by RJ Metcalf
Hot tears blurred Raine’s vision, and she choked on a sob, trying to hold it back. She hadn’t mourned him fully yet, and nor did she want to. Mourning meant she was facing the fact he truly was lost to her. That she’d never hear his stupid snarky one-liners again. That she’d never see his annoyingly handsome grin again. That she’d never relish the feel of sparring with him, their breathing together, the strain, the sweat, the give and take of battle, the languid relaxing together after.
Ben had been one to do right, even when it put him at a disadvantage. Even when it meant it’d put off his return home to his sister. He believed in protecting the innocent.
She could do that too, in his memory. Even if he wasn’t here physically, he could be here in spirit.
What if some other female prisoner came into the Hollows? It wasn’t like Raine could take out every prisoner who had a history of being abusive. But she could do her best to take out this one known threat.
“I want to kill him,” Raine stated into the quiet. A whisper of movement behind her betrayed Artemis’s posture straightening, and Raine clarified. “I want to kill Simon. I just don’t know how, yet. He’s been avoiding me, I can tell. And it’s not like he’d be in the pits.”
Artemis placed a warm hand on Raine’s shoulder. “Leave that to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brandon
Mid-morning light streamed through the Aerugan library windows, highlighting dust motes that danced in the air as Brandon followed Finn. Brandon had slept in late that morning, trying to recover from the wearying night of near-misses and emotional encounters. If Jade and Zak had skipped out of town, he hadn’t heard about it, which made his stomach twist. Had she chosen to stay?
The palace had been opened to approved visitors, but martial law was just starting to sink its grip into the city. The summit brunch had been put on hold, as had the mid-day session and the planned gala for the evening. For now, it was recommended that each royal stayed with their respective associates and guards, and General Titus would work his investigation.
And while Brandon needed to find the one who’d assassinated Everett, needed to know that it would be safe for Jade to return, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry about Everett’s death. At all. And if the newspaper was correct, and if Everett had been involved with the deaths of Brandon’s family? Well, his soul could rot in shehalla.
Oblivious to all that’d happened in the last fifteen hours, Finn showed up at Brandon’s door, hair disheveled and a look of utter concentration on his face. He insisted that Brandon accompany him to the library, and that it had to do with his sword.
And now Brandon followed the soundless sage through silent shelves filled with thousands of lut worth of books, waiting with growing impatience for Finn to say something. Finn reached a table strewn with papers and books amid a wide open space, and there he turned to face Brandon.
“Did Jaxton ever tattoo you?”
Brandon raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“Did he ever inject you with anything?” Finn persisted, his hand splayed on the pages of an open-faced book. He pointed to the sword on Brandon’s hip. “Did he ever cut you and heal you?”
“Yes to both.” Intrigued, Brandon sat in a chair and eyed the book nearest to him. The Bond of the Cursed. He looked up at Finn. “Do you think I was blood-bonded?”
“Indeed.” Finn claimed the chair next to Brandon and pulled a stack of papers toward himself. “Because you aren’t tattooed, he had to use something else to bind to you. And he somehow used your sword in place of the ink, while putting the bond directly into your blood stream.” Finn gave him a self-depreciating smile. “This is all theoretical, of course, but it is a hypothetical answer to the mystery of you.” He tapped the table and eyed Brandon. “He would need someone who ranks in the blood-bond to do it, and it would have to be someone high enough to outrank Kaius. Someone alive, which means local. This happened right after the fall, right?”
Brandon nodded woodenly, trying to absorb Finn’s idea.
Finn stared into the distance, eyes narrowed. “Possibly Victor?”
Brandon’s head swam and he cradled his forehead in his hand while he tried to let his thoughts settle. “So you’re saying I am among the ranks of the blood-bonded. And, as if that wasn’t enough in and of itself, I hold a rank in it? We don’t even know how exactly their ranks work!”
Finn angled his body toward Brandon and scooted his chair a bit closer. “Remember when we were together with Kaius, and you told him to stop lying? What did he do?”
Brandon had to pause to think for a moment. “He stopped talking.”
“He immediately stopped talking.” Finn jabbed his finger into Brandon’s chest. “You made him stop. He’s an Elph that’s been around in the political sphere for decades, and he’s definitely got the bond from before the barrier went up. You outrank him.”
Brandon choked and he jerked away from Finn’s touch. “Why the Void would Jaxton bond me, and so high in the hierarchy?”
Finn let his hand drop and he shrugged. “I wondered that myself. My best guess? He could have control without risking himself.”
Brandon wasn’t going to try to make sense of that right now. “Explain.”
“If he had control of you, and you have a high rank in the bond, he could use you to control other bonded. But without the danger of a higher blood-bonded taking control of him. His only risk would be to lose you.”
It made sense. And Brandon hated it. “I don’t want to be in the bond. I don’t want to be a Cursed, Finn!”
“Well, as of the moment, you are.” Finn’s lips twisted in sympathy. “Good news for you, is that if you outrank Kaius, then you’re pretty high up.” Finn settled an elbow on the table and fiddled with his multi-pocketed vest. “You just need to decide what to do with that control you have. And to what extent.”
