A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  His words are just as broken as mine. “Where are you?”

  I clench my eyes shut and lower my head. “Alaska. We’re in . . .” A futile attempt at swallowing the water balloon in my throat is attempted only to fail. “Anchorage.”

  What sounds like an explosion goes off at his end, sending me off the couch in alarm. It takes Jonah a good five seconds before he answers. “I . . . Anchorage? Is that near a portal? I’m—fuck. I’m in Kuergal right now. But I can get there in—”

  An inner dam breaks and the only thing holding back the deluge is my self-imposed blindness in the moment. “No. You—you just said you’re late for your rendezvous. I don’t—don’t just drop that because I’m . . .” I grapple for my coherency. “You don’t need to come here. You need—it sounds like you need to find somewhere safe. Don’t risk—I’m not . . .” Why can’t I get out the right words? My nails dig into my palm in my free hand. “I’ll be back in Annar soon with Karl. I just . . . I wanted to let you know I’m okay. To tell you I—” I’m flat out flailing. “Just . . . stay safe. Please just . . . stay safe.” Oh, gods, this is awful. I’m doing a horrible job at this. I might as well rip my heart out and stab it to the ground right now, it hurts so much. Plus, I apparently cannot string together cohesive sentences and now I sound like a total fool. The last thing he needs when guns and bombs are going off around him in fricking Kuergal, a country on the Elvin plane renown for its violence, is dealing with me on the phone. “Can you . . . when I get back, can I see you? Can you—” Another explosion goes off, leaving my ears ringing. Jesus, how can I do this? “Can you and your brother come to see me? There are a lot of things,”—another fruitless attempt at swallowing—“I, uh, we need to talk about.”

  There’s a pause in which I debate a thousand times whether or not I just made another massive mistake. Finally, like he’s saying the hardest thing he’s ever had to admit, “You don’t want me to come get you?”

  More gunshots fill the background. Angry voices yelling a language I don’t know punctuate the tiny bursts of silence between explosions. My fingers tighten around the phone.

  I don’t know how I’m going to do this. Misery and shame and love and a dozen other messy emotions bloom and threaten to cripple me. “It’s not that I don’t,” I choke out. “But, you’ve got a job, and . . . It’s . . . I’m so sorry. I need to do this. I need—I need to come back to Annar and I need some time to think.” Gods, how selfish does that sound? Time to think? Like I haven’t already spent six months thinking? I’m butchering this. Flat-out hacking to pieces this lousy first contact between us in months.

  Somebody on his end shouts at him, this time in English; I can only pick a few words out, but they’re terrifying ones: hide, protect you, get the fuck out of here, anarchy. He ignores them to ask me, “You swear you’re okay?”

  My crystalline heart shatters as it drops to my feet. He sounds like I’m the one with the gun, and I’ve shot him right in the chest while grinning. “I swear,” I tell him, even though at the moment, I’m not even close to fine. And then, because I am the worst kind of girl, I put my foot on top of his bleeding chest, like a hunter with a smoking rifle downing my trophy and posing for a victory photo, because I say next, “I’ll text you the address I’ll be staying at when I get back to Annar.”

  Getting air into my lungs is becoming increasingly difficult.

  I love you, I want to shout. I miss you. I choose you. YOU. I love you. I’m so sorry.

  But my lips don’t move. His do, though. “That’s . . . that’s what you want? To text me an address where you’ll be staying when you get back to Annar?” He says it like he can’t believe he’s saying it. Like it’s a jumble of foreign words he’s merely regurgitating.

  My voice shatters entirely when I tell him it is.

  Another explosion fills the phone, and then there’s silence. Our connection is broken.

  I’ve never felt more panicked in my entire life.

  Kuergal is in chaos.

  I’m staring in horror at the small television set I’ve just created, as it runs cellphone videos of anarchy at its worst. Whoever was yelling at Jonah wasn’t kidding about that. Cars and buildings are burning, people are dying, and guns and bombs are going off.

