“Nevie? See what?” Had they lost their heads?
Myles blinked.
“Aye. I did see that.” Neve touched Aini’s arm like it might burn her. “You had this light around you.” She squinted. “Maybe it was my imagination. I could’ve sworn though…”
Aini frowned. “Like an aura? Thane has one. I can see it all the time now.”
“The…aura is gone, but yes, maybe?” Neve shook her head and rubbed her red eyes.
“We are close, you and me,” Myles said to Neve, “but we don’t share an imagination. That just happened, lady. That. Just. Happened.” He wiggled his fingers around Aini’s shoulders and head. “But you look normal now.”
Aini adjusted the brooch and the knife. “Gee. Thanks.”
Neve raised Aini’s chin with a finger. “You look exactly as you should.”
Myles knocked a fist against his pocket. There was something solid sounding hiding inside. “I have my chocolate. And a pair of lovely brass knuckles Bran gave me.”
“Ah.” Aini was glad those two were getting along.
“Won’t your candies melt in there?” Neve asked.
Myles shrugged. “I think they’ll work more quickly when they’re halfway to melted.”
Aini led them through the disturbingly quiet house. “Could be.”
The morning sun speared the lush carpets and dark wood furnishings of the house with a blade of bright white. The light hurt her eyes and she squinted, her head aching. Dread was a constant companion now. She remembered this room filled with Dionadair rebels, and Campbells and their kin too. They had sworn allegiance to Thane as the new chieftain of Clan Campbell and rightful heir to the forgotten Scottish throne. The men and women had shown they believed in Aini—Seer for the Heir, Macbeth’s chosen, the one who would command the ghost kings as they upheld the curse and protected Thane, the Heir. A sense of joy and triumphed had suffused this room then. But that was before Nathair, Thane’s father, had crept in and stolen Thane away. Now, there was no joy. Only fear. And that terrible dread. Every second since Nathair had taken Thane, Aini worried the phone would ring and it would be news of Thane’s death. That she would lose him forever.
“I have a good feeling about it,” Myles said, though his face showed that his words were a lie. Pale and jittery, he seemed as scared as Aini. “And y’all, I am so ready to smash some baddies’ heads.” He grinned like a maniac and cracked his knuckles.
Neve nodded. “Me too.”
Aini’s mind spun, bits of their plan rising to the top of the whirlpool. “All right. I’m headed to the holding area. I’ll meet you out front when we’re finished.”
“You’re sure you don’t want us to come along?” Neve asked.
“No, but thank you. I need you to make sure the vehicles are prepared and that the talk out there is…what we need it to be.”
The mix of Campbells, Dionadair, and people from all over Scotland was spicy to say the least. Little arguments kept breaking out over which routes to take to Edinburgh, how loyal they were to the Heir and the Seer and Scotland itself.
“They just like to hear themselves talk.” Myles looked toward the front door. “Once we get moving, it’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“He is.” Neve hugged Aini. “Don’t let those traitors in those cells down there make you feel bad, Aini. They deserve death and you’re kind enough to give them a chance to live.”
“Yeah, don’t let them B.S. you, love,” Myles said.
“I’m well past being snowed. Don’t worry,” Aini said, feeling the truth of it. She was a leaner, meaner version of herself too. She wasn’t going to take any mind trips with the men who wanted Thane and everyone she loved under Nathair’s and the king’s nasty thumbs. Not a chance.
Myles saluted her and Neve handed over a small flashlight—a torch.
Before they could say another word, Aini was tugging back the tapestry in the house’s green room to reveal a secondary entrance to the secret room of cages under Inveraray Castle. Another passageway went from there to Thane’s bedroom, but she and Bran had blocked that with a heavy trunk before she’d gone to sleep last night. Not that she’d slept at all.
The passageway wasn’t lit, so Aini flipped the switch on Neve’s torch. Warped wooden stairs wound through the darkness. They flattened out, then dropped again, now even steeper. Muffled voices rose from the distance—Bran’s low rumble, Callum’s raspy answer, then a shout.
