Rubbing a hand through his hair, he turned phrases for the secret message over and over in his brain. He didn’t even know what to tell their units to look for. Thane paced, his mind knocking around. He chanted the Periodic Table out of habit. Finally, he settled on a set of phrases, used the letter four spots down the way in the alphabet from the proper one, then switched them all to their numbered slots. When he wanted to spell a word that began with C, he used G but wrote 7 because that was G’s position in the alphabet. He held the message firmly in his head as he worked.
They hurt the Seer when I don’t obey.
Hand out vision-inducing gum when I raise both arms.
Water poisoning in city’s poorest area. Send word to Inverness and Glasgow too.
Play along with this ruse.
Soon, we will turn.
That last line threw goosebumps down his arms. What would that turning look like? It wouldn’t be pretty. It would end in death, that much was certain.
Finished with the message, the string of numbers looked like nonsense. Hopefully, this wouldn’t endanger these two much. Thane swallowed, praying his Dream wasn’t turning him into a fool. He still had no idea how that would help the water situation.
“What is your auntie’s name?” Thane held the message out.
The woman leaned forward to take it, but the man’s hand shot out and held her back. “No. This is not what we’re here to do.”
The woman shoved the man’s hand off her shoulder, then grabbed the paper and folded it. “Then you go on out,” she said to her associate, “and I’ll take care of this. You don’t have to be a part of it. I want to help my innocent mother’s sister if I can.”
The man looked from the clothing to Thane to the woman, then hurried out the door in a huff.
“Her name is Meggie.” The woman tucked the coded message down the front of her ample bosom. “Meggie Staunch. They took her just outside Glasgow.” She kissed Thane’s knuckles. “Thank you, Heir. Now, here is your speech. I’ll go ahead and leave and if you need clothing adjustments just ask the guards for me.”
She ducked out the door and left him to it.
The sound of hammering trickled through the building. Nathair’s crews were raising the stage where Thane would wear his Campbell kilt and crown, where he would say what Nathair ordered.
Thane straightened the speech the tailor had given him and began to read. There were notes explaining what would be happening around Thane as he spoke.
King John is a fine king for England. A great king, even. But for Scotland, King John is thief, liar, rapist, and con man in one. He thrashes our factories to produce more only to reap the profits himself, leaving only scraps to our people. With ringed fingers, he rakes through our politics and twists good men like Earl Nathair so they end up hurting those they love.
(release the formula)
Thane crumpled the speech and threw it into the fire. The formula was Bismian. And in high enough amounts, it could kill a child. He glared at the fireplace, the light flickering over his face. He couldn’t go along with this. Not even with the message he’d sent. No way. It was terrible. Families would be dead and he’d be a party to it. Aini too. She wouldn’t want him to do this. No matter what she or he suffered. His hands shook. One move, and innocent children, men, and women died. Another move, and the love of his life died in a long, painful way at the hands of that terrible Jack Shaw.
The door opened. Nathair strode in. “Why aren’t you dressed? Are you prepared to rescue your countrymen from King John’s greedy, fearful hands? To save the common man, the sixth-sensers, and your Seer too?”
Thane whirled to face Nathair. “I’m not doing it.”
Nathair’s face morphed into the very image of hate. He grabbed Thane, gripping flesh through his sleeve, and Thane let himself be dragged out of the room, down the corridor, all the way to a set of windows that looked out on the blackened cobblestones of Mercat Cross.
Looking outside, Thane glared at the gaudy statue of King John atop the old stone structure that marked the place where Edinburgh’s market traditionally took place. He’d changed the thing into a fountain and it was all ridiculous. Like he was some kind of god. Emerging from flowing and gilded robes, the king’s bronze hand reached out like he was chucking wisdom around kindly-old-man-style. Thane shook his head. He knew goats with more wisdom than that curly-headed man.
Nathair released Thane, then switched his phone on. “You’ll need to move into a stronger position,” he said to someone who muttered something back that Thane couldn’t hear.
Nathair tapped the phone against the window ledge. “Why are you always fighting the windfalls that come your way, lad? Listen. I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’m not a good man. You are the good man. Let me raise you up.” Nathair pressed his fists against his own chest, that vein in his forehead throbbing. “I can make you the best ruler this country has ever known. But you need the evil in me to carry out the good in you. Don’t you understand?”
Thane remained silent, simmering and afraid of what that phone call meant. Every inch of him felt exposed, vulnerable to attack. There were no easy choices here and his strategies had struggled under Nathair’s warped logic since day one. He would have to stay sharp. Look for outs. Be vigilante.
“Just stop, Thane Campbell,” he whispered, his voice going quiet and deadly. “Stop that mind spinning and fall into your fate.”
Thane squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out Nathair’s slick words.
Chapter 10
Gallows Humor
The door flew open and a man and woman Aini didn’t recognize poured in. They wore all gray wool and slim, flat caps like Jack Shaw. The mess of these new hires of Nathair’s were beginning to remind her of some sort of bird. Ravens seen through a Scottish fog. Something poetic that they certainly didn’t deserve. Big, fat rats is what she should’ve imagined when she saw them. But no matter how hard she tried, they were sleek, quick-witted ravens and not rats at all. Rats would’ve been easier to deal with somehow.
