He was caught now; he knew he was. His duty was clear: Report to his father. Expose the alliance. But if he did … traitors were shown no mercy. The amir already had advisors urging him to remove the possibility of any future threat from the humans. He might order the deaths of all of them. Pax might be able to save Asha, but even so, was he ready to have the blood of hundreds on his hands?
He was exhausted. He needed a meal, sleep, and time to think.
She was still waiting for his answer. Perspiration slipped down the sides of her face. Her wound was deep. She must be in incredible pain.
“That’s up to you,” he replied.
She stared at him, brow furrowing in confusion. “Me?”
“Come back with me to the Alhambra. Answer my questions once we’re there. If you do that, you have my promise of silence for now.”
“For now.”
“I need to understand the situation better. I need to get back to the palace before my father starts looking for me. You’re the key to all this—you have information I need to make a decision.” And I’m not letting you out of my sight again.
“You’re letting me choose whether to go back with you?”
“No,” he admitted. “Come with me willingly, no fighting and no running. Tell me who you are and why you’re here, and I will delay discussion with my father of everything that’s happened tonight.”
“What’s the point of delay?”
“If I understand the situation, I may be able to prevent retaliation.”
“By the amir, you mean.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him, and even with the pain she must be suffering, she managed to guard her thoughts from him. Her whole body shook, probably from shock and loss of blood. He removed his cloak and drew it carefully around her.
When his face was close to hers she said, “I can’t agree unless we find some way to protect my father.” She swallowed, and dropped her gaze. He fought an impulse to draw her into his chest. “I bargained with the priestess to persuade her to bring me here. I promised her something in exchange—”
Outside the door there was a sudden shout, and Pax bolted to his feet.
Cleo smiled at them from the doorway. “And how prompt you are in delivering it, child.”
QUEEN AND PAWN
“Stay where you are,” ordered the priestess, the satisfied smile fading from her lips. “You’re quite outnumbered.”
She moved into the room, four armed disciples slipping in after her, shoving Carrick toward Pax and Asha. More of them ranged around the windows outside. Pax exchanged a glance with Carrick. Trapped. The house had only one entrance.
“It’s good to see you, Pax.” The triangular head swiveled as Cleo surveyed the room, her gaze resting a moment on the bodies on the floor.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Pax challenged. “Collaborating with humans. Carrying firearms. You know my father will view it as treason.”
“The amir, yes. I haven’t seen him in ages.” She eyed him shrewdly. “And I don’t anticipate that I will today. Hard to imagine he’d send his only son into Al Campo to arrest me.”
She watched him with unblinking eyes as he rallied his nearly exhausted resources to address this new threat. Asha rose to her feet beside him, Pax’s cloak pulled close around her, and the priestess’s gaze shifted.
“You weren’t bluffing after all, were you, child? It looks as though the amir’s son has plunged alone into enemy territory to recover you. There was never any raid on the temple.”
The priestess fixed her eyes again on Pax, and a mocking smile twisted her lips. “This is about her. This woman who ran from you and betrayed you. Though probably you aren’t aware that she offered to deliver you to me in exchange for bringing her to Al Campo.”
Cleo was playing him, and he knew he had to resist it, but he glanced at Asha. Her guilt was plain enough from her expression. The puzzle was finally piecing itself together. He wondered how long since her memory had returned.
It was only natural she would use him, and the attachment to her he had foolishly allowed her to see. But he did wonder which woman’s idea it had been to make him part of their bargain. Either way, he’d played right into it—both women had what they wanted.
“Last time you tried to use me you failed,” Pax said coldly. “If you put me through that again, the amir will hear about all of it—both offenses, with all the ugly details. Appealing to me for Iris’s sake will get you nowhere.”
“Ah, no.” Cleo shook her head. “I’ll not waste time on a second attempt. And I no longer have any desire to be on good terms with your father. The man has a closed mind.”
There was no point reminding her what she’d lost. Pax had once had a strong interest in building a bridge between Rebelión Sagrada and his father’s regime. But Cleo was impatient. She had tried to use his bridge as a battering ram.
“The son takes after the father,” she continued. “We’re not human, Pax. Why should we be bound by their ideas of right and wrong?”
“I’m not going to debate morality with you. We both know that stunt was political. My father would have been forced to either reject his own grandchild, or lift the ban on unauthorized reproduction.”
Cleo smiled. “Fatherhood would have suited you, Pax. Now you’ve forced me to more extreme measures.”
“You must realize the amir will never negotiate with you.” Pax’s gaze shifted to the windows as he reassessed the possibility of escape. But there were too many disciples. “Even if he did negotiate,” he continued, “how would your tactics go over with your supporters? You’ll risk all the ground you’ve gained. Don’t forget my father has remained in his position as long as he has because he has popular support.”
“Support that is flagging,” Cleo argued. “People don’t like to be controlled. Your father has fallen into the absolute-power trap. But the discussion is pointless. I have no intention of ransoming you for concessions.”
