by J. M. Ivie
My breath caught in my throat. “I’m not falling in love. I’m amusing myself with her,” I muttered, though, the words felt fake on my tongue.
Barak nodded, but clearly not satisfied with my answer. “May Dracul’s wings protect you this night, Apollo.”
I ran into the room and saw Nora waking from her sudden nap. “Oh!” she blinked, looking at me in disbelief. Something about her seemed off—half there.
Drugged. Barak drugged her.
“Do you make it a habit to watch women sleep?”
“Nora we need to leave,” I said, ignoring her comment.
“Why? What happened?” She stood, wrapping her shawl about her arms as she slid her shoes back on her small feet.
“An accident. I’ll tell you about it on the way back to Luxterra. For now, we need to leave this place.”
F O U R T E E N
BARAK
SHADOWS AND TREES STRETCHED along the pathway. Arcs of white moonslight shot across the still dark skies, waking spring. Bouldarcaven’s red stone earth cowered below the fresh budding flowers and grass.
“How’d it go?”
My shoulder tightened at the sound of the Villain’s voice. Even the wind paused its howling to listen. He walked as if something made him of silence itself. The shadows clung to him.
“I thought you would be here, William.” I straightened, keeping my eyes trained on him.
“I was a guest.” William leaned against the trunk of a sycamore tree, inclining his head toward the slope I descended. “You were overly flashy tonight.”
“That was the idea.” I desired Apollo to see them die. To feel their deaths… I expected him to have enjoyed it. Yet, the horror that struck him, I did not understand.
“Not one Jensen had in mind…” William’s dark eyes caught the length of shadow that swirled around. “Why did you kill the Count of Erethe?”
I did not even try to hide my smile. “I enjoy watching a worm squirm when pressure is applied.”
“There’s a difference between applying pressure and crushing.”
I shrugged, my shoulder tightening at the gesture. “The weak perish under both, the strong rise.”
“Be careful, Chigaru-Baraka. You are playing with fire.” His voice sounded thread-bare. As if something pulled and pulled at him till it stretched his nerves thin.
“He spoke,” I waved my hand, ignoring his behavior. “Erethe provided weapons to the Anarchists.”
William’s posture stiffened, he was listening now.
“Gustav pocketed the extra coinage for himself. That is why Talismen gathered here tonight. They sought weapons from the Erethe estate.”
“Erethe provides us with weapons, Chigaru. What happens now that you cut off the head?”
“His son, Paschal, will take the reins after his father’s untimely demise.”
“Is Paschal—”
“No, he should follow rules. He is unlike his father.”
William peered through the tree line. I could almost see the words I spoke replaying in his mind. “What of the Countess? Any inclination as to—”
“Apollo says no.” But I noticed there was something about her—something different. We spoke a few words, and the way she stared into my eyes. The sensation—it left a taste on my tongue. But, if Jensen were to get wind of her being a Peculiar…
“What do you think, Chigaru-Baraka?” William circled me as that same dark shadow followed.
“I am inclined to believe him. He would alert us if she were not normal.”
William bowed his head. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing else to be said.” He stepped beside me, the heat of his body felt more like an Arclendic wind. “I will tell Jensen all which happened here tonight. You should be proud of yourself… so loyal—”
A pain erupted in my neck. He injected me with something, it coursed through my veins like fire. “Do we not drink the potion?”
“This stuff is stronger…” William chuckled. “You’ll be under in a moment. You’re the test subject for this new potion.”
I cursed him as a weight, like a wall, collided inside my body. I barely registered falling to my knees before my world swirled into darkness.
PART THREE
F I F T E E N
DESPITE WHAT HAPPENED AT Hurricane Hall, a month passed without a single issue. Zahra and I became much closer ever since she spoke her heart in front of the waterfalls.
