“We can’t just leave him!”
Talon bends to make his eyes level with mine. “We’ll find a way. But right now we need to leave.” He tows me behind him to the center of the city, and I have too much sense to argue.
The streets of Valadir are vacant. It’s unnatural how quiet everything is. I wonder if any citizens are left, or if they’ve all been evacuated like the refugees we saw when we came in. On the plus side, no one’s there to notice Talon and me running between them, darting around the buildings that climb into the blue sky. It’s a strange sight—the tallest building in Cadehtraen is the pre-col school’s auditorium.
The buildings break away and scatter for a river of asphalt serving as a parking lot before three massive, nearly identical castle-like structures. The center building is taller than the others and has a vast balcony among its battlements. Crowds flow through the lot, walking along the various booths that are set up like a marketplace. Oddly enough, the humans at the venues hold blank expressions. The city must not be completely evacuated after all.
“What is that?” I ask, pulling at Talon’s grip. He consents and slows enough to answer my question.
“The Triad Palace. It’s where the Arcs are based. Tyrus lives there.”
It’s a magnificent building, with its towering columns and intricate architecture. The Triad Palace. Where wizards once ruled. I want to stop and stare, but Talon insists we keep moving.
We make our way through shoppers and sightseers, dodging around a few small children who’ve managed to escape from their parents, until we walk along the stone barrier surrounding what looks like a courtyard. Trees peek over the edge of the wall. I can’t help but peer around me, trying to take in as much as I can.
After several blocks, Talon and I slow. I keep checking behind us, but the soldiers seem to have given up. For now, anyway.
“By the way,” I say, my chest puffing. “How did you manage to get me out of there?”
“I still have a few friends here,” Talon says, giving me a quick smile. The buildings thin out to smaller homes, and he keeps his attention on them.
Why does he have friends who are Arcaian soldiers? And what does he mean by still? “But I thought you said we’d get killed if we were captured.”
“I didn’t even think about Adam until I saw that he was part of the team who took you. It was a huge risk, but I called Adam on his aud and he came through.”
“Adam, the kid with red hair?” The one who knows Ren? “How do you know him?”
Talon sighs and turns onto the sidewalk leading toward a single-level brick house with a faded blue door. “I…lived with the Arcaians for a while.”
“You did?” I can’t say I’m surprised.
He turns the knob and magic streaks from his hand. The lock clicks. “We should get cleaned up,” Talon says, stepping inside. Apparently this is yet another thing he doesn’t want to talk about.
I’m dying to get out of Talon’s uniform, but I lost the rest of my clothes with my pack. I’ve gotten used to smelling like camp smoke, but I don’t realize how bad it is until we smuggle ourselves into the house and dig through the closets, looking for replacements.
“We’ll lay low for the night,” Talon says, tossing his clothes—and, to my delight, my purple shirt and jeans that he shoved in his pack after I changed—in the washer. “Blend in with the crowds tomorrow while we get the tears.”
I’m not going to let him change the subject. If he’s not going to answer things about himself, he might be able to help me with Ren, at least. “If you lived with them, then do you know where they might be keeping my brother?”
His eyes are steady, hard to read. “Let’s worry about getting the tears back first. Then we can try to help your brother.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Talon leans in and pushes the Start button on the washer. He spurts a streak of magic into the machine, filling a small glass square on its panel, and the sound of water filters from it. “No. I don’t know exactly where he is.”
“But if you did? What about your friend, can’t you call him?”
“There’s still a reward on our heads, Ambry,” he says, bending for his pack. “I can only tackle one thing at a time.”
I can’t help feeling like he’s avoiding the issue. But maybe he really doesn’t know how to help Ren. And he’s right, we do need to get the tears back. Once I have them, nothing will stand between me and finding my brother.
After changing into some clean clothes I find, I throw Talon’s uniform in the washer with our other clothes, and then we take turns using the shower.
It’s unreal, to be in the capital of Itharia. I didn’t travel much growing up—okay, I’ve never traveled past Cadehtraen, so being here is one of those farfetched things you never think will happen to you, like meeting your favorite celebrity. And then once you meet them, you realize they’re just people. And this is just a city. Just like anywhere else.
I run a comb through my hair and find Talon turning away from the window to arrange what looks like a map on the coffee table in the front room. He’s way too focused.
“What’s wrong?”
“Soldiers,” he says, a grim look on his face. “On patrol. I heard one of their sirens a minute ago.”
Uh oh. “Are we—do we need to like, hide or something?”
He smiles, but it looks forced. “No. We should be fine if we just lie low.”
Tyrus wants Talon for something. There’s no other explanation for why they’re still after us. I wonder if Talon knows why. Even if I asked about it, I doubt he would tell me, though.
“Hey, Talon. I’ve got an idea for tonight. Why don’t I train you for a while?” He seems stressed, and I need to get my mind off how in the world we’re going to rescue not only the tears, but Ren. Tyrus said Ren is giving them trouble. I take heart in that.
Talon looks amused. “Train me in what?”
