“They’re on the first floor.”
“Close?”
I nod to the end of the corridor, which we’re growing close to. “Right around the bend there. He insists on being as far away from the other chambers as possible. Doesn’t like being around other royalty.” I’m babbling, but I can’t stop myself as I break into a jog. “He likes being close to that exit. Says it’ll make a good escape, if he’s ever in danger.” I can hear the hysteria in my own voice, and wince at my weakness.
“Calm down, Faye,” Lor murmurs. “It’ll be fine. We just need to get to him and get him out.”
“But he’ll want to stay with the soldiers. That’s probably what he’s doing in there, you know. His chambers have thick walls, so people can’t hear from outside. He’ll be planning tactics with the generals. He’s good at tactics.” I gasp in a breath and add, “I’ll make him leave. He can’t get hurt. He can’t.”
“Then we won’t let him,” Lor says gently, and he squeezes my hand again.
We’re both completely out of breath when we reach the bend in the corridor. Lor stumbles just as we turn, and his hand yanks out of my grasp. He sags against the wall, his good leg shaking with the effort of keeping him upright. I hesitate for a moment, and then say, “Just stay here. I’ll come back for you as soon as I get Farren.”
Lor grits his teeth and shakes his head. He pushes off from the wall and takes the lead, hobbling down the corridor. “I’m not leaving you,” he snaps. Then he looks over his shoulder and flashes that cocky smile. “Now, come on. Let’s get your brother.”
I race after him, forcing my legs to work off sheer will-power. My injured leg is stiffening by the moment. I close my eyes and wince, thinking of how painful it will be to run back out of the castle. But I’ll do it, if it means getting Farren to safety.
When we reach his door, I’m still trying to decide how to I’ll convince him to leave. Probably a threat would be the easiest way to get him out of the castle. I’ll threaten to stay here, in harm’s way, until he leaves with me. That will convince him.
With a decisive nod, I reach to knock on Farren’s door. Lor’s hand whips out and whacks mine away. I open my mouth to protest, but he slaps his palm over my mouth. He nods toward the door, and I give it a closer look. It’s already ajar. But why? Surely Farren knows to close the door when he plans battle tactics.
“Stay here,” Lor murmurs quietly. “I’m going to go in and check it out.”
I want to protest, but his hand is still covering my mouth. So I just nod.
Lor slips inside. I wait for him to give me the all clear, and impatiently tap my foot and rub my face. Seconds pass. Then a minute. I hear nothing from inside, and my palm grows slick as I wipe sweat off my forehead. “Lor?” I murmur. There’s no response, so I say a little louder, “Lor? Are you okay?”
Still no answer. I frown and step into the room, my mouth already open to warn Farren his tactics discussion might have been overheard.
What comes out of my mouth is a scream.
THIRTY
Farren lies on the floor, red liquid pooling around him. One, two, three, four knife wounds mark his chest. His shirt is soaked in blood, and more trickles from his lips. A metallic smell coats the air.
I watch Farren’s chest and hold my breath for one second. Then two. And three, four, five, six, seven, eight more seconds pass.
His bloodied chest never moves.
I scream again, the sound more strangled this time. My legs carry me toward him, my injuries just distant memories in the back of my mind. Lor tries to stop me, but he’s weak from shock and horror, and I slip past him. I kneel next to Farren and whisper his name so many times, I lose count. I shake him, hug him, kiss his bloody cheek. But he doesn’t stir.
He’s dead. Really, really dead. Just as dead as my mom, as Ashe, as everyone I’ve ever loved. I turn and retch. Spasms wrench my stomach, squeezing out every ounce of bile in me, twisting my muscles painfully. When I finish throwing up, I look back at Farren.
He’s still dead.
I think of my last words to him: “Just go.”
My chest heaves, and I break into sobs. I’m not sure how long I stay there, just sobbing. Time seems to have disappeared.
“I’m sorry,” Lor says. He rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry, Faye.”
But his words are distant, and they don’t matter.
