really impressive gear. He reacted automatically, throwing the strangers off of him and near across the room, pulling up his hood and keeping his head low.
“Ow, damn, woman, can you look where you’re flinging us next time?” groaned the man.
The blonde grinned. “I didn’t fling us, he did. Besides, my turn for infiltration. We can do your boring hacking next time.”
Eliot tensed, readying himself for action, and anxiously reached a hand up to pull his hood further forward.
“Hey, man, sorry for dropping on you, that’s our bad for sure. Or, I mean, her bad but y’know--”
“Who are you?” growled Eliot.
The woman frowned at Eliot, examining him. “You’re not a guard. Don’t work here either. You threw us really well, too.” She nodded, deciding. “We’re thieves!” she said brightly.
The man sighed. “Mama, you know you ain’t supposed to tell people that.”
Eliot blinked. They hadn't seen his eyes. They were still safe.
“Why’re you here?”
“To steal stuff,” said the woman, with a tone like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, to be fair--they were thieves.
The man stood up. “I’m Hardison; this is Parker.”
“You’re introducing yourself after you told me you’re thieves?”
He shrugged. “You clearly aren’t supposed to be here either, which means you ain’t up to anything honest. You’ve already got a good look at us, and don’t intend us any harm, or you’d of done it already. Might as well do it proper.”
“...Eliot.”
Hardison nodded. “Nice to meet you, Eliot.”
Parker spoke, her voice crisp. “Now business.” She turned to Eliot. “What are you here for?”
“Records. Driftonics’ been covering up employee injuries, denying insurance claims, threatening honest families to keep ‘em quiet, or paying them off far less than their due. I’m here for the records of it, whatever there are, to expose Driftonics and bring ‘em down.”
“Alright, that’s cool, that’s cool” said Hardison, “Not what I was expecting. Shoot, we’re just here to steal some tech.”
“We’ll help,” said Parker. Hardison opened his mouth, but she held up a hand before he could speak. “And get the tech you want.”
Eliot growled. “I don’t need help.”
“Have you noticed why there aren’t any alarms going off right now? It’s because Hardison took care of the security system and is currently monitoring any disturbances on his phone so the guards won’t notice a thing. He can hack any system. Including a Steranko. He can get you access to the server room with a few lines of code. What were you going to do, bash the door in?
“Wasn’t planning on hitting the server room.”
“The CEO’s safe is a Glenn-Rieder 500. I can crack it in a minute thirty.”
Eliot grunted. “The guards can’t notice anything right now. They’re...indisposed. That’s why there’s no security goin’ off.”
Hardison’s eyes widened. “Shit, you killed the guards! Oh, hell--”
“I didn’t kill the guards!” interrupted Eliot irritably. “They’re tied up. I don’t kill people.”
Internally, Eliot flinched at the lie, but he met Hardison’s gaze steadily. “They may have the misfortune of working for a shit corporation, but they don’t deserve to die.”
Hardison raised his hands “Okay, alright, yeah, totally didn’t think you were a murderer, nope, we good.”
Which, of course, Eliot was.
Parker spoke: “Are you going to accept our help or not?”
Eliot sighed. “Fine.” This was a bigger job than he’d pulled before, and the help wouldn’t hurt--he’d been planning to blow the safe since his lock-picking skills were abysmal and his safe-cracking was even worse. He’d just have to keep his hood up, and remember to stay with his back to the light as much as possible so they wouldn’t see his eyes.
“Good. Guards are out of the picture, so we don’t have to worry about the cameras, Hardison can scrub them later. We’ll just have to avoid tripping the automatic sensors. Let’s go.”
Hardison had insisted, and so after the heist Eliot was dragged along to a rundown 24/7 diner for “hashbrowns that cannot be beat”. And really, the hashbrowns were pretty good, even if Eliot liked his own better.
Parker was hyper, from what seemed to be a mix of literally drinking syrup from a glass (Eliot was both repulsed and fixated by it) and the thrill of finishing a heist. She was relaying a story about stealing a diamond from a rich noble, very loudly and effusively.
When she paused for breath, Eliot interjected. “Should you be talking about that here?”
Hardison waved him off. “Peggy’s a friend. She’s cool with it. Besides, this ain’t the kind of place government thugs hang out.”
Right.
Hardison excused himself, saying something about taking contacts out, and Eliot watched Parker down syrup and eat waffles covered in whipped cream and sugary cereal with a horrified awe.