She watched him in silence, waiting for him to ask. The priestess loved cat-and-mouse games. She was one to talk about the absolute-power trap. But he refused to play with her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to contain herself for long.
“If you disappear,” she said finally, “your father will mobilize resources to recover you. The effort will weaken him, much as desire for this woman has weakened you. When he discovers your body, he’ll be at his most vulnerable, and we’ll be ready. The people will see his weakness. I doubt it will even come to conflict.”
“No!” protested Asha, drawing the sharp point of the priestess’s attention. “You never said anything about killing him.”
He stared at her. Her face had opened completely. Everything she’d been hiding from him since he’d found her—conflict, anger, fear … regret?
“You didn’t ask, child,” said Cleo.
“It won’t work,” Pax said, unconcerned with the threat. “I disappeared at the same time you did. My father will make the connection. Everyone in the city will make the connection.”
He recoiled at the smile that spread over her extreme Manti features. “Your presence alone here is evidence enough your father knows nothing of our ‘disappearance.’ We’ll simply return to the temple. There will be nothing to connect us. You’re right that it won’t do for your father or anyone else to suspect we’re involved. So we’re not going to be.” Her gaze came to rest on Asha.
Pax’s heart thundered as he saw where this was going. Asha took a slow step closer to him. Where was her loyalty? He didn’t think she’d pieced it together yet. But Cleo would make it all clear very soon. He wondered if the priestess realized how perfect a trap it was. Both the Guard and his sister were witnesses to the fact he’d gone into the city with Asha. Even Iris would suspect her.
“We can’t afford to be seen with you,” said the priestess, “so I’m afraid we need to take care of the ugly part of the business now.”
* * *
“Bring the girl,” said Cleo.
; Asha eyed Pax’s knife, glittering on the ground near the fire pit, but the disciples were on her too fast. As Pax went for the knife a disciple kicked him in the stomach and stuck a gun in his face.
Pain seared across Asha’s low back as they dragged her to Cleo.
“Don’t do this,” she begged. “There has to be another way.”
“I’m not going to do it.” Cleo waved to a man behind her, and he stepped forward.
Using the edge of his cloak, the disciple lifted a knife from his belt. He held it out to Asha.
She stared at it, aghast.
“Bring him,” called Cleo, and two more men dragged Asha’s father to his feet. He was awake now, but groggy and confused.
“Asha?” he croaked.
“Pax or your father,” said the priestess. “You choose.”
She gaped at the bugwoman. “I’m not killing anyone.”
“I need your prints on the knife, so you are.”
Asha shook her head slowly, pain and horror sickening her. “I won’t.”
“Kill him,” Cleo ordered the man holding her father.
“Wait!” Asha cried. Oh God, what now?
The disciple thrust the knife at her again, and she took it. She turned to Pax. Cleo’s men had his arms spread wide, forcing his midsection forward.
“What’s going on?” her father demanded. “Cleo?”
The only question is which side you’re going to choose. But choosing between her father and the man who’d just rescued her from Beck was not any kind of choice at all. There was only one person in the room she’d stab right now given the chance.
“Your time for thinking about this is up,” warned Cleo. “On three. One—”
“My lady? What’s happened?”
Asha spun around. Micah had appeared in the doorway, and he studied the scene in confusion. His brow furrowed as his eyes met Asha’s.
“Micah, please!” she cried. “She’s ordered me to kill Pax! She’s got my father!”
Micah located the two men she’d mentioned, his gaze lingering on the second. “You’re ‘Hark’?”
Her father stood on his own feet now, shaky and short of breath from the effort. He nodded.
Micah turned to Cleo, frowning. “I don’t understand all this. What’s the point of using her this way?”
She expected the priestess to assert her authority. As she launched into an explanation of her plan instead, Asha began to see their relationship was not exactly what she’d thought it was. He had been deferent and respectful, yes. But Cleo had relied on him heavily in her scheming. He was clearly concerned about the turn of events, and he had the power to expose them all.
“She’s putting all of you at risk,” Asha broke in at the end of Cleo’s explanation. “With everything you’ve accomplished—with your growing support—why shed blood now?”
“You know the amir,” Micah said to the priestess, “and I trust that you know how to get to him. But murdering his son … framing this woman for it…” He shook his head. “Are we really that desperate at this stage, my lady?”
“This is personal,” said Asha before the priestess could reply. “She’s using her office to settle an old score.”
“How dare you!” snapped Cleo, livid.
“I mean no disrespect to you, my lady,” began Micah in a reasonable tone, “but it wouldn’t be surprising if your history with this family had influenced you in choosing this course. I don’t know what happened between you and Paxton, but I understand his behavior toward you has been insulting.”
Pax let out a bark of laughter and shot Cleo a look of disgust.
“She tried to use him against his father,” said Asha. “But even without the personal history, it seems like Rebelión Sagrada would be better served by separating religious and political interests.”
It was the only way she could think of to cut at Cleo’s authority, but she cringed as the priestess’s gaze burned through her. Clearly she had redirected her murderous urges.
“What makes you say so?” asked Micah.
