The War (Blood and Destiny #3)

by E. C. Jarvis

  “Holt?” Larissa said softly from somewhere nearby. The white blur surrounding him disappeared as his vision returned. He stared up at the dark wood ceiling, his fingers holding deathly grips onto the itchy bedsheet either side of his body, his teeth grinding into each other so hard it hurt his entire jaw.

  Larissa’s face popped into view, her pale blond eyebrows knitted together, drawing a wrinkle across her forehead. He wanted to sit up and kiss that wrinkle, smooth it out, promise her he was fine, nothing to worry about. As she tugged the lump of broken needle from his arm, a shot of blood splattered her face. He was bleeding silver blood instead of dark red, a fact he couldn’t easily dismiss. He was anything but fine.

  Larissa placed her hand on the wound, applying pressure, followed by an odd, warming sensation. In an instant, the hole healed, stemming the flow of blood.

  Holt sat up slowly, letting his feet drop to the floor. He wiped the blood from her face with his thumb.

  “Well, hmm, yes,” Cid said. Holt hadn’t even noticed him in the room. Cid stood beside the desk. The burner and medical tools from the other room were now on the desk, and inside the dish atop the stand was a blob of liquid Anthonium. Cid gave him a long, contemplative look.

  “Thank you, Cid,” Larissa said.

  “I’ll go back to my engine,” Cid said as he left the room.

  Holt felt his heartrate slowing. He tingled from head to toe, bristling with fire and energy, aware that if he wanted or needed to he could simply will himself into disappearing and slip silently through the walls like a ghost. Only this time, he had no cause or desire to disappear. For the first time in a long time, he was right where he wanted to be, alone with Larissa.

  “You focused on irrelevant detail.” The words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to think them through, admonishing her for her tactic with Kerrigan, which essentially turned out to be the best course of action. He was stalling, trying to change the subject, avoiding the inevitable subject matter on which he did not want to focus. He felt like such a coward.

  Larissa sat on the bed beside him and stared straight at him, her head cocked to one side. “Really? That’s what we’re going to talk about after you almost died?”

  “We’ve already discussed this. Nothing has changed, you’ve just delayed the inevitable.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, wondering why he couldn’t just talk frankly to her or open up in the way she clearly wanted him to. “Thank you,” he added belatedly.

  Larissa smiled and kicked off her shoes, then rolled behind him onto her side, resting her head on the pillow. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, then placed her hand over his. “Let’s get some rest while we can. While it’s quiet.”

  He lay down with her, the bed not big enough for two people and the scratchy material not adding any level of comfort. Rest was not what he needed now that his body felt bolstered by the Anthonium. As his body pressed against hers and she wriggled herself into a more comfortable position, that energy inside stirred.

  “So,” she said.

  “So…”

  “You haven’t killed Kerrigan.”

  “You are observant. I thought you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  “You’re right, I would not. He is useful.”

  “Somewhat,” he conceded, though it irked him to do so.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear more details about the reason your brother died. I can’t believe they would be so callous, so careless towards people.”

  “The details don’t change anything. He is dead. It is my fault.” He stopped himself from saying anything more. Why was he talking like this, opening up to the past? What purpose would it serve?

  “You can’t blame yourself for him wanting to join the military.”

  “That is not the reason it was my fault.”

  “Tell me. I don’t know anything about you, and you know everything about me.” She rested her head against his shoulder.

  “I don’t know everything about you.”

  “Don’t change the subject, Holt. Your brother. Danny, was it?”

  Danny. It felt odd to hear her say his name. His whole focus over the last few years had been to seek vengeance for Danny’s death; it made no sense that he should feel so uncomfortable discussing it out loud. He’d spent so long and been trained so hard to suppress his emotions and feelings, to reject useless sentiments about the past and retain only things relevant to the future. He wasn’t sure he could change now and open up the box of mistakes he’d buried so deeply. As Larissa looked up at him, soft eyes staring through her lashes, silently goading and pleading, he remembered how close he was to the end. What did it matter if he told her everything now? If he died before they even made it across the ocean, she’d be devastated. Would it be fair to leave her, having given so little of himself, after everything she’d done?

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand,” she said, tucking her chin down and kissing his shoulder. Once again, she’d read him so completely. Perhaps he’d lost the ability to shield his expressions, or perhaps she just understood.

  “Danny did join the military because he followed in my footsteps, and in the footsteps of our father, who we both idolised. I was selected to join the Elite Guard, as our father had served before, guarding the President directly, and our grandfather served the last Emperor before that. I had been through the intense training for just over a year and almost completed when I was given an assignment.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the plain cabin and unwittingly inviting the memory in. He felt Larissa’s hand squeeze his, reminding him that she was there. He wondered if she’d remain so supportive once she’d heard the truth.

  “There were reports that one of the young soldiers had handed information to a group who were trying to assassinate the President. My team and I were asked to take out the assassin responsible for compromising the young soldier.”

  “Your brother?”

