by Ted Dekker
Tears welled in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were summoned by the thought of bruising the joy in her voice, or by the thought of a reign of love that might come at her hands. The world needed Feyn. Her. And in that way he needed her, too.
In a world without Avra he would lift Feyn onto her stallion right now so they could begin that very journey together. But that was not this world.
“Aren’t you in love?” Feyn smiled, but her eyes were filling with confusion. “I can’t imagine life without you. Not now. I’ll never forget this day. I will never forget waking to the sight of you, the cast of your eyes. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Ever! We will—we must—find a way to bring this to the world. Don’t you see? This is what I want every woman and man to feel under my rule.”
“Yes. I’m in love,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze.
The first flush of her smile vanished.
“Then let’s go. Rom, please. I’m asking you.” She leaned closer to kiss him, but he brought his fingers to her chin and stopped her.
“Feyn, listen to me…”
“What is it?”
“I am in love. But with someone else.”
The illumination in her eyes faded.
“What do you mean? With who?”
“Her name is Avra.”
Even saying her name sparked warmth—and worry—in him.
“Her name is Avra and she’s as much a nobody in your world as I was yesterday. I’ve known her my whole life, and I think a part of me was always waiting to love her—”
“Avra?” She pushed back from him, spun away. Her hands went to her head. “There’s nothing left, no love for me?” She turned back. “This Avra was with you when you came through the pain and the sickness of your change?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then maybe it’s only a matter of who’s present when it happens. Maybe—who’s to say that if I had been with you, you wouldn’t be declaring your love right now for me? How do you know you don’t, or can’t, love us both? Surely you can love more than one person.”
“I…I don’t know…I…” Hades, was it possible?
“What is this to us?” Feyn grabbed his hand and kissed his fingers again. “You’ll bring her. And I will love her. This is no obstacle to the Brahmin. It will be perfectly acceptable.”
“Feyn. I don’t know if she…” His voice trailed. “Avra isn’t Brahmin. Neither am I.”
“You’re an artisan. Don’t you know what your name means, Rom?”
“No.”
“It means ‘highness,’ and at any rate, you may not be Brahmin, but I am. I’ll be Sovereign. I’ll make it happen. We’ll be together.”
Her mention triggered another thought. The account on the vellum had said that the effect of the blood wasn’t permanent, even in its full portion. How long did they have to even know the meaning of love, let alone to chase its far reaches? Months? Days?
“For all we know our ability to love is fleeting,” he said. “What if it’s gone in a week? Or a month? The vellum said it would be temporary.”
“Then…we would love out of loyalty, from fear and duty, as we do now.”
“That isn’t love. That was never love. Love requires emotion, not simply duty or a contract practiced by dead people. I know that now. It’s a living thing. Supported by loyalty, but without emotion it’s empty! As dead as we were…and will be again.” He felt something inside him recoil at the very thought.
“I love you, Rom.” It was an offering. A wish. The cry of a living heart heard by his own.
“And I love you, Feyn.” He kissed her pale cheek. “But I also love Avra. We aren’t Brahmin. It’s not our way.” What could he say? Conflicting thoughts spun through his mind.
For a few moments, she held his gaze. Then she released his hand and turned away. “If the feelings of love fade, will the pain of it, too?”
“Pain? How can you say that—love is life itself.”
“Then life must be filled with pain.”
His own heart felt fractured.
“You see?” she demanded. “This is why they called it Chaos. With the bliss comes such pain. The suffering of loss, the desire for what one cannot have, the ambition to have more…all of it filled with so much pain!”
“But it’s also life!” Rom said.
“If so, then I can see why death might be preferred by some. At least in death there is peace.”
Her boldness surprised him. Surely she wasn’t reverting to death already. A chill spread down his back.
“Feyn, there’s something else. I didn’t have a full portion of blood to give you. The effects might be more fleeting with you than with the others.”
“So then it’s true. Humanity reverts to death, which has become its natural state. This fairy tale was real for a day. A beautiful morning of intoxication.” She glanced at him with a sad smile. “A part of me wishes now I had never lived it.”
“It’s not a fairy tale.”
“Of course it isn’t. Because what do we have? A story. About life. About death. It has no happy ending.”
“The boy, Feyn. There’s the boy,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”
She gave a short laugh. “How would it be possible for some boy to assume power? A cripple no less?”
“What if he’s a royal? In line for the throne?” He glanced down at the translated account on the ground. Feyn had scrawled a note on the edge of the cloth: Boy. Royal. Nine years old.
She shook her head as though she had already been through this in her own mind. “I know every royal child who qualified for sovereignty. The list is short. And besides, cripples no longer exist. The royals would never have allowed such a child to live. Brahmin aren’t supposed to be born with defects.”
“But everything so far has been true! The account of the blood, the virus, the…” Rom stopped.
“What is it?” she asked.
