The Panagea Tales Box Set

by McKenzie Austin

  Epifet stared out the window, her expression hard to read. It wasn’t until a nearly invisible piece of both pride and excitement tugged one corner of her lip into a smile that she seemed relieved. “So it appears ...”

  The Time Father stared back at the people, freed from the restraints of another man’s power. A heaviness hung around his neck. He reached over to set his hat down on a nearby table. With both hands, he grabbed the chain of his Chronometer and pulled it up and over his head. “Here,” he said, holding the device out to Epifet. “Take mine, as well.”

  The goddess’s expression gave away her confusion. “Yours?” she asked, flinging her gaze to the object he held. “Nicholai ...” Imbued with the heart of a mother, Epifet knew where Nicholai’s priorities resided. His craving to cure Southeastern, to bridge the gap between classes, it went as far as it did on the back of his Chronometer. On the back of the power it gave him. She looked to him with a sad, knowing smile. “My son, without the authority it gives you ... the status, and the finances it affords ... how will you cure what ails Southeastern?”

  Against the discouragement of her words, he forced a dim smile. “I am equal to every man and woman there. What better way to show them a common individual can bring change ... than becoming one myself?”

  “Oh, my dear,” Epifet cupped his cheek, smiling. “There is nothing common about you.”

  A part of him still tensed under her touch. The part of him that knew she dwelled with Edvard, knowing he poisoned his mother. The part of him that had yet to forgive his father, despite how much he pitied him.

  Seeing the pain she caused him, Epifet pulled her loving hand away. Her pride shifted into worry when her mind moved beyond his gesture. Beyond the impact it would have. “I know your mind is set. But this object is not just something with which you can stop and start time. For you, the Chronometer is a shield.” Her expression turned grim. “Ganther will destroy you, my son.”

  Ganther. Nicholai had almost forgotten about the burden that awaited him back in Southeastern. He was no fool; he knew the blue blood’s hands in the matter he now faced were nothing short of diabolical. Ganther Odenhardth would not have gifted him the information about Edvard from the kindness of his own heart.

  None of that mattered. He still had to do what was right.

  “If I’m to die,” he said, “then I will die an ordinary man. In the meantime, I will show as many as I can that ‘ordinary’ is not synonymous with inability.” He grabbed Epifet’s hand and placed the Chronometer into it. “Ordinary should be a state people strive for. I want compassion to be ordinary. I want humanity to be ordinary.” Against his better judgment, he turned, looking at Edvard’s corpse. “As it stands now, it’s too few and far between.”

  Epifet parted her lips, to convince him otherwise, but stopped herself. She already surmised that there was no changing his mind. The goddess suspected that Nicholai knew all along he would find a way to destroy it. Perhaps that was why he did not fear leaving Southeastern. He recognized that it wouldn’t be a prisoner to the Chronometer for long. “If that is what you wish.” She closed her eyes, unwilling to watch as she shattered his device in her palm.

  Nicholai watched the gears and fragments fall to the floor beside his father’s. He felt a piece of himself fall with it. It was not a piece he minded abolishing. He knew no good could come from it. But it still left a hole in him. A strange emptiness he knew he couldn’t fill. It would settle right in, next to the hole Lilac Finn left. It was as good of a place as any for a hole in one’s spirit to be.

  Curious, he lifted his arm. Did his abilities leave him the moment the Chronometer did? After honing in on a trinket across the room, he flexed his fingers outward, focusing, trying to corrode the metal. To isolate its time. To age it.

  Despite his best efforts, he could not. The gift died with his Chronometer. Nicholai dropped his arm back to his side, making peace with the fact. An ordinary man, indeed.

  “What will you do now?” Epifet asked, lifting her gaze from the broken chunks of Chronometers that littered the floor.

  Nicholai rubbed the back of his neck. He reached over, grabbed his hat, and tucked it back under his arm. “I will alert the others in Western’s chain of command ... I will ensure my father’s proper burial, as I don’t believe they will give him one, once word of his association with gods and goddesses spreads through Western.” He turned to her, his shoulders rising with a sigh. “I will have the men responsible for his death arrested ... and then ... I’ll go home.”

