The Agrista (Between the Lines Book 1)

by Shannon Lamb

  “You found us! No one told us anything beyond a vague description of your objective. The way it was presented, we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Laylia said dryly, glaring at Fallon.

  “When Gustav gave me the Agrísta, I was told to locate all of my siblings, and that they,” Marie quickly corrected herself, “you, would know what to do.”

  “Not all of you are here,” Raeph reminded. “You’re missing a sibling.”

  “Marcel.” Alex sighed, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t want to subject Marie to that vile creature any more than he had to. Seeing as they would eventually have to return to the castle, and Marcel was the final sibling, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

  “You mean to ask him for help? He’s a traitor!” Marie gaped.

  “He’s disgusting,” Laylia hissed through clenched teeth. “Have you seen his prized lair?” A guttural rumble lingered at the back of her throat as her eyes glossed over.

  “Yes.” Marie paused, remembering the night of the fire. “I destroyed it,” she said softly, trying to erase Tajana’s face from her memory.

  “Did you really?” Laylia gasped. “That’s wonderful,” she laughed darkly to herself, but memories of Marcel quickly stifled any remnants of joy. “Do you know what it’s made of?” The room went unnaturally quiet, and her whisper soared through the air as if she were screaming. “The red water that pulses through the room, it’s blood from all the virgins he took against their will, not that he turns his nose up at more experienced women, mind you. He isn’t picky. He’s an equal opportunity sadist, but he prefers the horror that accompanies stolen innocence.” She flinched suddenly, succumbing to an involuntary shudder. “The next room,” she held herself against the chill sharpening its nails along her spine.

  “The Floor of Faces,” Marie whispered.

  “Marcel calls it the Family Room. That’s what becomes of his victims and their families, forced to watch as he does unspeakable things to their loved ones, trapping their souls in rotted tapestry. He takes away their right to die, and destroys their will to live.” Laylia pinned her eyes shut with a firm hand to smother the rush of hot tears pulsing beneath her lids. The explosive energy forged a new path and escaped in a strangled bellow.

  “Magic isn’t all fun and games. It has a dark side, too,” Cerin murmured sympathetically.

  “Laylia,” Fallon spoke in a soft voice as she sank to her knees before her younger sister. She knew enough not to touch her when she was like this. Laylia always fell into a living nightmare at the mere mention of Marcel, which was evident in her complete physical disconnect.

  Laylia had suffered for years at their brother’s hand. Cerin and Fallon were long gone, partaking of youth’s spoils while Laylia was left behind with no one to protect hers as she fell victim to Marcel’s unnatural thoughts. At the time, no one knew the depth of Marcel’s depravity. They simply thought him an eccentric child. Little did they know, his soul harbored a darkness that shattered the bounds of their imagination, gamboling through forbidden terrain with aberrant glee.

  The guilt they bore was too heavy a burden, and they distributed the crushing weight elsewhere to allay their screaming consciences, never giving them a moment’s peace. Fallon masked her anger with a hatred of magic and donned a stone-casing, while Cerin adopted a sense of apathy and robbed himself of meaningful relationships. Neither of them knew how to deal with what Marcel had done to their innocent little sister, mutating her into the soulless woman that appeared before them today.

  “We don’t need Marcel, just his blood. When all of this is finished, you can be the one to drive the blade through his cold, black heart.” Fallon’s words seemed to bring Laylia some semblance of solace, for she suddenly jerked, as if abruptly waking up from a dream.

  “Tell me what I have to do,” she whispered, trembling as a lash of cold skittered along her alabaster skin and raised a trail of gooseflesh.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know about the Agrísta, which isn’t much,” Fallon sighed. “It’s said to be made from the blood of the direct descendants of Quinque, and therefore can only be opened with our blood,” she began pacing the room. “I believe that’s why Marcel tried to kill Cerin. He’ll do whatever Cailene asks of him, so long as she gives him free reign and provides protection. If even one of us is dead, the Agrísta cannot be opened. What I don’t understand is why she hasn’t simply killed Marcel. For the purpose of our cause, it’s a good thing she hasn’t.”

