“Ah, Christ, Charlotte.” The expression on Conal's face revealed his revulsion. We all knew the effects of lemon juice after it had been used to torture Goren. But to die in this manner – it was unbelievable that one person could do such a thing to another.
“By the seventh day, Blane was up to his chest, and close to death. Archangelo visited that day, carrying a lead sword. He ensured Blane was conscious, before he beheaded his wife and son as he watched. And then he pushed the blade through Blane's chest, straight into his heart. The guards dropped what remained of Blane into the vat, then they threw his wife and child's remains in with him.” Even now, I couldn't begin to comprehend the enormity of Archangelo's sadistic behavior. “Archangelo said Blane and his family deserved no mercy. The Drâghici and Aethelwine had never intended to free Blane's wife and child, because Blane was a traitor, found guilty of passing information to Arasinya and Goren. Blane was a pawn to them, a way of capturing me.”
Conal cursed up a storm, squeezing me tighter, as if the action could protect me from the memories. I was grateful when he asked no more questions. I wasn't certain I could answer them, wanted to bank down the memory of Blane's screams, the way he'd begged for mercy in those last few days of his life.
Conal kissed my forehead, giving me the opportunity to pull my emotions under control. When I managed to speak, my voice had calmed and I could do so without the tremor it had held a few minutes before. “I don't know what to do now, Conal.” It was tough to admit to everything that was worrying me – my abject terror at the uselessness of my efforts until now – and those few words were a tiny admittance of a problem so huge, I couldn't see a way of overcoming it.
Conal tilted my chin, so I was forced to meet his gaze again. “You get better, Sugar. We'll find your baby.”
I shook my head uncertainly. “We can't hide here in the woods forever.”
Conal inhaled sharply. “Honest to God, Charlotte. I wish I had some answers for you. I don't know what's best right now. I don't know what we should do next. I've got nearly three thousand people here, people who are relying on us to keep them safe.” He rested his forehead against mine. “And all I want, all I need, is to be with you, to keep you safe somehow. To get your son back in your arms.”
We lapsed into silence again, drawing strength from one another, lost in the complexity of the situation.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Conal offered cautiously.
“You don't want to hear about it, trust me.”
Conal gazed down at me, his expression sincere. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Because if you could live through it, I can stand to hear you talking about it.”
My heart swelled with love, knowing how hard it would be for him to listen to what Archangelo had done and yet, he was willing to do it. For me. “I'm not ready yet, Conal. I can't—”
“Fair enough,” Conal spoke immediately, twisting his fingers in my hair. “But I'm here, Sugar. Whenever you need me, I'll be ready.”
Closing my eyes I inhaled deeply, breathing in the wonderful scent that was purely Conal. He made me feel safe and warm – and I never wanted to leave his arms again.
“Have you spoken to Lucas? The others?” he questioned gently.
I shook my head, a rush of resentment burning my chest. “I can't see the point. I don't understand what Nememiah wants from me, why he's letting all this happen to us. If he's so God-damn powerful, why won't he help us? If he thinks we have the right to live, why does he keep letting these terrible things happen to me, to all of us?”
“I don't know the answers, Sugar,” Conal admitted. “All I can tell you is we need all the help we can get. Zaen's fallen. We're out here in the boondocks, relying on Epi and the witches' enchantments to keep us off the Drâghici's radar, and Christ only knows how long that will last. Even now, I'm thinking we should probably move somewhere else, somewhere far away from Europe and the States, somewhere they might not think to look.” He brushed his lips over mine. “I know you're hurting, Charlotte. I know you think this situation is hopeless. But Nememiah, the spirits – they're all we've got to rely on.”
Wordlessly, I dipped my head in acknowledgment, knowing what he'd said was the truth. But I couldn't imagine that anyone could help us now.
Chapter 12: Moving On
Jerome appeared in the doorway, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “A little bird tells me you're discharging yourself – but I just know that can't possibly be right. You wouldn't do anything so stupid.”