She was with me whenever she had the chance, and I, too, found myself wandering into her study at odd hours in the day. She discovered my favorite dishes and drinks, and was vigilant to provide it whenever I came to call on her. Despite Barak’s warning, I continued spending time with Zahra. I convinced myself there was no harm done… especially since Beth hadn’t noticed at all.
On the twenty-third day in the second month of spring a horrible clumsiness overtook me. I nearly knocked over a priceless vase three times in a matter of ten minutes, stumbled over the rug twice, and spilled my tea on the knee of my trousers. Zahra found all my clumsiness entertaining. She was near tears several times from laughing at me.
“Apollo, whatever has come over you?” She sank into her seat, holding her stomach as laughter spilled from her lips.
“I wish I knew,” I admitted as I recovered brilliantly from a near-fall over the rug. “I’m usually as agile as a zunsoon.”
Zahra giggled again, seeming not to believe my words. She wouldn’t be wrong… Around her I was clumsier than a hatchling. I had no inkling why.
“I wish there was more time for us to spend together.” Zahra tilted her head as she wiped the water that built in her eyes from laughing.
“As do I. Our work keeps us both busy. Too busy for either of us to talk formally.”
“Oh, dear me.” Zahra’s bottom lip curled downward. “I do hate the idea of formally talking. It’s quite dull.”
I released a long, satisfied breath. It was easy to be around her. She made me forget what I was and why I was here. She made me a better person. I reached out to grab the tea she poured, and I nicked the handle. The hot liquid toppled out over my knee. I was surprised and my voice exclaimed so without permission from my brain.
“Itia!” she yelled. I took a second to realize it was a call to the goddess of mercy. Fitting. “Are you all right?” Zahra’s chair skidded as she stood and hurriedly made her way to me.
“I’m fine.” Fresh heat spread over my face and neck, followed by the feeling of a thousand needles. I spilt and, to make matters worse, I spilt in front of Zahra. What kind of Ranger am I?
“Here.” Zahra pulled a napkin off the tray and dabbed it on my knee. “Honestly, how do you climb up those ladders in the library without seriously injuring yourself?” She looked up at me as a mischievous grin played at the corners of her lips.
“It is a miracle, I assure you.” I laughed despite myself. “I can do that—”
“No, no. I’m done already, see?” Zahra said as she finished dabbing away the spilled tea.
I knelt down to finish cleaning the mess I made. She apparently did the same, for we met in the middle and knocked heads.
Zahra laughed as she pressed her hand to her forehead. “You have a hard skull.”
“I’m so sorry,” I slipped my hand around her neck and leaned closer to inspect the reddened mark above her left brow. She smiled, and I realized how close our faces were. I saw the tiny freckles speckling her nose, ones I wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t been so close.
“Apollo,” Zahra began, her eyes darting all along my face as if she were examining every inch. “I thank the King you have stumbled into my life.”
“The King?” I raised my brow. I wasn’t sure… but something in me told me it was the same King. I hadn’t heard that name since I was a child. Is this the same King Mother talked about?
Zahra only nodded and let her eyes settle into mine. Everything seemed lost as I stared in her captivating green gaze.
Time itself held its ticking breath.
Footsteps echoed from the other side of the door. I sprang to my feet.
Madame Beth burst in. Her oily eyes squinted as she looked between Zahra and me. “What is he doing in here?”
“He was handing in his report, Beth. I offered him tea—”
“What is that on your forehead?” Beth prodded, taking a few quick steps toward Zahra.
Zahra touched where the reddened mark was, smiling slightly. “Apollo spilt, so when I leaned down to clean it we—”
“Spilt?” Beth huffed the word out. Zahra couldn’t get a full thought out before Beth interrupted her.
“Madame Beth—”
“Cut your mouth, Mr. Faithe!” Beth shouted, huffing and puffing like a steam engine. “Zahra, you’re being a perfect fool—”
This was too much. I cut her off, “Berate me all you want, but I won’t tolerate you speaking to Zahra that way.”
