A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  My stomach plummets three stories down. She’s been telling me for some time that she’s over Jonah. Hell, she’s made it clear numerous times lately that she’s more than interested in Will (although, if I tell him, she warns, she’ll cut me out of her life forever). So knowing that seeing the ring on my finger crushes her is a blow I wasn’t quite prepared for.

  Within seconds, though, she pulls out a smile and hugs me anyway, murmuring congratulations in that husky voice of hers.

  “Callie—”

  She pulls herself upright. “Don’t you dare apologize, Chloe. I can see that’s what you want to do. I’m just—I’m being stupidly sentimental. That ring . . .” She shakes her head, sending silvery strands floating around her shoulders before letting out a throaty, sad chuckle. “I used to dream about that ring on my finger.”

  I can’t help but ask, “Do you still?”

  “No.” And then, more firmly, “No. Not anymore.”

  Will comes out from his room, hair adorably mussed. “Chloe, have you—” His feet come to a halt the moment he spies Cal. “Oh. Hello, Callie.”

  They stare at each other so long that I’ve become the awkward third wheel.

  I take the board game from Cal. “Do you want to join us?” I ask Will. “I ordered a pizza and—”

  “Why do you look like that?” Callie asks quietly.

  She’s not talking to me, though. One of Will’s hands goes to his hair. “Like what?”

  “Like you’ve . . .” She flushes, waves her hand around. “Like that.”

  I’ve got to admit, I’m just as confused as he is about what she’s talking about. Other than looking like he just got out of bed, he looks just like Will. Incredibly gorgeous, yes, but it’s not like she hasn’t ever seen him before.

  “Oh, well.” He ducks his head. “Right, then.”

  Is it wrong to admit I’m amused by how dorky they’re acting right now?

  “Is that a yes?” I ask him.

  He blinks, like he’s just remembered I’m in the room. “Um . . . yeah. Of course. Let me—I guess . . .” He runs his hands down his wrinkly t-shirt and then blushes himself. “I’ll be right back.”

  After he leaves, I turn to Callie. “Smooth moves there.”

  She snatches the board game back. “Shut up.” And then, more gently, “Is he okay?”

  I wish I could answer that one myself.

  According to Jonah, things did not go too well when he talked to Kellan about our re-engagement. There was no fighting this time, nor arguing—just Kellan shutting down right before his eyes before leaving to go do who knows what. He hadn’t come back by the next morning, but Jonah assured me that he was in contact with Kellan their way and his brother was asking for some space to wrap his head around everything.

  It was hard not to go running after him. I bite my lip, wanting to keep the words inside, but I eventually murmur, “Maybe we should have waited to tell him?”

  We’re looking at furniture today, despite me being able to make us pretty much anything we want; while I’d been so excited to do this very normal, couple-y thing just an hour earlier, now I feel the weights of our actions pressing down against me once more.

  Jonah pulls me close and kisses the side of my head. “He appreciated me telling him right away. He asked me to tell you he doesn’t want you to feel guilty about any of this.”

  “How can I not?” I whisper softly.

  He leans his head down against mine. “One day at a time, honey. And if that’s too hard—one step at a time. One breath. One heartbeat. I’m not promising that someday we’ll all look back at this time and laugh at how we agonized over our situation, but I do think there will come a time in which we’ll all have learned how to deal with it better.”

  I swallow. “Will he be coming tonight?”

  We’d decided to announce our good news to our loved ones at a dinner party at one of Astrid’s favorite restaurants. There will be no big wedding planned this time; in fact, we’re leaning toward doing it down at Karnach in the next month or so with just our closest friends and family present. Nothing fussy. Small is the way to go, we figure, when trying to lessen the devastating impact this blissful yet bittersweet occasion will bring to the other most important person in our lives.

  “No.” He kisses my hair once more and pulls away. “I told him about it, though. I left the choice up to him on how he wants to handle all of this. He thinks it’ll be best for everyone involved if he stays at home tonight. But he wants you—us—to know, he’s done running.”