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I suffered a brief flash of annoyance that it was so much shorter – another thing to blame on Archangelo. Bastard. Turning to Jerome, I offered up a faint smile. “Jerome, I'm not sick.” I'd been lying in the hospital tent for five days on his orders, recovering from the drug addiction Archangelo and the Drâghici had forced on me. I huffed in an annoyed breath. Bastards.
Jerome leaned against the cane he'd taken to using, his eyes narrowed. “On the contrary, I'd argue that you most definitely aren't well, Charlotte. At the very least, you're depressed and suffering from post-traumatic stress.”
I waved my hand toward the gurney. “Lying in here isn't going to change any of that.”
Jerome rolled his eyes impatiently. “Charlotte, regardless of anything else – you can't rush your recovery from this. What happened to you—” He caught sight of my warning glare and rephrased. “The effects of your captivity will no doubt be long-lasting and deeply profound. Nobody is expecting miracles; nobody assumes you can just slip straight back into your role as Nememiah's Child. We seem to be perfectly safe here for the moment, take some time for yourself. Please.”
I met his gaze for a moment, caught the concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I can't stay in here, Jerome. It's going to drive me crazy.” I walked across to where he stood in the doorway, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let me deal with this my own way. I need to get out of here, do some normal stuff.” Truth be told, I couldn't bear the thought of staying in this tent for a second longer. All I was doing was thinking about my baby, fretting over what had happened. All I seemed to do was cry.
Jerome considered the request, his gaze piercing. “All right. But you need to promise me you'll take it easy. And I would feel better about this if you promise me you'll spend plenty of time with Rowena and the girls. I don't want you to be alone while you're in an emotional state of mind and…” he glanced away, his expression stormy, “they've had some similar experiences to you. Let them help you, the way you helped them.”
I managed a teary smile, turning away from Jerome to throw the last of my things into the bag Rowena had dropped off earlier. “I promise – I'm not going to slit my wrists.”
“Don't joke about it, Charlotte,” he warned. “People have dealt with lesser issues than these and struggled.”
“Charlotte will be in safe hands, Jerome.”
Ripley and Acenith stood in the doorway, holding hands. Both watched me with unconcealed concern etched in their features. “We'll take her down to the mess to grab some breakfast, keep her company,” Acenith announced.
“Listening to my thoughts?” I accused Ripley mildly, rolling my eyes.
“Believe me, after what you have been through, I'd prefer if I couldn't,” Ripley admitted. He turned his attention to Jerome. “But I can reassure you, while it's chaotic in there right now, she isn't suicidal.”
Flushing beetroot red, I busied myself pulling the bag onto my shoulder. “I didn't think about that,” I muttered under my breath. “Ripley, you should probably do your best to shut me out for a while.”
Ripley squeezed my shoulder. “I'm afraid not, Charlotte. What happened with Archangelo was a terrible thing, and for the moment, I believe I am more comfortable with being inside your head to make sure you're coping. And I'm sorry if you should find that uncomfortable, but I believe it to be for the best.”
I shrugged, unable to find enough energy to argue with him. “Whatever. But be warned – a
lot of my thoughts are extremely ugly right now.”
Acenith wrapped one slender arm over my shoulders and drew me towards the tent opening. “Come, let's see if we can take your mind off those ugly thoughts for a time.”
≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈
“I don't know half of these people.” Walking beside Acenith and Ripley, I cast a furtive glance around the encampment, seeing dozens of faces I didn't recognize.
“Our numbers have increased substantially during your absence,” Ripley agreed. “We've been successful in bringing many new groups to our side in the past few months.” We passed a group of men standing together, talking amongst themselves and I pegged them as being from Scotland, based on the heavy accents. As we passed the men stopped, watching us with unabashed interest and I squirmed uncomfortably, keeping my gaze lowered.
Acenith squeezed my fingers. “There will be time to get to know everyone later.” She cast a glance over my slender form. “Let's worry about eating first.”