  I’m two seconds close to creating a portal in the Dane’s living room to get myself to the Elvin plane when Karl comes back inside from his perimeter check. “Ah,” he says quietly. “You got through to Jonah.”

  All I’m capable of is a number of gurgling sounds. I decide right then and there that I need to make sure Jonah’s okay. I need to see it for myself. I make myself a screen, but Karl snatches it away from me the moment a picture flickers to life.

  He crushes it between his hands. “Things have gotten really bad in Kuergal lately,” he says, sitting next to me on the couch. I stare at the mangled screen, still dangling from his fingers. “That’s why Jonah’s there. He’s trying to get the conflict to end.” Karl drops the mess on the coffee table and scrubs at his hair. “Funny thing is, the civil war didn’t even start due to any of our missions. Took the Council totally by surprise; things had been quiet there for a good few years now.” He pauses. “Well, quiet for them, at least.”

  It’s a weird relief, knowing Jonah wasn’t the cause behind this madness. Still, since I can’t see how he’s doing and the line I just called him at seems to be dead, I drill Karl for information. “Does he have a team with him?”

  “Yes. He brought four additional Emotionals with him, including Kellan. This is a really tough gig, though. There are a lot of deep-seated prejudices and hatreds in that area that need more than a quickie Emotional hit.”

  So, Kellan is there, too. I . . . I don’t even . . .

  “That’s all he has? Emotionals? Nobody else to back him up?”

  “There are some other Magicals working in Kuergal right now, but Jonah felt it best that, for what he was going to do, he work with Emotionals.” Karl taps a finger against his knee. “According to mission specs, they were supposed to separate today to work in different quadrants of the city. I can’t promise you right now he has anyone with him.”

  But he did. Somebody was trying to get him out of wherever he was, so at least there’s that. Even still, it’s nearly impossible to just continue sitting here and do nothing. What if he gets hurt before I have the chance to try to make things right between us? “He wanted to come here. Come get me. I told him no. To stay there and find somewhere safe.”

  A heavy hand curls around my shoulder. “Which was the right thing to say, Chloe. As much as I know this has been . . . tough on the two of you, he’s desperately needed there.”

  There is so much blood on the TV. So much pain and suffering.

  “What if—”

  “He’ll be fine.” Coming from Karl, it sounds like it’s the promised truth. “You think he’s going to let somebody take him down now that he knows you’re coming home? Please. He’s got a fire under his ass now. Kuergal is going to turn into the happiest place in all the worlds. Just you wait and see.”

  Jonah’s in a warzone. A freaking warzone, risking his life so he can help people. And here I am, like a coward, in Alaska, with blonde hair and a fake name, shirking her duties, and I have never, ever felt more worthless in my life.

  Something in me hardens. That girl? That stupid, pointless, coward of a girl? She’s gone. Dead.

  I will never, ever be her again.

  I’m seconds out of the bathroom, towel around my wet hair, when Will comes to tell me I need to come out to the living room. Cameron and Karl are already out there, talking to the Elvin nurse practitioner that patched me up the other day.

  Thank goodness I’ve been wearing sweats to bed.

  “It’s bad,” Erik is saying. “People are scared. Nobody knows what to do. There’s talk of splitting up the colonies, at least until things die down. We thought this was over, but it’s starting anew.”

  Karl’s brows are drawn down, like he’s caught
between being pissed and worried. Cameron’s obviously concerned, too, but his frown attempts to hide behind his beard. “There’s safety in numbers, Erik. I think it’s best to stay put.”

  I pull the towel off and comb my fingers through my hair. “What are you guys talking about? What colonies?”

  There’s a strange look in Erik’s eyes when he regards me. When he was sewing me up, or helping me through alcohol poisoning, he’d been cool and professional. Now, there’s a bit of fear and distrust mixed in with concern. “Can we truly trust her?” he asks Cameron. And then, motioning toward Karl, “Them? Their sort isn’t known for being sympathetic to us, after all.”

  Both Karl and I bristle. “Look,” Karl bites out. “You can’t hold any of this against Chloe or me. It’s not like we were aware of the situation.”

