A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  “Moira would every so often ask me if things were okay with Kellan. She’d say he was . . .” Karl shakes his head again. “Those of us who knew you two used to date knew your breakup was hard on him. But, I just figured . . .” He sighs. “Moira knew. She was worried about him, and Jonah, saying they were acting weird, but they refused to talk to her about it. Always said they were fine.”

  My pancakes are now in tiny pieces.

  “Jonah and Kellan—they’re good at hiding their feelings,” Karl continues quietly. “They always have been. I think the few of us who ever saw anything just assumed that they were stressed from work. Eighteen is a really young age to have so many responsibilities laid on your shoulders, even when you’re as talented as they are. And the better they did their jobs, the more the Council and Guard expected of them.”

  I’m pretty sure the diner just lost most of its oxygen from me sucking it all in at once.

  Will clears his throat meaningfully, which prompts Karl’s eyes to widen. “Shit. Sorry, Chloe. Obviously you would know that best.”

  An uncomfortable silence encloses the table until Karl’s phone rings. Six months of actions crowd my mouth and send panic shooting through each and every vein in my body. When he pulls it out of his coat pocket, time slows down until all I see is that phone, in his hand.

  “It’s Zthane,” he tells me, his voice tilting upward at the end in silent question.

  Time to face the music, Chloe. And yet, he doesn’t answer it, making the moment I wait for the ax to come down on my head stretch out for eternity.

  “What bloody kind of name is Zthane?” Will asks during the third ring.

  Karl’s hazel eyes hold mine until the phone goes silent. “It’s a fairly common name from a particular country on the Goblin plane.” He mercifully looks away so he can regard Will. “Sort of like John here.”

  “Zthane is . . .” I swallow and force myself to sound business-like. “He’s on the Guard.”

  “Head of the Guard now.”

  My focus flies back to Karl. “Since when?”

  He rubs at his chin. “Since Paavo Battletracker couldn’t find you and the Council deemed him incompetent. Zthane is on his last legs right now for the same reason.”

  Well, hell. “Is it Jonah who’s threatening to fire him?”

  Karl laughs a little, but there’s no humor in it. “He was certainly one of the people behind Battletracker’s ouster; there was no love lost between the two of them. But the truth is, as much as Jonah respects Zthane, he’s also frustrated that you . . .” He motions towards me and Will. “Let’s just say that Jonah’s legendary patience isn’t so legendary anymore.”

  Double hell. I have so many bridges I need to mend that I don’t even know where to begin. “Surely Kellan is defending Zthane?” I mean, Zthane is Kellan’s mentor and been outwardly vocal for some time about wanting Nightstorm to head the Guard.

  “If you think that Kellan has taken any other position than his brother’s in the last six months regarding the issue of finding you, then you truly are delusional, Chloe.” While his words sting, his voice is surprisingly gentle. “But let’s not talk about that right now. Why don’t you tell me instead why the two of you look like you do.”

  As if this is an easier conversation. I sigh and shove my plate away. “Last night, we had a . . .” I slide a glance toward Will; he’s stone-faced, arms crossed. “Let’s just call it a skirmish with one of the Elders.”

  Karl actually spews his recent sip of coffee all over the table. “WHAT?”

  I grab a napkin and mop the mess up.

  He reaches across the table and stills my hand. “Chloe—seriously. What happened to you two?”

  “It’s as she said,” Will says flatly. “One of those beasties tried to kill us, so we killed it first. As it did not want to die, it made sure it did its damndest to tear us to shreds. It’s not a complicated story, mate.”

  Karl’s eyes grow so wide that I fear he’s going to have a stroke.

  So I take another deep breath and I tell him everything that happened yesterday, down to the littlest detail.

  And he listens.

  “So how is this going to play?” Will sets a bottle of wine down on the table. We’ve retreated back home so we could bring Cameron into the loop and introduce him to Karl. And now here we all are, drinking wine when all of our lives are once more being turned upside down. “What are the ramifications of Chloe going back to Annar after running off like she did?”

