“Harris.” I try to enunciate clearly all the letters I can. “Murder my parents?”
“Ah...”
He grabs my hand. I flinch at his touch. I’m not sure why. Just a person’s touch in general, I suppose. Ellia has done this to me.
“No. He didn’t.”
I raise my eyes to his. He’s always been honest. Even when we were children, he would speak only what he knew or felt. Is there honesty in those eyes now? He’s the same Elder. Soft, curious and…honest.
“He’s not the villain, Jay. And Ellia…I know there must be a lot of animosity there, but you must remember she is a product of her own experiences. Empty as she may seem, there is a sliver of good nature in her. There will be a day she lets it shine. Maybe not this season or the next, but she will shine.”
Or from Ellia’s perspective, she’ll cast one dark shadow. I don’t doubt it. The question is, how far will it reach? Suddenly uncomfortable, I shift in my seat.
“He’s here, Jay.”
I look over my shoulder, tense beyond control. “Who? The Taoiseach?” These noises that escape my mouth are going to drive me mad. They’re not words, but somehow, Elder understands me.
Elder chuckles at me. “No. Your brother. Stone. He’s in the city.”
“What?” A sudden warmth and excitement fills me, but I quickly shove those emotions down and collect my composure. Just as Ellia has been training me to do. But she would have lashed me for that one. “He is?” I react more languidly. “You’ve seen him?”
Elder nods. “He’s been loitering about the Academy. I’m not sure if he’s enrolled or not.” He looks out the window and leans in, almost pressing his forehead to the glass. His finger does press against it as he points at something. “Just out there. There’s a hill. I’ve seen him there a few times, only briefly though. He sits and stares at the estate. Wondering how to gain access, no doubt.”
“You can see him sitting on a hill from here?” I ridicule his claim.
Elder chuckles again. “Of course not. I walk the wall almost daily. It’s rather high and still a distance to see, but it’s certainly him. I wouldn’t mistake my best mate. Four seasons might turn a boy into a man, but it can’t change a person. It was Stone.”
“Stone? You’re certain? For all he knows, I’m dead in the Scarlet. And there’s no chance he’d come after the Taoiseach. His chicken legs would have him in the Blood Plains before he came here.” I study Elder for a moment. He’s not one to make false claims. “Have you talked to him? How long as he been here?”
“Sorry.” He raises a hand to his forehead and brushes it through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “You’re going to have to slow down for me to grasp all that.”
“Have you talked to him?” I repeat as clearly as my nub allows.
“Ah…I’ve tried. He doesn’t spend much time there. Yelling from the wall would be useless, and by the time I get to the hilltop, he’s always gone. He’s in a rush to get somewhere, which leads me to speculate his attendance at the Academy.” Elder pulls back from the window and interlocks his fingers together, placing them on his lap. “He searches for something, Jay. I have no doubt it’s you.” He stares at me earnestly. “You have a choice to make. Nobody is keeping you captive.”
You’re damn right Nobody is keeping me captive. “If I try to escape, she’ll give me a more severe punishment than this.” I stick out my nub of a tongue. “And she chopped off my hand a couple months ago. Thanks to the Taoiseach, I got that back. But she’s no featherweight when it comes to discipline.”
Elder shakes his head at me with blank eyes and a shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry. Stick to simple words,” he suggests.
“Fug…c…ck.” How does somebody communicate without a tongue? Even the best four-letter curse isn’t available to me. A word that speaks anger, sadness, humor. It emphasizes all emotion, and I can’t even say it properly. “Fug…”
“Hey!” Elder’s eyes light up. “Sasha can help you. She navigates all around this estate doing her duties, lending a hand where needed without a problem. And she doesn’t speak. Maybe she can give you a few pointers.”
Except I tried to murder all the handmaids. Not really, but they have no incentive to help me with the way I’ve treated them. “Yeah, maybe.”
The door to my chamber creaks open. Ellia, with an outfit befitting a whore, steps in wearing a revealing silk gown with black lace and knee-high boots. And for the first time she isn’t wearing an eye patch or band of some kind. Instead, her hair is done in a way that drapes over her dominant eye. She looks beautiful, but it’s apparent what her intentions are. She’s going out for the evening.