  “I didn’t know at the time. If they’d have told me it was him, I would have found another way to deal with the situation. I guess that’s why they didn’t tell me.”

  “Was he doing it on purpose?”

  “No.” Holt heard himself barking the word at her and had to regain composure. It was a reasonable question and Larissa was the least judgemental person he knew.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s just hard.”

  “I know. Go on. How was he compromised?”

  “A woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “Turns out, the assassin I was sent to deal with was Danny’s girlfriend.”

  “Gods.”

  “I killed her. He watched as I shot her through the neck, no remorse, no regret. I thought he was just some dumb kid soldier. It wasn’t until he jumped me and tried to kill me that I saw who he was.”

  “I take it you tried to explain to him why you killed her?”

  “I tried, but he wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t listen and couldn’t forgive.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Shortly after that, he was selected for Orother’s experiments. I guess they wanted to get rid of him. Probably hoped he’d be in the ten percent.”

  “I’m sorry, Holt.”

  “It’s in the past. He was too trusting, too naïve.”

  “Nothing like his big brother.”

  “No. The irony is I was following Presidential orders.”

  “And now you’re the assassin out to kill the President.”

  “Indeed.”

  The conversation stilted. What more could he say? He could feel the energy draining from his limbs, as though a lead weight lifted from his back. He only hoped he hadn’t placed a further burden on Larissa’s shoulders. She already had so much on her mind. Instead of shying away from him as he’d expected, she snuggled closer and wrapped her arm around him in silent possession. She gave him a soft smile which looked as though it were an invitation for a kiss, but as her eyes fluttered closed, a look
of contentment settling on her features, it was clear she really just wanted to rest.

  So it was that he lay there for hours, wide awake, his mind buzzing, watching her sleep, until finally he too succumbed to slumber.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Larissa awoke with an unladylike snort. Whorls of hair tickled her nose, threatening a sneeze. She peered through her tangle of hair to see Holt laying with her, nose to nose, a soft, low snore coming from the back of his throat.

  She untangled her arm from where it had become pinned by his hand against his side and pushed her hair away, hoping she could spend a few minutes, if not hours, watching him sleeping softly like this. It was adorable and unusual to see him so at rest and so close. As soon as she removed the offending tickly hair from between their noses, his eyes opened. Those dark blue orbs snapped into focus immediately—no bleary-eyed, fuzzy morning-head for Holt.

  “Good morning, Captain Markus,” he said plainly.

  “Morning, Captain Holt,” she said with a smile.

  “I was dishonourably discharged from that designation, remember?”

  “I’ve decided to reinstate you.”

  “You don’t have that power. Yet.” He pushed forwards, pressing his nose into hers, their lips locked together, soft and warm and slightly wet on the outside from the rather unattractive mutual drooling during their sleep. In spite of the drool, she felt her heart fluttering with warmth. This was what true happiness felt like. She would have done almost anything to savour that moment, to make it last as long as humanly possible—another hour, or a day at least. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of what could follow, remembering their escapade atop the desk of her old cabin. She wouldn’t feel comfortable engaging in a bout of passionate lovemaking in the same bed where her father had slept, but this cabin did have a desk. She would probably have to take down the cameo of her parents first, though. The thought of them watching seemed a little grotesque.

  Too soon, he pulled away and sat up, and she found herself issuing an audible, protesting groan.

  “It’s raining, and we haven’t taken shifts.”

  She gave a sigh. They’d left Zeb at the wheel. She had no idea what time it was, but she hoped one of the others had let the poor man get some rest. It wouldn’t be fair to have one person steer the ship for the entire night. Any chance of a morning desk-rocking session faded quickly as Holt stood from the bed.

  “How do you know it’s raining?” she asked. The cabin lacked a porthole through which to see.

  “Listen.”

  There was indeed a slight pitter-patter sound accompanying the muted throng of propeller sounds. How Holt picked up on such fine detail time and time again, she’d never know. He headed to one of the two heavy wardrobes flanking the bed and flung open the doors, presumably looking for some kind of coat to provide more useful protection against the elements than thin, silky fabric. Inside were racks of neatly hanging shirts and trousers, all in the same style. It could have passed for a rack in a clothing store.

  Larissa headed to the second wardrobe and peeked inside, a smug smirk appearing on her lips as she found a row of long jackets in dark brown brushed leather. There were quite enough to go around.

  “Here,” she called as she plucked one from the hanger, intending to throw it to Holt. Instead, her heart jumped into her throat as she pulled the jacket open, and she froze in place.

  “What is it?” Holt asked.

  She shook her head silently, flopping her backside back down on the bed. It was as though she’d been winded, wounded by a terrifying truth.

  “Larissa?”

  She turned the jacket around and showed him the inside, pointing at the embroidered label stitched into the lining.

  “Greyfort’s Clothing Emporium,” Holt read. Hearing the words spoken out loud didn’t help to dull the thumping of her heart.