Finally, he had to say something. “How do you eat that?”
She shrugged, eyebrows raised. “Why? What do you eat? Vegetables?”
Eliot blinked. “Yes. Yes, I do eat vegetables.”
Hardison slid back into the seat next to Parker. ‘Ah, man, so much better. Contacts are damn useful but man do they wear out my eyes.”
Eliot looked up and nearly jumped. He’d expected to see Hardison’s grayish eyes behind glasses (and, if he was being thoroughly honest, was looking forward to the sight). Instead, gleaming lights looked at him from Hardison’s face. His eyes were practically glowing, one gold, and one silver.
Eliot gaped stupidly. “You’re Graced.”
“Is it a problem?” asked Hardison, mildly.
“No, I just... didn’t expect that.”
“Hey, fair enough, man. I wear contacts generally so these--” he gestured at his eyes “--aren’t so much of an identifying feature. Can’t be too identifiable if you’re a thief, ‘less you’re asking to get caught, which I sure ain’t.”
Eliot nodded.
“You should look into getting some,” continued Hardison, studiously casual.
“Can’t,” said Eliot.
“Like a medical condition or something? ‘Cause I know this really discreet optometrist--”
“I can’t,” said Eliot with finality. He’d thought about getting new contacts after Moreau trashed his old ones, but the less physical evidence for Moreau’s men to find of Eliot’s council work the safer it was. He didn’t even like having papers around--memorized everything and incinerated it instead.
“So are you gonna show us your eyes then?” piped up Parker.
Hardison winced. “You don’t have to push him, mama.”
She shrugged. “I’m curious if I’m right or not.”
“That I’m graced?”
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously you’re graced. No reason to hide your eyes if you weren’t. I don’t hide mine. I want to know if I’m right about who you are or not.”
“I hope for your sake you aren’t.” Eliot stood to leave.
“Can you tell me something else?”
Eliot turned.
“Are you part of the Council?”
He nodded. “I am.” Eliot’s voice was raspy.
She looked straight at him, locking eyes for all she couldn’t see his. “Good.”
Hardison nodded. “I hope we run into you again sometime, man, it was good working with you.”
“Pray you don’t.”
Parker turned to Hardison. “Were you able to get a read off him?”
He shook his head. “Nothing clear. Just absolute terror that we knew who he was. He was paranoid the whole time making sure we didn’t see the color of his eyes.”
“Hmm,” she said. “It’s not like we’re especially threatening to someone like him.”
“No, mama, he wasn’t afraid of us. He was--he was afraid that he would hurt us. That he would have to hurt us. He was lying when he said he didn’t kill people, but babe, he wanted so badly for that to be true I could feel the ache.”
“He was Council, though.”
Hardison nodded. “Telling the truth on that. But it was weird. Like, it was the truth, but not the entire truth. We’re missing something. I wish my grace picked up on more, it’d make things easier.”
Parker shrugged. “You’ve already got some mind-reading, and even I can’t sneak up on you without your grace telling you I’m there. Besides, you’ve got your”--she mimed typing-- “hacking stuff. I slipped a tracker onto Eliot.”
Hardison grinned. “Sneaky, woman. I like it. Shall we take this operation back to the office?” He stood, exaggeratedly holding out an arm to escort her.
Parker downed her remaining syrup and slipped her arm in his. “Let’s go.”
Peggy waved as they walked out. “Bye Alice! Still on for book club Wednesday?”
Parker smiled toothily. “Absolutely!”
Eliot was on edge until he got back to his rooms in the castle, and even then he couldn’t shake the restlessness and paranoia.
He forced himself to breath slowly, in and out, counting the breaths until his heart rate slowed and he could consider the situation fully.
Even if she-they-suspected who he was, they couldn’t be sure. They hadn’t seen his eyes, and his name was common enough. And he was protected by reputation. Everyone knew Eliot Spencer was a ruthless, heartless killer, the right hand of King Damien Moreau. A man like that wouldn’t steal something to help people.
Even if they suspected, he was safe enough, for now. They hadn’t followed him, hadn’t even tried, and he used every tactic he knew coming back to the castle, just in case they had a partner try to tail him. He was safe, and alone, and he had achieved the mission objective.
His phone buzzed. A summoning from Moreau. All it said was ‘Come.’
