Forged Absolution (Fates of the Bound Book 4)

by Wren Weston

  He turned, running backward. His breath steamed in the chilly air.

  “Hang back,” he said, panting. “Warmups are nearly done.”

  Lila slowed her pace, and they jogged side by side.

  “I never learned your name this morning, mystery woman,” he said.

  “I know. I didn’t tell you, mountain man.”

  Nico rubbed his hand across his chin. “I earned that one, I suppose. I had a spare moment this afternoon to de-fur. Un-fur? To shave. Things have been hectic lately. Would you rather I’d kept it?”

  “Does it matter what I want?”

  “Maybe. Did you like my hash browns?”

  “They were okay.”

  “Just okay? I’ll have to try harder next time. Clearly they weren’t my best.”

  A bell clanged behind them. Connell had returned to the tree in front of the gym, mallet in hand, striking the sides of a metal triangle.

  “We should turn around,” Nico said. “When you hear the bell, you’re supposed to finish your lap or cut off early and head to the gym.”

  “Too bad. I have loads more in me.”

  Lila sped up again.

  Nico chuckled and chased her around the track.

  Both panted and caught their breath as they reached the front of the gym once more. To Lila’s relief, much of the group had already descended on the machines and weights. Others had picked up jump ropes or started on punching bags. In the back corner of the gym, a defense class had started. Camille and Cecily stood in the first row, following along as their trainers lead them through a warmup.

  It looked like burpees were on the menu.

  Lila snorted. She hated burpees.

  She and Nico trotted toward the opposite corner of the gym, which was set up for another class. Dixon, Connell, and Mòr stretched their legs upon the mat-strewn floor.

  “You run fast, Lila,” Mòr said. “Really fast. Crazy fast. You made me tired just watching you. You’re a sprinter?”

  “In college. I’m getting a bit slower in my old age.”

  “I highly doubt that, Lila.” Nico grinned as he said her name, then lifted the hem of his shirt. He wiped his damp forehead, baring his ridged abdomen in the cold air.

  Connell kicked off his sneakers and rammed them into a wall of cubbies, gesturing for Dixon and Lila to do the same. “Nico didn’t find out anything about the break-in at your cabin.”

  “I didn’t find anything out yet. Give me time. I’ll figure out which little punk did it.”

  “Plug the hole in your security instead,” Lila said. “Fill in the cameras where the kid disappeared and move on to something more serious.”

  “This is serious. We don’t let our young treat outsiders like this.”

  “We’ll handle it,” Connell said. “In the meantime, let’s see what sort of hand-to-hand training you’ve had.”

  “With an audience?” Lila’s eyes flicked toward Mòr and Nico.

  “Nico helps with the beginner class, and I train Mòr. I thought she could help demo a few things.”

  Lila’s head whipped around to the oracle. “Wait? You fight?”

  “I didn’t turn Connell’s head because I’m the oracle. I pinned him a few times.”

  Connell put his fists on his hips. “I let you pin me because you were cute, woman. That cuteness fades when you goad me.”

  “You didn’t let me win.”

  “Did too.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  “He did not,” Nico interjected. “I was there. You should have seen his face, Lila. He looked shocked through and through every time she got the better of him.”

  “Shut up.” Connell fixed Lila with a stare. “What sort of training have you had?”

  “Plenty. I just suck. I rely on my tranq and my speed to avoid fights, but…”

  “Fights have a way of happening,” he finished for her. The small group did a quick warmup, the same warmup Camille and Cecily had suffered through.

  It seemed that burpees were back on the menu.

  Lila finished fifty, then suffered through several more sets of lunges, bear crawls, squats, pushups, and crunches.

  “Pair up with Dixon,” Connell said at last. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Lila sighed, knowing she’d do nothing from that point on but embarrass herself in front of a gym full of strangers.

  Dixon crouched and waited for her to attack.

  Or lurch forward drunkenly.

  To his credit, Dixon didn’t begin giggling until the fourth time she got caught up in her own legs. Connell didn’t have such restraint. He seemed downright jolly for someone who commanded nearly two hundred militia. Perhaps it was only because his lover had joined them, and she seemed to be having a good day.

  “Let’s run through a few basic throws and see how you fare with those.” Connell posed Mòr a few times, showing Lila a basic throw she’d drilled for years.

  Lila paid more attention than she had in academy training. She listened to every correction that Connell made as she flipped Dixon over her back. Dixon’s lack of words seemed to help even more. He merely pushed and shoved her into place, thumbing each muscle that needed to be altered.

  She’d been doing some things wrong, things her trainers had never corrected. The group worked on the throw for ten minutes straight, only moving on to a second when Lila grew bored.

  They spent the rest of the lesson alternating drills on the two throws, with Lila tugging her attackers over her back and dropping them onto the mat or shoving them off balance with a foot around the calf and a palm to the shoulder. She flipped and shoved a never-ending line of Connell, Dixon, and Nico, with brief, occasional pauses for the men to offer tips to improve her form.

  Mòr sat against the wall.