  “SC,” she whispered.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “I worked at Greyfort’s. I took a job there after I finished school. I was walking past one day and saw him put a sign in the window just as I was passing and went in on the off-chance. Huh, I should have known.” She sunk her head into her hands, pulling at the roots of her hair.

  “Should have known what?”

  “Greyfort, you lying, cheating bastard,” she squealed angrily into her palms. If he were here right now, she’d punch the elderly little bugger, ladylike or not. “He knew who I was. As soon as I told him my name, his eyes lit up. ‘Markus, a relation of Professor Markus, no doubt’.” She mimicked Greyfort’s snooty voice. “He employed me on the spot, said he’d be glad to have the daughter of such a famous man working for him. Good for business, you know. Of course, I was so enthralled with landing a job at such a fine establishment when I had no experience, no credentials, no nothing. I didn’t even… Gods, how could I have been so stupid? I didn’t even notice when he made no effort to advertise the fact that he had Professor Markus’ daughter working for him. And the ledger.” She stood, pacing the room, thumping her feet on the floor in frustration as if she could stamp out her anger. “Since the day I started working there, there was an odd column in the ledger marked SC. Monthly payments coming in, the same amount each time. Greyfort never told me what they were for.”

  “Solomon Covelle.” Holt said it for her.

  “Gods. He must have been paying Greyfort to employ me.”

  “So he could keep an eye on you. He told me he’d kept you and your mother destitute so he’d know where you were at all times.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve been so naïve, so stupid.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that. How could you have known?” He put his hand on her shoulder, holding firm, stopping her wild pacing.

  She pulled herself into him, snuggling her face in his chest. She wouldn’t cry, not over this. She was done feeling sorry for herself. Instead, she was frustrated and angry at being lied to for so long for no good reason, and she had an overwhelming urge to shoot something or someone. Holt rubbed the back of her neck, the sensation soothing and calming her frazzled nerves. Here he stood, a dying man, condemned to a horrid, painful death, and she was getting worked up over a jacket.

  “Sorry,” she muttered into his chest, the word barely making sense.

  “What for?”

  “We have bigger problems to worry about. I shouldn’t be so selfish. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Holt…”

  “Honestly, Larissa, I feel much better.”

  “A night of cuddling made a world of difference?”

  “More than I’d have thought possible,” he said, releasing her from his comforting hug. “This is a nice jacket. Good quality.” Holt held the jacket up, appraising it, a crooked smile on his face.

  “Finest in all of Sallarium City, good sir.” She gave him a low bow.

  “It will be good for flying a ship in the rain.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “You’ll stay here, rest more, and work on your plan.”

  “Are you giving the ship’s Captain orders again, Mister Holt?”

  “I thought we decided they were suggestions?”

  “I want to do that again, you know,” she called as he headed through the door.

  “Hmm?”

  She pointed to the bed, meaning she wanted to spend the night cuddled up with him, and every other night in the same way. Heat flushed her cheeks as he raised an eyebrow at her, perhaps misunderstanding her meaning. A smile ghosted across his features as the door closed, blocking him out, and Larissa let out a girlish giggle. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing if he misunderstood her meaning. A night of something more than cuddling would make a nice change from the number of nights she’d spent in fitful, distressed sleep, haunted by nightmares, convinced he was dead.

  “Right, Captain Markus,” she said out loud. “Get your mind out of the gutter and onto
a plan.” She leaned back against the desk, tapping her fingernails on the edge. For a brief moment, her hand twitched, wanting to reach up and twiddle with her necklace, until she remembered that necklace was long gone. Arguably, the innocuous jewellery had been the start of all her troubles.

  Resigned to the fact that she had no idea where to start, she resolved to snoop instead. After all, who knew what other nefarious secrets she might uncover tucked away in her father’s room, starting with his desk drawers?

  Fruitless hours passed. She found herself sprawled out on the floor, idly thumbing through a handful of thick tomes and ledgers, squinting at her father’s spider-scrawl calligraphy. The desk was filled with books, though the drawers seemed to have an odd number of charred marks across them, no bigger than fingertips.

  One large book entitled Expenditure and Assets was filled with lists of payments to various businesses and individuals in both Daltonia and Eptora. The entries to Greyfort’s Clothing Emporium corresponded to her own regular ledger entries from SC. It made her stomach turn to read them. Almost hilariously incriminating were the payments made to Covert Operatives, large sums of money with notes in the margins for ships or personnel or even weapons. He had been impressively industrious in his scheming and markedly fastidious in his accounting for it. Sadly, none of the books gave her any clue as to how to bring down the entire operation. She could have simply handed the incriminating evidence to the press, but it wasn’t proof of much and would no doubt have a swift and final level of spin applied to it from the government to dismiss it out of hand. It was also not quick enough. By the time any damage would have seeped in, it would be too late.

  So she remained sitting on her backside, shoulders hunched, her backbone protesting at the curve and her toes tingling from lack of blood flow, all for nothing.