“What’s this? The two of you sitting in silence together. Or have you tamed her into being a good listener, Elder?”
I glance at her but look away when she makes eye contact. I haven’t spoken to her since she cut off my tongue. For reasons beside the obvious.
“Jaymes is a fantastic listener. She always has been.” He turns to face me. “It may be her choices that lead you to believe otherwise. She has a hard time taking the easy path, I think. Always making life a struggle when it needn’t be.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ellia replies.
“Did you need something?” Elder rises and strolls over to her.
“Nah. Just making sure the pupil is where she needs to be.” She glances at me again before turning her full attention to Elder. The two step out into the hall together and leave me be. Alone.
I don’t belong here. Even Elder sides with the tyrant. I got so caught up in becoming my own person I was willing to choose the darkest path to get there. And I’ve forgotten all about Stone. But he’s here. In the city. He’s within my grasp. All I need to do is make the right choice. I can choose an easier life. I don’t have to follow Ellia into Susy’s four hells. I can follow Stone, and we can go back into hiding.
The path is just as it was before Ellia destroyed it with her rot. But it’s closed in. There’s no passageway. It’s as it was before she placed her hand on the wall to open it up. I just need to find out where to place my hand, and I’ll be free of this estate. Free of the Taoiseach. Free of his Shadow. I revel in the idea of meeting up with my brother again. It puts a smile on my face.
The Taoiseach keeps his grounds dark and full of gloom. And his lack of guards is astonishing. With Cerise still hiding behind the horizon, the shadows have me well concealed and offer plenty of time to figure this out.
Unsure where the lever or button is, I put my palm flat against the wall. Dark roots intertwine around my fingers. I try to pull away, but it’s too tight. It won’t let go. The harder I pull, the tighter they grip. I tear at the roots with my other hand, and more dark vines curl around that hand too. They coil up my arms, pulling me into the wall ever so slowly. I plant my feet into the grass and tug, but it’s useless. The vines are too strong. I press a foot against the wall, which is a mistake. My foot is entangled. I’m trapped.
Or am I? I’m continuously told how my potential is great. Time to put it to the test.
The rot escapes into the redwood roots. I throw my bodyweight backward away from the wall, and my hands pull free. It’s what I imagine it to feel like if I were to pull myself free from a tub of pudding. My arms slide from the death grip with little tension holding on. I fall on my back with an angry twist in my leg. It’s not broken, just turned. The rot didn’t expand to where my foot is planted. It remains stuck.
Angry at the oversight, I heave my body forward. I want to let out an ugly holler, but I refrain. Silence is vital.
I place both hands on the wall, allowing my energy to pulse through my veins, down my arms, and into my fingertips before it explodes into the wall. The rot spreads rampantly. I claw at it, digging the rot away. My leg is free, but I continue hacking. Rotting, tearing out the sinew of the impenetrable redwood wall the Taoiseach has built for himself.
It’s thick. But not too thick for me. I emerge on the other side and fall forward into
the grass once I realize I’m free. Heavy breathing and fatigue follow. I close my eyes. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m exhausted. I must close them. Even if only for a bit.
My eyelids flutter open. Cerise has yet to shed her crimson glow amidst the sparkling sky. The stars are like pinholes in a coffin as my defeated body awaits its burial. The stench of rot jackets me. My nose wrinkles at the smell.
Susy’s four hells! It’s dark! I jump to my feet and run.
Where to, I don’t know. It’ll be dumb luck to find Stone this time of night.
Sticking close to the shadows of the wall, but not too close to get sucked in, I flee. I check the vicinity where Elder pointed. There are multiple hills outside the Martelli Manor. I don’t know which is which, so I run past all of them, silently in the night, keeping my eyes peeled for my brother. But I only see vagrants looming about their makeshift abodes.
Where could he be?
Unfamiliar with where the Academy campus begins and ends, I work my way over the hill and toward a cluster of buildings, hoping they’re part of the Academy. But why would Stone be attending the school? It’s controlled by the Taoiseach. I shrug off the silly thought. It’s the only lead I have, so I stick to it.
