The Seers

by Katherine Bennet

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He sounded reassuring, but he was smarter than that.

  And so was she.

  She wasn’t valuable as a person. Cyrus looked at her as a weapon. The second she stopped being of use—

  No. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about that yet. Especially not in front of Jasper—

  Not Jasper. Commander Bishop.

  As in Cyrus’s right hand. It didn’t matter how kind he seemed, or what he had been in the past. It was dangerous to think of him as anything more than the Head of the Guard.

  He sighed. “I’ll handle Cyrus. You’ll have all the time you need. We’re looking into concealment measures, but it could take some time to covertly get exactly what we need. In the meantime, I’ve secured the estate from prying eyes. You’ll still have access to the gardens, the main corridor. Very little will change, except…”

  He paused. She couldn't breathe. Why would he pause?

  His gaze met hers. “A position like yours would warrant some extra security, don’t you think?”

  That's why he was at her bedside. He might have sounded kind, but he was here to do Cyrus’s bidding. “Extra security or a prison guard?”

  Something flashed in his eyes. “I don’t look at it that way.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she said. “I remember the last time Cyrus dealt with a Variant in his bloodline. I’m surprised he’s waiting to see what happens, at all.”

  “Tiberius was different,” he bit out.

  “But Cyrus is the same. If he’s assigned you to me, that means—”

  “It was my idea,” he said, his tone even. “I volunteered.”

  “I—” She stumbled over her words. Warm memories of their nights spent talking in the garden rushed in before she could stop them, but that was over. This wasn’t like before. She would not think of their past. “Why?”

  He cleared his throat and looked away. “I have my reasons.”

  And whose agenda drove those reasons? She tossed the blanket aside. He wanted to pretend this optimistic charade was reality? Fine. She’d play, too. They weren’t friends anymore; they hadn’t spoken in years. No matter how kind he seemed, he worked for Cyrus. He was dangerous.

  She’d let him spout his nonsense about the benefits and security of her position. She wouldn’t fight it, but he couldn’t watch her all the time. Behind closed doors, she’d plot her revenge.

  He rose. “I'll be back to escort you to your suite when you're ready. Try to get some rest.”

  She smiled as he left, but she wouldn’t go to sleep. From that point on, her thoughts would be focused on one thing: revenge on Cyrus.

  Chapter 6

  Tobin gritted his teeth as Charlotte and Henry rushed past him into the cabin. Nora slunk behind them, her gaze downcast. He searched for anything—any sign she remembered him.

  Nothing.

  Her blue eyes were cold, confirming what he already knew. His Nora was gone.

  Parts of him that had been lifeless for ages stirred. Scars he thought had healed years ago split open, unleashing their crippling pain. If she just would have fought the council a little longer. If she had trusted him to stay with her, allowed him to protect her, none of this would have happened.

  But it did.

  The stairs quivered beneath her as she climbed them. She paused when she reached the doorway, and he winced. What she must think of him now. He clenched his hands into fists. Losing her almost killed him last time; he would not go down that road again. It didn’t matter what she thought.

  He swept the perimeter, listening carefully. Nora had spotted the teleportation flash from the south. With all the dead brush in that direction, he’d be able to hear them at least a quarter mile away, but all was quiet. Satisfied, he leaped up the stairs and into the cabin.

  Charlotte and Henry cowered in the corner. Nora had been looking at the unmade bed, but as his footfalls pounded up the stairs, she jumped to face him, a grimace fixed on her face. Apparently, her love for cleanliness hadn’t changed.

  Yes. The floor was dirty. A worn copy of The Book of Five Rings lay open, face-down on the floor next to the bed, where his flannel blanket was balled up on top of his sunken mattress. The small kitchenette situated in the corner bore the scratches and dents of its age and use. None of that should have mattered. Who cared if he never bothered to make the bed? A little dirt on the floor never hurt anyone, and he didn’t need a fancy kitchen.

