by Sarah Fine
“We couldn’t have allowed the legal process to run its course?” Rosaleen asked, leaning forward in her chair. “I always thought you respected the rule of law, Aislin.”
“I respect principles over rules.” Aislin was still ashamed for not supporting Declan from the beginning. If she had, he wouldn’t have been forced to take action on his own to save Galena from bitter and dangerous injustice. Aislin should have honored the strength of his commitment and been brave enough to stand behind him. Instead, she’d bowed to her fear of losing control. “Sometimes principles dictate that rules be broken.”
“And sometimes principles dictate the need for new leadership,” said Hugh, rising from his chair. “I, for one, have lost confidence in this Charon’s ability to manage the empire. She has neither the will nor the ability to guide us through this crisis. I cannot in good conscience continue as a member of our board if she remains at the helm. Our summit with the Keepers looms, and nothing could carry higher stakes. If Moros is able to convince them that we are unnecessary or incompetent, they could withdraw all our privileges entirely, leaving us as regular mortals—with a host of Kere that would be happy to avenge years of imagined slights.” Hugh’s arms rose from his sides as his voice carried through the conference room. “We need authority and strength from our leader at a time like this.” He gestured at Aislin. “And right now we have a Charon who can’t even control her own little brother.”
“I vote to remove Aislin Ferry from the position, and I nominate Hugh Ferry to replace her,” said Brian, his smile triumphant.
“Seconded,” said Ciara, “And I—” She gasped, staring over Aislin’s shoulder.
Aislin whirled around, having felt the heat at her back. Terror surged inside her as she pictured Rylan, his eyes glowing red. But the eyes she found herself staring into weren’t her brother’s. “Jason,” she whispered, too startled to find her voice—or her formality.
The Lord of the Kere smirked at the assembled Ferrys. “Pardon me for interrupting.”
“Oh, I’m thinking we’re almost done,” said Hugh, his nostrils flaring. “But perhaps you’d like to wait outside while we conclude our business.”
Moros, dressed in an elegant black suit, his ebony hair slicked back and a small gold hoop glinting in his left ear, tilted his head. “And perhaps I wouldn’t. I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation.” He glanced at Aislin before returning his focus to Hugh. “I think there are things you should know.”
“I think we know all we need to,” said Ciara, her eyes narrowed.
“Or just all you want to,” replied Moros. “As it turns out, my dear Ferrys, my family is just as dysfunctional as yours.” His tone was amused. His control made Aislin envious. “At least one of my sisters is working to bring about the end of the Servants of Fate. She is hoping, I think, that the Keepers will do it for her, but failing that, she will cause the return of Chaos himself. Please trust me when I say that this is an outcome you should try to avoid at all costs.”
“And what is the cost?” Ennis said, banging his gnarled fist on the table. “You allowing your creatures to abuse and threaten us? You conspiring to remove us from power altogether?”
Moros took a step forward, so that he was standing right next to Aislin. She could feel the heat from his body against her cool skin, raising the tiny hairs along her arms. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect destiny and fate. It is the reason I exist.” He stared Ennis down. “And if I sense the Ferrys are not my allies in this mission, you may rely on me to bring you low.”
Ennis’s eyes widened at the threat, and his wrinkled face turned a mottled purple. He jabbed a thick finger at Moros. “You see?” he said, his voice shrill. “I knew he wasn’t on our side!”
“That’s not what he said,” Aislin replied, annoyed at Moros for stirring the pot.
“Thank you,” Moros said smoothly. “I said I serve fate, which automatically aligns me with those who do the same. Based on my understanding of you esteemed people, there is currently only one Ferry whom I trust as a fit partner during this crisis, and she is standing right next to me.”
Aislin blinked, then carefully schooled her expression as Moros continued.
“If the board decides to remove her from her position and impose new leadership, it will destabilize our alliance. I am sorry to say that the Keepers will not be pleased to hear of it.” He laid his gloved palms on the table, and every single board member flinched. “I strongly suggest you postpone this ill-conceived action. Think of the future.” His lips curled at one side, a devastating half-smile.
“I-I move that we meet again in twenty-four hours,” said Rosaleen, her face pale.
“Seconded,” muttered Ennis, leaving clammy handprints on the table as he pushed his chair back.
Hugh’s bald forehead shined beneath the overhead lights, an expanse of blotchy pink interrupted only by his deep widow’s peak. “I suggest you all take the time to truly consider what you’re committing to,” he said, his voice trembling with rage. “The Lord of the Kere is clearly as good at intimidation as his minions.”
“A convenient mischaracterization,” said Moros. “But call it what you will. Again, I do apologize for interrupting your meeting.”
As the other board members rose from their seats and rushed from the room, murmuring angrily among themselves, Aislin gritted her teeth. “Can I see you in my office, please?” she asked stiffly.
Then, without a backward glance, she turned and stalked toward her private elevator. She focused on walking steadily, on keeping her head high even though her eyes stung with tears of humiliation. She jabbed the elevator button and stepped inside when the door opened, not waiting for Moros to follow.