Just when I think that I’m going to die too, that my heart is just going to crumple up and stop, I hear something. A laugh. No, it’s Lor’s laugh. The deep timbre of it cuts through my sobs, derisive and mocking.
I whirl around, my hand moving toward the knife at my waist. I grip its handle and glare at Lor, who stands by the door. But… Lor is still beside me. How can he be two places at once?
The man by the door is smiling, his teeth bared in a predatory smile. The corner of the right side of his lip is raised slightly higher than the left, lifted by a thick scar.
I blink, clearing the tears from my eyes. Asair. Asair is the one with the scarred face, not Lor.
“Princess Faye,” Asair says, his voice a triumphant purr. He gestures to Farren’s body. “I see you’ve come to admire my handy-work.”
I swallow back tears and whisper, “You did this?”
He chuckles and steps forward into the room. “But of course.” His hand drifts to his waist, and he lazily pulls a long dagger from its sheath. Half-dried blood coats the blade.
I retch again. When I manage to stop the spasms, Asair stands right in front of me, staring down disdainfully. His gaze flickers between me and Farren’s body. He doesn’t acknowledge Lor.
“You really should have seen this coming,” he says with a sigh. “I’m sure you were warned.”
The memory of Blaize’s note drifts to the front of my mind. ‘Should you chose to do nothing, your regret will likely kill you.’
I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the handle of my dagger tighter. I fumble with the weapon, pulling it from its sheath. But, by the time I point it toward Asair, he’s backed away. Amusement gleams in his eyes.
“You’re a weak little thing, Faye.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m honestly not sure how such a pathetic girl can be such a menace. But this life has treated you differently, hasn’t it?”
I narrow my eyes, not sure what he’s talking about.
“Back away from her, Asair,” Lor growls.
Lor takes a step forward. His teeth are gritted and his fists clenched, and he rolls his shoulders as he glares at Asair.
Asair laughs harshly and throws his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, as if he only just noticed Lor. “Brother! It’s been such a long time.”
“Don’t play games with me, Asair.” Lor tries to approach Asair, but he stumbles and collapses onto one knee. I reach forward and take his hand. He squeezes my palm in return.
Asair smiles coldly. “What a pair you two make. Both injured, yet you won’t finish each other off.”
I wince as his cold, azure eyes land on me. He smiles knowingly.
“Why would I kill her?” Lor demands. “She’s never harmed me. And I don’t needlessly kill people. Unlike you.”
Asair puts a hand to his heart. “I’m hurt, little brother. So very hurt.”
Lor slowly grinds his teeth back and forth, and Asair’s smile turns to a grin. “You really don’t know, do you, brother? You really haven’t figured it out?”
“I’m not your brother,” Lor snarls. “Not after what you did to Emryll.”
Asair waves away his words. “Let’s leave the past alone, shall we? Now is time to focus on the present.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.
“It means you, little princess,” Asair replies. “You’re part of Lor’s life now. Although I suppose you’re also part of his past, aren’t you? All those lives you’ve spent hunting him…” He makes a tsking noise. “Such a waste, those past lives of yours. Think of what greatness the Angels could have already
achieved, if you hadn’t killed him so many times.”
Lor shoots me a suspicious glance. “What is he talking about, Faye?”
I swallow hard and look to the ground. I can’t lie to him. “I’m the Unknown, Lor. It’s me. I’m the one from your prophecy.”
He stumbles away from me, making it only a few steps before collapsing. I glance over to him and instantly regret it. His eyes are filled with confusion, fear, shock. But, most of all, hate.
“You tricked me, didn’t you?” Lor murmurs.
“I never meant to trick you! I didn’t figure it out until a few days ago, and I didn’t know for sure until now. If I’d—”
“Shut up, Faye,” Lor growls. “You lied to me. You told me you loved Jay. But you’re the one who killed him, aren’t you?”
“No! I loved him, Lor. I did, I swear. I never would have hurt him.”
“This is a cute little argument,” Asair says in a bored tone, “but I’m really not in the mood for it. Let’s move on, shall we?”