  “This way,” he ordered, ushering them to the sidewall of his one-room cabin. He lifted a stretch of the wood panels away, revealing a dark and narrow space.

  He grabbed a nylon sack from the floor and tossed it to the center of the room. It landed heavily, its contents making an assortment of sounds from a solid thud to a high-pitched clang.

  “In here,” he said.

  Nora stared into the space without moving.

  He knew that look. He was trying to save her life, and she was worried about dust bunnies.

  Dust is the least of her worries.

  He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she slid past him without protest. Good. The less time he had to spend talking with her, the better.

  He strode to the bag in the center of the room and retrieved the white pulse gun. Since it projected lethal air pulses, it wasn’t like civilian guns that needed to be reloaded—fortunate for people like them whose aim was probably worse than him with his eyes closed.

  Nora gasped, and he hesitated. Where would she have seen one since her exile?

  Never mind. He didn’t want to know.

  Charlotte’s gaze was fixed on the gun as she tucked her legs under the ridiculous puffy skirt of the dress she was wearing. She wasn’t shaking like Henry, but he couldn’t trust her with the gun. She served the council, the conniving, underhanded, power-hungry council that had done this to Nora in the first place. He shoved the weapon at Henry, whose head receded into his shoulders like a turtle.

  If Tobin remembered correctly, he was Nora’s dorky cousin who liked numbers a little too much, and his wide eyes reminded Tobin of a scared rabbit, but he was family. Hopefully that would count for something if it came to it.

  He’d never openly admit it, but on the hard nights, he’d clung to the idea that Nora was still out there, somewhere. With an unknown number of Tavians headed in his direction, that might be taken from him, too.

  He stretched his shoulders, trying to release the tension in his chest. He’d fought Tavians before; he’d stop them this time, too, and if he didn’t, Henry would protect her.

  “If they get inside, you use that, understand?” Tobin ordered.

  Henry held the gun away from himself between his fingertips as if it were radioactive. Tobin shook his head. He’d just have to make sure Henry wouldn’t have to use it.

  He turned to Nora, who withered under his attention. “No matter what happens, stay in here until I come and get you.”

  He rehung the wall panels and returned to the sack to retrieve his katana. The impeccably crafted sword had been a gift for all his years of faithful service to Nios. He’d take it all back if he could. He wielded it in front of him, refamiliarizing himself with its weight and feel. It wasn’t his weapon of choice in a situation like this, but taking the gun would leave Nora defenseless if something happened to him, and that wasn’t an option.

  He unsheathed the katana and drew in a slow, deep breath. His past with Nora was complicated. Fighting was simple, and he was a fighter. He cleared his mind, preparing for combat.

  The trees out the window remained still as the shadows of dusk grew. In a matter of minutes, the Tavians would be here. Whether it was one, two, or five guards, he had to be ready. His fingers tingled, just as they always had before a confrontation.

  Maintain a strict perimeter. Use swift, lethal force if they breach it.

  He stepped outside. All was quiet. He paced the clearing, listening, and reviewing his sparring moves. High line, low line, lunge.

  Dead leaves crackled
in the distance. He paused. A twig snapped. There it was: the rhythmic tread of footsteps. He turned to face it, listening intently. Concentrating on each step, he analyzed the movement. Two? At least two guards were closing in with smooth, quick strides. They must have found her trail.

  They were here for one purpose, but they would either turn away or be killed.

  Taking Nora isn’t an option.

  As the Tavians neared, the warrior mindset emerged from its long hibernation. His heart rate slowed, his eyes caught any movement, his ears piqued at the noises approaching. Sensory experiences were analyzed without unnecessary thought or fear.

  He finally spotted them: two silhouettes in the darkness of the trees. They moved easily through the brush toward the clearing, and the one on the right emerged first.

  Leg holster on the right side—right handed.

  A thick, black stick was holstered there—a truncheon. Tobin checked his shoulder for rank—two stripes, meaning a Level-2—and concealed a smirk. These guys were low-level. He breathed easier.