They untied her and jerked her up. Her bullet wound pulsed and she bit back a hiss of pain. The ghost had healed it, but not completely.
“Where are you taking me?”
Electric sconces lit the corridor’s striped wallpaper and the carpet under Aini’s boots was soft as swollen flesh. The two dragged her through a door, then down a set of wooden stairs that smelled like lemons, but not in a good way. Going through a labyrinth of passageways, they ended up on concrete steps stained with something that could very well have been blood. No one cared to clean this area. Not a great sign, she had to admit. She looked over her shoulder, wishing she could catch a glimpse of the ghost she’d asked to send the message to the rebels. But without the Cone5 taffy, they were as invisible to her as they were to everyone else unless they chose to show themselves and had the strength to do so. She could hear them if they chose to speak, if they had the motivation to say something. Now would be a nice time to hear a word of encouragement.
As Nathair’s ravens—no, rats, she corrected herself—escorted her through a brick wall that wasn’t a brick wall but really a terrible, horrible door, she focused on the idea that maybe even if she couldn’t see the ghosts, she may be able to sense them. Had she felt anything when talking to that sixth-senser ghost? A coldness, yes. What else?
“It’s very difficult to think when you’re pushing me around like this.”
One rat sniffed, a version of a laugh, before throwing her into a cell.
More hidden prisons. Nathair definitely had a solid aesthetic he was building. Rusting cells under beautiful, historic buildings. Well-dressed thugs. A firm grip on his role as Only One Who Knows Best and To Heck With Ethics.
The two began fussing with some ropes on the wall.
“What’s keeping me from just sprinting out of here?”
“There’s another of us on the door we just came through. Plus, Earl Nathair is on his way here and it’s likely you’d r
un straight into the man himself if you did. Go on, though. It’d be entertaining and I, for one, am bored with Edinburgh already.” He said something decidedly rude about tourists.
“I figured as much. What is the story with the ropes?”
Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was desperation. Aini could not muster the right kind of fear right now. She was in a hyped-up sort of panic that produced a humor in her that she wasn’t sure was entirely healthy. They were going to string her up and Nathair would be here in less time than it took to scream, not that anyone would hear her in this concrete tomb.
“Does she ever shut up?” One rat asked the other. This one sounded Glaswegian. The other, Brummie.
Had she said something? She didn’t remember more than that last question she’d asked about the ropes.
“I’ve heard she does when she sleeps and when she is doing her little meditation thing.”
“Meditation thing?” What were they talking about?
“You commune with the ghosts, aye?”
There was really no point in hiding it now. “I do.”
“You’ve been using them to heal you.”
Aini touched her wound. “Yes, I suppose I have.”
“We’re going to put that to use, I think.”
A tiny spot of proper fear began to grow inside Aini’s bizarre and desperate courage. She could almost see it inside her. It was a black mold, a disease set on killing good cells and breeding bad.
“So you know the plan here. Care to share?” Her voice was shaky. She set her jaw to hide its trembling.
But it seemed the rats were finished with their chat.
One pulled an ancient stool close to the five ropes attached to the wall via embedded, metal hooks. “Climb up.”
Seeing no good reason to refuse, she did so.
“Put out one foot.” They secured her right ankle in one of the lower ropes. “Now your hand. No, that one.”
She raised her left fingers, and they looped one of the upper ropes around it. By the time they were finished, both ankles, both wrists, and her neck were encircled by ropes. Most of her weight hung on her ankles, but the pressure on her wrists and the strain of her stomach muscles made the whole thing really very awful. She shifted slightly this way, then that, trying to find a position that didn’t make her feel like she was about to choke to death or come apart at the seams. Her eyes filled with tears, but she would absolutely not, not ever, let them fall.
“You look like rats. Not ravens. Just so you know,” she choked out.
The two looked at her like she was a madwoman. Madness was better than misery, right?
The secret door groaned and slid open, raising dust she hadn’t noticed on her way in.
Nathair had that stupid smirk on his face. She’d never hated a facial expression more in all of her life. His clothes were ironed and smart, Campbell tartan everywhere. And he—
Thane walked in behind him.
Aini’s heart stuttered, and she clamped down on showing any kind of discomfort. Nathair was using her to control him. She wouldn’t make it more difficult on Thane if she could help it. What was the solution here though? Keep on being tough and getting hurt and Thane does what Nathair orders? She had to get out of here. To remove herself as the tool of control. But how. How. How. How.
They were talking but it was white noise in her ears. Shock, she guessed. Or severe stress. Then a voice spoke into her ear, clear and sure.
“I’m here, Seer. I will ease your strain.” It was the sixth-senser ghost that had healed her.
Hope burned the disease of fear out of Aini’s middle. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing the kind spirit was there and it sounded like she’d brought friends.
Aini and Thane weren’t alone.
And that was enough for now.
She breathed deeply as a warmth suffused her tight joints and straining muscles, as her own weight lifted a fraction off the ropes.