Nausea churned, making the room spin. Brandon closed his eyes, as if he could shut it out. He had the ability to control others, just like Jaxton had controlled him. A twisted part of his heart relished in the idea of such control, of not being the one at the bottom. But the other part of him screamed in denial, not wanting anything to do with the ability to push his will on anyone—Elph or human. “I’m not going to do anything with it. I can’t treat other victims the same way I had been.”
Finn leveled a pen at him, his expression entirely too solemn for Brandon’s liking. “If you were their master, you could tell them to live free lives. You don’t have to be cruel like Jaxton was to you. You have the power to essentially give the blood-bonded a chance at a normal life. Are you saying you don’t want anything to do with that?”
Abruptly, the memory of last night flashed through Brandon’s mind; the man who stopped in the midst of jumping out the window. He’d stopped because Brandon ordered him to. Because Brandon held rank over him. And because of that, the man was alive. No matter what, that blood-bonded was a slave to the bond.
“So you’re saying,” Brandon began slowly, not yet willing to look up at Finn and risk losing his barely formed thought. “If someone is blood-bonded, I can help them.”
“Exactly.” Finn waved his pen in the air and leaned forward, his expression earnest, even as his brow creased. “Back when the blood-bond first came into being, there had been rumors of some who used it for good. Blood-bonding a thief for instance, and ordering him to not steal again. No other commands, just not to do that one thing.” Sorrow shadowed Finn’s eyes. “Of course, that changed relatively quickly, because if something can be used for good, it can be used for evil.” He smiled sadly.
Brandon stared at the table, the leather-bound book cover blurring in his vision. “I’ll … think about it.”
Logically, he could understand how he could help so many, how he could use this for good. But he was one man for what, thousands, millions? And he couldn’t control them all. Just thinking of being in the same position of authority as Jaxton made his blood boil in his veins. How easy
it would be to use it for his own selfish gain. Too easy.
“It’s playing with fire, Finn.” Brandon shook his head. “I have to think about it.”
Finn nodded, rubbing his thumb over a page. “I understand.”
The assassin from last night wouldn’t leave Brandon’s mind. If there was a chance Finn was wrong, then he wouldn’t have to deal with this at all. “I’d like to test your theory first. And I think I know how we can.”
Finn perked up. “Oh?”
“I’m pretty sure I stopped a blood-bonded last night. We can try to question him.” Brandon hesitated. Would he even be allowed to take part in the investigation? This wasn’t his nation.
Then again, did he really care? The man had tried to kill him, tried to kill Violet. Some answers would be appreciated.
“Lead on.” Finn scooted back from the table, a spring in his step despite his older age.
Brandon led Finn out of the library and down to the dungeon. Two guards straightened as they approached, blocking the wrought-iron gate leading down into the ground.
“Sorry, Your Highness, but General Titus has ordered that no one speak with the prisoner,” the tallest guard stated, a hint of apology in his voice.
“I’m here under Queen Violet’s command,” Brandon replied, keeping his voice pleasant. “I saved her life last night from the assassination attempt, and she trusts me. I’m just going to ask him a few questions, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Queen Violet sent you?” The second guard echoed.
Brandon inspected the second guard. Young, maybe early twenties. Almost nervous in his presence. He could work with that. “Yes, Queen Violet. She’s holding on despite her sudden loss, but if I could provide her with any sort of answers …”
The nervous guard scratched the back of his neck and looked at the taller man. “I suppose just a few minutes?”
They shifted apart and Brandon breezed by, Finn on his heels. “Thank you.”
Brandon clattered down the stone steps. All prisons were the same deep down. And this one was no exception. The stairs down led straight ahead, opening up to rows of brick-walled cells on either side, the only clue as to the inhabitants being through a small barred window. He strolled through, casually glancing into each cell until he came to the fifth room on the left. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the man lying on his back, staring at the dirt ceiling.
Finn’s gaze swept the tiny cell before his eyes narrowed. “See his arm? Tattoos.”
Brandon noticed the circular bands around the man’s lower forearm. “Hey, you.”
Surprise jostled the foreigner upright, and he brushed black hair from his face. His eyes widened at the sight of Brandon, and he stilled. “You.”
“Me.” Brandon studied the assassin. It was definitely the same guy he’d fought at Kelstone. “What’s your name?”
The assassin crossed his arms. “I don’t have to tell you that.”
Finn crossed his arms and Brandon sighed as he spoke. “Tell me your name.”
“Christopher.” The words popped out of his mouth, and Christopher’s eye twitched. “How—?”
Finn shook his head, his gaze on Brandon. “We ask the questions first, lad.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Christopher
Christopher nearly shrank back at the sight of old man next to the Doldran king. He knew who the old guy was. Finn, a manipulator of great power. One whom Lucio had suspected was actually Flint, one of the original seven sages. He’d never gotten confirmation.
And Brandon of Doldra. How was the king blood-bonded? Let alone a high rank in the blood-bond?
Christopher stared at the blond king, for once in his entire time in the south feeling like he was in over his head.
He was afraid.
And intrigued.
He braced for the inevitable moment—like every other blood-bonded, they would give him a command. Something to harm or humiliate himself. And the anticipation of which it would be chilled his insides.
