A Sea of Purple Ink

by Rebekah Shafer

I need a plan.

  The two men approached, Banner’s face white and mask-like, Stryker’s eyes unwavering.

  Something. Anything. Reese felt the chains pull tighter as her knees threatened to give way. Even without her ability she could guess what was going to happen.

  “Where are they supposed to be?” Stryker repeated. His voice held the cold certainty of water against rock. A full knowledge that he could wear her away, given time.

  Reese felt herself beginning to shake. She clenched her jaws. You killed Keller. You’ve killed hundreds of us. I will never help you.

  Stryker’s face smoothed over into the calm, frightening mask Reese had seen many times before. He gave a short nod. “Banner,” he said. He motioned toward Reese and stepped back.

  Reese’s breath caught in her throat.

  The burner looked away.

  Don’t do this.

  Banner began circling to get behind her. Reese craned her neck, trying to meet the man’s gaze. “Why are you helping him?” she demanded. She pulled at the chains and felt the sharp edges dig in deeper. The burner was just outside of her line of vision. What’s he doing? Panic began rising. “He’s the writer! He’s a traitor to our kind.”

  “One could say you were, too,” Stryker said. “You helped the king.”

  Reese’s gaze whipped back to where the writer stood, leaning against the edge of the table. “Because he promised to help us.”

  “He’s a liar.” Stryker’s face had hardened. “He’s never kept his word about anything.”

  “Except the ban,” Reese spat.

  A faint smile crossed the writer’s face. “True.” The smile melted away. “Even when it meant destroying my reader division.” His eyes turned dark. “He thought the police were enough.”

  “You let someone inside,” Reese accused. “You let a shifter…” A burst of adrenaline jolted through her. She didn’t need her calculations to read the look on Stryker’s face. Words forced themselves out in a whisper. “You killed the chief of police.”

  “I’m not proud of it,” Stryker said. “But it served its purpose.” The writer gazed at her through half-lowered eyelids. “The king needed a reminder—”

  Reese felt a hand touch her back. She jerked away, but the pressure followed her. Pain burst through her chest. It seared up through her neck in a burning stream. Reese’s body convulsed and lights swam before her eyes. Her teeth bit down on her tongue, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth.

  Stryker’s voice seemed to grow far away and garbled as he continued, “—that we are his only protection against your kind.”

  36

  The burning stopped.

  Reese sagged downward, gasping for breath. Her arms felt as if they were on fire, and when she looked up, she saw a trickle of blood flowing down from the rusting cuffs. Stay calm. She could feel her heart jumping and trembling in her chest. I’m all right. I’m all right, aren’t I? She swallowed hard. I can’t tell for sure. Her calculations were gone. How much more of this can I take? She risked a glance at Stryker.

  The writer sat, watching her. “Are you ready to talk now?” he asked quietly, as if asking a child if they were going to obey.

  Cold fear washed over Reese. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. Never.

  One hand flattened against her back. Another gripped her neck.

  White sparks danced before Reese’s eyes. With a retching heave, her whole body jerked in convulsion after convulsion. Blackness crept into her vision. Her ears rang and her mind scattered. Nothing remained but the white-hot pain. Reese heard herself scream. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst.

  “Enough!” she cried. Another wave shot up through her head in a blistering line. The world seemed to contract to a single point of intense fear. Make it stop. Make it STOP. “I told them to hide!” Reese gasped.

  The burning stopped.

  Reese hung from her arms, eyes closed, her whole body trembling. The room felt like it was spinning, slowly tipping to one side. She let her head drop and moaned.

  “Hide where?” Stryker asked.

  Reese’s tongue felt as heavy as lead. “In places only I would think to look for them.” She tried to raise her head and give him another stare, but her neck refused to cooperate. Every muscle in her body ached. Her feet tingled and she couldn’t feel the floor.

  A strong grip seized her chin.

  Reese cringed. Not again.