The passageway opened into a stone-walled room. Three sconces flickered, orange and white. Under each sconce, a cage stood, a cage just like the ones the king used for sixth-sensers. Aini gripped the doorframe, head spinning. Nathair’s men scowled, two in one cage together, the other on his own beside Callum.
“They won’t talk. Not a surprise.” Bran was decked out in black kingsman boots and a sling of grenades. He stood beside two converted Campbells Aini had seen talking with Senga yesterday. “Would you like to have a go at it?”
Aini steeled herself. “I would.”
She walked slowly toward Nathair’s men, studying them. One wore a flat cap, a nasty smirk, and a freshly black eye—most likely courtesy of Bran’s fist. The other two men were short and brawny. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they were brothers.
“So Nathair gathered you up from where exactly?”
The first man’s smirk broadened into a full smile. “Buckingham Palace, my lady Seer.” He curtseyed and his cohorts chuckled.
“I thought so,” she said. “You have the look of royalty. Just like me.” She raised an eyebrow.
Surprised, the men barked a laugh. The Smirker came closer to the bars of his cage. “Yeah I don’t think they’ll like you running the show up here in Scotland, even if you do win this thing. Which you won’t.”
“They?”
“The Scottish nobility.”
Aini looked down her nose at him. “I’ve had plenty of clients in those circles. They are just like you and me. Some good. Others, not so much.”
He brushed his lapels off dramatically like some nobleman’s son. “Oh sure. They’ll definitely support the candymaker’s daughter in her quest to rule the country.”
One of the brawny ones snorted.
“I’m not going to rule anything. Thane is the Heir. Not me. And he’ll give power to the people. He doesn’t want it for himself like Nathair does.”
“Good thing he’s nice,” the Smirker said, “nice folk always come out on top.”
Anger crawled up Aini’s chest. “Bran, do you have any more of those brass knuckles like you gave Myles?”
“Sorry, but I could get you some.”
“No. I have something I can use.”
The Smirker rolled his eyes like her threat was empty.
It wasn’t.
Aini unsheathed Macbeth’s knife. “Bran, would you mind opening that man’s cage? I think we need to give him some motivation towards being cooperative.”
Bran made a grand show of pulling a piece of molded brass from his pocket and fitting it onto his right hand before opening the cage’s lock. He gripped the Smirker’s sleeve and pulled him out. Shoving the man quickly against the cage, he pressed the brass into his throat. “Watch yourself, man.”
Aini still felt lightheaded. This all seemed like a terrible dream. But this had to be done. A little blood was fine if it helped her find and free Thane.
She set the tip of the knife under the Smirker’s eye and let the steel nip the skin. A tiny drop of blood rose to the surface. Aini fought her nausea down and set her jaw. Once she had herself in check, she looked into his face, using all the rage inside her to make her determination clear.
“I don’t like doing this and I’m sure, as a man of violence, you are aware. You see my reluctance as a weakness, perhaps. I know it to be a strength. A horrible strength like a wild stallion, reckless and untamable. I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone. But I will, and I doubt I’ll have the measured control over my actions li
ke a seasoned monster such as yourself. Once I begin hurting you, I will be overwhelmed and I might not know when to stop. I plan to start with your eye in exactly ten seconds unless you tell me where Nathair took Thane. And don’t tell me Edinburgh because I already know that. I want the building, the room, the set up. Ten, nine, eight, seven…”
Aini’s heart knocked loudly against her eardrums. Sweat broke over her palms and back. She was going to have to cut this man’s eye out. What was she thinking? She couldn’t do that. Could she?
She glanced at Bran. He was staring at her with a strange look on his face, a blend of sadness and respect.
“Zero.”
Aini tilted the knife’s edge and drew a shallow circle around the Smirker’s eye. He jerked and gritted his teeth, spittle showing at the sides of his mouth.
“Go on,” he said. “Do it. Nathair will do worse if I talk.”