“In lazing out,” I say, setting the comb down and mussing my hair, letting the natural curl do its thing. “You know, that thing where you sit and spend time doing nothing together? It’s fun. You might enjoy yourself.” This kid is strung way too tight. He needs some down time.
He looks up from the map long enough to slide me a smile. “I have heard of it. I am only a year older than you are.”
“You don’t act like it. Especially when you’re training me. You act like you’re ancient.”
“Maybe I just got started on things earlier than you did, so I seem older.” His attention returns to the maps on the table. He traces along one of them with a tanned finger.
Ooo, we’re getting somewhere. I flop down on the couch beside him. “What kind of things?”
He leans away and prepares to stand, but I grip his ropelike arm.
“Humor me, okay?” I say. “We’ve been together how long?”
Stiff and suddenly awkward, he presses his fingertips together as if he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’ve been with me since March twenty-fourth. A little more than four weeks.”
“And have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” I ask. I’m pretty sure I haven’t. I’ve done everything he ever barked at me to do. But I’m so sick of the way things are between us, I don’t care about his reply at this point.
His body relaxes, and he sinks back down into the cushion beside me. I point to him, excited that he’s going along with it.
“No! Right? You’ve bossed me around and punched at me and thrown me to the ground and practically tortured me—without really giving me straight answers. Now you can do something for me. Something fun. So sit. Talk. Laze out.”
He fidgets. Folds his arms and then opens them again. Lays his hands on his knees. The wall-clock’s second hand ticks. And ticks. And ticks.
“Okay, look,” he says. “You’re right. I’ve never really done…anything like this before. My whole life has had a purpose to it. Since I can remember I’ve been doing what you and I’ve been working o
n for the past four weeks. Training.”
“No B and R, huh?”
“What is that?”
“Break and Respite.”
He chuckles. That makes three times I’ve ever heard the sound. Okay, exaggeration. But still. “No, I guess not.”
“Then you’re overdue for some, my friend. So do you want to play a game? I bet whoever lived here has films. Any films you’ve been wanting to see?”
I have a feeling the answer to that is no. Not that I blame him, since they’re mostly documentaries now, since the wizard’s spell. He’s probably never seen one in his life, anyway.
I’m about to get up and rifle through closets for a deck of cards, but I watch him first.
He bends his arms, still acting unsure what to do with his hands in their fingerless gloves.
After a few moments, he says, “Do you mind if we just sit for a while until we figure it out?”
I tuck my legs under me. I can’t help grinning. “Nope.”
His body goes rigid again. And I laugh. I place both hands on his arm and shake it.
“Lesson one—loosen up! Slump your back a little.” I press down on his shoulders. He ducks his head forward as if afraid my skin will burn him.
For the first time he really does seem like a gawky but gorgeous seventeen-year-old. I laugh again. I can’t help it.
“I know what you need,” I say, tapping my bottom lip. His eyes widen. He probably hates sitting here, not accomplishing something.
“Scoot forward.”
“What?”
“Just do it.” I jam my foot behind his back and push him to the edge of the cushion, kneeling behind him with one knee on either side of his back. “I bet you’ve never had one of these before.” And I plow my thumbs under his shoulder blades.
He springs off the couch as if I’ve just attacked him.
“What are you trying to do?”
I recognize his fighting stance immediately. Legs offset, arms flexed, ready to spring.
Delight flurries through me. I definitely like this side of him. This is a side where I have the upper hand.
“It’s called a backrub, silly. Now get back here.”
His eyes go from the couch, to me, and back again. I hop off, grab him by the wrist and say, “Trust me.”
As I say it, I get the feeling that’s not an easy thing for him to do. Trust someone.
He allows me to drag him back to the cushion. I pull him down in front of me.
“This is what people do to relax,” I say as I begin rubbing his back again. Ironically, a scream sounds outside, followed by men’s shouts. Oh, angels. The Arcs. I tense all over and Talon’s jaw moves.
“If this is a normal activity…” he says with a weak smile as if trying to placate me.
“Of course it is. What did you think I was trying to do to you?”
“I don’t like having people at my back,” he says as if that answers it. “And you are advancing very quickly.” I trace along his neckline with a finger, trying not to think about the person that scream belonged to. It takes me a minute to reply. He said we’d be fine if we laid low. That’s the best thing I can do right now. Lie low, and don’t freak out.
“Why would I attack you?” I ask.
“You said it just now. I’ve bossed you around and given you bruises and made you blind and—”
“Those were just excuses to get you to sit with me. It wasn’t really that bad.” I pause. “Okay, it was.”
He chuckles. Once. The sound relaxes me.
“You’ve helped me a lot more than hurt me, though.” The tension outside makes me giggly. An edgy giggly, like I’m laughing because fear is way too obvious. “You thought I wanted revenge. If I ever wanted revenge, I’d find a different way to do it.”
“Oh, you would?” I can almost hear the smile in his smooth voice, and that helps iron out the creases between us.
“Of course! Why would I go against you using the thing you’re good at? I’d do something you wouldn’t expect. Something I was good at.”
“But you are good at fighting.”
“Not as good as you.”