  “Cailene’s arrogant. Marcel’s more useful to her alive, and she can’t see any reason why he’d betray her. It’s rather foolish, really, though I’ve never considered Cailene to be particularly bright, just ruthless. She can’t fathom the idea of us getting close enough to do any real damage,” said Cerin.

  “Ask yourselves this: Why now?” Raeph called out, easing the tightness in Laylia’s shoulders with a change of subject. Fallon was so consumed with thoughts of Cayden and their task at hand, she had completely forgotten he was there, which was evident in her startled response. “If what you know of the Agrísta is true, then it must’ve been around for a while. Why is Cailene coming after you now? What makes now such a crucial time? If preventing you from opening the Agrísta is so important, why hasn’t Cailene been shadowing your every move?”

  “I too have wondered about that. Cailene has throngs of powerful armies at her fingertips. She exacts loyalty by ruling with an iron fist, and most people are too afraid to do anything but comply. If she really wanted to find us, we’d be dead by now, especially considering that we haven’t upheld the most discretion,” Alex admitted ruefully.

  “What’s inside the Agrísta that’s so important?” Marie finally asked. It was a question that had been burning inside her since she learned of its existence.

  “What if it’s something worse than Cailene? Oh god!” yelled Bria, chewing her nails down to bloody, shredded cuticles.

  “I don’t know,” Fallon raked an angry hand through her unruly caramel locks. “What I do know is that we’re not going to find any answers by sitting on our hands and speculating. We need to take action!” Fallon drove the point home with a peremptory cheer.

  “Don’t be so quick to spill our blood just to save Cayden’s head and your arse. You were the one that sent him away,” Alex muttered bitterly.

  “He had a choice!” Fallon’s voice broke on the last word, and she sharply turned away. Raeph and Cerin had been dying to inquire about his absence, but knew better than to push Fallon over the edge.

  “I agree with Fallon.” Everyone turned to Marie in surprise. “I’m tired of being kept in the dark, afraid. We need to go back to the castle and talk to Gustav. We can’t abandon Cayden, and we can’t abandon our quest. We’ve come too far, and there’s too much at stake.” Much to Marie’s shock and awe, Fallon actually smiled at her. It was weak and fleeting, but it was there.

  “Who’s ‘Goof-off’?” Bria interjected awkwardly.

  “Gustav,” Marie corrected with a laugh. “He’s the palace slave who gave me the Agrísta. He must know more about it than we do.”

  “We all knew we’d have to return to Quinque eventually, if not for the sake of the people, then simply to face our own demons,” Alex spared Laylia a sympathetic side glance. “I’ve felt it in my blood for quite some time now. It’s time to face the past. It’s time to put an end to Cailene’s cruelty.”

  “I agree that returning to the castle is the next logical step, but we can’t simply walk in there,” Cerin stammered. “Laylia and Marie will be safe, but what about me and Fallon? If you haven’t noticed, Cayden and Aruzhan aren’t present.”

  “You’re the brilliant one, or so you’ve told us time and time again. Figure something out. After all, you managed to stay hidden on Anthros, did you not?” Fallon gibed.

  “Yes, but I cannot accredit my success to my own intellectual prowess. That was due to Aruzhan’s insurmountable power, and nothing else.” He sank lower in his chair a
t the thought of his beloved Umbra and what she must be going through right now. He felt like such a coward.

  “Insurmountable, eh? Yet you’ve begun to doubt her?” Fallon mockingly cocked her head to one side, goading him.

  “Of course not!” Cerin barked. “But I don’t understand how the ring works. I fear what I don’t understand, as should you. The ring is unstable, at best!”

  “I’m afraid you’re overthinking it. The Clamans ring is really quite simple,” An unfamiliar voice drew everyone’s attention the doorway.

  Marie knew that voice anywhere. She had only ever heard it mutter a few words of warning, but its soft, gentle reproach stuck in her memory like flypaper. Johanna. She blanched at the sound of it, quickly turning away and positioning herself behind Alex as she cowered in the flickering edges of his shadow.