“You need to stand for so much more, Mr. Faithe.” Madame Beth grinned, her eyes twinkling with a horrid fire. “I guarantee you will be in Lapp by the end of the month. Don’t think I’m not watching you!”
I scowled.
Zahra walked over to the door. “Please, Apollo. Leave Beth and me to talk.”
I nodded and walked out of the room, only hearing their muffled voices behind the door.
“Are you going to squander your reputation? For a commoner?”
“Beth, you are not to meddle in my affairs!”
“Do you love him, Zahra?”
“You tell me. Do you think I will make the same mistake my mother made?”
My heart sank so low I didn’t even pay attention to the rest of their conversation. I simply walked out, and I didn’t look back.
___
Nora threw a roll of fabric at me, scowling. “What does she consider herself to be? The Priest?” her voice sounded like a thunderstorm. She took the discarded roll back with an audible groan. I had been subject to the furious tossing of the fabric sheet for an uncountable amount of minutes. “Madame Beth has no rule over Zahra. And Azu? Don’t get me started!”
“Nora, can you please calm down?”
“No! I will not calm down, Apollo!” Nora hissed, sitting down and restlessly sewing at the garment in front of her.
I slid onto the sofa, kneading my temples. My heart grated against my bones, my muscles ached, and my neck was as stiff as a wooden plank. The hollowing ring in my ears jolted me from comfort, and I shifted position. Beth would send word to Jensen.
“There is truth in what she says, Nora.” I loosened my neck-tie and tried to relaxed. “I shouldn’t even be speaking to Zahra, yet, I am. A Nihil speaking to a Countess…”
Nora snorted, stopping her sewing to stare at me. “Please. You are not a nothing. Just because you’re a commoner doesn’t mean you shouldn’t aspire to be more.”
“So you say, Nora. You’re a Baroness. You’re easily welcomed into any place,” I quipped back. “Your garments are masterpieces. Works of art. You sell one for the amount I would earn as an Archivist in three years!”
Nora giggled, twirling her pen in her hand. “Yes. But, I see myself as an artist. Not a Baroness. Not a commoner. An artist.” She looked at me, raising her brow as she leaned on her table. “What do you see yourself as, Apollo?”
S I X T E E N
I PACED MY ROOM. My head throbbed, and I kept shooing the servants away who pestered me. Nosy people. I hardly ever noticed them on a day-to-day basis—now there seemed far too many crawling around. I kept tabs on them, but, keeping track of Zahra and Beth was my utmost priority… a priority I let slip. And now… now Beth could walk through that door and tell me my head would be the main dish of Jensen’s formal dinner party.
And I wouldn’t be surprised.
I heard a firm knock on the other side of my door. Every nerve tensed and my mind numbed. I swallowed the saliva that crawled into my throat like a suffocating serpent. Sucking in a deep breath, I walked over to the barrier. There was a chance if I left now…
The thought of running for the rest of my days had my stomach in knots. I’d much rather die.
My lungs pinched and squeezed as I unhooked the metal clasp. Heartbeats later, I opened the door.
“Someone is in trouble…” Barak raised his brow. I didn’t expect him to be there—standing on the other side of the door.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, walking into the chamber. His tall figure turned around the room; eyes scanning every weapon of inconspicuous nature I had tucked in various places. “I warned you. Back at Hurricane Hall. Unless you were not listening.”
I took in a shaky breath, sitting down on the stool in the corner.
He pulled a note from his breast pocket.
“What’s this?”
Barak handed it over, motioning for me to read the contents as he reclined on my bed. “Your dear Beth sent this off with a Mailcarrier. By fortune, or sheer luck, I am the one who the Mailcarrier gave the letter to.” I wanted to ask how he had been the person to get the letter, and he seemed to notice it. “Jensen dumped me at the rendezvous point.” Barak scowled, assessing my current mood it seemed. “Be careful. I can not promise I will be around to intercept any more damning messages such as that one.”