  It is so incredibly selfish of me, but I’m glad Kellan won’t be coming. The entire time, I’d be so stressed worrying about him, wondering how he was feeling, that I’d probably make myself sick. That would only stress Jonah out and then Kellan, too; eventually they would do that dumb thing they do where they bend over backwards to try to make things right for me. In the end, it would be a miserable experience for all of us.

  One heartbeat. One breath. I pull another in, count to ten. To twenty. I force myself to look at the beautiful ring on my finger, remember how I came to the choice I did. The happiness that fills me at such thoughts will always be bittersweet.

  In this triangle, someone is always going to be hurting, and I hate that thought so much it makes me want to blow up everything in sight.

  I force myself to focus on picking our furniture for the next hour. After we’d found some pieces we like, we head over to the sales counter. As Jonah schedules delivery times and pays for our items, I stare out the large glass windows at the front of the story. It’s the perfect sort of day in Annar, with soft white clouds gracing cool blue skies and gentle breezes tempering warm sunlight.

  Just before I turn back to Jonah, a flash of bright, white hair in the group of people waiting at a stoplight across the street catches both my attention and my breath. A man stands there, one whose accusatory words have caused too many nightmares to count over the last year.

  I blink, but he’s still there. Tall. Elegant. Grizzled goatee. White hair. Paler than I remember, wearing a long, black coat on a day when everyone else is packing away his or her outerwear. He’s standing across the street, an undecipherable smile on his thin lips as he stares right at me.

  “Jonah,” I say quietly, tugging on his sleeve. “I know I’m out of the loop and all, but is Jens Belladonna back in Annar?”

  The sales clerk hands him our paperwork. “No. He’s still classified as missing. Why?”

  I turn back toward the window, but the man is no longer there.

  I jog out of the store, ignoring Jonah’s concern. Once I’m out on the street, I search in every direction. That was Jens. I’m positive of it. Where could he have gone?

  “Chloe, what’s going on?” Jonah asks when he joins me.

  “I just saw Jens Belladonna.” I point across the street. “Right there. He was watching us.”

  Jonah’s forehead furrows. “Maybe you just thought you saw somebody that looked like him?”

  I go to argue, but as Fate would have it, another ghost from my past blocks our path. Which is just . . . fabulous.

  “Well, look at this.” Sophie Greenfield’s smile is so cat-ate-the-canary smug. “Slumming again, Jonah?”

  He closes his eyes briefly, but not before I see the anger he’s attempting to hide. “Sophie, we really don’t have time for this right now.”

  She actually has the audacity to reach out, like she’s going to trail her horribly lovely fingers across his cheek. Unable to help myself, I slap her hand away. But this only exacerbates the haughty smile. “Did Jonah man up and tell you about what happened between us while you were gone?”

  Jonah refuses to play her game, though. “We’re leaving now, Sophie. I advise you stay away from the both of us.”

  “Did you know I was naked in his bed?” Sophie’s voice carries across the sidewalk as we walk away. “And that I loved it when he put his hands on me?”

  I swing back around, furious. How dare she manipulate
what happened like this—and in public no less! Just as I’m about to put her in her place, Jonah grabs my arms and says quietly, “Don’t engage her. It only makes it worse.”

  “But—”

  “Believe me when I tell you that Kellan and I have made this mistake far too often. It only ends up antagonizing her to act out more. Our best line of recourse is to walk away right now. You do not need her parents petitioning the Council, claiming you’ve been unfairly attacking their daughter in public. Not now, when you’re just reassuming your duties.”

  I stare at him in amazement. Over his shoulder, Sophie mouths, “You know I’m telling the truth.”

  My fists clench tightly, but I let Jonah steer me away.

  When my mother walks into the private room Astrid reserved for us at her favorite Elvin restaurant, my stomach decides we’re on a roller coaster. She looks around the loud room, clutching her handbag close.

  She came. My mother came to my engagement dinner. And I have no idea how I feel about it.

  I’m rooted to the spot below me, Jonah’s hand on my back as he laughs at something Moira Graystone has just said. I’ve got my goddaughter Emily in my arms and all I can do is simply stare at the woman I grew up with but hardly know .