Nobody ignored a message from Damien Moreau, and especially not Eliot. He splashed his face with water, clearing the ‘been awake for far too long’ from his eyes as best he could, and headed out the door.
It was another hit, of course. Eliot knew better than to expect any nicer reason for a summons. Once upon a time, maybe, but anymore Eliot knew he was kept around for his skills and reputation and not much else. Why bother having a hitter if you aren’t going to have them hit things?
At least it wasn’t a kill order this time. Just threaten the man, break a few bones, and ensure he knew that to defy Moreau is to suffer.
Good thing, too. Eliot wasn’t sure he could kill someone just then, too fresh off his council work and his strange encounter with the two thieves.
What would happen, the day he couldn’t kill for Moreau? Eliot knew in his bones that day was coming, when Moreau’s senseless bloodlust would no longer be satisfied through Eliot.
He sped down the back roads leading to the man’s estate a few hours outside Moreau City. The police didn’t stop him, no sirens blazing behind him no matter how flagrant Eliot’s disregard for the speed limits. They knew who drove the orange Challenger, and let him pass. He sped faster and faster, daring them to pull him over. None did.
Eliot arrived at the target’s estate with a showy, quick stop that had his tires squealing. Shit on the tires, but Moreau would replace them. And if you’re going to be a bad guy, may as well be one in style.
The house was deserted except for the target, who Eliot found quivering, sitting in the study. He met Eliot’s eyes, shakily, but he met them and held them. A brave man, this one, that Eliot had been sent to maim.
“You know why I’m here,” said Eliot.
The man nodded.
“Good. Then I won’t bother explaining. Any preferences?”
The man’s eyes narrowed briefly, confused.
Eliot pursed his lips, eyes flicking down, then up again to meet the target’s. Eliot didn’t want to hurt this man. The man didn’t deserve it, not for some petty offense. Minor infractions were meant to be solved in civil courts, not in broken collarbones.
Eliot decided, forcing himself to move and quickly snap the man’s ring finger. The man choked with the pain but didn’t scream, and Eliot efficiently set the finger, binding it to the fingers next to it. “You’ll want to see a proper doctor about that but it should be healed in a month.”
Eliot walked to the door, then paused, turning back. “Sorry,” he said, awkwardly. It was less than Moreau wanted done to the man, but worse than he deserved.
As he left, Eliot felt the bile well up inside him and knew that the day was soon coming when he would no longer be able to wield his grace for Moreau. And what then? What use is there for a broken monster?
“Mama, I am so not happy that you were right about this,” said Hardison. “I’ve got the tracker right in Moreau’s private rooms two hours ago, and then immediately booking it to a property which looks to be owned by a minor noble. Unless you can think of another Graceling who’d be trusted enough by Moreau to get into his private quarters, and I’d really appreciate it if you would because we are not equipped to deal with this shit.”
“No, this is right.” She paused, thinking. “Eliot Spencer, renowned graceling killer, Moreau’s personal executioner, one of the council. This explains why the council’s been so difficult to track down. If Moreau’s protecting the council…that would explain why Moreau’s been hit less hard by council actions. Alec, what if the council’s just an undercover group led by Moreau to destabilize the other kingdoms? As a power grab? Moreau cannot gain more power.”
Hardison pursed his lips. “Well, mama, I guess we’ll cross the bridge when we get there. If Eliot’s part of the council, maybe they’re avoiding hitting Moreau too close to home to protect his position?”
Parker sighed. “Alright, let’s keep an eye on the tracker. If we can’t manage to run into him again in the next few days, we’ll start phase two.”
“I’ll finish up on the background. Sophie’s prepared to vouch for us?”
Parker nodded. “I got confirmation today that she exchanged the forged documents, so the paper trail’s solid if anyone thinks to check it. We’re officially minor Leinid nobility, cousins of the great Countess Sophia Devereaux.”
Hardison grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, we’re royalty now, babe, that’s what I’m talking about. You’re looking at bonafide counterfeit Leinid royalty, right here. Mm, I’m feeling bougie already!”
“Order pizza from the fancy place?”
He pulled Parker to him, kissing her gently. “Only the best for my queen.”
Parker wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather be a Baroness. You can get away with more. Queens aren’t allowed to climb in air ducts. Slightly unfashionable baronesses can get away with anything.”
Hardison laughed, dialing the number for the restaurant. “You want the usual?”
“The usual sounds perfect.”
