by T. A. White
Most would feel a slight warmth from the manifestation. There might also be an increased awareness centering around the tattoo as well, but Tate wasn’t entirely sure. Even before Tate’s sleep, the relics from a pandora’s box were considered rare and almost exclusively the provenance of the Ijiri. All she could do was guess at their form based on her past experiences both before and after her sleep.
Night’s silence lengthened until finally she shot him a questioning look. It is the same.
“Don’t be too discouraged. These things take time and their form isn’t always the same for everyone.” Tate grinned. “One of Trace’s relics took the shape of a pendant earing. You should have heard his complaints. If it hadn’t been so useful, I’m sure he would have found a way to toss it into a deep, dark hole and forget about it.”
Vale’s eyes lit up. “The cat’s eye. It was said to be able to mitigate the damage from any attack.”
Tate nodded as they left the plain hallways behind, moving through the more decorated corridors of the main area. “Is that what he ended up calling it? Funny. He always referred to it as his bane. He hated that thing. Always said it didn’t fit his style.”
Vale gave the guardians protecting the inner sanctum a respectful nod as he followed Tate and the rest into the Savior’s cavern. He bowed in the direction of the statues before hurrying after Tate and Night.
“How do I use the relic?”
Tate considered, trying to remember the first time her relic had responded. A threat to her life had been the trigger, allowing her relic to act to protect her. Somehow, she didn’t think Vale or Roslyn would be enthusiastic at the idea of throwing themselves into danger to spark the same reaction.
She needed a safer—and more importantly, less life threatening—method to accomplish the same result. Unfortunately, most of what she did was more intuitive. Circumstance and instinct guiding her in the direction she needed to go.
That wouldn’t work as well for others. She needed something, even if it was small, to get them started.
Ahead, Roslyn’s head turned slightly to show she was paying attention to their conversation.
Good. That would make everything a little easier.
The duke paused on the landing of the stairs leading down to the temple district. Nothing in his actions made it obvious he was paying any attention, but something told her every bit of his focus was on her. It was written in the lines of his back and the way he didn’t descend despite the fact Tate and Vale had slowed their pace to give them more time for their conversation.
“The people responsible for the relics wanted weapons that couldn’t easily fall into the hands of others. They placed a lock on them that requires certain conditions be met before you can bond. It’s why not everyone is capable of awakening a relic.”
Sometimes those conditions relied on DNA, allowing those with a close familial connection with the original holder to use the relic. It was likely why Roslyn’s family held such a high rate of awakening for their family relics. They were once Jax’s. Stood to reason his descendants would be authorized to inherit them.
Others relied on something a little more intangible. Even Jax had struggled to explain why some relics refused to awaken even when keyed to a specific person. He’d pointed to body composition, brain waves, even personality to explain the discrepancy.
For Tate, it had been a lot less complicated. Simply put, it came down to whether the relic liked you or not.
Jax had always laughed at her theory, arguing that such a criterion would require the relic to be nearly sentient.
“There is a mental component with each relic,” Tate explained. “They respond the most to need. The stronger your desire; the better the connection and response.”
The duke sent a cryptic look at Roslyn, and Tate could practically see his wheels turning. It wasn’t a far leap from strong desire to critical need because your life was under threat. Tate wouldn’t put it past him to arrange events that would force Roslyn to adapt or perish.
Tate bit down on what she wanted to say as her gaze dropped to Night. Perhaps Night should lay off stalking Archie and aim his talents in other directions.
I’ll keep an eye on him, Night assured her.
With as long as they’d been acquainted, he could read her expressions. Enough to know she was concerned about the duke’s intentions toward Roslyn. Perhaps she was being paranoid in thinking he’d take such drastic measures toward his daughter. But he did have a history.
“We’ll take the emperor’s elevator up to the palace since we’re close,” the duke informed her. “If they’re planning to raise the ship with the Rift as you think they are, Thaddeus needs to be apprised immediately and the Rift re-investigated and guarded.”
Tate couldn’t agree more. Now that they had an idea of what they were looking for, the Rift needed to be searched again. It was possible Nathan hadn’t accomplished what he’d intended on his last visit, which made ensuring he couldn’t get in again all the more important.
“Lead the way,” Tate said.
The duke’s expression was hard to read, his body backlit by the afternoon sun. Tate raised her eyebrows at him in silent question.
“Nothing, I simply thought there’d be more arguing.”
Tate scowled. “I don’t argue when the plan is sound. Only when people are being idiots.”
He grunted and turned to descend the stairs. “If you say so.”
She did say so.
Roslyn hid a smile as she started after her father.
“Where do they get these ideas?” Tate complained to Night.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you have a habit of doing exactly that.
“Says the bearcat who likes to stalk people and get caught.” Tate paused a few steps down and looked back at Vale. “Are you coming?”
He bowed. “My duty is here, reviewing the rest of the manuscripts. If I find anything, I’ll send word.”
“That’s all very well and good, but if I was you, I’d see about evacuating your people,” Tate instructed. “You know, just in case.”