  This angers Erik, who flushes red under his brown skin. “Your people chose to ignore our plights for years. Pardon me if I’m not too eager to lay my faith in a group of people who believe I’m an abomination and treat me worse than the dirt on their shoes.”

  Whoa. “I don’t think—” I begin, but Karl’s already on this.

  “If Annar knew and ignored it, then that’s definitely something that needs to be addressed.” He’s obviously trying to keep his temper in check, but his hands have curled into fists. “And I vow to you, it will be. But instead of bitching about hurt feelings, know you’ve got two high-ranking Council members who happen to also be on the Guard listening now. Neither of us will turn our backs on you.”

  It’s an overly generous thing of Karl to say about me, considering I’d done just that on Annar and my loved ones back home six months prior. This promise of his only steels my resolve to be a better person.

  A better Creator.

  A better Chloe.

  “You’re here to take the Creator home.” Erik’s sneer is ugly. “Which is all well and good, considering she’s most likely the reason this is happening!”

  “What’s going on?” I try again. I mean, if the dude’s going to blame me for something, I at least deserve to know the reason why.

  Will snaps his fingers. “Everyone, just shut up for a moment.” His hands form a tee for time-out. “Cheers. Let’s catch Chloe up.”

  Cameron gives me a small, tired smile. “Hen, the shape shifting monsters—”

  “Elders,” Karl quickly corrects.

  Cameron nods. “The Elders have attacked and killed several Métis recently, including one on the outskirts of Anchorage earlier tonight. People are scared.”

  Uh . . . “Métis?”

  The sneer Erik gave me moments before has nothing on the one he’s angling toward me now.

  “Erik,” Cameron says quietly, “do not take your anger toward Annar out on Chloe. As Karl has just explained, she is ignorant of all of this, which shouldn’t come as a surprise as our communities have made supreme efforts to keep Magical-kind just so.”

  Erik gives a tight nod, and then another to me in reluctant apology.

  “Hen, the Métis are what the people and families I told you about earlier—the ones like me and Molly and now Will—are called, where there is Magical blood but no powers in children from mixed unions. Many of our kind have either married into the Métis or are children of Magicals.”

  Jesus. I have truly been ignorant and blind for years. Apparently Karl has, too, because he’s just as surprised as me. “You said there are multiple colonies of Métis? How many?”

  Erik’s answer is less hostile than before. “It varies on each plane, but on ours, there are six, including Anchorage. Comparatively, this is one of the larger groups; at last census, we totaled seventy-three.”

  Karl’s eyes widen. “All with Magical bloodlines?”

  “Yes,” Cameron answers. “But remember, a lot of the Métis might be several generations removed from their Magical forbearer.”

  “But—Magicals can only produce one pregnancy,” I say. This is unreal.

  “True. But Métis like Will or myself,” Erik says, “are no longer bound by such genetics. Many Métis families have multiple children in them.”

  Will’s pissed. “Is everyone else kept in the dark, or was that just me?”

  Cameron sighs. “Son—”

  “No, I’m curious,” Will retorts. “If there are so many of these so-called colonies, and they even have a fancy name for us half-breeds, then one would assume that it’s public knowledge, at least amongst the citizens. Right?”

  Erik looks at Will like he’s nothing more than an annoying toddler. “Many Métis children are not told until they’re older for the safety of the colonies.”

  “Because children are blabbermouths, right?” Will asks darkly. “That would have been my first impulse. Tell everyone in Glasgow so they could come after us with pitchforks and torches. But let’s not forget I am no longer a child—or is twenty-two still considered infancy amongst you wise, elderly folk?”

  I lay a hand on his arm. His sarcasm, so easily accessed when he’s in defense mode, isn’t going to help any of us right now. “People fear what they don’t understand. I know it seems hard to believe, but your parents were looking out for you.”

  “Don’t do that,” he snaps. “You railed about how your parents kept you in the dark. Don’t go excusing why mine were just as guilty.”

  His anger is painful to see. “It’s true I grew up knowing I was a Magical. But I also had the ability to protect myself if somebody ever tried to hurt me. Your mom and dad—they didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  He clearly doesn’t believe me.