  The second emerged, leg holster on the left. Level-1. Even better.

  They glanced at Tobin, then at each other, snickering.

  Tobin planted himself firmly between them and the cabin, ready to spring into action. “I think you're lost, gentlemen.”

  “Oh, I think we found what we're looking for,” the Level-2 replied. They spread apart to flank Tobin.

  “I'm not really in the mood for visitors. Maybe some other time.”

  They chuckled darkly, circling him.

  “Interesting you should mention visitors. We're wondering if you've received any others tonight,” the Level-2 asked.

  Tobin nodded to the dense trees and the rock peak jutting out above them. “This isn't exactly a tourist attraction. I don't see many people up here, and I like it that way.”

  “And the two implant signatures coming from your house?” the Level-1 asked.

  Charlotte and Henry.

  There was no denying it. This would end in bloodshed.

  The Level-1 took a deliberate step closer to the cabin.

  Tobin flinched and turned to face him, ready to lunge. Raising his sword, he eyed the edge. “I may not be a Niotian anymore, but clearly I was allowed some mementos.”

  The Tavians laughed, and he didn’t bother hiding his grin, either.

  I love it when they’re overconfident.

  “I'm feeling a little sentimental myself.” The Level-2 nodded toward the cabin, and the Level-1’s gaze slid toward the door. “Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?”

  “Take another step, and you won't need to see my memory box to become intimately acquainted with my past.” Tobin sized up the Level-1 who held his hands low, leaving his upper body vulnerable.

  High outside line attack.

  “Take him down, Atticus,” the Level-2 commanded without breaking stride.

  Atticus, the Level-1 guard, reached for the truncheon holstered on his thigh. Tobin lunged. The katana glinted in the remaining light and found its target. He only needed one pass. Atticus’s head fell from his body with an explosion of blood.

  Tobin whirled to face the Level-2 and closed the distance between them, warm blood dripping from his neck and arms. There was no going back now. He’d just killed a Tavian on a property easily traced to him. His implant would stop pinging, and Octavius would be alerted in a matter of minutes. He’d have to kill the other guard quickly if he wanted any chance of getting Nora away from here alive.

  The Level-2 gaped at him, drawing his truncheon. With a flick of his wrist, the blue ring at the end lit up. “You just broke about fifteen points of the treaty.”

  Tobin remained just out of striking distance. The electrodes at the end of that weapon would incapacitate him faster than a Taser. All the more reason to dispatch him quickly.

  One down, one to go.

  They circled each other, Tobin eying every movement for any sign of an attack. “I was never one for rules. And I don't answer to either side anymore.”

  A cruel smile spread across the Level-2’s face. “We'll see about that.”

  He leaped into the air. Tobin parried and struck the base of the truncheon, batting it to the side, but it nearly connected with his arm. For a Level-2, he possessed some impressive strength and skill.

  The Level-2 spun the truncheon in his hand.

  Right-side dominant. Neglects the inside line.

  He struck again, swinging his truncheon down from overhead. Tobin ducked, dodging a blow to his head, and continued his momentum, spinning into a rear-roundhouse kick. He landed a devastating blow to the Level-2’s ribs. The Level-2 stumbled backward to catch his balance, but the cruel smile reappeared only seconds later.

  “A fighter,” he sneered, wiping blood from his mouth. “That's more than I can say for most of your sniveling comrades.”

  You have no idea.

  Tobin cut through the air with the katana in an inside middle attack toward his abdomen. The Level-2 deflected and swept his truncheon with an uppercut to Tobin's head. Tobin threw himself backward to avoid the hit, barely keeping his balance.

  The Level-2 staggered to the side with the momentum of his follow through, leaving himself briefly vulnerable.

  There it is.

  Tobin sliced low and inside, slashing the Level-2’s hamstring.

  Let’s see how arrogant you are now.