She was not surprised to step out of the elevator and find him leaning casually against her desk, looking suave and smug and so distractingly handsome that she had the sudden and ridiculous urge to throw something at him. She closed her eyes for a moment, reminding herself that emotionality was the enemy. “In the future, I would appreciate it if you would not intrude on Psychopomps board meetings,” she said.
“Even when it saves you from losing your job?” He reached up and loosened the knot in his scarlet tie. “Come now—I thought you respected results.”
“Results? We have another meeting in twenty-four hours, and you just sent my board away to angrily conspire in the meantime. Without consulting me first.”
He waved away the complaint with his gloved hand. “They’re easily manipulated, ready to turn on each other whenever it becomes convenient, just like they turned on you. I would have thought you’d be happy for the interruption.”
“You undermined me.”
His lazy smile faded. “I was trying to do the opposite.”
“Because you didn’t think more than one step ahead.” She walked to her desk and glanced down at the screen embedded in its surface, currently streaming performance updates from financial markets around the world. “The board already believed me to be weak. You just bolstered that belief by swooping down to rescue me.”
He chuckled, and the sound vibrated along her limbs, making her feel even more unsteady. “Are you in need of rescue, Aislin?”
“No,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.
He stood on the other side of her desk, and she fought to meet his eyes. “You underestimate your power,” he said quietly.
“I’ve told you before—don’t patronize me.”
He sighed. “It’s merely an observation, Aislin, informed by many years of working with your predecessors.”
She almost laughed. Many years. More like two thousand. “I am realistic, Jason. And realism leads to caution. Do not mistake that for a lack of confidence.” And then she betrayed herself by looking away, too afraid he would see exactly how uncertain she was.
“Very well.” His voice was low, deep and rich. “You don’t underestimate yourself. You underestimate my need for your help.”
She raised her hea
d and found him staring out the window at the skyline of the city. “Has something happened?”
“Maybe.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “First, I need to hear your answer. I need to know if we are to be allies.”
Or enemies. She glanced at his hands, clad in black leather, so feared and notorious for the pain their simple touch could cause. He coaxed the future out of people; he could know their secrets with a brush of his fingers. Her little sister had been one of his victims but had somehow survived it. Aislin had heard stories, though, of those who weren’t so lucky, those who had been driven mad as the weight of the years ahead crushed them. And if he could cause that much suffering with a mere touch, what else could he do? He was death. He led an army of killers. If she were to turn against him, she would have to do it very, very carefully.
But as her gaze slid up his body and settled on his face, she felt moved to help him instead. “Make me understand the threat,” she said slowly. “If you want me as an ally, I need to know everything you do.”
That lazy smile returned, and Aislin huffed with exasperation. “Just tell me the basics, then, without the mocking commentary.”
He laughed, his canines catching the light. “How well you know me.”
She wasn’t sure she did—but she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been fascinated with him, first uncritically and then begrudgingly, and she couldn’t recall a time when he’d looked as tired as he did now. “What is Chaos, really?” she asked.
“He is the enemy of fate.” Moros strode to one of the couches in her sitting area and settled himself on it, gracefully unbuttoning his suitcoat. Then he spread his arms along the back of the sofa and began tapping his fingers rhythmically.
As she took a seat across from him, she became keenly aware that his fingertips were striking the cushions in time with the beat of her own heart. There was a full ten feet between them, but suddenly it felt much smaller. “Why had I never heard of Chaos before Rylan appeared in this office a few days ago to taunt us?”
“Because Chaos was vanquished ages ago—by my mother.”
“Your mother . . . Nyx.” Aislin’s father had told her of Moros’s origins, conceived from his mother’s will alone, born fully grown. “How did she defeat him?”
Moros’s stare was an intrusion she felt along her spine, deep in her belly. It was as if he was trying to dismantle her with his gaze, to unravel every secret thought. “She used an ancient weapon.” His mouth opened, and it seemed like the words were poised on his tongue. But then he focused his attention on the darkness outside the window. “It is long since lost.”
Frustration flared hot in her chest. “You’re holding back.”
He kept his attention on the night. “When the first of the Servants of Fate came into the world, our existence kept Chaos, one of the original, primordial gods, in deep sleep. He cannot rule while I walk the planet, while my sisters weave the fabric of destiny, while we keep watch over the order of things. But if we are defeated, he will rise, and he will bring total destruction in his wake. The bombings here in Boston over the last week would be just a tiny ripple compared to what he will inflict. Cities and countries will fall. Civilization will collapse. No one will be safe.”
Aislin’s stomach churned. “And us?”
“You cannot hope to maintain your grip on power, not that it would matter anyway. If I perish, the Kere will be subject to the will of the first being to seize their souls. They could fall into the hands of the enemy.”
“You said you had safeguarded their souls.”
“I have done what I can, Aislin, but I am not all powerful.” For a moment, his face fell, and Aislin read the desolation in his unfocused stare.
She had the urge to kneel beside him and smooth his worry lines with her fingertip. The sensation was so sudden, so compelling, that it pulled her to the edge of her seat before she managed to stop herself. “Are you all right, Jason?” she asked quietly.
He turned from the window. “Am I . . . all right?”