I pass by the tallest of buildings in the area. It appears to be held up by ancient redwoods. A building from the Old Races, perhaps? Sticking to the shadows and keeping light on my feet, which isn’t a challenge anymore, I dodge in between buildings. Tall, grey stone towers over me. All the buildings have similar features in this area. This must be campus. But where could Stone be? This is a hopeless effort. Sure, the potential of my talent is impeccable, but what good does it do me in a world alone? Where are you, Stone?
I plop down under a tree. There is a fancy estate in the distance and a perfume in the air. I can’t see what type of flower nor does my nose know the difference between such frivolous things, but there are certainly flowers blooming near me. A large garden of flowers with how strong the aroma is. Not a bad place to sulk in my failure. Better than the stench of Tombtrough.
The campus is quiet. Only the sound of the nightlife is present, which is abysmal amidst the city. Only the wind moves about, dancing on the air, careless about the world around it. Even the crickets are asleep.
Then I hear a distant chuckle. Maintaining my soft feet, I sweep closer to the sound. A girl’s voice speaks with delicacy and assertive words. Sweet, yet demanding. It’s coming from inside the small cottage I huddle against. I’d brush it off as just a girl, but it sounds like Astor, so I press tight against the wall and listen. I never did get an opportunity to hear her side of the story. Why she’s here. How she’s involved with the Taoiseach. Whether her words lead me to Stone or not is irrelevant. Anything I can learn about that deviant bitch ought to benefit me. For all I know, she was in it from the beginning. She was the mastermind that wooed us into submission and secured the mark until the assassin was ready to take aim. Except Ellia did worse than kill me. She captured me and dragged me deep within the darkest shadows. She pulled me into Susy’s four hells. And by the end of our journey, I was freely marching behind her. No. I’m wrong. It wasn’t Astor. It wasn’t Ellia. This was all my choice. I chose the shadows. I had choices the entire way. Nobody is holding me captive.
I lower myself into a squatting position, sulking in the misery of what’s become my life. Then, I hear a man’s voice. Not any man, that’s Stone.
I rise and peer through the corner of a window, keeping low. Astor and Stone banter back and forth. He’s flirting with the enemy. Having a grand time. She has a text in her hand, but she giggles and smiles and holds an awfully close space between them. And he inches closer, enjoying every moment of it. Has he forgotten all about me? He already has a new life. A life with Astor. A life at the Academy. He has no concerns of me whatsoever.
I move to break the glass out of anger. But my training has begun to establish its roots, and I pull back. Ellia would cringe at allowing such emotions to run rampant. Ellia cares how I behave. She tries to make me a better person. Stone… Stone only tries to sweep me away and make me nonexistent. Ellia attempts to put me on a pedestal but knows standing up there will be my doom if she doesn’t prep me for it. Ellia cares about me.
She’s in the city now. I may still have time to catch up with her. Assist her in whatever mission she’s to carry out tonight.
I take to the shadows once more.
The Taoiseach is all too predictable. He betrays the faith, claiming to be all powerful. Invincible even. Impossible. The faith must rise against, but first, the knowledge must be lost. With reluctance, I will let his lust for death take its course until it is no longer useful.
35 Ellia
M y skin is damp from the soft serein falling from the twilit sky. Cerise has not yet welcomed the evening goers with her ambience, allowing the first stars to appear earlier than usual. It will be a dark night. A perfect night.
An evening with the gentlemen of The Jack Rose calls for a revealing outfit. I step through the ungreased door of the less-than-credible lounge, donning a midnight-red, silk-ribbon gown, accompanied by black-lace, knee-high boots and my most charming eye patch, a tuft of bangs. These are the only arms I’ll require to satisfy my lust tonight.
The Jack Rose is boisterous, and the night is still young. The fruits are ripe for the picking. It will be like choosing which prime cut to take from the butcher block. Except I rarely take only one. The choice will be in which bite to take first.