  The Level-2 hobbled to a safe distance before he turned to face Tobin. His smile was gone, replaced with a contorted scowl. Blood soaked through his pant leg. “Why hide the Seer?”

  Seer. Tobin’s lips curled. He hated the word. It was all anyone ever saw in Nora—anyone except him.

  “What value is she to you if you no longer pledge Niotian allegiance?” The Level-2 took shallow breaths as he hopped around on his good leg.

  Value? She’d been everything to him once. Tension snaked its way through his muscles. He blinked to stay focused. Years of training warned of the dangers of emotions in combat, and his experience proved it. But staring at the Tavian, he could feel Nora’s presence from inside. This was more than emotional; it was personal. He had to end it fast before he made a mistake. “I may not be a Niotian anymore—”

  The Level-2 lunged at him, but with a severed hamstring, his agility had its limits—and Tobin spotted them.

  Tobin bobbed out of the way, caught hold of the Level-2’s arm as he passed, and pulled him downward, plunging his sword into his back. He held him in place for a moment until he dropped to his knee.

  “But I will always hate Tavians,” Tobin declared, inches from his ear.

  The Level-2 collapsed to the ground in seconds, blood pooling underneath him. His black eyes dulled.

  The Tavians would never ignore the deaths of two guards, even if they had violated the treaty and engaged Tobin first. An hour, at best, was all he had before the woods would be crawling with them. And they wouldn’t be low-level guards.

  He scanned the tree line. Why did Charlotte and Henry have to bring Nora here? Why couldn’t they leave him alone? His life was simple. His wounds didn’t bother him deep in the woods. All that was gone now. The Tavians would be after him as well, and this time he didn’t have an army or treaty behind him.

  He strode to the cabin and burst through the door, smelling the familiar scent of burnt toast and the gun bore cleaner he used on his hunting rifle. The old fridge hummed, and the wood beams creaked with a gust of wind. This hideaway from the world might still be here now, but it wouldn’t be for long. He’d never sleep here again.

  Rapid breaths expanded his chest. He grabbed the table and threw it with all his force against the wall, where it shattered as if it had been made of glass, then he turned to the hidden space and ripped the panels from the wall.

  “Out,” he commanded, trying to avoid looking at Nora. As soon as he got her to safety, he’d leave.

  She gaped at him before glancing at the wooden shards of table scattered over the floor.

>   “Come on! We don't have much time.” Tobin rushed across the room to a chest on the floor. He wrenched it open and rifled through it. He would pack and guide them off the mountain before the night was over. “Those two Tavians were low-level grunts, but their bosses—and probably their bosses' bosses—will be here in about an hour.”

  Chapter 7

  Annabel sat propped up in her four-poster bed, her feet tucked under the fluffy, white duvet. Daylight had faded from the dome of Octavius’s protective shield, and the peaceful quietness of night had taken over. She flipped the page in her book, pretending to read.

  True to his word, Commander Bishop had returned to escort her to her suite and ensured all her needs had been met, but he’d had other responsibilities, too. A constant stream of people had knocked on her suite doors, looking for him to discuss anything from strategy to guard allocation, or to gain authorization for any number of operations. In her sitting room, visitors had conversed in hushed voices, then disappeared without Annabel knowing their identity or business.

  Not that it mattered. She remained focused on revenge.

  Her gaze wandered across the ivory panels of her bedroom walls to the bureau, where Father’s dagger lay hidden in a drawer. A gift after he’d died, she’d kept it close in the months following his assassination, not for sentimentality but for protection. After the attacks had ended, she’d set it aside and hadn’t thought of it in ages.

  Cyrus’s treachery had changed that.

  It was the perfect weapon for her mission, a family weapon to avenge a family betrayal. Tonight would be the night. She would plant that dagger in his heart, proving once and for all that she was nobody’s prisoner.

  This went far beyond revenge. If it were purely about anger, her feelings might have cooled to the constant, tolerable hatred of Cyrus. When he had tried to make her a Seer, he had left her little choice. There was no other option. He had to die.