Lor glares at me, and I look down in shame. Neither of us respond to Asair.
“Now, let me tell you how this little game is going to work,” Asair says, his tone brightening. He points to Lor. “You’re going to get a chance to kill her. It’ll end the prophecy and avenge our brother’s death.”
“I didn’t kill Ashe,” I growl.
Asair points to me, but doesn’t acknowledge my words. “And you,” he says, “you’re going to get a chance to kill my little brother here. If you kill him, the prophecy still ends, at least for awhile. Your role will be complete, and I won’t have to worry about Lor interfering with the invasion.”
Asair smiles. “You see, I win either way. It’s one of you who will lose.”
“What if neither of us want to kill each other?” I whisper. I try to ignore Lor’s glare and the knowledge that it’s a stupid question.
“Then I’ll kill you both,” Asair says simply.
Asair moves to give the dagger to Lor, but I quickly say, “Wait.”
He raises an eyebrow at me and twirls the dagger between his fingertips. I look down at my own dagger, still clutched in my hand. Black gryphon blood clings to its blade. “Make me a promise,” I say to Asair.
He laughs. “Angels don’t make promises. You should know that.”
“Just this once,” I say. “It’s a simple one.”
Asair rolls his eyes, but gestures for me to continue. “I’ll hear you out.”
I look him right in the eye. “Promise me that what you say is true. If one of us dies, you’ll let the other one live.”
His smile grows. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you seem,” he murmurs. “I have to admit, it’s smart for you to ensure your survival.”
I glance over at Lor. His hands have fallen open, and he stares at me with a stricken look.
“Promise me,” I growl at Asair.
“Very well, fine. I promise.”
He takes one step forward, as if to give the knife to me. But then he grins and tosses his bloody dagger to Lor’s feet. The metal blade pings as it strikes the stone. “Now is your chance, little brother,” Asair says. “Kill the Unknown, and you’ll survive. Otherwise, she’ll kill you.”
Lor swallows hard and slowly unclenches his right fist.
“What are you waiting for?” Asair asks. “She’s already bartering your life. Kill her while you have the chance.”
My heart pounds frantically as Lor reaches out and takes the bloodied dagger at his feet. His hand shakes as he wraps his fingers at it, and he turns his gaze up to me.
His glare is so intense, I flinch away. His eyes scream accusations, while his jaw trembles from betrayal. He lifts the knife, preparing to throw it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
A sharp clang echoes through the air. Is that what death sounds like? A clang? My heart beats faster, and I squeeze my eyes closed tighter.
Then I realize that dead people don’t have heartbeats.
A harsh laugh cuts through the air. I peel my eyes open and find myself looking at Asair. He’s hunched over and clutching a bleeding arm, and the dagger rests at his feet, fresh blood clinging to its blade.
“Well played, little brother,” Asair growls, his lips twisted in a pained smile. He slowly straightens, but his injured arm remains close to his side. “Futile, but still well played.”
I blink, trying not to show my surprise. Lor threw the knife at Asair. Not me. Asair. More tears well in my eyes.
“I don’t kill innocents,” Lor hisses. His shoulders are slumped and he’s still collapsed on the ground, but his hands remain clenched.
Asair raises an eyebrow. “You consider her innocent? After she killed your own brother?”
Lor shakes his head, his fist clenching tighter. “She’s right. She didn’t do it. She couldn’t have.”
Asair scoffs. “And why do you say that?”
Lor grits his teeth and stares directly at his brother. “You’re the one who convinced me she was an enemy.”
Asair shrugs, but doesn’t deny this. “So?”
“You’re also the one who convinced our father to rip my wings off and outcast me.”
“So you’re saying you don’t trust me?” Asair asks, his tone mocking.
“I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth,” Lor snarls. Then he looks up at me, meeting my eyes. His gaze is just as intense, but the anger has settled to a simmer. “Besides,” he says, “Faye isn’t a killer.”