He pauses. “True.” And this time I’m not the only one who laughs. His back rumbles beneath my hands. My chest tightens, and I have the impulse to hug him. But that will send him flying off the couch again as quickly as the hint of a backrub did.
“So what would your revenge tactics be?”
“Uh-uh. I’m not giving up my secrets.” Not that I have any.
“Good girl.” His voice is low.
“If you’ve never lazed out like this before, what did you do for fun growing up?”
I don’t mean for the question to be a serious one. Not at all. In fact, I don’t even expect him to answer.
Silence clogs the space between us. Way to go, Ambry. Ruin the moment.
“I was born Feihrian.”
Goose bumps tiptoe along my arms all the way to the tiny hairs at my nape. My thumbs stay their digging, but I don’t want him to stop, so I use the pause to switch to kneading with my knuckles.
“Feihria was attacked when I was three years old,” he says.
Our semester-required lectures were always such a bore to me. How the weaker Arcaians tried to subdue a race like the Feihrians who are born with an additional magic no other humans have, a magic that aids them in fighting so they learn how to dispatch an enemy at the same time they learn to walk and talk. It seemed preposterous to me, to hear how quickly the Arcaians were shut down and forced out of the city.
I’ve never considered that the Arcs had a different objective; that their invasion wasn’t a complete failure for them after all. They didn’t invade to conquer Feihria. They did it to get a Feihrian child.
I can’t believe it. No wonder Talon feels emotions as much as I do. The wizard’s spell affected each of the races differently. Feeling things is probably part of his culture—who he is. What makes him such a remarkable fighter. Why didn’t I see it before?
“I remember the attack. They advanced on my house, broke in. My father was gone, my mother was sleeping. And they took me because they could never have overcome a full grown man. I hadn’t completed my training. But I had enough to be better than the Arcs. At least one at a time. I couldn’t overcome the group that had captured me. Tyrus’s group.
“He brought me to Valadir, and then Arcaia, where they let me continue my training on the condition that I train their men. I already had the basics—I could continue on my own. Tyrus said they’d kill me if I didn’t.”
“That’s why they want you,” I say. “They want to fight like your people.” Subconsciously, I grind my thumb at a stubborn muscle below his left shoulder. He nods and then winces, lifting his shoulders when I rub too hard.
“By the time I was fourteen, my magic was fully developed and they could no longer hold me prisoner. But I had done serious damage. I trained them to fight, almost as good as my people, though they could never fully match us.”
“Because they don’t have the magic.” Regret flows in my heart. For him. “I’m sorry, Talon.”
He rotates and rests a hand on my bare knee. I’m not sure if he notices, but I sure do. It sends shivers through me. I never want to move.
I force my voice to stay steady. “Then why—why am I able to use it the way you do when I fight?”
His eyes match mine, holding both intensity and admiration.
“You’re more than you seem to be,” he says, leaning in.
He contemplates the shape of my mouth, his body sending shards of heat filled with electricity. He’s so breathtaking. I want it for real, up close. My legs tighten. He moves closer, his lips hovering near mine.Yes. Please, yes.
My lids lower. I bask in the moment, suspended, pulsing, waiting.
He sighs and shifts my leg so he can stand. My pulse pounds in my temples. Embarrassingly enough, I think a small squeak leaks out past my lips. It’s like he rips a piece of me away with him.
“Thank
you for the backrub. It was actually very soothing.” And he leaves the room.
I hate leaving our downtime on that note. I'll never get him to open up to me like that again. There’s no way I can remedy the situation. That look in his eyes, the allure of his mouth on mine—I wonder if he realizes he almost kissed me.
The kid is disgustingly stubborn, and it drives me crazy. The longer he’s gone, the angrier I get. So he was kidnapped. So was I! He doesn’t see me holding a lifelong pity party, not letting anyone else into my life.
Talon comes back an hour later, looking sweaty, and I know he’s been training. Without a word he steps past me to the bathroom. I sulk and continue to flip through channels on the vid screen while his second shower of the day hammers in the background.
Click. Click. Click. One channel after another. I hardly notice any of them.
He comes out, changes over the laundry—slamming the door in the process—and bustles around, cleaning up our traces. He rerolls his sleeping bag, empties random papers and wrappers from his pack.
When he starts uprighting and organizing books and things that don’t even belong to him on the shelves, I can’t take it anymore. I rise to my feet.
“Will you just hold still? This stuff doesn’t have to be done right this second.”
“We’ll have to leave early in the morning. You’d better get some sleep.”
“What is it—you’re mad at me now? I didn’t make you tell me all that stuff.”
He glares at me, his eyes swirling with unmistakable fury, but I persist.
“Stop hiding from me, Talon. Show me who you really are. You have all these barriers—are they to keep everyone out, or just me? Every time I think you’re opening up to me, making me think—I don’t know, that you’re into me—you realize who you’re with and pull back like I’m a Xian claw.”
In a breath Talon scales the few steps to me, clutches my biceps and pins me against the wall. “What do you want from me?” An ounce of desperation swims in his violent gaze.
I have ample opportunity to wriggle out of his grasp, but I’m not afraid. His response spikes my blood, and I crave more of this intimate aggression.
Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1) Page 19