I let the door slam behind me. It’s comical how easy it is to manipulate men. Every eye in the pub gazes in my direction. The men have made their choice. Some of the women too. Those not ogling eye me with distaste. The barkeep winks at me. I would wink in return, but it wouldn’t do much good. I nod.
I mustn’t leave any eyewitnesses, or Jack and his venue will gain a reputation. Our agreement is that I leave him out of it. He doesn’t want to see it, and nothing is left behind. He knows his venue attracts some of the lowest scum, and he has accepted that I’m going to clean up what I feel necessary. New scum always seems to replace the old, so it hasn’t affected business. Beyond that, I may gain a reputation. And I don’t know of any Shadows that have a reputation. No. I must stick to the cracks and crevasses of the world, unseen by most and shrouding the rest until their eyes go blind. I mustn’t leave any witnesses.
The alcoholics go back to their ales, the wenches back to their customers, and the cocks continue to gaze. Even more so, the ones that have already been warmed by one of the nasty wenches.
I strut toward the bar and take a seat on the closest empty wooden stool. Jack approaches. “What will it be?” He’s not interested in my company, but he won’t leave me dry.
“Whiskey. Dirty.”
“Now that’s my kind a gal,” exclaims the inebriated man sitting at my side.
Low-hanging fruit. He goes by Philemon Mossback at the market during the day. In the cracks and crevasses where I prey, he is a slave trader by the name Vise. Might as well start here.
“I’m nobody’s gal.” I turn a heavy shoulder to him.
“M-my apologies, young lady. I-I meant no disrespect. I was merely complimenting your choice of beverage. That’s all.”
How could a man lacking anything reminiscent of a man put himself in such a formidable position of power?
“Apology accepted.” I take his mug from him then open my throat and let it flow.
“Like I said the first time. You’re my kind a gal… uh… I mean, lady.”
He continues to chatter. Not really interested in what he has to say, I nod my head and smile from time to time. A man drowning in his own sorrows has much to say he wouldn’t otherwise, so there is no need to engage myself in the conversation to keep him on the hook.
Jack returns shortly thereafter with my whiskey. And so, the evening iniquities begin.
“I like you.” I caress Vise’s thigh. A simple comment and a simple gesture are all it takes to lead this naïve, frail man to
his death. I force my hand onto his groin and squeeze. Petite, naïve, and frail. I lean in and whisper into his ear. “Follow me. Wait a few clicks after I’m out of sight, then follow. I have a reputation to uphold.” I snap to my feet and exit out the back door into the alley. I make no eye contact or give any notion I’m about to violently seduce this man. I don’t even bother making sure he will follow. He’s a man. He’ll follow.
I walk a short distance down the dark alley. The only light reaching into the shadows is the mild red ambience of Cerise deciding to show her face. Enough that he’ll see my silhouette. And just enough that not a soul will see anything more. Not a soul except the hooded figure creeping at the end of the alley. I’ll let her watch.
A moment passes, and the door swings open. Out steps the stocky, balding slave trader in his dull-brown, snug-fitting evening attire. A sloppy mess of a man. He stumbles, and ale cascades over the brim of his tumbler. I give a subtle whistle. He looks in the opposite direction, then turns to look down the dark alley. It takes him a moment, but he spots me.
I drape my arm around him as he approaches and lock a leg around his thigh, pulling him in tight. He’s not worth fucking. The next one maybe. I swipe my kukri from my boot and shove it upward through his neck, into his brain. I snatch the tumbler from his grip and let him fall to the ground. I finish its contents and smash it on the ground beside him. Drunken fool.
I don’t bother wiping up the evidence just yet. I stare into the darkness of the alley and press my finger to my lips, “Shh.” I fluff my bangs to ensure they obscure my telling eye, then, after cleaning and concealing my blade, I return through the back door of The Jack Rose.
Jack sees me return and forces his sight on the tumblers he’s washing. He’s repulsed, but a part of him approves of what I do, so he turns his cheek. And he doesn’t speak a word of it for he knows it will dampen his establishment’s reputation. Instead, men come and go. Men who dwell in the cracks often disappear, so it is nothing to raise an alarm.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 44