She could feel the blush creeping up from her chest, threatening to stain her pale skin. “I-I just meant, well, since the fabric is unraveling, I wondered if you felt it. If it made you feel sick, or weak.”
“Oh.” He was silent just long enough to make her heart pound. “I am as strong as I need to be, as always.”
His cockiness disrupted whatever moment they might have shared. “What do you propose we do next?” she asked. “We have seventy-two hours until our summit with the Keepers, my board is in rebellion, and your sister and my brother are off somewhere, plotting to bring us down. Now might be the time to try to acquire that ancient weapon you mentioned.”
He smiled, and it made her breath catch. It wasn’t the calculating smile he so often wore, or the mocking one that made her blood boil. This was open and shocking in its beauty. “You make it sound very simple.”
“If I focus on the magnitude of what we’re facing, I’ll collapse under its weight,” she admitted.
His smile disappeared. “I believe I know what you mean.” He was silent for a second, peering at her across the distance between them. Once again, Aislin wanted to reach across it, to stretch out her hand and risk the fear that he wouldn’t reach back, simply because it felt so truthful.
You can’t understand him, Patrick Ferry had told her once. He’s beyond us. But he reveals his character in his actions, if you take the time to look.
She was looking now. And having trouble looking away. “I’ve frozen Rylan’s funds, for what it’s worth. And I tried to warn the board of what he’s become, in case he visits any of them.”
“They don’t hold the power, so they won’t hold his interest. Make sure your personal security detail is alert, though, hmm?”
“I already have.”
He stood up. “Well, I have a little errand to run. But first I need to check in with my sisters.” He moved toward her, getting close enough for the temperature around her to rise. “Aislin, I believe Eris is not the only one of my siblings working against me. Apate—lies—and Nemesis—vengeance—are probably helping her.”
“I’m sorry.” She knew the sting of family betrayal.
“We’ve been playing defense since the beginning of this fight, and it’s time to take the offensive.”
“Agreed. What do you need me to do?”
“Decide which of your Ferrys you trust. Tell them what is happening and warn them of Rylan’s betrayal. Have them keep you apprised of any unusual behavior from my Kere and let me know immediately if you have news. And do what you do best, my dear.”
Her eyebrows rose.
He leaned forward. “Vanquish your enemies.”
Aislin’s heart skipped. He was right. She had a coalition to form and board members to corral. “I’ll see to it.”
His grin returned as he offered his hand. “Allies?”
This was it, her point of no return. If he was lulling her into providing her cooperation just so he could stab her in the back in front of the Keepers, she was stepping right into his trap. But she didn’t believe it was ruse; she’d seen the desperation and loneliness in those cold gray eyes.
But she also knew he wasn’t telling her everything. And if he was planning to betray her, she would fight back with every ounce of cunning she possessed.
She slid her palm along his, only a thin layer of leather between them, their fingers curving, their grips tight. “Allies.”
He squeezed her hand. “You’ll see me again soon.” And then he disappeared.
Aislin looked down at her fingers, still warm from his, hoping she hadn’t just sealed her own doom. Then she pulled her phone from her pocket as it buzzed.
It was Cavan, her ambassador to the Lucinae, the beings responsible for transporting new souls from the Spring of Life into the human realm. His sculpted face appeared on her screen as she touched his name. “Aislin,” he said in a tight voice. “Can I schedule a meeting with you for this week?”
“This week
is rather inconvenient. Can’t it wait until our monthly meeting?”
He shook his head, and from the way his eyes darted to the side, she could tell he wasn’t alone. “I really have to talk to you about something.”
Her heart knocked against her ribs as she tapped out a text, one she hoped his companion couldn’t see. Are you safe?
As soon as he read it, he laughed, but it was strained. “Yes. That’s not an issue.” His eyes met hers again. “But I’d be grateful if you’d make time.”
Cavan was so dependably tactful, so calm and courteous even under pressure, that she wondered what could make him this jittery. “I’ll tell Walter to make room on my schedule,” she said. “He’ll call you with a time.”
Her ambassador gave her a relieved smile, even as his eyes flicked to the side once more. Aislin’s fingers curled around the phone. “And will you be coming to this meeting alone?”
“Oh—yes. I’ll be alone.” His jaw tightened. “I should go. I don’t want to take up more of your time. But I’ll see you very soon—and thank you.” His handsome face disappeared from her screen.
Aislin frowned as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. One more thing to add to her list of worries. Maybe it was good they would be meeting in the next few days—she could tell Cavan about Moros’s siblings, a warning he could take to the Lucinae. But she would also be on her guard; after what had happened with Trevor, the Ker who infiltrated Psychopomps and helped Rylan escape, she needed to be ready for anything.
“Ms. Ferry?”
Aislin turned to see the wide-eyed face of one of her guards, a distant cousin, peering at her from the Veil through the circular window of his Scope. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then let out a wrenching scream, his Scope falling from his hands and landing, still open, on the floor.
Aislin staggered back as Rylan appeared in front of her, his fingers dripping with blood. He leaned over, picked up the guard’s Scope, compacted it, and tossed it. The disk landed on her desk and spun on its edge.