Eliot kept to himself that week--that is, more than usual. Eliot always kept to himself, but usually he’d wander the castle or go train against whatever unlucky guards whose turn it was, but he couldn’t bear people just then, couldn’t stand the sight of them. Even skulked away from the servants who brought food. He scowled at a maid who tried to tidy his rooms and she trembled with fear, scurrying away like he was predatory and she was prey.
A monster. Nothing more than a monster. Inhuman and unfeeling. That’s what Eliot was.
He snuck out of the castle early one morning, well before the sun brushed the horizon. It wasn’t sneaking, technically. In theory, Moreau let Eliot come and go as he pleased as long as Eliot was there to kill when he was needed, but in practice it was more complicated than that. Moreau liked to keep his prized possessions near. Freedom was only an illusion. Eliot belonged to Moreau; Eliot’s life had never been his own, not since he was ten and his grace became known.
You could tell who was Graced by their eyes, the differences in color marking them, but it took longer to figure out what the grace was. There were all kinds of graces, some more useful than others. Some people had useless graces, like eating a whole cake without getting sick, or twisting their neck around like an owl. Most Gracelings figured out their grace by adolescence. Some never figured it out at all.
Eliot’s Grace presented itself in a violent manner that would mark the rest of his life, but how else would a killing grace make itself known? He’d been so young when it happened, when a distant cousin who Eliot watched the maidservants shy away from, avoiding the man’s touch, came over to where Eliot lurked against the wall and leered at him. The man had leaned over him, breath stinking, complimenting Eliot’s green-blue eyes and trapping him against the wall, looming over Eliot.
Eliot’s hand shot out instinctively, breaking the man’s nose and shoving the bone into his brain. The man dropped dead, their family screamed, and Eliot’s life changed forever. Nobody liked Gracelings and their inhuman talents, but a child who could kill a grown man unprovoked--for the man was well liked among the family, and the word of a Graceling child disregarded--there was nothing but hatred for.
Eliot had been locked in the basement that night, kept away from his brother and sisters, and the next morning the police had come and brought him to Moreau.
All Gracelings belonged to the King, if the King deemed them useful. It was the way of the realms. And so, at ten years of age, Eliot became Moreau’s executioner. He trained to hone his skill, and he killed the men Moreau asked him, and he stood at the King’s side, a small boy guarding the life of a man more than twice his size.
When Eliot returned to the castle, he was greeted by a page who informed him that King Moreau requested his presence at dinner.
Eliot suppressed a groan--state dinners were a pain at best, and he was in no mood to sit on display as Moreau’s pet. Eliot nodded at the page, who scuttled off, and let himself sigh.
He saw them as soon as the walked into the great hall, his eyes drawn magnetically to the tall dark man with glittering eyes, and the blonde woman at his side. Hardison was laughing, jovially entertaining the courtier he was seated next to, but he caught Eliot’s eye and nodded at him, still grinning.
Eliot kept moving forward, mechanically walking the length of the long hall. They knew him, then. Too smart, both of them--he should have known they’d come sooner or later. But how? It wasn’t an accident--he could see in Hardison’s eyes that they had expected to see him. Were they here to expose him? To rob Moreau? No, they were too smart for that, if they truly knew who Eliot was, and what he did.
Eliot’s head ached from lack of sleep, and he wanted nothing more in that
moment than to run from the room, run from the castle, just run and run to the woods until he was alone and safe lost in the trees.
Instead, he took his seat. Not at Moreau’s table--he never sat at Moreau’s
table--but one of the low tables to the King’s left. He sat, and courtiers shied away from him, edging away as best they could while still keeping their seats.
Across the room, Parker stood, her eyes meeting his own. She walked
around the long tables, seemingly unaware of the stares cast her way, and sat next to Eliot.
She wore a blazer and loose slacks--odd enough in Moreau’s court, for
Moreau liked his women feminine and the court complied--but even odder was the Leinid gold, rings on her fingers and glinting against her pale skin.
“Hello,” she said, a soft Lienid lilt to her voice that hadn’t been there
before. “I am Lady Alicia White. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Eliot Spencer.”
So not here to expose him, then--rather, she was asking now if Eliot planned to expose them and their ruse.
“Why are you here?” he growled.
“For answers,” she said, then leaned close to him, dropping the accent. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow our cover. We have some information that may be of interest to the council.”