They drew me towards the large tent which formed the mess and once inside, I was mildly amused to discover a welcoming committee. All the Tines were present, sitting together at one table and they greeted us warmly.
“I know you aren't all here for breakfast,” I pointed out.
“No, but we're here to keep you company while you have breakfast,” Marianne announced with a bright smile. A quick glance confirmed that today's outfit consisted of baggy denim overalls over an artfully shredded tank top, with bright orange Doc Martins encasing her feet. “Then we thought you might like to take a walk, get some fresh air.”
“All of us?” I questioned, arching one eyebrow in amusement. I suspected I was going to be overwhelmed with company.
“No, of course not,” Marianne retorted scornfully. “The men have work to do. We girls will go.”
Rowena patted the empty chair beside her. “Come and sit down, Charlotte.”
“I'll get you something to eat,” Ripley announced.
“How did you all know— never mind.” Obviously, Ripley had passed on news of my decision to the leave the hospital tent before he and Acenith came to collect me. Slumping in the chair next to Rowena, I glanced around at my friends. “Thanks, guys.”
“We love you, Charlotte. We only want you to feel happy and secure again, and will help in any way we can.” Rowena clasped my hand in hers, squeezing my fingers.
“Are the men going to be training?” I'd been out of the loop for so long, I had no idea what had gone on with our group while I'd been absent. It would take a while to get back into the swing of things, and I mentally cursed Archangelo. Bastard.
“Some are training, others are still searching for your baby,” Gwynn offered. “William is heading out to the Realm this afternoon, with Tibor and Nat Finton.”
“How often are they traveling into the Realm?” Even though I'd been advised of the forays into the Realm, I had no idea of what was involved, or how many were searching.
“They're traveling in groups of three or four, three groups at a time, every four hours. Each group stays in the Realm for three hours,” Ben explained. “Any longer than that is too risky, the chances of being caught increase the longer they remain.”
A frown creased my forehead, and I held a finger to the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache. “Where do they search? My baby… he could be anywhere.”
“The search is haphazard at best,” Holden explained. He was wearing the standard uniform of camouflage pants and a black t-shirt, as all the men grouped around the table did. I noted that all of them now had a Hjördis strapped to the belt at their waists, along with an assortment of weapons including Philaris and Katchet. “Goren and Arasinya, the other Fae – they obviously know the Realm very well, but there are too many areas which are too risky to enter. Sarbon, for instance, and of course, Tamekeel, where you were being held. We're doing our best, Lott, but it isn't proving easy.”
“Have you requested help from the spirits?” Rowena asked quietly, her tone deliberately schooled into passiveness.
I shook my head, lowering my gaze to my hands. “They won't be able to help. There will be some ridiculous rule that Nememiah has put in place, to stop them.” I couldn't conceal the bitterness in my voice. Anger was an emotion I was struggling to control, resentment at what I'd been subjected to by Archangelo, Aethelwine, and the Drâghici for the sake of Nememiah's war bubbled away in my soul. That was how I had begun to think of it in the past five days – it was Nememiah's war, Nememiah's involvement which had put me in this untenable position.
“You aren't keeping them shut away, are you, Lott?” Striker asked. His piercing blue eyes scrutinized me. “We need all the help we can get, advance warning of an attack would be helpful, given we're down to relying on Epi and the witches' enchantments over the place. It's not enough.”
I rubbed my hands together anxiously. “I've opened my mind to them,” I admitted, “but I haven't spoken to the spirits myself.” I tried to sound reassuring. “They'll give us a warning if we're going to be attacked.”
Rowena laid a hand on my arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “They might be able to help in the search for your baby, Charlotte.”
I shook my head in resignation. “Rowena, I already know what they'll tell me. They can't rescue my baby; they won't tell me where he is. Nememiah won't allow it.” I took a deep breath, looking up into her anxious gaze. “Why bother asking for help, when I know it won't be given? What's the point?”