  Talk about a buzz kill. I draw my hand back from reaching the wine and lean back in my chair, sighing. How is this going to play, indeed.

  Karl takes the bottle instead, unscrewing the cork with a bottle opener Cameron passes over. “I honestly don’t know. Being a first tier Creator is certainly in her favor, though.” His hazel eyes pin me to my chair. “I’ve put off talking about this with Zthane for the time being, saying I’m still searching Anchorage, but Chloe—I need to talk to him sooner rather than later. Especially in light of what you guys have told me about what went down with the Elders.” He sets the cork down on the table. “There are people searching for you as we speak. It’s not fair to let them keep spinning their wheels, possibly putting themselves in danger, when you’re safe.”

  I scratch the back of my neck as he fills the glasses on the table. “Yeah, of course you’re right. It’s just . . .” I hold my empty hands out in front of me; Nell nuzzles me from underneath the table. “I need to be the one to talk to Jonah first. I can’t just show back up in Annar and blindside him again. It’s not fair.”

  Karl pushes a half-filled glass toward me. I nearly laugh at the irony, except—right now, right here, I get to choose whether or not it’s half full or half empty. His voice is quiet when he tells me, “For courage.”

  My hands shake when I take the glass from him.

  “We’ll be there with you, hen,” Cameron murmurs. “You won’t have to do any of this alone.”

  “Are you sure about this, you guys? Because—as Will just pointed out, who knows what’s going to happen to me when I go back? As far as I know, they might throw me in jail. Or house arrest. Or, I don’t know—put an ankle monitor on me.”

  Karl snorts, like I’m being overly melodramatic.

  “If they do,” Cameron says steadily, “then it will happen with you knowing your family has your back and will be there to support you every step of the way.”

  Although I think he’d guessed I was close to Cameron and Will, Karl’s eyebrows still lift high into his forehead at the use of family.

  And I don’t blame him. What did I do to deserve such love, given so freely? “You guys will have to leave behind Anchorage and everybody in it. Your jobs.”

  “There are portals,” Cameron says. “And cars and airplanes, not to mention telephones. Plus, I happen to know lots of places in Annar hire nons. Hen, we already discussed this.”

  Even still, nagging, latent fear taunts me that all of this might be too good to be true. Surely somebody like me, after everything I’ve done, doesn’t deserve such generosity and loyalty. “What about the Moose?” I say to Will.

  “They will most likely go under without my stellar cooking,” he says with a straight face.

  More quietly, “And Becca?”

  That strikes a nerve. “What about her?”

  I bite my lip, sneaking a glance at Cameron. He looks . . . desolate, like he fears his son will change his mind over this reminder of what once was. “It’s just,” I tell my best friend, “Annar is obviously not . . .” I tap on the table. “Here.”

  “Did you fail geography?” He pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Because frankly, I’m concerned. Anchorage is quite a distance from Glasgow, too. Separate continents and all. Maybe you should make us a map so I can—”

  I shove his hand off. “Smartass.” And then, more gently, “I just . . . I don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret.”

  He laughs bitterly before he sips his wine. “T
hat ship sailed long before you ever entered the picture.” He sets his glass down. “What will it matter if I am in Annar or Alaska? My phone will ring just the same.”

  Karl sends me another silent question, but this is not my story to tell. So I say instead, “I can’t ask you to give up everything for me. You two have a rich life here in Anchorage, especially with . . .”—I glance back at Cameron again—“the community here.”

  “We are not giving up anything for you,” Cameron says. “This is not only your chance to make amends back in Annar, but mine and Will’s, too.”

  Will frowns before finishing the rest of his wine. “In case you aren’t up to speed,” he says to Karl, “my mum was apparently not only an Elf, but a Magical, too.” He stands up and wanders over to the sink with his glass. “Yesterday was a fun day, mate. Found out my best friend is a superhero and that I’m not even human, that I never knew who my mum really was. Good times were had by all.”