  Lila knew why she stayed away. She didn’t want to have another seizure after touching her.

  “Fighting is a dance, Lila,” Nico said when they broke from drills and began to spar, Connell watching their every movement. Dixon sat beside Mòr, listening intently as she chatted at his side. “Do you like to dance?”

  Lila nodded.

  “Fighting is the same thing: action and reaction. You have to accept the dance. Stop fighting against your partner and just let it happen.”

  “I thought fighting was the point.”

  “Not for you. Not yet.”

  Nico feinted toward her, and she flipped him over her back.

  She pinned him before he hopped up this time, managing to grasp his arms in a lock so that he could not grab her.

  “Who’s been pinned now?” Connell gloated.

  It was the first and last time Lila managed to pin him at full speed, and it had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with sheer annoyance.

  Stop fighting so you can fight?

  What the fuck did that even mean?

  After fifteen minutes of sparring, Connell called for the pair to halt. “You’re doing better already. I suspect your trainers blew past the basics too quickly. Some people need more time than others to master it.”

  Lila frowned.

  No one had ever called her stupid before.

  Connell clapped her shoulder. “No one is perfect at everything. You’re a damn sight faster than most men in my militia. Nico had to haul ass to keep up with you, and he’s one of the fastest.”

  The compliment made her feel marginally better.

  “Forget Nico’s nonsense about dancing,” Connell continued. “The mat isn’t a dance floor. You need to be a panther like my Mòr to win a fight. Move fast. Slip through your opponent’s fingers. Pick your moment and strike.”

  Lila did not reply.

  Panthers?

  Dancing?

  What was she even supposed to say to that?
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br />   After a few moments of leisurely stretching, Lila and Dixon returned to their cabin to shower, then walked to Mòr’s home for a quiet dinner.

  The air smelled of beef stew and cornbread.

  Lila ate enough for five people.

  Dixon did not return to their cabin after they finished their meal. Instead, he stood up and followed Blair from the dining room, giving Lila a bashful wave goodbye.

  Chapter 13

  Lila woke with a crick in her neck, her head lolling to the side on the slick leather computer chair. Lights burned in the living room, and her computer screen blinked apathetically, marking the place she’d stopped before falling asleep. Feeble warmth trickled from the fireplace, only embers and ash glowing amongst the cold stone. The purple blanket she’d covered herself with slipped off her shoulders.

  The couch beckoned for a proper nap.

  Her bed beckoned even more.

  Yawning, Lila rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned her attention back to the logs. Several more days’ worth of untouched data remained for her to work through. The mole was still out there, possibly sending critical information about the oracles to the empire.

  If her current search didn’t turn up anything, she’d capture the logs for the last three months and dig through it all, painstakingly rooting through the history of hundreds.

  If she was very lucky, it might take her six months.

  Lila cuddled up under her blanket. She still might not find the mole using either approach. Both assumed the mole sent messages from the compound.

  But where else would the mole send them?

  Lila turned her chair back and forth, pondering the question. Using a highborn family’s network would be stupid. Highborns could afford the best security and knew the consequences of frugality. They always kept logs, as per government requirements and for proof of innocence at court. A mole might get away with a message or two, but they’d be turned over to the authorities the moment the highborn admins found evidence of contact with the empire. It would reflect poorly on the family if they did not, no matter who had initiated the messages. Even an heir might be turned over to Bullstow for such an offense.

  Using a lowborn company didn’t seem likely either. They kept logs as well, and erred on the side of caution, looking to their highborn peers to gain the public’s trust. If they lost it, the lowborn owner would find herself in the auction house seconds after bankruptcy.

  The Allied Lands did not take kindly to failure.

  Of course, there were alternatives. Unregistered companies flaunted the laws all the time, a few dumping their logs after only a few days. Criminals and thugs needed some way to do business, after all. But everyone knew using one left your dealings open to scrutiny and bribery, especially for anyone who might deal with the empire. A few might not care, but Chief Shaw allowed them a wide berth so long as they kept some sense of honor. They’d turn over a traitor if it meant keeping a few well-fed clients from a holding cell.

  Mòr, on the other hand, had a good network and average security. The oracle’s queendom worked under their own rule of law, far outside the scope and purview of Bullstow. It might be the safest and easiest place to communicate with the empire, short of running one’s own server. But where would a person get the hardware and software for such a thing? The government kept such equipment under tight control. They also swept the net for illegal servers and had become good at finding and tracking them over the years.

  No, the mole would use the oracle’s servers. She was sure of it.

  But so far, her most promising lead turned out to be pictures of kittens.

  Dixon would take her to the shop if she asked. She could fetch her programs and explore each photograph pixel by pixel, searching for hidden messages. Perhaps if they went during the day, they wouldn’t run into Tristan and Katia.

  Lila tapped at her keyboard. She had no interest in seeing either of them, but Dixon needed to see his brother. They needed to have a proper talk, not exchange a few annoyed messages over a palm. Dixon also needed to pack a proper bag.

  Maybe luggage was the difference between a vacation and running away.