Across the room, Hardison’s eyes glittered at Eliot. Could Eliot trust them, these thieves?
“Not here,” said Eliot. “We’re already drawing attention.”
“Good,” said Parker. “Let them get curious. We can play Hardison as the jilted husband, give the three of us reason to be seen together.” She paused, listening to the comm in her ear. “Hardison says a threesome would be better cover if you’re fine with it. Play on the stereotypical Lienid proclivities.”
“No, that’s uh--that’s fine.”
“That settles it then,” said Parker, ducking her head coyly while speaking in the least coy possible manner.
“I’ll find you two later, it’ll be easier. Around midnight.”
Parker nodded. “Now kiss my hand. Make it look good.”
Eliot complied, kissing her hand and looking up with half-lidded eyes for the staring courtiers. Parker rose, and made her way around the tables and back to her seat next to Hardison, who met Eliot’s eyes and nodded briefly before turning his attention back to the noblewoman at his left.
The Council had always been a single, solitary thing for Eliot. He found all the information and made the plans himself, but he guessed that time was over. They didn’t seem to know he was the only member of the Council, and he didn’t know if he’d tell them. They’d find out, eventually.
Parker and Hardison sprawled out in their rooms, Hardison with his laptop and Parker shuffling through papers and occasionally jotting down notes.
“Quarter after midnight,” said Parker. “Think he’s still coming?”
“He has to,” said Hardison. “What’s he gonna do, pretend we’re not here? Man’s too thorough for that.”
“I was afraid he’d be too thrown off by the threesome cover when you suggested it.”
Hardison snorted. “Yeah, maybe, but my grace suggested otherwise. The man’s intrigued by us. It’s good, we can use that if we need to. Though he’s so careful it may not help us much.”
Parker sighed. “It’s hard to believe the stories. If I hadn’t seen the security cam footage I’m not sure I would.”
“Man’s closed off tighter than a sprung bear trap. Shuts himself off. He practically sends his thoughts at me, none of the directionless ramble I get with most people. I’d almost think he knows my grace. The threesome thing was his idea, mostly.”
“Really?” asked Parker. “I like him even better, then. He’s got good sense for the con.”
“Funny, too. He can’t have needed to, being under Moreau’s protection.”
Parker shrugs. “He’s Council. Must have learned it at some point. Do you--”
Hardison holds up a hand, quieting her. “He’s here.”
The wall next to the fireplace knocked, then opened, Eliot stepping out before carefully closing the hidden door behind him.
“Huh,” said Parker. “That’s handy. How many people know about that?”
“Just me,” said Eliot. “Far as I know, anyway.”
“Where’s it go?”
“Library.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be seen though? Y’know, to fuel the gossip some? Give those courtier’s something to see?” said Hardison.
Eliot shrugged. “I’ll leave in a couple hours and make sure a servant catches sight of me. Didn’t want people eavesdropping.”
“Fair enough,” said Hardison.
“You have information for the Council?”
Parker nodded, looking intently at Eliot. “First, we need to know. Is the Council in any way linked to or operating under the direction of Damien Moreau?”
Eliot blinked. “Moreau has no knowledge of the Council’s operations.”
Parker glanced at Hardison, who nodded. She let out a breath. “Good.”
“As you know, the Council’s operations have been limited to small but effective operations against key members of the governments of the realm. Nearly all the kingdoms have felt the pinch of the Council at least once. During one of our more recent thefts, we ran across substantial information that may be useful to further the goals of the Council.”
“The….Council is smaller than most people expect,” said Eliot slowly. “Our operation is limited. Our goal is to help the people, where we can. But large scale operations just aren’t feasible. We’ll take the information, of course. Whether or not anything can be implemented is uncertain.”
“What’s the resource limitation?” asked Parker. “Money, manpower…?”
“Time, mostly,” said Eliot. He sighs. “When I said that the Council is smaller than most people think, I meant that the Council is just me.”
“You’re the only person behind these attacks?”
Eliot stiffened. “They’re not...attacks.”
Hardison snorts. “Eliot, hon, you’re stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. You might not think of it as attacks, but the nobility sure do.”
“I told you he was good on the con,” said Parker. “You’ve pulled off some impressive heists.”
“Not all of them were mine. People got excited, started blaming the Council for things I never got near. Driftonics was my most ambitious project to date.”
“Yeah, at least one of those was us,” said Hardison. “Good for your alibi, though.”