“Where are you from?” Finn asked, his tone light, almost friendly.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to cooperate. If he refused, Brandon would order it out of him anyway. “Tastow.”
Brandon braced a hand against one of the iron rods that barred his window. “Does your family know you’re here?”
The memory of a burning home, screams in the air, blood on his hands flashed through his mind. Christopher swallowed and looked away. “I have no family.”
This time it was Finn who spoke. “What was your mission?”
“To take down the barrier.” Christopher sat cross legged, not meeting their eyes. He’d succeeded. Whether or not he believed anymore in the goodness of it.
“What was your mission here in the palace?” Brandon’s voice had an edge to it.
Christopher hesitated, but the compulsion to answer dragged the words out of him regardless. “To assassinate Queen Violet. I was also under orders to kill you, and to kill myself if I failed or was caught.”
“Then why aren’t you dead?” Brandon crossed his arms.
Christopher stared at him. “Because you ordered me against it. When I was going to jump out the window, to kill myself, you told me to not even try. It’s given me a choice.”
A muscle ticked in Brandon’s jaw. “Who ordered you to kill me?”
“Advisor Kaius of Antius.”
Brandon rocked back on his heels, his face momentarily whitening. The sage’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and the two exchanged a long look. Brandon leaned in toward Christopher’s cell, his voice lower than before. “Tell me more of this.”
Christopher shrugged and the information flowed out of him. “I met Kaius while with Lucio, on our way to destroy the barrier. Kaius believed in that goal and aided our efforts. He’s been hiding here ever since you”—Christopher nodded to Brandon—“spooked him by revealing your rank over him.” Christopher hesitated. Technically, he’d already said enough to satisfy the bond, but they didn’t know that. Before he could think better of it, he continued, “Kaius plans to help the north wipe out the humans here—all the ones that he says aren’t worth enslaving.”
Both men stepped back from the cell, their faces tense. Finn gave Brandon another significant look and tilted his head toward Christopher.
Christopher stiffened, uncertain of what to make of such an expression.
Brandon shook his head slightly, and it sounded like he said a soft, “Not now, Finn.”
Finn stared between the bars at Christopher. “You’ve been most helpful.” His lips quirked. “Do us a favor and stay here for a while, will you? We may have need of your services again.”
They both disappeared out of sight, and Christopher bolted from the bed to the window, watching as they retreated back up the stairs and to the freedom beyond. Would Victor rescue him, or leave him to rot? Or would Victor cut his losses and send him a poison or way to off himself while in the cell? Christopher sank back onto his hard cot. For being questioned—and by someone who held rank over him—it was surprisingly short and easy. Not painful in the slightest.
He had no clue what to make of it.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Weston
Weston entered the meeting room with a tired lack of enthusiasm, his emotions too drained from the long night to even be curious as to why Brandon had asked him to call the Antian delegation to a conference. Jade was safely settled, and theoretically without too many knowing of her presence in the palace. Still, her rebuke from earlier stung.
He glanced over and felt a small thrill jolt through him at the sight of Abigail. Her short hair fell smoothly to each side, brushing each cheek with soft strands. She raised an impervious eyebrow and spitted him with a cold stare. He glanced away with a light cough. So she apparently didn’t like him at all. Somehow this didn’t surprise him. Not with his luck of late when it came to women.
He nodded to King Brandon and Finn, then sat at his mother’s right han
d, across from the Princess Abigail and emperor Ezran, keeping his chin up as if he were calm and not internally panicking. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was actually doing here, nor what Brandon had in mind. Furthermore, whatever Brandon had planned would happen in front of foreign dignitaries. All he knew was what Brandon told him: it was important, it had to do with Everett’s murder, and it involved the Antians. But Weston was the one who’d technically called them together, so it was up to him to start the meeting.
“Thank you for coming, this morning,” Weston opened. Why did his vest feel too tight? He took a deep breath. “It’s been a busy day, but—”
The door opened, and General Titus marched in, his countenance stern. He walked up to the table, but didn’t sit. Instead, he crossed his arms and glared across it at King Brandon. “You questioned my prisoner without my permission.”
Ezran tilted his head at Brandon, mild interest opening up his expression.
Brandon shifted in his chair. “Yes, I did.” He shrugged one shoulder with the air of casual indifference. “Seeing as I was the one who stopped him from killing Queen Violet, let alone myself, I decided to talk to him about it.”
Violet coughed lightly next to Weston, and he glanced at his mother. She shook her head with a rueful expression.
Outrage reddened Titus’s face. “You had no right. You, a foreign king who has fair reason to want Lord Everett dead, meeting with the same assassin who nearly took out our queen. And you claimed it was on her behalf, no less!”
Weston didn’t move his head, watching Brandon from the corner of his eye, unwilling to draw General Titus’s wrath to himself somehow. Brandon didn’t appear the slightest bit perturbed.
Titus continued, “Of course you wouldn’t mind if Everett died, not with the news circulating about Everett’s involvement with the deaths of your own family.” Titus’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed his hands against the table, leaning forward, completely ignoring Emperor Ezran and Princess Abigail. “I’m on to you.”