“Temper, what is it?” Scythe asked, picking up again on clues that were lost on Ian and Mercy.
“I need to speak with you about a matter involving the dragon.” Her words dragged themselves out of her and her eyes were sorry to see them go.
“You can tell him in front of his family,” Ian said, getting a really bad feeling.
“No, she can’t,” Scythe said, standing and helping Mercy up.
Ian felt Mercy’s nervous reaction, though she didn’t show it on her face. She broke the connection between them and, after giving Scythe another quick hug, went to the door.
“No decisions without consulting us, okay, Scythe?” Ian said, extending a hand to grip his arm.
Scythe looked at Temper, “I don’t think a choice will be offered, isn’t that right?”
She shook her head and Ian saw the regret there. “No.”
“What is this?” Ian was getting angry at the Kin, their secrets, and how his family never seemed to get a break from them.
“We’ll talk in a minute, Ian,” Scythe said. “Let me find out what it is first.”
“We are not letting anything else happen to you, I don’t care what she has to say,” Ian said stubbornly before stepping into the hall.
-----------
“The Hedeler has been shielding you from his sight for years. You know this.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately, he cannot overlook your abilities now…”
“I thought I didn’t exist,” he said peevishly.
She sighed, “He won’t tolerate you or Cord working for the Scere in any capacity. He rightly fears your power.”
Scythe nodded. There was no reason to argue. He had seen the destruction a power like his could bring. “He wants us both dead.”
“That is the surest way to safeguard the Kin from your abilities. He is willing to compromise with your imprisonment, but it would have to be extremely isolated and secure.”
“Life in prison.” The idea horrified him.
She nodded. “In return, you will have your revenge, and...this.” She pulled out her personal tablet and pulled up a document.
He frowned, scanning it. “Why would he do this?” It didn’t match his orders at all.
“I lobbied for it on your behalf.”
He raised his eyes to her, “That was very generous of you. Thank you.”
“It would only be temporary, a handful of years at most. The escalation of tensions is building around the Human development of powers; conflict is inevitable. Yours is not the only dangerous power, and more are appearing each year.”
“What will happen if I refuse?”
Her eyebrows shot up, “If you ignore him?” She looked at him as if he had asked for a trip to the moon.
“No, I plan on taking advantage of the opportunity at Cord. I just don’t know if I’ll go to jail for it, Temper.”
“You’ll run?” She shook her head, “I don’t know if he’ll honor it. My guess is that he won’t. He doesn’t want to worry about who might have access to your abilities.”
“I’ll have access to them,” he said, showing some frustration for the first time. “Do you think I would use them against the Kin?”
“Not right now, I don’t, but one thing he is right about is that anyone is corruptible.”
He didn’t know if that were true or not, but she seemed to think it was, and since she was more experienced with that type of thing than he was, he accepted her judgment. “I have to talk to Ian and Mercy, first.” Instead of getting up, he sent his power out of the room to brush up against them outside. Ian opened the door immediately and came in.
Temper looked from the door to Scythe. “That’s a neat trick,” she said, but he could tell that she was more uncomfortable than impressed. “I am going to check on the status of things with Cord, and then I will be back.”
After she left, Scythe explained, “I’ve been given orders to assassinate Cord, but if I get caught, and the plan is that I will, I’ll be imprisoned for the rest of my life.”
“Okay, that’s an easy, ‘No,’” Ian said.
“No way,” Mercy said, shaking her head and crossing her arms.
“I know they wanted to use him,” Ian said, calculating. “So, it can’t be an order from the Scere…”
“It is not from the Scere and I don’t want you to know who it is from. In compensation, I’ve been offered something very valuable…”
“Nothing is more valuable to us than you,” Mercy said, taking his hand.
He wished that were true.
“A delay on the signing of the resolution that strips all powered Humans of their rights.”
He waited in the silence as they all thought, not of themselves, but of a wife, a sister, a brother, a dozen others they knew, and the hundreds that they didn’t.
He felt something deep in the earth pull on his chest. He focused on breathing, but his lungs couldn’t seem to open up enough to suck in air. A handful of seconds didn’t usually seem like such a long time.
He wished that it were true, but it wasn’t.
-----------
Ian loaded the last of their things into the car with the help of one of the Hedeler soldiers assigned to guard them on their trip home. Over his shoulder hung the most precious item they were taking with them: an old heavy denim backpack which contained, among other things, various tools, weapons and a small tablet; stored inside the computer was all the information that a particularly sharp mind had gathered over five years, the final bit of which was added within the last few days. It was the only part of him they could take with them.
Ian turned to Temper, who was just walking up with Anora. He hadn’t seen Scythe’s friend and coworker since the night of the raid; Scythe had sent orders for her to keep her head down until it was certain that she would not be pulled into his case. However, the moment Scythe received the computer from Temper, he sent her some information and instructions to meet with Ian before he left. She carried a cardboard box, which she put on the backseat of the car.