Vale straightened. “I will not shrink from my duties simply because my life is in danger. You taught me that.”
Tate’s frown was troubled, not liking the idea that if Vale somehow ended up dead a portion of the blame could be laid at her feet. Mentally, she shrugged. It was his life. How he chose to live it and the risks he took were up to him.
Tate started down the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “I don’t remember teaching any such thing. At least, evacuate half your people. After all, if everyone dies here, there will be no one to remember you later.”
He inclined his chin. “Wise words as ever.”
Tate blew out a breath and lifted a hand in goodbye. Some people would only ever hear what they wanted to hear.
* * *
“Something must be done about the sleepers. They’re a threat to everything we hold dear. They must be eliminated.”
For those to be the first words Tate heard as she and Night stalked into the great hall didn’t make her already sour mood any better.
Somehow in the trip up from the Lower it had been decided Tate and Night would have the duty of informing the emperor of the impending threat while the duke and Roslyn would find the Lord Provost and arrange additional security around the Rift.
Perhaps that ridiculous statement coupled with the fact Tate was somewhere she really didn’t want to be was why she didn’t choose her next words with care.
“How original. What you don’t understand, or is different than you, must be eliminated. Different century, same old song.”
Maybe if she didn’t have the images Christopher had shoved in her brain still so close to the surface or the scene didn’t remind her of a conversation very like this one in a very different era. Maybe then, she could have acted with a bit more caution. Been a little more circumspect.
Or perhaps it was the grumpy expression on Thora’s face where he stood next to the emperor. An ex
pression that said he was beyond frustrated.
Or the fact some of the best people she knew were sleepers or descended from sleepers.
All of it combined to make her tongue looser than normal. Her words unwise—even if they were true.
“Lady Fisher, you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” The emperor looked in her direction from where he sat at the head of the table with his head propped on his fist, the same testiness in Thora’s expression present in his too, just a lot less obvious.
To Thaddeus’s right and left were the Lord Provost and the Obsidian Lord, the former of which made Tate’s brow furrow. If she’d known the Lord Provost would be in attendance, there would have been no need to split up. She could have let the duke take point in this circus.
George stood at attention behind the Obsidian Lord’s shoulder, a hint of gloating moving through the other woman’s expression at Tate’s surprise before disappearing behind a carefully neutral mask.
It wasn’t that Tate thought much would be done to the dragon slayer—at most she’d be given a slap on the wrist—but she hadn’t thought she’d be allowed to resume her duties quite so quickly.
Tate looked back at the Lord Provost and the Obsidian Lord with a thoughtful gaze. Could George have escaped consequences because of someone else’s interference? And if so, who helped the dragon slayer out?
The easy answer would be Archie, given their duties seemed to align, but Tate didn’t see the Lord Provost easily allowing others to interfere in how his organization was run. Not unless he got some benefit out of it.
“My apologies, your majesty.” Tate made a half bow as she searched the room for Ryu, not seeing him. Did that mean the emperor was still unaware of the events surrounding Christopher’s escape? “There were some unforeseen situations that needed to be taken care of.”
The pontificator who’d been addressing the gathering straightened his back with a sneer that grew into disgust as he caught sight of Night pacing at her side.
“The Lady Fisher may not realize the threat sleepers pose to our way of life since she is new to Aurelia, but they are a plague on this land. Sometimes hard decisions must be made to protect the many.”
Tate saw the faces of the Kairi and the Silva present harden.
Tala didn’t look at Gabriella as she placed her hand on the other woman’s hand to give a reassuring squeeze.
The Kairi’s stares were impassive as they listened to the nonsense this man was spewing, while acting like what was being said didn’t affect them—even though every single person present knew it did.
How long after they obliterated the sleepers before they would turn their attention to the other two races? How long before these same humans decided that anyone different didn’t deserve to live?
Thinking like this was a poison that infected everything it touched. It led to a domino effect that toppled sanity and reason while setting the world on fire.
The sleepers weren’t all mindless killing machines. Some, like Night, were so much more than their Creators intended them to be. They deserved a chance. Tate would fight for that—even if it meant making a few enemies along the way.
“Your arrogance makes me breathless. Half of those present carry sleepers in their heritage in one form or another,” Tate said.
The pontificator curled his lip. “Sadly, the Kairi and Silva have their uses. They’re necessary evils for the running of this empire.”
Tate’s mind stuttered at the idiocy in front of her. Was this man really so dumb as to say something like that? To insult both races right to their faces?
Aristocrats had never really impressed her with their brains—with the exception of a notable few like the Lord Provost—but she also hadn’t thought they were so clueless as to deliberately incite war.
A terrifying snarl came from the direction of Gabriella. Only Tala’s firm grip on her hand kept the woman from coming across the table at the pontificator.
On the opposite side, the atmosphere around the Kairi had turned chilly as disapproval and contempt radiated off them.
The pontificator’s allies didn’t seem to notice the rising tension that carried underlying violence—or maybe they did and they just didn’t care, secure in the notion their superiority would protect them.