“I understand you feeling this way,” Ripley said, placing a plate in front of me, “but you won't know for certain, not unless you try.” He settled in beside Acenith, his expression cautious. “Charlotte, out of all of us, you know that I, more than anyone, can sympathize with your plight. I know how emotionally battered you're feeling; the horrors you've endured. God knows, I wish I could smooth those horrors away for you, remove them from your memory – but alas, I cannot.” Ripley leaned forward, clasping his hands on the tabletop as he continued to watch me. “You know what a risk it is for us to keep traveling into the Realm. We will continue to do so, to rescue your baby.” His eyes held a gentle plea. “But if the spirits can help us to pinpoint his location, it would greatly reduce the risks we're taking in conducting all these reconnaissance trips into the Realm.”
My fury erupted. “And what if they tell me he's dead, Ripley? What then? What if they tell me the Drâghici have murdered my son?” I pushed away from the table, upsetting the plate of food Ripley had placed in front of me only moments before. My mind buzzed with sudden, uncontrollable rage. “Tell Conal to cancel the search, it's an impossible task. They'll never find him.” Turning on my heel, I ran from the mess and sprinted through the encampment, tears blinding my vision.
Chapter 13: Being Reasonable
I was sitting alone in the woods, my back against the trunk of a large fir tree, surveying the forest. It was cool, despite the presence of summer, the silence peaceful. Occasionally, I caught the sound of a lark's song, heard the scurrying of some small animals making their way through the woods on their way to a nest, or out in search of food, but for the most part, the tall, heavily wooded area seemed to block out sound and left me sitting in a bubble of solitude.
Focused on a point across the valley, I really wasn't seeing anything.
I hadn't meant to lose my temper with Ripley. I knew he and the others were only doing what they thought best, trying to help me. Although Ripley could read my thoughts, he apparently hadn't noticed the underlying terror I suffered at the thought of receiving a final answer from the spirits regarding my son. The shock in his eyes confirmed his utter lack of knowledge regarding my anxiety.
To discover from the spirits that my child was dead would be unthinkable.
Thankfully, the spirits were leaving me alone. I was grateful for their silence, using the opportunity to reflect and try to pull my chaotic thoughts into some sort of order. The last few days had been overflowing with sy
mpathy, anxious glances, soothing words. I'd had more than I could bear, and their sympathy only served to plunge me further into an ocean of grief.
The spirits continued to murmur in my head, a constant, indistinct muttering which I ignored. I couldn't make out what they were saying – and didn't want to know. My anger extended to them, every single one of them. And ultimately, back to Nememiah.
I wanted to tell them I was finished, refuse to do this any longer. But what choice did I have? Could I force myself to walk away from the war, from my friends? Could I walk away from Conal?
I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. The strangest sensations were affecting me today, as though I didn't quite fit in my own skin. As though I didn't know this strange person who inhabited my body, didn't have firm control of my own mind. My emotions were spinning around as if I was sitting on a rollercoaster; up and down, twisting from side-to-side, leaping from one conclusion to the next. And it was all happening at a dizzying speed. I rested my head on my knees and continued to ponder the situation, desperate to find some solutions.
Where would I go, if I decided to leave? How could I stop Archangelo from discovering me? For a moment, I dwelled on the memory of his rapes and I trembled violently. What would happen if I met him again?
Gritting my teeth, the answer came to my mind instantly. There was no need for consideration.
I was going to kill him.
Doubts immediately sprang up, fighting for supremacy. It seemed I barely had the ability to injure him. How could I possibly kill him?
And how could I face him again, knowing the intimacy we'd shared, without descending into a spiraling vortex of fear? The thought of being in the same room with him filled me with revulsion, made me sick to the pit of my stomach.
There was no doubt he had the upper hand. He would use the knowledge of what had happened between us as a weapon against me, I was certain of it.
Knowledge Protects (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 5) Page 9