She hesitated, intimidated by the silence that gathered in the wake of his question. She took a deep breath, opening herself to the flow of knowledge she’d accumulated over the last six years—all her work with the Manti, as well as all she’d learned from her father.
You can do this.
“I understand about your beliefs,” she began carefully. “But giving a spiritual leader absolute authority over Rebelión’s strategy for challenging the amir—does that make sense?”
“She’s right,” said her father. “You’ll accomplish more with leadership that puts your philosophical beliefs and political objectives first.”
“Without letting passions or personal grudges get in the way,” added Asha.
“That’s enough,” Cleo replied tersely. “I won’t listen to more of this. These people know nothing of us.” She’d backed off the sharp tone, becoming more passive in her attempt to shift Micah back to her side.
“We’re not bound to act in any way based on what they say,” replied Micah. “Where is the danger in hearing them out? They are our allies.”
Asha could tell from Cleo’s expression that she saw all sorts of danger he did not, but she held her tongue.
Micah returned his attention to her father. “What sort of leadership would you propose?”
The disciples stood tense and confused, not understanding why or how the ground was shifting. One wrong word could lead to disaster.
Before her father could answer Asha said, “It should be you.”
Micah raised his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Together with my father, as an ally and representative from Al Campo. Look at what the two of you have already accomplished.”
The men she’d named exchanged glances.
She knew her proposal failed to address the more immediate problem, and Micah was quick to point it out.
“Unfortunately the question of leadership becomes a moot point if we’re exposed. As much as I’m disturbed by the idea of killing a man in cold blood, releasing the amir’s son will risk us all.”
At the end of this assessment his gaze shifted to Cleo, and Asha thought she read mild accusation in his eyes. For the first time since she’d met the priestess, she saw Cleo hesitating.
“If you do what Asha and her father have proposed,” said Pax, “I won’t expose you. I’ll help you.”
Silence followed the prince’s interruption, silence so choked with tension and calculation it was hard to breathe.
“Let him go,” Micah ordered the disciples holding Pax. “He’s not going to run out of here after risking so much to find this woman.”
“He’s lying,” protested Cleo. “He’ll go directly to his father.”
“No,” Asha countered. “Not if he said he won’t.”
Cleo gave an incredulous laugh. “You’ve been his plaything for what, two days? You have no place in this conversation.”
Anger shot heat into Asha’s cheeks. Before she could reply, Micah said, “Please, my lady.”
The disciples had released Pax, and he straightened to his full height, his gaze locked with Micah’s.
“I washed my hands of dealings with your priestess long ago,” he said. “But there is common ground between us. And I have no desire to see you all killed. It would destabilize everything my father’s built. But of course I don’t expect you to trust me.”
“Then we have a stalemate,” observed Micah.
Pax shook his head. “Cleo is right—there was no attack on your temple, nor any plan for one. You can safely return there. I’ll go with you. Even if I were to go back on my word and tell my father, my presence there would shield you from retaliation.”
“You’re volunteering to be a hostage?” asked Asha’s father. His eyes settled on her, and she knew he was remembering what he’d said about the chess match. He thought this was all for her. But she knew better.
“Because he sees an opportunity to address these dif
ferences without violence,” she said, more to Micah than her father. It was clear enough that the power that had melted from Cleo during the exchange had been absorbed by him.
“It’s true,” agreed Pax. “I do want that, and I’ve never been able to make my father listen to me. This could change that.”
“He’s trying to save his own skin,” Cleo said tightly.
Pax laughed. “Of course I am. What would any of you do in my place? I also don’t want to see this woman hurt, or her father. But that doesn’t make anything else I’ve told you less true.”
Asha burned inside—with gratitude for what he was doing, with a strange pride in the part he was playing, and with shame that she had ever thought of betraying him.
“If you’re requiring us to dismiss the priestess—”
“I’m not,” said Pax. “I won’t work on political strategy with a woman who tried to assassinate me, but how you worship has nothing to do with our agreement.”
“This is unacceptable,” said Cleo. She fixed her eyes on Micah, and the fact that she did confirmed that she and everyone else now knew who was in control of this negotiation. “I’ll not be relegated to a ceremonial role.”
Asha knew that Cleo would not allow herself to be diminished in any way had she not found herself in such a sticky trap. Pax could expose them if they let him go. If she insisted on his murder, Micah might abandon or even expose them himself. Killing them both was a possible solution, but then she’d also have to kill Asha and her father at the least, and the changing temperature in the room suggested she might not have the level of commitment she needed for such a high body count.
After a few moments’ consideration, Micah said to Pax, “Many of our followers are deeply spiritual. Their views and wishes should be represented. The priestess must have a voice.”
Now Pax considered, and it was all she could do not to shout, “Take it!” But he was right to make them wait. Every second of silence solidified his shift to a position of power among his former enemies.
“As long as there’s no more aggression against me or my family,” he said finally.
“Agreed,” said Micah. “For the duration of this arrangement.”
The Ophelia Prophecy Page 20