“Well,” Asair says briskly. He gestures to me, that smile still in place, but he looks a little unsettled. “Time to prove him wrong, princess.” He makes a little shooing motion toward Lor. “Now go on. Kill him, fulfill your destiny, and I’ll hold up my side of the promise. You’ll survive.”
I stumble to my feet and lurch toward Lor, my injured leg stiff, my entire body trembling. I swallow hard and clench my dagger harder. Lor shakes his head as I approach, and I distantly hear Asair chuckling in amusement.
“You don’t have to do this,” Lor murmurs. He looks me straight in the eye, and I flinch away from the compassion in them. “There’s another choice, Faye. We could die together. We could end the prophecy.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to take his offer. But I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not about to change it. “No,” I murmur. “There’s not another choice. Not for me.”
I lift my weapon high above my head. Lor closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
I bring the dagger crashing down.
THIRTY-ONE
I wake to something fiery burning in my chest and something cool pressed on my forehead. I groan and try to sit up, but a hand pushes me back onto a bed. The mattress isn’t soft, and little pieces of straw poke through the sheets and into my back.
“Steady there, darling,” someone whispers. The voice sounds strangely familiar, almost like I’ve heard it before… The beach. The attack, and the running, and Cyrus. That’s why the voice sounds familiar. It’s the same one that I heard in my head.
I open my mouth to tell him not to call me ‘darling’—it isn’t fitting for royalty to be called by that name. But all that comes out of my mouth is a pained groan.
Cyrus dabs my forehead a few times with a wet cloth. Which confuses me, because how can a bird tend to me? Or a panther, or whatever he is now. A few droplets of water drip down my cheek, tickling my skin there. I reach up to brush them away, and open my eyes.
Cyrus hovers over me. His appearance is nothing like it was before—he looks like any other Fae, with pale skin and delicate features. His hair is bright red and matches his eyes, which stare down at me with a grim expression.
Those eyes… I know them. I’ve seen that vibrant red color before, first in the eyes of the hummingbird phoenix, then in the deer, then the sparrow. Has Cyrus been following me? Why?
“You shouldn’t try to move for awhile,” Cyrus whispers.
I say the first word that comes into my head. “Lor?”
>
He flaps his hands at me a little. “Not so loud!” he hisses.
I frown at him, and he rolls his eyes, like I’m slow or something. “I’m not supposed to be in here, okay? And I really don’t feel like being gutted by that crazy vamp out there, so keep it down.” His expression suddenly turns thoughtful. “Would he really gut me? Or would he go for the neck? Because I hear gutting is quite painful, but the neck… Well, that might not be a bad way to go.”
“Lor was right,” I mutter. “You’re insane.”
He grins. “Oh, darling, you don’t know the half of it.”
“Lor,” I repeat. “What happened to him?”
That grim smile returns. “He’s alive. We think. Well, he thinks.” He points to the door, where the ‘crazy vamp’ is. I have no doubt Cyrus is talking about Jackal.
“Where?” I manage to murmur.
“Asair took him.”
I try to sit up, but pain rips through my chest. A choked scream escapes me, and he dabs at my forehead some more. Cyrus sighs. “I told you not to move.”
“It hurts,” I whisper.
He gives a short laugh. “Well, what do you expect? Knife wounds usually hurt, especially when they’re through the heart.”
I frown, trying to understand his words. Then I remember my blade hovering over Lor, staring into his composed face, and stabbing into my own chest instead. And Asair’s promise. He’d sworn to spare one of us if the other died, and he couldn’t get out of that promise without dying himself.
I smile. It’d worked. Lor is alive. And I’m…
What am I?
“It’s a miracle you’re alive,” Cyrus says, as if reading my mind. “And I mean that literally. You died when you stabbed yourself.”
“Mmm,” I murmur, wondering why he has to state the obvious. Of course I died. That was my plan.
My mind feels fuzzy, and something tells me I should be more interested in this conversation. But I’m too tired to focus properly.
“But you reincarnated again,” he says brightly. Then he snaps his fingers. “That’s it! You’ve died before. So you can tell me if the gut or the neck is better, right?”
Counting Shadows (Duplicity) Page 17