  “Look. I have a friend back in Annar who is like you. A Métis. She grew up knowing what she was, surrounded by Magicals, and . . . it was hard for her. She’s struggled with self-esteem issues her whole life.” I squeeze his arm gently. “You mom and dad cared enough about you to take you out of Annar when you were little. You grew up never thinking you were any different from anybody else. That you were any less than them. That was a gift, Will. I know it’s hard to see that now, but it really was.”

  His face is blank when he asks, “Is that the case now? That you think I’m less of a person because I’m only half of a Magical with no powers to show for?”

  I can’t help but smile a little. “Do you think less of me, knowing what I am, what I’m capable of? After all, you’ve seen me destroy things. Some would call me a monster.”

  “No.” His words are hushed. “You’re just Chloe to me.”

  “And you’re just Will to me.” The corners of my lips lift higher. “Plus, Magical or not, you would have made your mom proud with the way you handled a sword and helped take down an Elder. Maybe you do have a bit of Smith in you after all.”

  He kisses the back of my hand and then turns back to the rest of the group. “Fine. I’m being a bloody prat. There are obviously loads more important issues to be dealt with than me kicking my feet and fists against the floor. Shall we commence on figuring out what to do about people dying?”

  “Have the Elders attacked the Métis before?” Karl asks. He’s got his phone out, typing in notes like he does at mission briefings. I love that he’s doing it, that he sees this here—these people I’ve grown to love—equally as worthy of his time as the Magicals back home.

  There’s a tense silence that has Erik and Cameron debating whether or not to answer his question. It hurts to see Cameron hesitating, but I guess old habits prefer slow deaths. Finally, Erik says, “Yes. I don’t have specifics, but I think they’ve murdered a few dozen of our kind over the last ten years.”

  My eyes fly to Karl’s. He’s uncharacteristically grim, and that’s saying something. Because I think we both realized something at the same time.

  In their quest for vengeance, the Elders are killing more than just Magicals. They’re killing the Métis, too.

  The situation just got a thousand times more serious.

  “How long have you known Will was a Métis?”

  I turn away from the few dozen people mingling near
by to face Karl. “Believe it or not, only a couple of days. I know it sounds stupid, but I didn’t even know he was part Elf.”

  It was decided an hour ago that a Métis meeting was needed to help address what was going on with the Elders. A telephone tree was enacted, and now here we are in the warehouse Cameron manages surrounded by dozens of terrified people and children. Looking around, I’m shocked to see just how many of the species are present. Human, Elvin, even Gnomish and Dwarven traits pop up in the faces before me.

  “This is crazy.” Karl’s voice drops so only I can hear it. “I mean, I obviously knew that there were half-breeds out there, but . . . whole communities? How is it that Annar isn’t aware of this?”

  I counter with something that I know will upset him. “What if they are?”

  Bingo. He bristles big time. “Wouldn’t they have done something if that was the case?”

  “Karl, you’ve been friends with Callie for a long time. C’mon. Look at how she feels people still treat her at times, and she’s the daughter of an extremely influential and powerful Seer. Wouldn’t it make sense if she still gets treated like she’s a second class citizen that others would, too?”

  His answer is a grunt.

  I stuff my hands into my coat’s pockets. “If the Elders are attacking the Métis, then we need to do something to help. We can’t turn a blind eye now that we know.”

  Karl reaches out and fingers the lapel of my coat. “Did you make this?”

  Uh, subject changer, thy name is Karl. “Yes. Why?” I’d made the coat during my binge of Magical creations after I caved into my craft.

  Karl’s smile is slight buy sly. “It’s a replica of Jonah’s coat, right down to the button sewn on with red thread instead of gray. The only thing different is this coat is white.”

  I start, staring down at the button he’s mentioned. I’d stolen Jonah’s well-worn and well-loved gray pea coat to wear numerous times in the past. It was comfy and smelled just like him, all minty and warm. This one, though . . . “Huh,” I murmur. “I guess I didn’t realize I did that.”