I swallowed and I read the letter. It would have been difficult for me to have explained myself to Jensen. “What now?”
“About the letter?” Barak’s ink-black eyes caught mine. “Burn it, eat it, whatever you want to do with it.” He made a circular motion with his finger, “You will need a moment alone with it before you do anything.”
“Why?”
Barak almost smiled. “I have seen what you can do…”
“You don’t expect me to forge her handwriting?”
He nodded. “You are the best at it. Another reason I think the Vinadi sent you here. If he needs you to, you can take down the entire estate with a simple forged signature. Besides, she will wonder what happened to her letter. If we bring something idiotic up, Jensen will reply to her in a way which will make her cut that mouth of hers for a long time.”
I breathed in, looking at the handwriting. I flipped the letter upside down, deconstructing the flourishes and dashes.
Barak’s eyes lit with delight, “Wish to have fun while you are at it?”
“If Jensen finds out I was the one who took liberties the letter, this could end horribly for me.”
“Ah,” Barak swatted the air, “Tarifi, the small detail does not matter.”
“You’re not the one who could become the target of abuse if it’s revealed.” I scowled, sitting down at the table. “Maybe I should stick with a formal letter—”
Barak cleared his throat, tapping his knee. “Do not make me imitate her.”
“Oh, for all the gods in Luxterra, Barak please don’t.”
“I will.”
“Don’t.”
The slight quirk of his lip assured me he would. He stood and walked around the room, standing behind me. “I see you around Zahra.” His ability to imitate other people always astounded me. This time was different. I had to look at him to make sure it wasn’t Beth speaking. “You—” he poked my shoulder, “you are so skinny!”
“I sense sarcasm.”
“And,” he crossed his arms, ignoring my comment. “You are a—” he feigned a gasp, “a Ranger.”
Despite the horrifying aspect of that voice coming out of Barak, I choked out a laugh. “Okay, I suppose I need to add at least some condescending remarks in the letter.”
Barak slapped my shoulder, smiling. “That is the spirit!”
“You realize, even when you’re mimicking another person, you still don’t use contractions.”
“Cut it, or I will write the letter to Jensen and embellish what Beth said.”
Relieved he wasn’t speaking in Beth’s voice any longer, I began forging a letter.
___
Barak and I walked out in the field about a mile away from the house. T
he quiet solitude was calming. “Do you ever miss it? Fiermont, I mean. Do you miss it?” I asked, looking at him. He lay on his back, eyes staring into the night sky.
“I have a dream,” he whispered. “It haunts me nightly. I sit in a field such as this, but, I watch the sun dance off the prairie grass like thousands of gold diamonds. There, in the dusk-brown sky, the pale moons begin to rise.” The glittering sound of the wind through the reeds made a shiver crawl down my spine. “I see the Kasai Mountain in the far distance, as majestic as the painting in the manor house.” He breathed in as the west wind blew over the grass. He pulled himself up and walked as if motion would help his nerves. “That dream reminds me of the place where I was bred. So, yes, I miss it. My dreams tell me I do.”
“Why don’t you go back?”
Barak breathed in. “Jensen would never allow it.”
“It won’t hurt to ask, would it?” I said. “You’ve been a Ranger for years. You’ve earned time off.”
Barak turned. His eyes held a listless, wistful look in them—haunted and absent. “Even if I were free, I can not go back to Fiermont.”
“Why?” I propped myself up on my elbow, looking at him and trying to find the meaning laced between his words.
“I am a secret officer. An assassin. It is dishonorable to kill a man without him knowing it—without the ability to draw a weapon and fight.”
I shook my head, “No one needs to know.”
“Dracul would.” Barak scowled. “I can feel his eyes in my soul. They tear it apart day by day as I heave more and more dishonor on my people.”
I breathed in, laying on my back to stare up at the sky. Barak had so many worries. The rules and codes of honor which the Fiermontians adhered to made them an honorable people, but, it also made them weak. I didn’t understand the point of it all.