An image flashed through his memory. He strode quickly back to where the original vellum lay and grabbed it, scattering the stones that had held it flat. They’d pored over the first keeper’s ancient account on the front. But there was more, wasn’t there? A few handwritten notations on the back.
“Rom?” Feyn came over.
“What about this?” He flipped the vellum over. The notations in the upper left-hand corner were faded from handling. Names. Dates. Times. Thirteen of them.
She seized the document from his hands.
“What’s this?”
“Later notations.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I forgot. I completely forgot. They’re just dates and names. For all I knew, they were other keepers or trustworthy sources.”
She scanned the list. “These…These are all sevenths, like I was. I know all of these. See, there is my name: F. Cerelia.”
“Sevenths?”
“Brahmins born closest to the date of the cycle of Rebirth—the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month every twelve years. The last eligible cycle during Vorrin’s reign for the choosing of a Sovereign to succeed him began nine years ago. See, here’s a seventh from that cycle. A candidate, basically, for my office, except that I was born closer to the mark in the cycle prior. And as you can see, there’s no Abyssinian b…” She stopped. Her brow furrowed.
“What?” Rom said.
“Something…Nuala, my maid. Years ago she told me about a boy, a royal boy born with a crooked leg, though I dismissed it as a fearful wives’ tale.” She shook her head. “In either case, he was immediately killed.”
“Why isn’t he on this list?”
“As I said, the Brahmin aren’t supposed to be born with defects. It’s a terrible embarrassment. His name would have been removed from the primary birth record so that the knowledge of his birth would be buried with his body.”
“If he had lived, how old would he be?”
She hesitated. “Nine.”
They looked at each other
.
A boy. A royal. Nine years old.
Rom stared at her. “What if he’s not dead?”
Feyn was silent.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Avra, is it?” Saric’s gaze dropped down over her where she knelt.
“My lord.”
Only minutes ago she had been informed she must kneel, that Saric was now Sovereign in his father’s place. And though it had shaken her utterly, the tremor in her hands now was not from fear—at least, not fear of what might happen to her.
Only that she might fail.
They’d denied Triphon entrance, but there was nothing for him to do now. It was up to her, and Rom was all that mattered.
There were two men in the chamber, one of them more finely dressed than the other. It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on Saric, son of Vorrin. Dark and brooding, the man circling in front of her who had told her to rise looked nothing like his sister.
She had unfastened her cloak. It lay open down the front, revealing one of Neah’s finest dresses. Still, she felt plain compared with the dark splendor of this place, of the Sovereign himself.
“You say you come with information of some sort,” Saric said. He left his mouth slightly open, running the tip of his tongue against his teeth as he regarded her.
“I do. About the keepers. I have their secrets.”
Saric flicked a glance toward the other man, who stood silently by. His eyes were sharp in his skull.
“And what secrets are these?”
“I haven’t come to offer them for free,” she said.
“Ah, of course.” He inclined his head. “And what payment are you looking for?”
“I’ll share them in exchange for a man in your keeping.”
“Why would you think I have anyone in keeping?”
“I know you do.”
“Then please inform me—which man is this?”
“Rom Sebastian. He was captured here last evening.”
Saric tapped his lower lip. “Rom Sebastian. He’s…an artisan, I believe.”
Avra’s heart had been a slow hammer against her ribs. Now she felt the strike of it as though it were a pickax. “Yes.”
“Let’s say that I have this man. What’s he to you? Obviously you’ve risked a lot to come here.”
Her hands were cold.
“Does it matter? His freedom’s the only thing I ask in exchange for information. The keepers, I believe, are a group of interest to you.”
“And I have the last of them in my dungeons now. I’m not sure that you really can offer me anything more. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.”
She had to work to draw breath against the invisible band constricting her lungs.
“The man you killed in the alleyway,” she said quickly. “I can tell you what was in the parcel he was carrying. All of it.”
The Sovereign paused.
“I already know he carried the blood.” He turned and scrutinized her, his gaze resting on the simple amulet at her throat. “This artisan, Rom. He’s your brother?”
“No.”
“Your husband?”
She faltered. “No.”
“What fear motivates this request, then?”
“Not fear.”
“Then what?” he demanded. “Why would you offer me these great secrets—whatever they are? For what?”
“Love,” she whispered.
Saric’s pulse surged.
Love. The mystery. Adrenaline flooded his veins.
She was obviously common. Her pearl earrings were probably the most valuable thing she owned, if they were even hers. Her skin was too opaque, but still, she wasn’t homely. Her small nose and the lips that naturally pouted held a certain appeal. She was at least as fair as most of his concubines.
But most intriguing of all, she had just spoken of an emotion that she had no business feeling.
Unless…
He glanced at Corban, who studied her from where he stood. “What do you make of this?” Saric said, jerking his head in her direction.
“We know love existed in Chaos,” the alchemist said with some skepticism. “A heady emotion that moved people to reckless acts. In the time of Chaos, it was considered the highest emotion, though it was the least stable.”
