by Nalini Singh
Zie Zen had an honor guard of Arrows and empaths—and one gifted scientist.
Ashaya Aleine’s grief was as deep as Vasic’s, but she walked with pride for the man who had been far more to her than Vasic had ever known.
Another woman, her hair golden brown and her hands covered by black, stood waiting for the procession to reach the rise. Vasic had first met her in a different context, hadn’t understood how deeply she’d been entwined in Zie Zen’s quiet and far-reaching rebellion until she’d shown him the golden coin carried by only ten people in the entire world: people who’d been Zie Zen’s most trusted.
Vasic had one of those coins, too.
Clara Alvarez managed Haven, a place where fragmented F-Psy could live in peace—and where Samuel Rain currently made his home. She was holding herself in fierce check, but her features were strained and she stayed close to her husband, a respected prosecutor.
Next to that prosecutor stood another unexpected holder of a coin: Anthony Kyriakus, former Psy Councilor, current member of the Ruling Coalition, Vasic’s occasional ally, and a man who’d publicly opposed Zie Zen a number of times over the decades. Vasic had known the two were allies beneath it all, but until this instant, he hadn’t known how deep ran the trust between them.
Grandfather, I have a feeling I will never know all your secrets.
Ashaya’s son, Keenan, stood with Tavish. He cried, old enough to understand that the man he, too, had called grandfather wasn’t ever going to wake up. Tavish held the younger boy’s hand and told him what Ivy had said to him, while Ashaya’s mate, Dorian, stood behind both children, his hands on their shoulders.
Ivy walked with the honor guard, and she was Vasic’s strength, the gentle force that held everyone together that day.
And there were a lot of people.
Zie Zen hadn’t only been a man who loved a girl called Sunny and a boy called Vasic, he’d been one of the greatest statesmen of their race. Vasic had known his grandfather wouldn’t mind being farewelled without fanfare, but he’d also understood that there were others who needed to know of the passing of this great man. He’d asked Aden to release a single bulletin out into the world.
It had gone viral within five minutes.
Had they permitted it, thousands of people would’ve come here today, thousands of people whose lives Zie Zen had touched, made better. Even his enemies respected him, had sent words to acknowledge the loss of a man unlike any who had come before. The Net had gone silent in respect . . . then filled with stories of Zie Zen’s impact on people around the globe.
Vasic had seen nothing like it in his entire lifetime. Neither had the rest of the squad.
In the end, he and Ivy had made the decision to limit the funeral and memorial service to those closest to Zie Zen, the ones with whom Zie Zen had had the most intimate contact. The others had been invited to contribute their memories and thoughts about Zie Zen to an archive being curated by two librarians who were alive because of Vasic’s great-grandfather.
A hundred people stood here today.
Though Vasic’s heart was heavy, his voice raw, he spoke when it was time. Zie Zen would expect nothing less. “My grandfather lived in Silence when he was a man of passionate conviction not meant for cold emotionlessness, and he worked from within to change that which was broken.”
Vasic wouldn’t speak of Zie Zen’s Sunny, for those memories had been his grandfather’s alone to share. But he could acknowledge that Zie Zen had carried on for near to a century, even though his heart had shattered at twenty-three when his Sunny died. Even though he had missed her every moment of every day. “He never gave up and he never believed anything impossible. His courage was endless.”
Once, Vasic wouldn’t have comprehended the depth of his grandfather’s searing grief, or understood his infinite valor. Before Ivy. Before he knew what it was to be entwined heart and soul with another.
He reached for her with his mind, found her waiting even as her hand squeezed his tight, giving him the strength to continue. “But more than a great statesman,” he said, “Zie Zen was a great man. I am honored to bear his name. I hope I will do you proud, Grandfather.” It was too short an epitaph but it came from his soul.
A powerful silence fell, a hundred heads bowed in respect.