Spirits were lifting her—not a lot, but enough to help her breathe, to make it through this moment.
“Thank you,” she whispered again. Then she realized she’d only thought the words instead of saying them aloud.
Thane’s gaze on her held so much. A wish for a future. An apology he didn’t need to give. Pain. Terror. Love. His face blurred.
“I’m fine.” This time she was fairly certain she’d said the words aloud.
Chapter 11
Spilling Blood
“I can’t do it, Nathair. I won’t. Aini wouldn’t want me to. I’m not going to get onto a stage and put on some show while you poison Edinburgh.” Seething and raw from worrying about Aini, Thane stood beside Nathair, outside the front doors of the Signet Library.
Workers crawled over Mercat Cross, carrying pine boards and hammers. The stage would be ready too soon.
Nathair nodded, face reddening. “Let’s go check on your Seer, shall we?” he whispered. “A surprise peek on what my man has been up to.”
Thane struggled against his emotions and kept his words monotone. “Fine. But why are you leading me downstairs?”
“Oh, I had her moved. I suppose I forgot to tell you. My apologies, your Highness.”
“Stop. I’m not the king.”
“You are in all but ceremony. King of Scotland. It is a mighty thing.”
Thane wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of rising to the tease. Of course it wasn’t a mighty thing. Not the way Nathair had it set up. Nathair would be mighty. The new Scotland would be even worse with him in power.
The carpeted hallways gave way to concrete steps leading to what looked like a solid, brick wall. Nathair slipped his fingers into a crack hidden where the facing wall met the side wall. He pressed three buttons Thane knew very well were there and a grinding noise sounded from behind the wall. The brick barrier swung back slowly, dust rising in small plumes as they entered the hidden cells that had held sixth-sensers for years.
Thane’s mind screamed Why is Aini down here? What have you done with her? But he bit his questions back and followed Nathair quietly.
The first five cells were empty.
The sixth held Aini.
Thane froze. Thick ropes screwed into the walls secured Aini’s wrists, ankles, and neck. She was spread out like a dissection subject, her boots three feet off the floor. Her hair hung lank against her cheeks and her jacket was ripped down the left side, exposing the spot where she’d been shot. But there was no bandage. No blood. Somehow her bullet wound had already healed. Impossible.
Her eyes found his, and a rush of love and fear crashed over him like beautiful, deadly, unstoppable ocean waves.
“I’m fine.” Aini’s voice was a rasp. She licked her cracked lips, blackened blood making lines down her chin. “I have my own power here.” His brave Seer grinned then. Grinned like a poker player holding a secret Ace. Her gaze swiveled to the corner of her cell, but Thane couldn’t see anything. Then Aini made a noise, a little moan of pain as she adjusted herself in her bindings.
Thane saw red. Suddenly he was on Nathair, arm circling and choking. He’d used this move consistently since his fourth job when he was only a kid still. Was it irony that Nathair had taught him this very technique? Thane wasn’t sure. Irony was a slippery thing. Maybe it was predestined or darkly humorous. Thane gritted his teeth and held on, feeling like he was in danger of dying too. Death never shifted more than a few steps away these days.
“You promised you would leave her alone if I came with you willingly,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Nathair must’ve recognized the quiet fury that had come over Thane because he didn’t call out for help to the men who were surely just a room away. “You swore to me,” Thane whispered. “I don’t know why I hoped, why I thought you would keep a promise.”
Nathair’s skin was red and splotchy. Only another second or two and he’d be out. Then, if Thane held on past the point of unconsciousness, Nathair would be dead. Could he kill his own father? It wasn’t a choice. He had to. He strengthene
d his grip, his own heart stuttering and crying out that this was wrong.
Nathair’s men streamed from a side room and took hold of Thane with expert hands. Nathair dragged a breath in and braced himself on his knees. He croaked something that sounded like “son” but Thane ignored it.
Heaving and sweating, Thane fought them. “You have stripped the Campbell name of all honor and it will take more than terror to win the people to our cause. You have ruined it all.”
He swallowed the pain in his throat, then ignored everyone but Aini. Every clever thought, every strategy fled his mind. He simply echoed what his heart said with each beat.
“I love you, Aini MacGregor.” She smiled for him, and he knew very well it took a Herculean attempt to accomplish it. “I will do everything in my power to set you free.”
With the men holding Thane, Nathair wiped blood from his lip and rubbed his throat. Swallowing, he opened the cell’s lock with a massive skeleton key. He stared up at Aini.
“If I thought for a moment you would come to your senses and support your Heir and his father here,” Nathair said to Aini, “I’d free you myself. We would win against King John easily. We’re only asking for Scotland. With you and your command of the spirits and Thane’s power to raise the best of them, we’d win in a minute. But no.”
Nathair ran a hand over the red-gold stubble on his chin and Thane hated the fact that he knew what that stubble felt like on his cheek and how as a child he had longed for hugs from this beast of a man.
Senga’s face blinked through Thane’s mind. What did she know? Had the rebels informed her of everything so far? Did they even know Aini had been shot? What were they planning?
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