Saric glanced from the alchemist to the girl. “Continue.”
“Its effect was a favorite topic of Chaos Age writers and song-makers,” Corban said. “We believe it actually changed the brain chemistry of those who experienced it.”
Saric had changed his chemistry in order to feel. What was this feeling that changed the brain?
He could hear the girl’s swift breathing, could smell her skin—the perspiration on it. He felt his blood pressure rise. There was something different about her. She was smaller than he might favor, possessing only a simple beauty, and yet…
She loved.
She had to have taken the blood. If the rumors were true, it meant that this creature was more alive than any woman he’d encountered. Perhaps even more than he was, rendering him an imposter by comparison.
“Why haven’t I experienced this?” he asked.
Corban faltered. “As I explained, the serum only brings out certain emotions.”
“You call love unstable, and yet she looks…” He was having some difficulty describing her. “Stable.”
Corban was silent.
Betraying the uncertainty nipping at Saric’s mind would be a mistake. A sudden and overwhelming desire to experience this girl filled his veins. To taste her, to couple with this woman of the blood.
“Clearly, you’re afraid,” he said. “And still, here you are.” Saric shifted his eyes from her, oddly unnerved by her steady gaze. “To be willing to go to such lengths for a man…It makes no sense. Unless of course”—he looked at her again—“you drank the keeper’s blood.”
Her eyes moved swiftly between him and Corban.
He let his gaze fall to her hands. Her short nails and unadorned, delicate fingers—how small and bird-like they seemed. And yet in this moment, she was perhaps the most potent woman in his world. Could she possibly know that?
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was soft, one for whispering words in the dark. “I drank it. Rom and I both. We drank it, and it has given us power. Together we have discovered things that you will never see or feel.”
He watched the movement of her cloak falling from her narrow shoulders, the way it swayed against her hips. The way her dress was tied at her neck, the fall of her dark hair. Utterly beautiful and yet totally unremarkable. Yet he would be hard-pressed to find Feyn as fascinating as this girl in this moment.
Feyn.
He resented the anxiety the mere thought of her name brought him. It was so close to the fear he had known all his life. Surely this Rom of hers had taken Feyn. But the woman before him would wager her own life because she believed Rom was in his dungeons.
What would it be like to take this woman; to feed on her life, to overwhelm her with his own? If he was so drawn to her blood, she was surely as desperate for him. He had seen the look of desire in the eyes of more women than any other man on this earth. Did she not have the same look in her eyes now? Newly awakened, she could not easily dismiss her own need to be desired.
He held her gaze. Invited it. “Rom received the blood from the old man in the alley,” he said. “I was told there was enough for five. I’m guessing that Neah took it as well.”
A flash in her eyes.
“Do you think we didn’t learn who let your boy into the Citadel the night my sister disappeared?”
She said nothing.
“And the fourth…this guard you came with?”
“I found him outside the Citadel, going in for training, and convinced him to escort me in,” she said.
“So there are two portions left.” He glanced past her at Corban. “Tell me, Corban, why can’t we simply use her blood?”
“It would be like taking the blood of someone on medication an
d expecting it to heal a sickness,” the man said. “It wouldn’t be sufficient. You will need the original blood.”
“You see?” Avra said. “I have the blood you’re looking for. Give me Rom, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“The blood, yes of course. Your boy didn’t have it on him when we took him.” He wondered if she could read his lies, being a creature now so like him. “But there’s more here than blood that interests me.”
She did not blink, did not falter, did not show a hint of dismay at his obvious insinuation. For a few moments, she returned his gaze in kind, either considering his suggestion or suppressing her own eagerness to accept it.
The tension between them thickened Saric’s pulse.
“Clearly,” she said. “But I would need my boy back.”
Something was wrong. Avra had come here ready to use any means necessary to gain Rom’s freedom. She’d known from the outset that her decisions were motivated by the newfound emotions coursing through her veins. Like a drug, they pushed her into behavior lacking in logic—or any regard for her personal safety.
She would save Rom or die trying. This she knew.
But she hadn’t known how that emotion would influence her in the company of another man capable of desiring her. Particularly a man as powerful as Saric. She’d counted on being unnerved by him. She had been, and more. She was drawn to him.
She hated the way he looked at her. The way his gaze raked over her. The dark blood beneath his thin skin, the smoothness of his hair. But she also found it powerfully alluring.
She, the small girl who’d hidden from the Order for so many years, was now holding sway over one of the most powerful Brahmins in the world. Saric wanted her, she could see it in his eyes. She hadn’t even lifted her hand and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
What would it feel like to have his arms around her? To hear him whisper of his affection?
The moment the thought came to her, she shoved it away.
“You shall have your boy back,” Saric replied. “As soon as I have what I want.” His gaze drifted down her body. “But first, tell me something about the keepers.”