• • •
VASIC scattered his grandfather’s ashes the next dawn, Ivy by his side. “Good-bye, Grandfather,” he whispered. “I hope you find your Sunny.”
As Zie Zen’s ashes flew on the wind, so did the time of those who had been born in freedom, caged in Silence, only to see it fall. Now . . . now it was the time of those who had been born in Silence, fought for freedom.
It’s time for the mantle to pass. Zie Zen’s voice from a night when they’d walked the orchard together. The old must give way to the new.
Wisdom is never old.
Yes, but the young cherish what they’ve built. So build, Vasic. This is your time, Son. Gather your trusted allies, your gentle, fierce empath, and build your future.
“We will build,” Vasic promised. “Today and tomorrow and every day to come.”
Chapter 29
THE ARCHITECT OF the Consortium stared out a window, giving Zie Zen a silent moment of respect. Over the years, the man had been a thorn in the Architect’s side in countless ways, but he’d been an intelligent, brilliant thorn.
Had the Architect thought it possible the invitation would be accepted, Zie Zen would’ve been offered entry into the highest level of the Consortium. As it was, the Architect had sought to learn how to be a leader in the shadows by watching Zie Zen, who’d had decades more experience at being a power very few ever truly saw.
Zie Zen had fought for freedom, while the Architect fought for power, but only those without vision ignored the greatness in their midst.
“Good-bye, old enemy,” the Architect said as night fell beyond the window. “Let us see who attempts to fill your shoes.” Because the Architect needed to kill that person, as the Architect needed to kill Anthony Kyriakus. The PsyNet could have no more great statesmen respected by enemies and allies alike. Not if it was to fragment and unknowingly hand power over to the Consortium.
Changeling, Psy, and human alike believed Trinity protected them from the Consortium’s machinations, but the Consortium’s attempts to sow discord between various groups and promote general chaos had been just the first salvo. At their next meeting, the Architect intended to suggest the group move strongly and purposefully into phase two within the next six months, once the world was even more mired in the politics of Trinity.
That phase wouldn’t be scattershot. It had already been planned with clinical precision, its intent to purge the world of those who provided a foundation on which others could stand. Anthony Kyriakus was on the list for his charismatic ability to command attention from not just Psy but from humans and changelings as well.
In the Architect’s eyes, Anthony was more dangerous to the Consortium’s goals than Kaleb Krychek, because while Kaleb engendered fear in people that could be twisted if worked carefully, Anthony Kyriakus engendered heavily more positive emotions and responses.
He had become the trusted face of the Ruling Coalition.
Also on the Architect’s phase two list was Silver Mercant. No one much talked about Silver, because she didn’t seek the spotlight, but her quietly efficient management of the worldwide Emergency Response Network, or what the media had started referring to as EmNet, had gained her the trust of parties worldwide. There was also the little known fact that Silver Mercant was the scion of the Mercant family, Ena Mercant having skipped a generation when choosing her protégée.
The Architect had only recently realized the latter fact, after a passing comment by a Mercant who thought the Architect was an ally in a certain limited sense. And why not? After all, Ena Mercant herself considered the Architect a valuable connection and
had maintained an open line of communication even when the Architect’s fortunes fluctuated over their decade-long relationship.
Some would say such a gesture of trust was a thing to be treasured. The Architect had other priorities. Do this right and the Mercants would never know the Consortium had gutted their next generation. Then, once the Consortium gained control and began to flex its shadow power, all it had to do was wait. Sooner or later, it would be offered access to the Mercant intelligence network in exchange for a percentage of that power.
That network would be worth the price.
As long as the Architect gave Ena Mercant no reason to believe her granddaughter’s death had been a political assassination, that death would soon be forgotten. A freak vehicular crash perhaps. For while the Mercants’ vaunted loyalty to one another was a clever bit of manipulation that made the family appear an impregnable unit, when it came down to it, Ena Mercant had always been a pragmatic woman.