Eliot half-laughed. “Who’d expect me, Moreau’s monster, to challenge the rule of kings? Everyone knows I’m Moreau’s dog,” he said bitterly, “and nobody blames the dog when the silver gets stolen.”
Hardison frowned. “You’re not a monster.”
Eliot scowled. “You know what I’ve done. Even the rumors about the atrocities I’ve committed can’t get close to the truth of the things I’ve done for Moreau.”
“Monsters don’t have consciences” said Parker. “Monsters don’t try to help people. Moreau’s the monster, Eliot. Not you, no matter what you’ve done.”
“I help people, sure, when I can. But I’ve hurt more people than I can ever help. My slate will never be clean.
“That’s okay. Mine either. It’s the helping that matters.” She looked at Hardison, meeting his eyes, and Hardison smiled.
“Eliot Spencer,” she said. “Hardison and I formally request your permission to join the Council.”
The next several hours were spent exchanging intel and planning the next heist against the corrupt power of the kings. Something small, to work out any problems that arose working together and make sure Eliot fit into the team. Around dawn, Eliot stood, saying something about getting back to his rooms.
“Wait,” said Parker, flipping off the chandelier where she had been hanging (she claimed she thought better upside-down. Eliot thought she was just showing off).
“You don’t look disheveled enough to have been with us all night.” She descended upon him, unbuttoning his shirt and buttoning it crooked, scrunching up the sleeves, and mussing his hair before holding him at arms length and looking him up and down. “What do you think, Hardison?” she called.
Hardison barely glanced up from his computer. “Sexy,” he said.
“Perfect,” said Parker.
“We good?” said Eliot, hand reaching toward the doorknob.
“Wait a moment,” said Hardison. “There’s a maid coming, wait for her to get around the corner...okay, go! Fuel rumors!”
Eliot opened the door and slipped out, doing his best to look furtive. Sure enough, a maid was walking down the hall, pushing a cart with towels. She squealed when she saw him, then quickly hurried past him.
By the passing of an hour the news had spread across Moreau’s court, and was soon hurried along by a well-timed mid-afternoon stroll the three conspirators took around the castle gardens the day after the news broke.
“Gotta fuel the gossip, man,” Hardison said when Eliot complained it was a waste of time and they should be working on the upcoming job. “Besides, it’s nice out.”
They walked side by side down the garden paths, Hardison pointing out every gardener or minor noble snooping at them from behind the garden bushes, never mind that Eliot couldn’t see them. It was a grace thing, but it still drove Eliot crazy that Hardison, who had the self-preservation instincts of a loaf of bread, knew where people were better than Eliot did.
Even worse was Parker sneaking up on him. She’d run off to climb a tree or catch a squirrel--yes, actually catch it--and come back behind him and Eliot never knew she was there until she jumped on him and Hardison started laughing.
They were annoying and weird, these people, but now they were on his Council, and planning heists with him, and Eliot didn’t know if he liked it.
The next time Parker snuck up behind his back, Eliot was ready, and turned and caught her in his arms. She frowned. “You shouldn’t have known I was there.”
Eliot smirked, happy that he’d found the pattern. “Better luck next time, darling.”
Hardison laughed. “Oh, he’s smart, babe. Tell her, El, she’ll just get grumpy if she doesn’t know how the magic trick works.”
“Fine,” smiled Eliot. “Hardison always knows where you are, and when you’re sneaking up on me he makes a dumb face trying to suppress his laughing. He gets worse at it the closer you get, so it’s a matter of watching him to figure out when you’re about to jump at me.”
Parker wrinkled her nose. “Clever. Hardison, work on your poker face,” she commanded.
“Yes ma’am,” he said saluting her smartly--with the wrong hand. “Give me a week of practice and I’ll present you with a poker face of which even Nate Ford would be proud.”
“You know Nathan Ford?” asked Eliot.
Hardison nodded. “We’re friends, of sorts. As much of friends as the man has, anyway. Pulled a few jobs with him and Sophie before striking off on our own.”
Eliot had heard the stories about Nate Ford. The man was as notorious as Eliot himself, the only man to openly defy the kings and live to tell the tale as a free man--and make a pile of cash as well.
“You can be the second man,” said Hardison. Which was odd, because Eliot hadn’t said that...oh.
“You’re a mind-reader.” said Eliot.
Hardison nodded, watching Eliot carefully. “You’re not angry,” he said, surprised. “I thought you’d be angry.”