Nausea flooded Aini’s senses as the blood seeped down his face. She stepped back, panting. It wasn’t deep, but it was still ugly. “Lock him back up, please, Bran. He is no help to us.” She sheathed Macbeth’s blade and walked on shaking legs to Callum’s cage.
Callum wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Feeling a wee bit guilty?” Aini pinned him down with a stare.
He did look at her then. Anger flashed through his pupils. “I am not. I just…I don’t enjoy making such choices. I do love him, you know.”
“You love Thane? The man you threw to the wolves? I find that very difficult to believe.” Callum started to say something else, but Aini ignored him. “Do you have any paper down here, Bran?” she asked.
He lifted up a stack of paper and a pen. “I have some here to write directions for these men.” He indicated the two Campbells beside him.
Aini faced Callum. “Earl, I need you to write a missive to your men. Tell them to continue the fight and back us as we move to rescue the Heir.”
“You know I can’t do that. Nathair will destroy Perthshire if he finds out.”
“I’ll order it destroyed right now if you don’t.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She held a hand out, jerking her chin at Bran’s walkie talkie. He gave it to her and she clicked the side button. “Vera.”
“Here, my Seer.”
“Please send twenty men with the green box of extra explosives to Perthshire to wreck some havoc. I want water lines, electricity, and main roads torn to shreds. Please tell them to wait until after midnight to minimize injuries and death.”
“Affirmative.”
Callum gripped the metal bars of his cage. “You won’t do it.”
“I just did. This is war, and though I’m not the unfeeling beast Nathair is, and I refuse to hurt when I don’t have to, I will rain down vengeance on those who don’t support us.” Aini handed the talkie back to Bran. “I think it’s time to leave.”
“Fine. Fine!” Callum reached a hand through the bars. “I’ll write the missive.”
Bran handed the man pen and paper.
“Be sure to say you’ll join us as soon as you finish the task you’re working on now. And instruct your men here not to ask about this covert operation. It’s too bad, Callum. Instead of rotting in a cage, you could’ve been doing some good yourself.”
“I hope you’re as right as you think you are, lass.” Callum’s voice dipped as he shook his head slowly and handed the completed letter over to Bran.
Bran pocketed the missive, then handed another piece of paper to the two Campbells guarding the cages. “These are the contact numbers you’ll need, lads. Keep to the directions concerning our prisoners, please.”
The two nodded, then Bran joined Aini in the passageway.
“They’ll have Thane in the upper rooms, just down from Nathair’s office.” Bran switched on his own torch and the golden light spread over the ancient, stone walls. “I’ll show you on a map.”
Nodding, Aini flipped Neve’s flashlight on—torch, she reminded herself, knowing she still sounded colonial when she wasn’t paying attention—and led him away from the secret room as quickly as her feet could carry her. Callum’s words bit into her confidence, gnawing the corners off. She needed to see everyone gathered out front and primed to go into Edinburgh as a unified force.
At the front of the crowd of vehicles, Vera wore two guns next to her pouch of cherry drops and Bismian, one pocket pistol and a larger piece for longer distances. Aini wasn’t the best with shooting—practice last night at the Inveraray range had proved the fact once again—so she’d stick with commanding ghosts as the situation demanded.
“Seer!” Vera raised her arms and crossed her thumbs, the group echoing the motion. Even the Campbells and their kin—Thane’s mother Senga, the perpetually antagonistic Sorley Menzies, questioning yet loyal Hawes, all of them—joined in.
Callum’s needling words faded from Aini’s mind and she gave the rebels a fierce smile.
“We don’t know our Heir’s exact location, but Bran has given us a good guess. You have your orders. We will see this through. Our Heir will be free to fight by sunrise tomorrow!”
The gathering shouted, cheering her on, as she climbed into a lorry with Bran, Myles, Vera, and Neve. Each of her friends nodded, determination shining in their eyes. With Bran already unfolding a map of the Signet Library and the surrounding government buildings that had belonged to the now defunct Parliament, Aini started the engine and began the journey to take back Thane.