  The grip forced her head up. “Clever girl,” Stryker said.

  Reese felt one of the fingers stroke her cheek. She tried to pull away. The effort sent a new surge of pain through her neck. Her eyes fluttered open and met Stryker’s calculating expression.

  “And where would you think to find them?” Stryker muttered. His face hardened in thought. “We’ll have to find that out,” he said. His grip tightened.

  As if a curtain had been pulled away, the world slipped back into focus. Every sound and smell registered in Reese’s mind. She stared back at him as calculations mounted up. He’s going to ask again. Reese could feel each cut on her arms. Every burn on her body. And I won’t be able to hide. Her mind screamed warnings at her. I can’t keep doing this.

  The writer drew his hand away. Slowly, his gaze traveled down Reese’s body. “You know,” he said. “When your father found me, I didn’t have Banner.” He turned and strode back to the table. “I often think I might have had better luck persuading him to help me if I’d had a loyal burner to work with.”

  Persuading him to help? Cold ran down Reese’s back as the factors clicked into place. He’s the one responsible for Father’s arrest.

  Banner’s hands clamped down again.

  “Stop!” Reese cried. “Wait!” She could feel the pulsing heat beneath the burner’s palms. Stryker’s been behind this the whole time. The arrests. He tried to get rid of the king, but he hasn’t seized the throne yet. Why? Possibilities began running through her mind at top speed. Could it be he needs help? “You said I gave up my chance to be a hero. Why didn’t you take that same chance? You could have killed Nile.”

  Stryker turned around to face her. “Not without making the readers even more hated and feared.” He met her gaze with a cold stare. “He tried to interrogate my readers, Reese Darren. I had to do something. It just so happened that he got away from me before I could finish.”

  “And you wanted my help to find him again?” Reese asked. Good. Keep him talking. Maybe we can strike a simple deal…

  “That was my first offer,” Stryker said. “But now I know where the king is.” A shrewd look crossed his features. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

  Reese scrambled for a response as the calculations continued. “Maybe…” Mastermind against mastermind. He wants to bargain for my crew’s life. If I figure out where they’re hiding, I won’t be able to keep from telling him. I’ve got to distract him with something—

  Stryker stiffened. “You’re playing for time,” he said. “Banner.”

  “What do you want?” Reese blurted. “Tell me.” A small pulse of burning snapped through her back. With an explosion of calculations, Reese’s vision went dark. The room swayed beneath her. Through the pain, she caught the faint intonation of the writer’s voice, but the words escaped her. Then silence roared through her.

  From miles away, a deep clang echoed in her mind. Was it a sound? A thought? The heavy vibration shook her to the core. What is that? Her head ached. I must have passed out. She took a deep breath.

  Boom. The clang came again.

  The door. Someone’s knocking on the door.

  Steel rasped on steel, then someone muttered an order. Stryker’s voice filtered through the noise. “Does it have to be now?” he asked, irritation plain. “It seems like a poor idea to me.”

  A third, more nasal voice replied. “The king said it was urgent. A group of
rebels have attacked the main gate of the castle. The streets are in chaos. He wants to talk to their leader.”

  Reese came awake in an instant. Rebels? She lifted her head and managed to peek through swollen eyelids.

  Across the interrogation room, Stryker stood at the half-open door, holding a muttered conference with another officer in uniform. Banner was nowhere to be seen.

  The writer squared his shoulders. “Very well. I’ll bring her up in a moment.”

  Something in his voice made Reese’s skin crawl. Living or dead?

  The officer saluted. “My orders are to accompany you, sir.”

  Reese could see tension in the lines of the writer’s back. “Very good,” he said dryly. “Wait here.” He stepped away from the door and strode to Reese.

  “Be careful what you say,” he murmured. “Or I will put a bullet through your back.”

  “No, you won’t,” Reese whispered. She strained to open her eyes fully. “You’ve been so desperate to ask me questions.” She forced a smile. “Why?”