  Epifet nodded. “That is for the best. You’ll have much to figure out there when you return.”

  “Yes.” Nicholai agreed, casting his gaze downward. The institution. Ganther. The political aftermath of his decision to free Southeastern from the Chronometer.

  Umbriel.

  His stomach leaped at the thought of her. It had been too long since he saw her. He needed her tranquility now more than ever. Umbriel, his breath of clarity, his dearest companion ... the only other woman, save for Lilac Finn, who moved something inside him that seemed immobile.

  Yes. He had much to figure out, indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Capturing a pacifist seemed like an easy feat. Ganther had done his research, but he did not wish to make the mistake of going in overconfident. He knew the Earth Mother was nothing more than a bleeding heart wrapped in the skin of a human being. Securing her should not be a difficult task.

  But the Addihein household boasted the constant, watchful eyes of Southeastern’s most capable footmen. On top of that, Ganther knew Malcolm Finn kept a keen guard over the homestead too. Countless hired assassins had tried and failed to penetrate that place. Then again, that was when the Time Father, himself, was present. Ganther had hopes that with Nicholai’s absence, security would be divided amongst other places. With luck and a little finesse, Umbriel would hopefully fall into a position of vulnerability.

  Still. Even if everything fell into place ... it was an overwhelming task. Ganther’s lips drew back.

  It would be his greatest challenge. His greatest risk.

  The blue blood was never one to shy away from such things. A grim smile split onto his face as he sat in the warmth of his mansion. On the contrary ... he loved a good challenge. And a high risk often yielded a high reward.

  Nicholai had left over a week ago. Ganther had already secured the necessary hired hands he’d need to orchestrate his plan. The hardest part was upon him now: the waiting. He needed to wait for just the right moment.

  Ganther did not wish to run the risk of holding a human hostage for too long. Not when he needed her alive to act as his precious bargaining chip. Nicholai would not risk relinquishing his Chronometer to Ganther without his own high reward. Umbriel’s life would serve as just that. What happened to her after the object fell under his possession, Ganther didn’t care.

  The blue blood’s plan was faultless on paper. He knew Nicholai would trade the Chronometer for Umbriel’s safety. He was as predictable as he was ideological. His greatest undoing, Ganther thought. To succeed in anything, one could never be predictable. It made the game far too easy to win for the opposing team.

  Once Nicholai’s position of power was transferred to Ganther, the Addihein man’s authority in Southeastern would mean nothing. People did not bow to the whims of useless men. And a Time Father, however grand he may have been during his reign, was nothing better than a common man without his Chronometer to push him to power.

  It was that power that Ganther wanted most. With it, he surmised he could escape any risk of prosecution. Who would dare challenge a division leader? He could do anything then. He’d have the power of time itself. Whatever power time could not buy, money could almost certainly buy the rest.

  It was time that was the most delicate part of his plan. He’d done all his research. He’d checked off all the boxes. All he could do now was wait.

  Soon the ornithopter and the man he’d hired to operate it would return wit
h news that Nicholai was on the way back to Nenada. That’s when Ganther’s clock would start. He calculated an approximate guess of how long it would take Nicholai to return to his homestead, based on the route his operative witnessed him taking. That would be how long he had to send Barron to the footmen who guarded the premises ... and send them away with his false tale. Umbriel would be vulnerable, then.

  That’s when he’d make his next move.

  “The waiting,” he muttered distastefully to his drink, which he swirled in his hand. “Were it that I could buy certainty in my plan.” He was sure he had the finances for it. If only life obeyed the laws of currency.

  Each tick of the clock only mocked him. It took Nicholai much longer to petition his father than it should have. What in the Underworld was he doing in Western, dragging his feet so much?

  Ganther set his drink down and sighed. Soon, the injustices he suffered under Nicholai Addihein’s reign would be over. His family name would redeem itself, restored to its former glory. Rightfully so, he thought, staring at the clock hanging on the wall across the room. His ancestors worked too hard to get where they were. To share it with those who did not bleed as his family had bled ... it was simply unwarranted.