  Karl clears his throat as he lays his iPad down on the table. “On the car ride over, I was able to access your mother’s file, Will.” He coughs uncomfortably. “I . . . well, I needed to background check you and . . .” Another uncomfortable cough. “The point is, it’s standard procedure. If you want, you’re . . .” I nearly laugh, because Karl looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here at the moment, in the midst of this drama, “free to look at it, if you like.”

  Will’s eyes widen before zooming on his father. “Why in the world would my mum have a file?”

  Cameron says, voice calm as ever, “Molly was on the Guard like Karl here. I’m assuming she has one due to that. Unless there are files kept on every Magical?”

  This makes Karl even uneasier, like he’s revealing state secrets. But he tells Cameron, “Every Magical has a file. Some are more detailed than others, though.”

  Will sucks in his bottom lip while he gazes at the iPad. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s pissed at learning this new bit about his mom, not so much that she was a Guard, but because it was something that wasn’t expressed earlier.

  I try to fill the void. “What was her craft?”

  “She was a Smith,” Cameron says. I envy how he always sounds so steady. So composed. So in control, even though he must be nervous about revealing all his secrets after decades of building and hiding them.

  “A good one, too.” Karl’s smile is small but genuine. “According to the file, the Guard tried on several occasions to change her mind about leaving.”

  “Wait.” I shove my glass away. I need to be clearheaded here. Because if he’s saying what I think . . .? “The Guard knew she was leaving and was okay about it?”

  Karl taps on the iPad. “Obviously not, as they tried to convince her to stay.”

  “But she left.” I can hardly believe this. Since Cameron told us the truth about Molly, I’d just assumed they’d snuck off like I had. But she left, and they knew, and she still did it.

  There’s hope I can get out of this alive after all.

  “Before you go too far with this line of thinking,” Karl says quietly, “neither the Guard nor the Council knew you were leaving. Molliaria Hellebore wasn’t a first tier Council member, nor was she the only Smith around.”

  Well, there goes that bit of hope.

  “What’s a Smith?” Will finally asks.

  Cameron’s the one to answers. “She was ace with metals, son. Could make anything she wanted with any kind of metal. Could even make metal appear out of thin air.” He holds up his left hand, where a slim silver band laces his ring finger. “Made me this.” His voice is soft. “She was so bloody talented.”

  Will stalks back over to the table and asks to view the file. When Karl passes over his iPad, I get up and leave the room. It’s not that I don’t feel welcome while Cameron and Will share this bit of family past, it’s just—this is something father and son need to do alone.

  “Not thinking of bolting while I’m not looking, are you?” Karl’s followed me into the living room.

  I let out an exasperated laugh. “Believe me, I’ve learned that running away isn’t always the answer.” I bite my lip. “Will you be honest with me?”

  His answer is pointed. “I’ve always been honest with you.”

  Ouch. I try not to wring my hands like some stupid damsel in distress, but my palms are sweaty and adrenaline is making me woozy. This answer—I need this answer like I need air to breathe. “How is he?”

  He crosses his arm. “Which he are we talking about?”

  Double ouch. I sink onto the couch and stare at the framed picture on the mantle over the fireplace. It’s Cameron and Molly and Will, maybe three years ago? And they all look happy, like they belong with one another.

  I have some pictures of me happy with somebody back in Annar.

  Connections are all about whom you belong with. But I’m tired of Fate thinking it can dictate that to me. If I belong to someone, and that person, in turn, belongs to me, it’s going to be because we choose to give ourselves like that, not because some nebulous universal concept deems it so.

  It’s funny, but I think I finally, finally understand that concept. I’m not lying when I say, “It’s always been Jonah, Karl.”

  He lowers himself down on the couch next to me and studies me, lacing his hands around his knees.