  Hate shone from the writer’s eyes. “Manning, lower the chains,” he ordered, without taking his gaze from Reese’s. “Then relay orders to the castle guard. Any stain prisoners are to be brought straight to me.”

  Reese’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. He’s past bargaining.

  With a grinding screech, the wheel turned. Chains jangled.

  Reese waited while Stryker unfastened her manacles. I’ve got to get out of this. Her arms felt light and empty. Rust and blood smeared past her elbows in angry lines. I have my calculations back now. It’s a start. She grimaced as a little feeling tingled in her hands. Even if they say there’s no way out.

  The walk back through the security tunnels was agonizing. With every step, Reese’s dress brushed against her burns, and as the feeling increased in her arms, so did the pain. She stared hard at the back of the officer’s uniform, trying to think about anything other than the mounting pile of injury calculations. She could feel Stryker’s presence behind her. Heavy. Immovable. Unyielding.

  At last, they reached the security door and stepped back into the king’s sitting room. Smoke smeared the ceiling of the room, and the charred remains of one bookcase left a strong aroma of singed paper. Two officers stood in front of the tall windows. Another blocked the outer door.

  Three police. And they’re all readers.

  A slight movement to her left caught her attention. The king sat in a dark armchair. His merchant’s clothes and long coat had been replaced with a royal blue jacket and golden shirt.

  Reese’s heart sank even lower. The king’s face registered no recognition. No hint of remorse. Only a tense aloofness.

  Stryker stepped around Reese and gave the king a tight bow. “Here she is, Your Highness. My men are securing the main gate as we speak. It’s only a matter of time before the uprising is silenced.” He straightened. “However, I ask permission to increase the guards in other areas of the palace. It’s possible that the attack is merely a distraction.”

  That’s what he was getting at. He wanted to know if I’d set up a stealth counterattack in case he caught me. Reese wanted to kick herself for not realizing it earlier. Surely he’d have figured out that there aren’t many of us left.

  “That won’t be necessary,” the king said. “I’m sure your readers are up to the task.” He gave the writer a tight smile. Then he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and turned his attention to Reese. “You are the leader of the rebellion?” he asked. “Named…” His hand fluttered in the air as if grasping for the words.

  One of the police guards stepped forward. “Reese Davis,” he said, bowing.

  The king hesitated. His gaze seemed to pull away into something unseen.

  Is he remembering? Reese watched the king, searching for any sign of recognition. Can he remember? “My name is Reese,” she said. “But I have nothing to do with the people at your gates.”

  “Really?” The king looked up, eyes sharp. “I have it on good authority that you do. Tell them to surrender, or they will regret their actions.”

  “Why should I?” Reese asked. As her gaze locked with the king’s, anger and grief welled up inside her. “They wouldn’t listen to me. Not once they found out I gave you protection.” A hand closed over Reese’s arm. She didn’t need to look to know whose hand it was.

  Confusion covered the king’s face.

  The officer by the door stepped forward. “Sire? If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see how the guest evacuation is proceeding.” He bowed and started toward the door.

  Stryker’s voice sounded in Reese’s ear. “Your Highness, this is pointless. Give me more time”—his grip tightened—“and we will have her complete cooperation.”

  “You mean I’ll be dead,” Reese spat. “Joplin, think. He’s been lying to you. He’s the writer.”

  “Wait,” the king said. Deep wrinkles creased his forehead. He seemed to be wrestling with an idea. “Guests?” he asked. “What guests?”

  Reese’s chest tightened. Stryker made a mistake. Factors began adding up. He’s been making a lot of mistakes. If the king has a big enough gap in his memory, maybe I can at least make him suspect the writer. The thought made her feel stronger. It might be the end of me, but if it’s also the end of Stryker, it’s worth it. She tugged her arm free from the writer’s grip. “Think about it, Your Highness. There are a lot of things you don’t remember about the last few days.”