Chapter 2
A New Kind of Devil
Thane raised his chin and tried not to show the defeat he felt in his heart.
Nathair laughed, pushed past the guard at the door, and dragged Thane into his office inside the Signet Library in Edinburgh. The guard followed them, one hand on his gun.
“So your darling fool is on her way here.” Nathair chuckled. “Did you know she would follow us?”
It was like a punch to the stomach. Thane bent at the waist and glared. He was afraid she would, but prayed she wouldn’t. “Your source could be misleading you. With Callum defecting to your side, the group will be cracked into at least three different pieces. There’s no way they’ll pull together again.” Unless Aini decided on going forward. That woman could organize the world into submission. His heart contracted, and he grabbed his shirt, the pain of losing her very, very real.
The feeling grew electric—piercing and distinct—and became less about pain and more about longing. The sensation buzzed through his chest and somehow he knew Aini was thinking about him. He touched the back of his knee where he somehow felt the brush of her silky fingertips. The scent of her filled his nose.
“Aini,” he whispered.
Shivers ran down the length of his body.
Nathair, not noticing Thane’s odd behavior, poured some whisky into a crystal glass and downed it. He didn’t used to drink like that, Thane thought.
“I am surprised they’re so quick to move,” Nathair said. “You’re the Heir, after all.” His voice held an odd tone.
Thane shook off the sensation of Aini’s presence, straightened, and poured himself a glass, deciding to drive right into this mess just to see if he could shake Nathair up at all.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m gone. Aini is their leader. If she decides to do it, she will rule this thing whether I’m around or not. You took the wrong one, Nathair. She is the power in the rebellion.” He forced himself to laugh, loud and strong. “What I can’t understand is your reaction to what happened on Bass Rock. I made the stone roar. Your own son. You must have heard about it from someone. Somehow. You always believed the old stories. Why can’t you accept that fate chose me? I am your blood.” The whisky burned its way down his throat just as his words did.
Nathair looked out the window, strangely still. “I do believe. I do accept it. You are the Heir. You are going to rule Scotland. If we can beat the king. If you can make the right choices.”
“Ah.” Thane finished his drink and set his glass down, banging the desk and near
ly shattering the thing. “There’s the rub, aye? The right choices will be your choices, won’t they? And how will you get me to behave and be your puppet? I won’t do it to please you. I certainly won’t do it to save my own skin.” Anger surged through him. He longed to jump onto Nathair’s back and break the man’s neck with one strong snap.
An ugly grin pulled at Nathair’s mouth. “Don’t worry, son. I have a plan to rectify that situation. And our Seer is playing along nicely.”
Nathair had sworn to leave her alone. Why had Thane believed him? Why did he always believe him, over and over and over and over and over?
He shoved his palm against the back of Nathair’s head and he slipped to the carpet. The guard jumped on Thane and pressed the metal of gun barrel against his temple.
Thane grabbed the barrel and pulled it against his forehead. “Just shoot. Do it.”
Fire lashed across Thane’s shoulder. Nathair had cut him and was drawing his knife back again for another strike. Blood poured from a gaping wound on Thane’s right arm. He blinked as the room tilted.
“Get him sewn up and put him in his room,” Nathair said to the guard.
Stars flickered over Thane’s vision and he allowed the guard to steer him away. His brain didn’t want to work. He was bleeding so much. Too much.
His worries flipped over one another like devils playing in the flames of his pain. Aini. Coming here. Nathair’s plan. What was it? How was he going to get Thane to do as he wished? Thane knew exactly how. He was going to hurt Aini every time Thane did something Nathair didn’t like. Somehow, he had to get word to Aini that this was all a grand trap and they could not come to Edinburgh, no matter what.
Before he could think of any possible way to accomplish that feat, the guard was shoving him into a plastic chair and another man was injecting his arm with numbing solution.
Ten neat stitches later, Thane lay in a fine room down the way from Nathair’s office with a tube of fluids feeding him. He jerked the tube out of his arm and pressed the spot to stop the bleeding.
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 45