Eliot sighed. “I might be angry in a minute. Right now I ain’t sure what to think.”
“Do the spiel, and get it over with,” said Parker. “It’s so boring.”
“To answer your first question,” said Hardison, “I can’t tell everything. I can’t go into your head. It’s more like thoughts come floating toward me--or in your case, zooming out like arrows. You have a remarkably focused mind, it’s nice. And I only really know thoughts that are in relation to me.”
Eliot frowned. “Then why…”
“I knew what you were thinking about Nate because you were thinking you wanted to be free, like us. And sometimes I just get an impression of a feeling and can figure it out if I know a person well enough to guess. You can hide things from me, if you need to. You’re already good at not thinking about things you don’t want to, Eliot, shouldn’t be a problem for you to learn. Are you gonna get mad now, or are we good, because I really really hope we’re good and Parker doesn’t have to tase you so we can make our escape, because she totally would if she needed to but I like you and so does Parker and we don’t wanna have to run but we will if we need to and--”
Eliot felt he ought to be mad, but he couldn’t bring himself to be. Being around a mind-reader always felt like an invasion of privacy. Nobody liked Gracelings much, but the mind-readers and perceptive graces were especially reviled, maybe even more than a killing grace.
Eliot couldn’t hate someone for a grace they didn’t choose; he knew well enough what that was like.
Hardison was still babbling. “You’re not that good at reading minds when you’re stuck in your own, are you?” said Eliot.
Hardison blinked. “Anxiety’s a bitch.”
“You tell me. Am I mad?”
Hardison sighed. “Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. Okay, that’s good. It’s just--not everyone’s...happy...about mind-readers.”
Parker snorted. “That’s an understatement. Nate went ballistic and got super drunk when he found out. Of course, Sophie knew already.”
“Sophie,” said Hardison, “has some kind of mind-reading hoodoo of her own, even if she says she ain’t graced, which I’m not sure I buy. Woman’s scary.”
“We good?” said Eliot, amused. “I wanna run some errands before we start recon tonight.”
Hardison waved a hand dramatically. “Yeah, go on. I mean, we just delivered a big old pile of wheat to the rumor mill, it’ll keep the millstone busy for a while.”
“Really? That’s your metaphor?” said Eliot. Parker frowned comically and stuck out two thumbs down.
“You wound me!” Hardison clutched his heart. “Fine, fine, I’ll work on it. Go do whatever it is you gotta do.”
“Later,” said Eliot and jogged toward the castle.
“Jogging?” said Hardison, watching him go. “Who actually jogs?”
The errands were mostly an excuse. Eliot wasn’t used to people talking to him voluntarily. It had gotten a little overwhelming, having people joking around with him and--and trusting him. It was weird, having people trust him for not other reason than they thought he deserved to be trusted. It was...nice. And weird.
They met late that night, sneaking out of Parker and Hardison’s room through the secret passage.
“Wait, wait,” said Hardison as they were leaving. “I made a mix.” He placed a speaker on the bed and pressed a button on his phone; it started emanating an assortment of sexual groans and sighs.
“Really?” growled Eliot.
“Hey, man, that was a lot of work, alright! Gotta make sure we satisfy our audience, y’know? You know for damn sure there’s some Lord pressed up against the door right now, an’ I’m gonna give him a show. It’s the finishing touches that distinguish a true artist,” he sniffs.
Eliot rolled his eyes. “Whatever, let’s get moving.”
They were on recon the next few nights, and quickly fell into a pattern. Eliot had never worked with a team before--on purpose, anyway--but it was nice, Hardison’s chattering in his ear relieving the monotony of counting security cameras and timing guard patrols. Hardison was in the van-- “Lucille” as he called it--and Parker was actually inside the building, shimmying through the air vents and confirming blueprints. Eliot got stationed on various buildings nearby, watching carefully with binoculars.
It was probably overkill; a simple smash-and-grab didn’t need multiple days of recon, but they were being careful and learning to work together properly. Parker’s patience about it surprised Eliot, but he supposed you didn’t become one of the world’s greatest thieves without patience on the job.
They planned the heist for the third day. Snuck out of Parker and Hardison’s room as usual to the disgusting background noises of Hardison’s ‘artistry’, and made their way secretly to the parking garage where Lucille was stored. Eliot drove; he learned the first day that letting Parker drive was a mistake after Hardison lost a coin toss for the privilege and even Eliot thought they were going to die.