  The king’s gaze flicked toward her.

  “You didn’t know there was a party tonight,” she said. “Why do you think I’m dressed like this? Where have you been for the last few days?” She took a deep breath, painfully conscious of the writer’s presence behind her. “You’ve been written,” she said.

  Stryker’s hand slid around the back of her neck.

  Reese swung around, using the writer’s grip as a pivot. For an instant she saw his startled face, then she slammed her head down into his. Pain exploded in her forehead. The writer fell backwards and his hand slipped away. “That’s for trying to kill my crew,” she gasped. “And for trying to kill the king.”

  An officer seized her and pulled her away from the prone writer.

  “What are you saying?” the king demanded. He rose from his chair.

  Stryker struggled to a sitting position, one hand clapped to his forehead. “She’s a mastermind, Highness. She’s trying to trick you.” Beneath his hand, he gave Reese an ominous stare.

  Reese shook herself, trying to clear her head. The officer behind her had one arm wrapped across her chest, holding her arms to her sides. “Joplin, remember? Sea Level.”

  The king’s gaze moved from Stryker, to Reese, then back again. “What is she talking about?” he asked. His voice sounded lower than before. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drill into Reese. “Have you gone mad?” he asked.

  Reese struggled to think of something, anything, that would make the king remember. “Do you remember flying?” she asked.

  Stryker pushed himself to his feet and took a step toward her.

  Reese let her face harden into an angry stare. If this is the way I go, it won’t be without a fight. She shifted position in the policeman’s grasp, ready to snatch his handgun.

  The king stood within arm’s reach of Reese. “I flew, you say?” Confusion and doubt played across his face. “But I’ve never had…” Color flooded into his cheeks and his eyes widened. “Sea Level.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Reese’s heart swelled. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to come welling up.

  “Reese?” Joplin whispered.

  37

  A gun cocked.

  With a gut-wrenching effort, Reese jumped into overdrive. She lunged forward, dragging the policeman with her, and crashed into the king. As they slammed to the floor, the gun went off. Reese felt
the policeman’s arms jerk, then go limp. Pain pulsed in Reese’s limbs. She pushed back against the dead weight and snatched the policeman’s gun from its holster. “Go for cover,” she yelled. She slid off the king and swung around to cover the attacker with the gun.

  “Nobody moves,” Stryker ordered. He stood a few paces away, his pistol pointed straight at the king.

  Joplin’s eyes flashed. “I remember now, Stryker. That night you came to see me.” He clenched his fists. “You want to prove your loyalty, and now you do this?”

  “You were interrogating my men. You threatened to imprison us,” Stryker retorted. “You betrayed those who were protecting you.”

  The king pushed himself upright. “And from what I’ve learned, you deserved it!”

  Stryker’s shoulders rose and fell beneath his uniform. The gun trembled in his hand. “I tried to support you,” he said. The words sank to the floor, weighted with hate. “But you’ve proven that you’re no king. Not like your father. Not like you could have been.” His hand twitched. “And I will do whatever it takes to keep my readers safe.”

  He’s going to shoot. Reese launched herself upward, in front of the king. In one splintered moment, she saw Stryker pull the trigger and felt the lurch as the king pushed her away.

  Bang.

  Joplin cried out and clutched at his stomach.

  Time seemed to slow down as Reese fell toward the floor. She saw the tension on Stryker’s face. He’s going to fire again. She raised her gun and braced for impact on the floor.

  A splintering crash rang through the room. Glass shards poured from the broken window in a slashing cascade.

  Stryker stumbled backwards.

  Reese hit the floor. Gravity surges rippled past her. It can’t be Stryker. She sprang up again and whirled, gun in hand.

  Niela stood in the broken window frame, a bandage around her shoulder, both arms held out as she maintained the gravity change. Beside her, Tyrone seized a policeman and flung him out the window.

  They’re here. Reese’s grip tightened on her gun. Get the king out.