  She couldn’t face Johanna after what she’d done to her sister, Tajana. She had a hard enough time facing herself every day. Alex sensed her distress and gently smoothed the stubborn knots of her hair with his callused palm, mindlessly twisting his slender fingers through her unruly ebony tresses. The subtle distraction filled her with warmth as she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his hand. Much to her surprise, he didn’t pull away, but he refused to look at her.

  Cayden soon stepped in after the young girl. He was etiolated almost beyond recognition, and greeted everyone with a weak smile that wavered at the edges. Fallon’s quivering lips and furrowed brow fought the impending rictus creeping into her features as she grew flush with anger, but to no avail.

  Fight as she might, she couldn’t hide her overwhelming joy upon seeing Cayden’s massive form hovering in the doorway. He looked like hell, but he was here; with her, as it should be. With a strangled gasp that tore through the room and danced along the hollow interior, she forced her way through the crowd, shrouding her face in fleeting whispers of shadow as she ran past him.

  The mere sight of him made her heart feel like it was going to explode out of her chest, shortening her breaths and weighting her steps. Without hesitation or explanation, Cayden quickly followed suit and trailed her erratic footing, chasing her into a gloomy grove of naked trees just beyond the encampment.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Johanna said shyly as she paid an abnormal amount of attention to her shoddy footwear. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, and it made her want to wriggle out of her skin.

  “Fallon’s certainly not too happy about it,” Bria guffawed. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “J-Johanna,” her voice cracked on the last syllable.

  “Pay them no mind. We can be outcasts together.” A subtle blush crept into Johanna’s cheeks at the sight of Cerin. “You were saying, about the ring?” he smiled encouragingly.

  “It’s quite simple, really,” she repeated with an embarrassed smile. “My mother taught me how it works with a rhyme.

  ‘Those that love you

  Will know you’re there

  But those that wish you harm

  Will search everywhere’

  It’s a silly little rhyme, and not entirely revealing. Basically, if you’re anywhere near someone who is a danger to your life, you are invisible, even to your friends,” she laughed softly to herself, trying not to think about how terribly she missed her mother, Iloria.

  “It’s a simple concept, but if that’s true, why couldn’t the others see me at first, when I was on the ship?” asked Cerin.

  “Probably because most of us wanted to kill you at the time,” Alex said, half-joking.

  “How does your mother know about the ring, Johanna?” asked Raeph.

  “I don’t really know. She gave me a Clamans ring when I was taken away, years ago. She could do naught to stop it,” she reminded herself acerbically. “She told me that it would protect me for as long as I had it. That was the last time I saw her,” Johanna flashed a nervous smile as she frantically rubbed away a stray tear rearing its ugly head. “My friend Mary told me that they’re made from an Umbra’s tears. Absurd, I suppose,” she pursed her lips and brusquely looked away. Mary had been taken away too, much like everyone else she’d come to care about.

  “And has it protected you?” Laylia couldn’t take her eyes off of Johanna. She looked so much like Laylia had at that age, which frightened her down to her core. She was a fragile girl, ripe for the picking.

  “Yes.” Johanna and Laylia exchanged a brief, knowing look.

  Laylia exhaled a gentle sigh of relief that curled into a shudder. If only someone had given her a magical ring to protect herself, she might know some semblance of normalcy today. Maybe she’d actually feel something other than fear and contempt. Maybe she wouldn’t hate her parents and herself. All of the ifs and maybes were irrelevant. She had no one then and she had no one now. She would forever feel alone, despite her constant struggle to connect.

  Bria had wanted so many times to rip Marcel’s throat out, but doing so would’ve meant taking the life of her sister, Arécia. In the end, it might come to that. If only she’d done her job and protected Laylia instead of selfishly clinging to the life of another. Instead, she taught Laylia to run, and they’d been running ever since.

  Somehow, Laylia had found it in her heart to forgive Bria. Laylia was the most kindhearted person Bria knew, but she kept that part of herself hidden for fear that someone might desecrate that too, and she’d lose herself for good.

  Back then, Bria went by Brian. To pay homage to Laylia’s selfless grace, she too kept the deepest part of herself hidden. She wore her abysmal failure like a dress – quite literally – for how could she call himself a man when she failed to protect the person dearest to her heart?