  Lila’s programs weren’t the only thing she needed in New Bristol. She needed to see Dr. Helen Hardwicke-Randolph at the woman’s clinic for her first prenatal appointment.

  She just didn’t know how she’d pay for it.

  Lila sent a message anyway.

  Moments later, after confirming her mother still had not returned her money, Lila’s palm vibrated.

  Come by tomorrow morning before the clinic opens. Six a.m.

  Hopping up from her desk, Lila peeked into Dixon’s bedroom, finding his sheets cold and unwrinkled.

  Lila entered the bathroom, slipping out of her clothes and into the tub for a quick shower. After dressing, she prowled around the cabin for half an hour before leaving for breakfast.

  Connell had invited them over again the night before.

  But the chief’s expression faltered as soon as he opened the door. “You look like shit, Lila. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

  “I got a few hours.”

  “A few hours isn’t enough.”

  “I’m trying to catch a mole, Connell.”

  He led her toward the kitchen. “I appreciate the fact that you’re taking this seriously, but the mole will still be here tomorrow.”

  “Will your children?”

  He pursed his lips. “Take Kenna’s spot this morning. Mòr wanted you to sit next to her.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m supposed to say it’s because she wants to talk about the compound, but I suspect she just wants a bit of gossip.”

  “Gossip?”

  “Blair’s her baby sister. You know it goes.”

  Kenna entered the room and settled a few pitchers of juice and milk onto the table. “You look like—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “When we asked you to look into things, we didn’t want you to run yourself down. You look worse than Nico.”

  Kenna’s words were cut short when Blair entered the dining room. Dixon trudged after her, then wordlessly gathered her books when she stopped at the table. He put them on the steering wheel bench, just like Connell had done the day before, and slipped into a place beside her.

  Lila sat next to him in Kenna’s spot. “Out all night?” she whispered.

  Dixon shrugged.

  “Did you have fun?”

  He smiled.

  “What did you two get up to?”

  He showed her his notepad under the table, a notepad completely filled with his block handwriting, all except for one blank page at the very back. Lila opened her mouth in shock. It’d been new when they left New Bristol. It usually took him a week to burn through one.

  Putting it away, Dixon poked her in the ribs. He jutted his chin toward the kitchen.

  Lila followed his gaze.

  Nico stepped in the room, holding a platter of tortillas, his gray uniform pressed and his boots shined. He’d shaved again, too. “The mystery woman has returned. I wondered if I’d see you here.”

  Connell raised a brow. “You knew you’d see her. You asked me.”

  Nico turned his gaze in mock offense. “I only wanted to cook a lovely a breakfast for the oracle and my dear, sweet chief. Must you insult me by claiming I have ulterior motives?”

  “I apologize, Lila,” Connell replied. “I sold you out for migas. In my defense, his cooking is amazing. Can you forgive me?”

  Nico put down the platter and returned with another, piping hot and full of migas. He watched her like a purring housecat as she spooned out a portion.

  Mòr heaped some refried beans to her plate. “Could I have a few moments of your time after breakfast?”

  “Certainly,” Lila replied, taking a tortilla.


  Cecily and Camille entered in a rush and settled into their places, barely turning a surprised eye at Nico. Perhaps guests showed up for breakfast often.

  Or perhaps Nico showed up often.

  At least Cecily appeared to have woken up in a better frame of mind. The young woman had dressed for the day in a pair of trousers and a sweater. She’d brushed her hair, and her eyes were clear. She even offered up a few words of greeting, calling Nico by name.

  Yes, he’d definitely cooked for the oracle before.

  “Mother, you’ll never believe what happens at the end of season three.”

  “Don’t spoil it, Cecily. I’m not even through season one yet.”

  “What show?” Connell asked.

  “The Estate,” both women answered at the same time.

  “It’s a show about the highborn,” Cecily explained. “The actresses and actors always wear the most beautiful, expensive clothes.”

  “Beautiful clothes for beautiful people,” her friend chimed in. “I wonder how much they spend, or if it’s all product placement.”

  “It’s product placement, of course,” Cecily said offhandedly. “But who cares about that? It’s the stories everyone’s interested in. The highborn are always sleeping around and doing nasty things to everyone, just like they do in real life. They’re such awful people. I’m not surprised they’re being hanged in droves. Did you hear about the heir who dodged a treason charge?”

  Lila choked on her orange juice.

  Kenna’s gaze flipped toward Lila, her eyes guilty.

  “Ms. Randolph did not do anything wrong, Cecily,” Connell assured her. “She’d been helping Bullstow and got tried by mistake. Nothing she did was—”

  “She’s the prime minister’s daughter. I bet he paid off Bullstow to save her. Or she did. It’s what highborn do. You’re so naïve for a purplecoat.”

  “No one has that much money. She was prepared to serve a slave’s term to protect Chief Shaw and Bullstow. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Former chief.” Cecily pointed at Connell with her tortilla. “And you know what it means to me? It means that an heir was charged with a crime, but the chief who charged her was punished. That’s how it always is with the highborn, especially the heirs.”