She gave him a very unfriendly look and said shortly, “He wants you to take these things with you.” She turned and walked away.
“Anora, please wait,” Ian asked.
“Unless you have a message for him, we have nothing to discuss.” She didn’t slow down or turn her head.
“From him.”
She stopped, and her hand squeezed itself into a fist and then released. She waited.
Ian walked up to her, leaving Temper grimly watching. “I know this is hard.”
“What is the message, Human?”
Ian put out his hand, “I want to thank you, first, for helping us.”
“I was following orders, not helping you. If I had known how little you truly regarded him, I might not have even done that.”
“Please,” Ian implored, keeping his hand extended. A ribbon peeled itself off his skin and hovered over his wrist.
With a small huff, she took his hand, her eyes widening when he gently spoke to her. Anora, please listen…
Aloud he said slowly, “You helped rescue my daughter and have been a good friend and associate of my brother Scythe for a long time. Your friendship means so much to Mercy and myself. We will think of you often and hold you in a special place in our hearts.”
She was still recovering from the shock of the connection with him, but she managed to say, “Uh, very well.” She blinked, debating, and then said, “It has been my honor to serve him.”
Ian nodded, taking his hand back. “Thank you.”
She nodded, turned and walked away.
Temper approached and, to Ian’s surprise, embraced him lightly. “Good luck to you and your family, Ian Young.”
“Temper, we also owe you our thanks. You have done much for my okin.”
“It was my honor.” She hesitated, her face displaying the burden she had been carrying for days. “I wish things could have been different.”
“Me too, but we are
not always in control of how things go. We do not blame you for what has happened, so please don’t blame yourself. Good bye.” He bowed to her and went to sit beside his daughter in the car.
Mercy huddled against the door with her arms limply wrapped around her knees. Her head was against the window, but she didn’t look out. She didn’t look at anything. She had made herself physically sick with the events of the last few days. She had spent most of the time crying, or ranting, or pulling him to the table to discuss another desperate plan, since she didn’t agree at all with what they had decided. At night, she barely slept; the nightmares from her still undisclosed abduction had worsened. Finally, a cold crept in, filled her sinuses, dripped down her throat, and sucked out the last of her energy. He had been working hard to keep her hydrated and fed, since she had lost interest in food or water.
Ian pushed Anora’s box onto the floor, scooted over and wrapped his arm around her.
“Mercy,” was all he said because, “It will be all right,” or “It is not so bad,” were grossly inappropriate. He reached out to make a connection with her, but she kept him out. Still, the close bond he had always had with her let him sense her feelings; fear hovered in a cold, shivery layer beneath her skin.
“Mercy, you don’t have to be afraid,” he said, feeling a little hurt despite himself that her own father wasn’t enough for her anymore.
She nodded vacantly.
The car started and pulled into the street. Within the hour, they would be on a train and within another couple of days, they would be home. The movement of the car somehow made their decision come into focus for him. He couldn’t believe they were leaving.
He squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing them with his free hand for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze fell on the box. To distract himself, he pulled it onto his lap and opened it up. The documents that transferred a large portion of Scythe’s money to them were there, along with several books, a box containing a stack of papers folded into intricate shapes, a hard drive, a couple of electronic devices he didn’t recognize, and two decorated boxes with impressively ornamented knives nestled in velvet. Ian had already packed a third box, very similar to those, with a hand carved antique scythe inside. It had come home with Scythe on the night of the raid, along with the necklace.
Ian’s interest was peaked when his eyes fell on a photograph along the wall of the box. He picked it up, turned it over, and smiled. Ian had his arm slung around the boy and was wearing his usual picture smile. Lena didn’t bother with such things. She was standing with her arms crossed, but Ian could tell from her grin and the way her eyes sparkled that she was enjoying herself. What amused her was leaning up against the boy as if he were a wall set there just for her. The boy looked straight at the camera without smiling, his seemingly unlimited tolerance finally showing signs of running out.
Ian remembered the day he had insisted on getting a friend to take their picture. He had sent one to Faith, who had hung it up on the wall in a handsome wooden frame, and given one to Scythe. It ended up being one of the few pictures they had of him. Ian lifted it up to get a closer look. It was a very early picture because Scythe didn’t have any scars on his neck. He looked at the young face; the boy had been very different then: serious, resentful and mind bogglingly smart. A real pain in the ass teenager. In those early days Scythe had been closed to everyone and openly hostile to a few.
He blinked, noticing for the first time how the boy’s right hand gripped the material of his pants in a tight fist. Ian’s smile faded. For some reason, it really bothered him, that fist.