  Abigail Lilywhite finally spies me and winds her way through the room until she reaches us. She clears her throat and nearly forces herself to smile. “Hello, Chloe. You’re looking good this evening.”

  No . . . no comment about being too thin? My hair not being right?

  Jonah nudges me and I blink hard. “Um . . . hi, Mom.”

  Karl and Moira know how things are between me and my parents, so our awkward greeting doesn’t faze anymore. Moira simply reclaims her daughter and, after saying hi to my mom, too, she and her husband wander over to where Zthane and Giuliana are talking to Cora and Raul.

  “I’m glad you could come tonight,” Jonah tells her.

  It’s then I notice her smile is brittle, like she’s completely afraid to do the wrong thing. Say the wrong thing. So I step forward and hug my mother. “Me, too,” I whisper in her ear.

  Her thin body trembles, like she’s holding in too much emotion. “As am I.”

  Tonight, we’ll add more bricks to our foundation together.

  Dinner is wonderful. Everyone is so happy for us, even though we get teased for getting engaged more times than most couples. Astrid and Cameron are so cute together (despite their vehement protests that they are, in fact, not a couple), as are Cora and Raul. Will and Callie spend the entire time bickering and it’s so adorable I just want to pinch their cheeks. I get at least twenty hugs from Emily, and the sweetest picture of me and Jonah she drew. Caleb takes care of my mother. Outside of Kellan, everyone I love most is in this room tonight.

  Speaking of . . . “I love you,” I tell Jonah.

  He kisses me, prompting lots of glasses to clink. We laugh and for once, everything is perfect. Incandescent. Free. Like we have a right to this bliss. Like . . . maybe everything is going to work out after all.

  Midway through dessert, I excuse myself to go to the small ladies’ room across the restaurant. I practically glide across the floor, the biggest, goofiest grin filling my face.

  I am in love and I don’t care who knows it.

  It isn’t until I’m washing my hands that I become aware of someone standing behind me. “You’re a tough one to get alone,” he says, voice distorted and wheezy. “So many people looking out for you. Even here, in this place of gluttony.”

  I stare at him for a moment in the mirror before turning around slowly. I don’t even allow myself to feel vindicated in this moment. I’m . . . freaked out, to be honest.

  “Hello, Jens,” I say.

  His thin lips curl into a smile. It is, in no way, pleasant. “Hello, little Creator. How lovely you look today.”

  I quickly survey my surroundings. There is no one else in the bathroom. A singular window is off to the side, propped open, no doubt, by Jens. A door leading back to the restaurant opposite the window. It is not an ideal place to launch at attack, but it is doable. Collateral damage will be minimal.

  “Come now.” He’s close enough now to drag his fingers across my arm. “Let us talk together for a few moments, you and I.”

  Shivers of disgust flare up and down my arms. His skin, it’s . . . dry, papery. Tiny white flakes remain where his fingers have lain.

  I have to fight my nausea back.

  The moment my hand moves, his swipes out and grabs it. He’s strong, almost unnaturally so. Within less than a second, the bones in my fingers break like tiny twigs under a giant’s feet.

  The pain is blinding. All I can do is gasp, because it’s more than a punch to the gut. It’s a godsdamn cannon ball and I can’t even make a sound out of shock.

  “I have always liked this about you.” His eyes are beetles, flat and black. Lifeless. “How you are so willing to take risks. An entire restaurant filled with sentient life, including those that you cohabitate with and have feelings for, and yet you are willing to blow me and this room up without a second thought.”

  My other hand angles, but he catches that one, too, crunching more small bones like they’re nothing. OH MY GODS OH MY GODS. Searing pain tears through every nerve ending in my body. He slams me back against the sink, the hard porcelain unforgiving against my hipbones.

  This time the urge to scream out in agony consumes me, but before I can, one of his papery, disgusting hands clamps over my mouth.

  “Can you do it, little Creator? Can you simply think of a change, and make it so?”

  Why is . . . why . . . how . . . I shake my head desperately, but it’s hard, so hard to think of anything else but the pain raging through me. I need . . . must . . . cage? No—will him out—

  Gods, I can’t think.