The Architect didn’t foresee any problems if the plan was carefully executed.
Silver’s death would crash EmNet long enough for the Consortium to create emergencies where confusion reigned and promised help never arrived. The resulting cracks would be difficult to fix when the Consortium would be throwing chaotic event after chaotic event into the mix.
On the changeling side, Lucas Hunter was a problem. His Psy-Changeling child remained a symbolic threat, but the leopard alpha himself was an actual one. It was regrettable that the attempt to abduct the child had failed because had the Consortium had control of Nadiya Hunter, the Architect would’ve used her to control her father.
Because the most recent reports from the Consortium’s spies in Trinity showed that Hunter was steadily gaining the support of not just a dangerous number of changeling groups, but that he had the ear of many powerful Psy families as well.
Bowen Knight and Devraj Santos were also irritants to the Consortium’s goals, the reason the same in both cases. Humans had always been easy prey, partly because they weren’t united under any one banner. Bowen Knight was changing that far faster than even the Architect had predicted. With his passionate belief that humans deserved to stand alongside Psy and changelings on the world stage, the so-called security chief of the Alliance had a magnetism it had taken the Architect too long to understand.
As for the Forgotten, Devraj Santos was the vital force that kept them united. Without him, and given their geographic spread and disparate bloodlines, the Forgotten would dissipate into small, powerless cells. The Architect knew that because the Architect was no fool. There was a Forgotten in the Consortium’s inner circle, a cold-blooded individual who cared nothing for the Forgotten as a people.
Aden Kai and the Arrows would always be a threat, but the Architect had decided to cut the Consortium’s losses there for now. Eventually, when the Consortium held enough power behind the scenes, the Arrow Squad would either be made to see reason, or wiped out in a single, ruthless action.
In the meantime, assassinating Ivy Jane Zen would suffice. Aden Kai’s second in command was bonded with her, the bond apparently one of love and devotion. So, he would hurt. In the best-case scenario, he’d fall apart, leaving Aden with no deputy. The attack on Ivy Jane would also strike a secondary blow: The Architect accepted that empaths were necessary, but they needed to be kept in their place. Ivy Jane was too well known and too much a hero after the people she’d saved during the outbreaks.
Those six weren’t the only ones on the Architect’s list, but they were at the top. The assassinations would have to be spread out, made to look like accidents or illnesses. The Architect didn’t want credit. The Architect just wanted these problematic individuals erased from the playing board. As demonstrated by Zie Zen, a single strong-minded individual could change the course of the world itself.
When this was over, the Architect intended to be the only one standing.
All it required was patience and precision.
Chapter 30
HAVING POSTPONED NAYA’S visit to Nikita in the face of Vasic’s loss, Lucas used the time to hold a much-needed meeting with his sentinels. Naya was on a playdate deep in DarkRiver territory, while Sascha was working at the aerie with a comm conference scheduled for later in the day.
The two pieces of his heart were safe, and all intelligence from the Rats, as well as other sources, pointed to business as usual in the region. No whispers of mercenaries or other enemy incursions. So his pack was safe. The hunt for the ship meant to have carried Naya away from her home continued, but despite his primal need to destroy anyone who’d tried to harm his child, Lucas had never expected that hunt to be an overnight operation. The searches were running, the information filters all in place.
He lost nothing by pulling Dorian from his duties so this meeting could happen.
The alpha and sentinel relationship was critical to the health of a pack and, snarling need for vengeance or not, Lucas had no intention of allowing his to be damaged by a lack of care. For obvious reasons, he’d decided to hold the meeting at Mercy and Riley’s cabin. Mercy was not up to making the climb to his aerie, though he knew damn well she’d have given it a try had he been fool enough to schedule a meet there.
As for Riley, the lieutenant was nearby, having a sparring session with Indigo.
Now, Lucas called the meeting to order.