After a minute, he dropped the photo back in the box and closed the lid.
Chapter 36
“There is an overlap of only two hours between the time he will be transferred to your cellblock and your release. Are you sure you want to do it this way?” Temper asked.
“Yes.” He wished he could do it right now. After being static for so long, he ached to be moving. He could feel the blood running beneath the skin in his arms. Everything was ready. Ian and Mercy’s departure had been timed perfectly; Temper had verified that they had arrived home the day before. With them safely in place, there was no reason to delay.
She nodded, eyeing him as he stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. “You look like your old self,” she commented.
Nothing moved but the eyebrows, dipping slightly. He did feel a little like his younger self, the one that used to give everything and leave nothing for himself. The one that had done the right thing over and over until he was burned on the inside. The one who had run. Maybe he still was that kid.
But, she wasn’t talking about him, she was talking about the Scythe that she knew. Cold, distant, efficient, dangerous. It might have been the clothes he had changed into for his release. Anora had brought them to her, the thick black work clothes that he had made specially for his bulkier body and particular needs. Only the weapons were missing. He didn’t need them for this job, but he did miss the weight of them; right now, he felt light.
The only thing that did press on him hung around his neck on a chain. Mercy wouldn’t take it, and nearly had a fit over it when he had tried to explain that it was meant for her. She had insisted that he keep it and finally he just put it on, resigned. Now he was glad he had it. It reminded him of them, and why what he was doing wasn’t insane.
“Do you regret it?”
“No.” No pause, no thinking, just No. Not for a minute. He had been dead.
For five years he had been dead. Did he regret the month he had lived? No.
She smiled, “That’s good.”
“On the other hand,” he said wryly, “I might feel differently after I’ve been locked up for a while.”
“I will make a point to ask you in a handful of months.”
“In five months? Don’t you think I’ll be dead by then?” He stared at her, daring her to disagree.
“I’d like to think that won’t be the case,” she said sincerely. He knew that she hated the whole business, but was helpless in the face of a command from the King.
He nodded, but they both knew that the chances of him surviving in jail were slim. It was too easy to be taken down there, as they were about to prove, and the King was not the only one who feared Human powers.
Of course, neither one had mentioned that to Ian or Mercy. There was no point in it.
They didn’t have anything else to say to each other, so she left to double-check her information and he sat down on the floor to wait.
When the door opened again, it was time to move. He stood smoothly and met her at the door, took the key she slipped him and ignored the words she spoke for the guard’s sake.
“The paperwork is complete, and you are free to go.”
Scythe looked past his friend and into the guard, holding her. The woman froze on the threshold, the wrist restraints forgotten in her hands.
Scythe stood on the edge of her mind and began to write his will there. It was the first time that he remembered doing it, but he was almost positive it wasn’t the first time he had done it. Now that he saw what it was like, he knew why he didn’t have any memory of it. Scraping away at her mind, ripping away what was elemental in her, and filling in the gaps with his orders was so fundamentally wrong that it sickened him. It was as if each tear he made emitted a toxic gas that wound its way into his body and poisoned him.
Suddenly unsure, he pulled away from her, panting.
“What’s wrong?” Temper asked worriedly, looking from the still incapacitated guard to him. “Are you done already?”
He didn’t answer. For the first time in his life, he was intentionally doing something he knew was evil to an innocent person, and something like that didn’t belong in the place in his heart where he envisioned who he was. Just as inexcusable was the fact that he was doing it for his own benefit, so he couldn’t even rationalize his sin.
He crouched on the fresh, green grass that overlooked a polluted pond. He reached out
with a hand and touched the greasy coat of oil that lay on top. His hand, dipping beneath the oil, did not encounter water, but a thicker layer of sludge. He felt himself falling forward, losing his balance.
This was why the Blood Dragon feared him. And this was why he was right to do so, because even though it was wrong, he was planning on doing it anyway. But...
“‘Anyone is corruptible,’” he quoted Temper.
Temper’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words she wanted.
But...he didn’t want to fall...
His eyes still held the guard whose name he now knew was Beholden. He knew more than her name; he knew all about her now. She loved to listen to music. She had two children, one who would begin his apprenticeship soon. She also hated halfbloods and Humans and had little pity for those who couldn’t quite find their way to the Kin standard of a correct life. Nonetheless, she was a good person, a key figure in a good family. She smelled like roses. He knew things about her that he shouldn’t know, things that were hers to hide, or cherish, or discover, or want.
He hated that he had stolen those things from her. Maybe it was more accurate to say that it hurt him to do it, because that was closer to what the sharp sensation in his chest felt like.
From the top of the pond, it began to slide up his arm, small rainbows playing along its slick, deep blackness. It matched his gray skin perfectly.
What is this shit? I told you to stop fucking everything up.
Halfblood Journey Page 52