They were half-way across town when his phone buzzed and Eliot’s heart sank. He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Hardison. “Check who it is,” he said, but Eliot knew. He didn’t get many texts, and at this time of night there was only one person it could be.
“It’s, uh, from Moreau,” said Hardison. “Says to meet him in the greenhouse.”
“We can turn around,” said Parker, reassuring. “The job can wait.”
Eliot shook his head. “No, we’re doing the job. I’ll deal with Moreau when we get back. It’s past time I did.”
Hardison shot a quizzical eyebrow at Eliot, but didn’t say anything. Parker just nodded. “We’ll back you up if you need.”
The job went well; smooth as can be expected, anyway, and they get away easily with the intel they were there for. Parker called it in to a local news-station--one not under Moreau’s control--and they head to a bar to celebrate, Eliot’s new contacts ensuring his privacy.
“So,” said Parker after the post-job high begins to settle, “What’s the plan?”
Eliot’s smile faded. “I’m not getting you two involved in this. It ain’t fair to either of you. This is my battle.”
“Fair enough” said Hardison. “But we’re a team now, El. We’ve got your back. And if you want to take care of this by yourself, that’s fine. But we’d like to know what you’re thinking.”
Eliot smiled grimly. “I’m thinking that Moreau isn’t gonna know what hit him.”
Eliot walked into the throne room to find it full, near stuffed to the brim with men, armed and armoured. He strolled down the long aisle that leads to Moreau, seated in his gilded throne. He’s a little less than half-way when Moreau commands him to stop.
“That’ll be far enough, Spencer.”
Eliot shrugged his hands into his pockets in a tactical display of indifference at the armed men surrounding him. “You wanted to see me,” he said.
“It has come to my attention,” said the King, “that you haven’t been following my orders as carefully as you should have. In fact, you have been flagrantly disobeying them. While Chapman was more than happy to clean up after your leftovers, the problem remains that a Graceling that doesn’t do as it is told is of no use to me. These men are here to escort you to the dungeons. Forcefully, if need be.”
Eliot smiled, sharp. “You underestimate me, Moreau, if you think these men can force me to do anything.”
Moreau chuckled. “Eliot, my pet, while I certainly highly esteem your talents, you fool yourself if you think fourscore of my best men aren’t enough to take you down.”
“Let’s talk, then, about what would happen if any of these men move. In less than a second, I can have the weapons of the man next to me, his knives and gun. With this many people, your men are more likely to shoot each other than to shoot me. Guns have a certain range of efficacy, Moreau, and this ain’t it. So they’ll shoot each other, and I’ll collect the knives of the men that fall, hurling them into the throats of the others as I fight those nearest me. You’ve seen me snap necks, Moreau, you know how quick it is. There may be eighty men here, but how many can surround me at once? Maybe eight? Eight men is nothing to me, and I can keep fighting eight and eight until they all fall and only you and I are left.”
Eliot smiled, all helpful suggestion. “Of course, that’s if I let it get that far, but it’d be sloppy of me. Far neater,” he saids, voice hardening, “if I just grabbed a dagger and hurled it into your throat before anyone here could blink an eye.”
Moreau froze, a grimace twisted onto his face. “You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t test me.” said Eliot. “Nothing quite as vicious as a dog turned on its master, is there, Moreau?”
Eliot turned around, his back to the King, and walked out of the room.
“Daaaayyyymmmn,” squealed Hardison when Eliot opened the door to the van. “Oh, you told him, Eliot. Man’s gotta be broken down after that. Took everything I had in me not to scream through the comms, I hope you appreciate my enormous restraint because wow, hot damn.”
Eliot closed the door and took a seat. “Can’t catch a man like Moreau off guard for long. You heard him; he’s got plenty others to do his dirty work.”
“So we stop ‘em,” said Parker.
“Just the three of us? Taking down Kings?”
“We could,” she said. “But I thought we’d call Nate and Sophie in. And maybe a few others. Get the Council going for real. This was a major blow to Moreau, Eliot. He lost a lot of his leverage. Moreau being powerless to control one of his own men, that’ll give people hope. We’ll get people on board, you’ll see. It’s time to take down the Kings for good.”
Eliot nodded. “Sounds good to me. Where to?”
“Wherever we need to go,” said Hardison.
“Together.”