  “Drama, drama, drama!” Bria clapped excitedly. She saw Laylia’s thoughts going to a dark place, and was determined to distract her before she could stray too far. “Let’s go see what all the hubbub is about!”

  Bria and Laylia skirted the perimeter of the building, wincing every time the crackle of broken twigs and dead foliage rustled underfoot. They slithered through the grass like the surreptitious snakes they were, giggling endlessly all the while. It was a miracle they didn’t get caught.

  Two telltale silhouettes came into sharp focus at the center of a copse of trees just ahead. Laylia and Bria went suddenly still, listening in rapt attention.

  “…were you thinking? How could you bring her here?” Fallon’s voice was strained with heavy emotion, wearing her words down until they were nothing more than a raspy whimper.

  “No one has to know,” Cayden reasoned softly, slowly reaching out to touch her.

  “I’ll know!” She took a sudden step back as he curled his fingers into fists and let them fall defeated at his sides. “Everyone else will, too. Great Lucidus, Cayden! She looks just like you!”

  Bria and Laylia took advantage of the awkward silence that followed and conferred with one another.

  “That little girl, Johanna…” Laylia began.

  “...is Cayden’s daughter?” Bria gasped. “Great Lucidus, I can totally see the resemblance! I knew I wasn’t the only delinquent!” she snickered, pantomiming a victory dance. They quickly resumed their inconspicuous positions when the sound of Cayden’s plea rallied their curiosity.

  “I had nowhere else to bring her, Fallon. I suppose it comes as no surprise, but Cailene found the rebels. It took no time, for they immediately turned themselves in. Some got away, but most of them,” he inhaled sharply. “There was no war. No negotiation,” he scrubbed a shaky hand over his overgrown hair, rumpling it into a mess of tangles. “She cut their tongues out before they had a chance to speak. She cut them down at the knees before they had a chance to run. They were murdered on the spot. Slaughtered! They didn’t stand a chance. Children. Whole families! It was like nothing I’d ever seen.” He shuddered at the memory of what he’d seen in the mountains on that frightful day at Alee. He was helpless to stop it, yet unable to turn away. Alee, once a stronghold for refugees seeking sanctuary, was now forever painted red with th
e blood of the innocent.

  “I might not approve of Cailene’s methods, but it certainly makes my job easier. I’m an officer of Milités. I don’t mourn my enemy. Why should you?”

  “How could you say that?” Cayden fell to his knees and dug his fingers into the soil, channeling his rage into the shredded roots of a fallen tree as it moldered to cinder. “Iloria’s dead!” Fallon knew not who Iloria was, but it didn’t take her long to figure it out. She was Johanna and Tajana’s mother.

  “Stop being so selfish!” The sound of Fallon’s palm cracking across the sharp crest of his cheek startled the birds flitting through the nearby trees, causing them to seek refuge elsewhere with a swell of angry twitters. The wind fell eerily still upon their departure, as if the world were holding its breath, waiting to see what happened next.

  Fallon slowly drew her hand to her face. She examined the red, throbbing flesh of her palm as the phantom prickle of his swollen cheek pulsed beneath her fingertips.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she began to twitch in rhythm with the rapid pulse. She tried to focus on her breathing. Slow and steady, like the calm before a storm.

  “Why did you leave?” The words were hurled out of her like bile. It was a question her soul desperately needed to purge in order to heal. It had been devouring her insides like a deadly toxin, slowly worming its way to the surface. “You’re the only thing that matters to me!” She fell to her knees and dropped her head forward, masking any glimmer of emotion with a muddle of shadow.

  Cayden didn’t know what to say. It took just over forty years, but Fallon had finally shown him her soft underbelly. He always knew it was there, but never once in his lifetime had he expected to see it. Seeing her so fragile and exposed illuminated her in an entirely new light; one that was beyond inappropriate when the death of his heart was so near.

  They embraced suddenly. They used one another as an anchor in the storm as the sky began to weep with them, washing away any harbored resentment.