Mostly that involved telling everyone to stop trying to get Mercy to spill the beans on the number and sex of the pupcubs so DarkRiver people could win the betting pool.
Mercy, of course, wasn’t budging.
Seated on a comfortable sofa with her legs up on an ottoman Lucas had nudged over and her body leaning against Dorian’s—who had his arm affectionately around her shoulders and his plascast-covered leg on a matching ottoman—the redheaded sentinel just gave her fellow sentinels a feline smile and said, “Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t you hear?”
The others responded with creative threats that made her laugh. Then the entire group naturally fell quiet, their attention on Lucas.
He knew exactly what he wanted to discuss. “I’m fucking sick of people trying to hurt this pack.”
Growls filled the room, every single one of his sentinels in agreement.
“Zero tolerance,” Lucas said, making that call as alpha. “As of now, any individual caught planning or in the midst of trying to harm a DarkRiver child or adult will be executed. We might lose some intel in the process, but fuck that—I want these assholes to think a thousand times before they set foot on our land.” Some predators understood only violence.
“The mercenaries we’re holding, the ones who tried to snatch Naya,” Clay said from his position in an armchair opposite Mercy and Dorian. “What’re we going to do with them?”
“I’m not rational there,” Lucas answered with blunt honesty. “I want to tear them to shreds.”
Clay leaned forward with his hands between his knees, forearms braced on his thighs. “Sascha scrambled two of them. Permanently,” he said quietly. “Tamsyn confirmed it just this morning. We can ship them straight to a secure psychiatric unit.”
“Shit,” Dorian muttered. “Don’t tell Sascha. She’ll feel guilty when she has no reason to.”
Lucas was tempted to follow the sentinel’s advice, but keeping secrets from his mate wasn’t ever going to be on the agenda. “She’ll handle it.” It would stun and disturb her, but Lucas’s mate was strong and she understood what had been at risk. She’d used her claws in defense of her child and no one, not even Sascha herself, could see a crime in that.
Returning his attention to Clay, he said, “The others from the mercenary team?”
Clay shrugged. “I’m okay with an execution order.” His tone was cold, that of a man responsible for the safety of a little girl not so much older than Naya. “They did this for money, took the risk with open eyes.”
“Fuck, I want to do that, too,” Vaug
hn said quietly from his chair opposite Lucas, Mercy and Dorian on one side, Clay and Nathan on the other. “But news of the kidnapping attempt went international. Everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to fall.”
The jaguar pushed back the unbound amber of his hair. “We have to decide what impression we want to make on the world. There’s a fine line between fear that keeps our children safe and fear that turns DarkRiver from harsh but fair, to monstrous. You know most Psy and humans have difficulty understanding our laws.”
Lucas growled at his best friend, who, right now, was showing an acute grasp of politics. “We’d be handing our enemies a victory by alienating a massive swath of the world.”
Vaughn nodded. “The same doesn’t apply post-warning. At that point, people will blame the assailants for digging their own graves. Pre-warning . . . well, the mercenaries came knowingly into leopard territory. I say we claw them up enough that they’ll always bear the marks”—his own claws sliced out—“then we turn them over to Enforcement. Playing nice with local authorities while making it clear this is the last straw.”
“I like it.” Mercy nodded. “It’ll also calm anyone who might be worrying about our growing power in San Francisco.”
The reality, as demonstrated by the citizens who’d called DarkRiver rather than Enforcement when they saw the truck smash into Dorian’s vehicle, was that DarkRiver could rule San Francisco if it so wished. Lucas wasn’t interested in setting up a fiefdom, but he did want this city to be known as a leopard city, a place only the stupid would attempt to hurt.
Vaughn’s suggestion would achieve both those aims.
“Done,” he said. “I’ll mete out the punishment.”
Any one of his sentinels would’ve done it in a heartbeat, but these men and women had threatened Lucas’s cub. “Mercy, you set up the press conference. We’re going to make a statement tomorrow morning.”