  A familiar sound outside brought joy to his eardrums. Excited, Ganther nearly leaped from his chair and whisked away to the window. An influx of clouds shrouded his vision, but his patience was rewarded when propellers and wings cut through the gray mist and spilled into his view.

  His hired hand had returned.

  Readjusting his coat, he moved toward the door. There was plenty of space for the single-man machine to land out front. Ganther waited, his hand resting atop his head to stop his hair from tossing as the ornithopter settled onto the ground.

  The man could scarcely contain his thrill. “Well?” Ganther asked, stepping up to the machine even before its propellers stopped turning.

  Its operator scratched at his eyebrow, a luxury he didn’t have for most of the journey, as he was too terrified to take both hands off the vehicle’s steering apparatus. “He’s just left the town of Ravelona. He’s on the main road back to Nenada now.”

  Ganther’s hands balled up in his excitement. He reached into his pocket and removed the sack of coins he’d held onto for so long, as he eagerly anticipated his spy’s return. “There you have it,” he said, tossing the bag to the pilot. “As promised, and a little something more for your attention to detail.”

  The man caught the bag, arching an appreciative brow. “My many thanks, Mr. Odenhardth.” He pocketed the offering quickly as if he feared it might be snatched from his hands if he didn’t.

  Ganther turned away. The man was useless to him now. He’d completed his task and cared little for his presence any longer. “Driver!” he barked into the open door of his home, the diplomacy in his aristocratic voice losing to his psychotic thrill, “ready the steam car!”

  He’d pick up Barron along the way. He thought the man’s use to be over and done with as well, but he had a final job for him. Ganther paced in front of his home, impatiently awaiting his chauffeur. There was no time to waste.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Umbriel had tried for days to keep herself busy. Overseeing things at the resurrection of the learning institution helped for a while, but the longer it took for Nicholai to come home, the more her concern took on a life of its own.

  Unable to continue being of use at the construction site, she returned to Nenada. To home. To where she thought Nicholai would arrive, at any given moment. But days had passed ... what could possibly have gone on with Edvard Addihein to have slowed him down so much?

  She tried to push the negative thoughts away. Umbriel had enough of those as of late. Instead, the Earth Mother chose to imagine the conversation that awaited her regarding their relationship. The one Nicholai assured her they’d have upon his return.

  A small smile appeared on her face at the thought of it. Umbriel washed the last plate that sat in the sink before her, and she stood on the tips of her toes to return it to its place in the cupboard.

  Introducing herself back into the presence of the common man had undeniably dulled her connection with Panagea; with heightened consciousness. She had it in spades in the solitary confinement of her island. It made living there without company far easier than it would have been.

  Worldly connections aside, imagining a simple life with Nicholai made the sacrifice of her balance seem ... worth it. This little house had already filled itself with redeeming moments of happiness. The scent of all the meals they had shared at the humble table. All the smiles he afforded her, with his almost self-deprecating sense of humor. The nights ... knowing he slumbered only feet away from her resting head, separated by a thin wall. How many times had she entertained a dream like that one?

  When Umbriel felt the heat of embarrassment rise into her cheeks, she tried to wipe the blushing sentiment away. There would be plenty of time for that later if everything went well.

  Still ... for all the hope she harbored ... Umbriel could not shake that looming sense of demise.

  Outside, Barron counted the soldiers surrounding the Addihein residence. Only five. A laughable amount compared to how many patrolled when Nicholai, himself, was present. His task shouldn’t be too difficult.

  He memorized the speech that Mr. Odenhardth had given him. Down to the last horrifying snippet of dialogue he was meant to showcase in his voice, Barron studied the material diligently. He had to. Ganther Odenhardth demanded nothing less than perfection. Those who gave him anything shy of that not only found themselves without payment but often without a life, as well.