  Might as well lay myself bare, since he already knows most of the truth anyway. “Do you know how many times I considered leaving Jonah so I could be with Kellan?” I shake my head slowly. “A lot. I was so, so tempted. Kellan is . . . he’s exciting. With him, there’s always a sense of urgency and heightened emotions. And I don’t know if that’s because it seemed like every time we were together it felt like it could be the last or . . .” I trail off, not knowing exactly how to verbalize what I was thinking or feeling during that year. “Whatever the reason, the damage was done. I was drowning in guilt. He’s my Connection, yes. But Jonah . . .” My hands curl around my sides as I hug myself. “I think this time away has allowed me to realize that, Connection or no, he’s the one for me. The one I need. I dream about him almost every night. I think about him constantly. I worry all day about how he is.” I lay it all out there. “I love him, Karl. Even though I probably don’t have the right to ask, I’m going to anyway. Please tell me how he is.”

  Karl chooses his words carefully, but his disappointment in me is obvious. It hurts—but I totally understand it. “How do you think he’s doing? His Connection—his fiancée, to boot—disappeared without a trace. He’s trying his hardest to keep it together and do his increasingly more difficult and time consuming job like the Council expects, and to his credit, he has, but he’s clearly having a hard time with you being gone.”

  I want to ask what that means—having a hard time. But Karl beats me to the punch by pulling out his cell phone. “A lot of his free time has been spent pointlessly searching for you. If you mean what you’ve just told me, I think it’s time you call him and set his mind at ease, at least on that front.”

  I stare at the cell phone he’s offering. “What if he never forgives me?”

  “That’s a chance you took the moment you left.” He motions at me with the phone again. “I just want to warn you he’s out on a mission right now on the Elvin plane and might not answer. Normally, I’d advise you to wait until he’s done, especially as this is an extremely . . . difficult assignment, but as I know he’d want to hear this right away, I’m going to give you the go ahead to call.”

  Everything in me turns to frail glass as old insecurities and guilt rear their ugly heads. But he’s right. This has been a hard truth to uncover, and I’ve possibly risked everything, but it’s been my own doing. And it’s got to be my doing that makes amends.

  I take the phone from him. Then I try to keep down the dinner I’d barely managed to get in my stomach.

  Karl stands up and heads over to the door. “I’m going to go check the perimeter. Lee’s supposed to come over and give me a report on Elder activity in the are
a. I’ll be outside if you need me” And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with his phone.

  I can do this, I tell myself. I can press the numbers and say the words: I’m sorry, I love you, I’m coming home. I can do this.

  I can’t do this.

  And yet . . .

  I have to do this.

  I close my eyes and press the phone against my forehead. This is excruciating. I abandoned him. I loved him and abandoned him after he found me when I thought I’d lost him forever. He came for me, and I love him, still love him so much, maybe more now than before—and I have to do this. No matter what, I have to make this call.

  I let out a long breath and lower the phone. And then I punch his numbers in and wait.

  Three rings, and then, “Whitecomb here.”

  My words dissipate and fly away. My tongue goes asleep. My brain flat lines. Because, gods, I love his voice. But I do not love hearing what sounds like gunshots in the background. Karl mentioned a difficult mission, but—

  “Karl?”

  Chloe, I want to say. It’s Chloe.

  There’s an exasperated sigh and then a dial tone.

  With trembling fingers, I redial the number. Why are there gunshots going off where he is? Two rings this time before he answer with, “Don’t waste my time, Karl. I’m already late to the rendezvous point thanks to Rosemary’s incompetency at reading maps.”

  Somebody screams in the background, a blood-curdling shriek that vocalizes pain and terror. My stomach twists until I’m breathless. I search frantically for my voice. And then, barely vocalized, “It’s me.”

  Silence.

  I clear my throat. Louder now, “Jonah, it’s—it’s Chloe.”

  There’s an intake of breath over the line, one loud enough to act like defibrillators on my light speed racing, aching heart. But he still doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m . . . Karl’s with me. He, uh, I’m on his phone, and I wanted to call you and let you know . . .” Do not cry, Chloe. He does not need to listen to you have a breakdown, especially if he’s in a warzone. “I’m okay.”