Tate wondered if these people would be able to hold to that belief if she removed that sneer from the pontificator’s face. Would they still think they were superior? Fight back? Or would they cower in fear and call her a monster?
We should find out, Ilith whispered.
No need. Tate already knew how it would end. They’d call her a monster. Never mind that she was just acting according to the script they had given her or that they’d been the ones to attack first. They simply hadn’t expected how brutal her retaliation would be.
That was the thing. When you poked the beast, you had to be ready to get a little bloody.
Night’s claws penetrated the fabric of her pants, the look on his face warning her not to get too carried away. Reluctantly, Tate hummed an agreement as Ilith whined.
“Tate?” Dewdrop’s voice came from behind her.
Tate looked over her shoulder to find Dewdrop, his arm carefully wrapped in a sling across his chest, standing next to Ryu. Tyne pushed slightly in front of them.
The pontificator cast a disdainful look in Dewdrop’s direction. “I see you haven’t taught your vassal his place.”
Tate sent him a look that could have flayed skin from bone. “I have. It’s right beside me.”
The same went for Night. The two might infuriate her on occasion, drive her up the wall because of their actions, but she’d never consider abandoning them. Her success was their success and vice versa. They shared in each other’s rise and fall.
To claim otherwise belittled what they had. A partnership more important than anything else. Far more so than these people with their narrow minds and distorted world views.
“That man’s a traitor. He tried to usurp the emperor’s position and planned a failed uprising. What is he doing here?” George interrupted, staring at Tyne like she’d seen a Creator incarnate. It was more than just fear. It was terror. She watched Tyne as if he was her own personal demon sent to throw her into the abyss—but not before torturing her beforehand.
“Ah, my cute little junior. I’ve been wondering where you got to,” Tyne said with a smile.
The atmosphere in the room changed at Tyne’s arrival. Those aristocrats who’d so easily advocated for the extermination of the sleepers cowered, sinking in on themselves as if doing so would cause Tyne to not notice them.
The only ones who seemed unsurprised were Thaddeus, the Lord Provost, and the Obsidian Lord. Tala and the Shodun held themselves stiffly as they watched Tyne prowl across the floor toward the table.
They didn’t have the same fear as the humans, but they weren’t relaxed either. Tate saw more than one hand hovering over hidden weapons on the Kairi’s side while the Silva flexed their fingers as their claws slid out as if preparing for battle.
“He’s not supposed to be here. What is the devil doing out of his cage?” someone hissed softly.
Although the speaker probably intended their question to go unnoticed, they underestimated the powerful senses of most of those present. Not only Tate but many others caught the lamentation—including Tyne.
The dragon-ridden’s smile was bright and oddly sweet as he danced toward the speaker, his movements holding the same grace and power as when he was fighting the sentinels. He stopped in front of the man and studied him with an inquisitive gaze.
The man held still, not daring to move as his breaths escaped him in fear ridden puffs.
Still, Tyne was gentle as he lifted a hand and rubbed the other’s face. Pain flared in the man’s expression as Tyne’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening.
A whimper escaped from the man as Tyne’s expression remained disturbingly kind.
“It eludes me why you give them free rein.” Ty
ne didn’t look away from his victim as the rest of those present looked on with alarm. “Make them fear you and they won’t dare to question you ever again. This has always been our family’s way.”
Thaddeus rose from his chair, crossing the floor and setting a hand on Tyne’s. “That’s enough.”
Tyne’s grip relaxed and the man stumbled backward. He tripped, falling to the ground. Tyne didn’t move, unruffled as his victim scrambled away from him.
It didn’t bother him to be feared nor did he show any regard for human life. The flat, dead look behind his eyes reminded Tate of the paintings she’d seen once of the Saviors.
In that painting, Tate hadn’t seen the heroes and Saviors worshiped by so many. She’d seen killers. Their expressions cold and unforgiving. Warmth and humanity cut away to enable them to make the hard decisions. Decisions that weren’t kind or pretty.
If the world truly knew the people in that painting and the things they’d done to ensure a future, Tate didn’t think the population would be so quick to venerate and idolize them.
Tyne had that same expression. The kind that sent chills down your back as your more primitive self recognized the predator in front of you.
To him, the person at his feet wasn’t real. They were nothing more than a means to an end. A toy there for his manipulation.
Be wary of him. He’s extremely dangerous, Ilith warned.
Very dangerous. It made Tate’s scalp tingle when Tyne’s gaze met hers. His expression shuttered as if that cold entity he’d shown was simply a mirage.
When he smiled, it was like flowers bloomed around him. “Little brother, you’re still the same.”
“Crazy-pants is directly related to the emperor?” Dewdrop looked back at Ryu with a disgruntled expression. “No wonder you wouldn’t let us kill him.”
Those listening flinched at Dewdrop’s careless words, Tyne’s reaction to the other man’s statement—one much less insulting than Dewdrop’s—fresh in their mind.
“Ryu?” Tate asked softly.
Ryu’s jaw flexed. “He is Thaddeus’s much older brother.”