  From the shadows, he emerged. With grease smeared about his face and hands, he ran toward the footmen, panting deliriously. “Please!” he shouted, clasping the shoulders of the nearest body he collided into. “Tell me you are the footmen of our Time Father, Nicholai Addihein!”

  The soldier he’d struck visibly cringed at his unsettling arrival. He pushed the maniacal Barron off him, though a cautious curiosity lived in his eyes. “We are under the employ of Mr. Addihein, yes.”

  Barron blew out his cheeks and swept his hands through his hair. “Oh, fortune has finally shined on me in this darkest hour—there has been a tragic accident. I’ve been running for miles, but did not know who I could trust the Time Father’s life to, particularly in his vulnerable state—”

  The other four footmen rallied as soon as Barron’s words touched their ears. “What accident?” one demanded, surveying Barron with a growing focus.

  To further draw in their interest, Barron doubled over, panting still. He held up a hand, a charade to put his false, superhuman efforts on display. “A collision,” he blurted, faux exhaustion in his statement, “two steam cars. One driver is dead,” Barron uttered, shaking his head. “The other hangs on by but a thread: our own Time Father, Nicholai Addihein. With so many out for his head, I knew it had to be you who brought him medical attention.” Barron pulled himself up, grabbing the footman’s shoulder. “I would trust nobody else with his safety. T’was a nightmare to behold such devastation.”

  The rise of tension in the footmen was palpable. They rallied together, fully willing to abandon their post. “You’ve done a good thing,” one said, patting Barron on the back. “Can you take us to him?”

  “Oh, straight away,” Barron said, already rewarding himself for his exemplary acting skills in his mind. “No amount of ache in these legs could keep me from doing such. Come!” He motioned for the footmen to follow. Follow, they did.

  Ganther watched them pass the town lines, as far as his eyes and the tall buildings allowed. He nodded to nobody in particular, content with Barron’s display. As soon as he was sure they moved beyond earshot, he tightened the hooded cloak around his person and approached the Addihein door.

  Several swift knocks earned him Umbriel’s appearance.

  Shrouded or not, the Earth Mother recognized his face immediately. She did not shy away from hiding her cautio
n. “Ganther,” she announced, her eyes taking in the sight of his unusual attire. The blue blood did not often leave his homestead in a common man’s cloak. He attempted to disguise his identity, of that, she was sure.

  “Miss Dasyra,” Ganther said, trying to fill his voice with panic to match Barron’s, “I ... do hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  Umbriel frowned. She looked beyond Ganther, realizing the posted footmen were nowhere to be seen. Her trepidation heightened as she barred the door with her body. “What can I do for you, Ganther? Where are the footmen?”

  “That is what I’m here to discuss, I’m afraid.” Ganther’s stern face adopted an artificial softness. “They’ve run to a town outside of Nenada. There’s ... been an accident. They’ve gone to assist Nicholai; as I understand it, he is in critical condition.”

  She doubted his words from the moment they poured out of his lips. True or not, they were unpleasant to hear. Was that why it had taken Nicholai so long to return? Umbriel drew her shoulders back and inclined her chin. “What accident? Where?”

  With a sigh, Ganther stuck a foot in the doorway. His broad shoulders pushed her aside as he stepped inside the front room. “It’s awful, Miss Dasyra. There’s ... trouble at the border.”

  If there was trouble anywhere, Umbriel surmised that Ganther had been the one who made it. She stiffened after he forced himself into the room, leaving the door open. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, eying him suspiciously.

  Ganther peered out from the windows. No witnesses. He flicked his eyes to Umbriel once more and stepped up toward her, reaching out to force the door closed. His breath washed over over her face, as it was inches from his own, and as soon as he heard the door click into place and seal off the outside world, he murmured, “Trouble for Nicholai. Trouble playing by my rules.”

  When he reached over and shifted the position of his hooded cloak, Umbriel spied the shimmer of the gun at his hip. Before she could reach for it, Ganther placed his hand on it and pressed his back against the door. Umbriel took several steps away, her eyes narrowing to uncharacteristic slits. “Tell me,” she asked, “has Nicholai come to actual harm?”