  Jens clamps down harder the fragile fragments left intact in one of my hands. Darkness swarms my vision. “We cannot converse if you keep trying to attack me. Be a good girl and show some respect.”

  He removes his hand from my mouth slowly. Tiny white flakes rain down between us. “Jens . . . why . . .?” Even to me, my voice is slurred.

  “Do you really not know?” he asks, amused. “Can you not feel it?”

  Any attempt at coherent thought is countered with various pressure adjustments against my still trapped hand.

  “Oh, little Creator. I’m worse than disappointed. You should know that appearances are always deceptive.”

  I’m teetering on the edge of blackness. “Who . . . not . . . Jens?”

  He closes in on me; a putrid smell threatens to overwhelm the remaining, functional senses I’ve got going for me. He taps my forehand with a long finger. “Think, little Creator. Think. You can figure it out. You’re a bright girl.” That ugly smile of his curves upward once more. “Shall I let you in on a secret?”

  I actually throw up now. Between the pain and the smell, I can’t stop myself.

  If Jens, or whoever this is, is bothered by the rancid remains of my recently consumed dinner all over his shirt, he doesn’t let on. “We have been in the midst of a game together for some time now. It has been droll, this game of cat and mouse we play. In the spirit of our burgeoning relationship, tonight will be all about riddles. You have asked me a question, and I was gracious enough to give you a clue. Now, it is my turn. Tell me, little Creator. Which one is out there right now? What is the name it goes by?”

  I struggle to focus, but all I want to do is to let myself fall into darkness. What . . . what is he talking about?

  Surprisingly, the pressure on my ruined hand relents momentarily. Jens leans forward, his ashy lips too close to my ear. Nausea rushes back like a tsunami. “I have to admit, I cannot tell those two apart.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “All I can see is that they are two halves of a whole.”

  Is he . . . Jonah? He’s asking about Jonah? I struggle, panicked, but lights flash before my eyes as my hand is refolded tightly into his.

 
; “Abominations.” And now his lips do make contact, on the space right before my ear; bile surges once more up my throat. “Fate should not have allowed that. I would not have allowed that. Once, such perversions would have become tributes. Offerings of appeasement.”

  My eyes, already unfocused and swinging wildly, land for a brief moment on his hand, still holding mine in a vise-like grip. There’s a signet ring on the pinky. This is Jens’ ring. Every single time I’ve ever seen him, he’s been wearing this ring.

  This is Jens, and yet it is not. Because Jens . . . Jens knew the difference between Jonah and Kellan.

  I wish Caleb were still in my head, to tell me what to do. Tell me who is here with me. I close my eyes, let myself sink into the abyss threatening to take me, but a sharp crack against my face forces me back up once more. “My patience wears thin,” the Jens person says.

  I think he might have shattered my cheekbone, too. “I’ll die . . . before I . . .” I pull in a shuddery breath.

  Jens smiles, and then laughs. It is not Jens’ laugh. It is sly, old, filled with countless atrocities and immeasurable power. “Oh, no, little Creator. There will be no death allowed for you, not for some time now. I cannot guarantee that for those nearby, though.”

  My concentration, on the verge of coherency, is shattered once more as he clamps down on both of my hands. I gasp, “Don’t . . . please . . . don’t hurt them . . .”

  “It is beneath you to try to protect those who are inferior, and yet you still try. You are a Creator; every life is beneath you. Dealing death is not to be feared. It is to be revered.”

  I start to cry. Flat out cry.

  He leans close again. “I can smell how much you wish to destroy me. It is intoxicating. Exhilarating.” He caresses my cheek with his lips. The shudder wracking my body turns epileptic. “I will look forward to encouraging you to give into that side of yourself.”

  I try to speak, to tell him to fuck off, but he squeezes even harder. Blurry lights invade the darkness in my vision. “Did you know that pain can help? You just have not learned this lesson yet.” His nose traces my neck as he pulls in a long, deep breath. “You are trying so hard right now to overcome me. You are vibrating with power, so much so, and yet . . . it is still contained by such a fragile vessel. I wish I could be inside you right now, feel what you are feeling. It would be almost humbling. Exciting.” He pauses, licks my neck, as if he is tasting something new.