by Megan Derr
Instead, he made them more coffee. Even Charlaine seemed grateful. Jac shot him a look when Harold was busy with his weapons, but Charlaine only shrugged irritably and continued cooking.
Jac didn't roll her eyes but only barely. "So what's your quarrel with Iron Moon?"
Harold slid the dagger he'd been cleaning back into its sheath on his back, where Jac had earlier noted he carried several spread across his shoulder blades. That was only the start of the weapons he carried. "Just about everything, really. We haven't been friends for a very long time. But most immediately, they're arrogant to the point of being a danger to themselves and others. I don't care if they sink themselves, but their most recent actions combined with the Seven's poor handling of the matter… Well, I think we are definitely in the final days of the Triumvirate."
"What do you mean? Their Majesties aren't going to kill anyone if they can avoid it."
He stared at her, then laughed quietly. "You don't get it, do you? I forget not everyone treats politics like card games. No, little bird, the Harken Empire is a bunch of presumptuous, overbearing bastards, but even your nastiest warbirds do not use violence unnecessarily—mostly, anyway, nobody and nothing is perfect. However, a great many peace treaties have been broken, and to judge from the way the Seven have been panicking, they know what will happen if they do not fix Iron Moon's mistakes—and their own."
Jac wanted to hit him, though mostly she was mad at herself for being too fucking stupid to follow what he was saying. "Would you stop—" She broke off as an arrow sank into Harold's left shoulder, throwing him backwards with a pained cry. Jac dropped to the ground, pulling knives as she scrambled for cover. Across the camp, Charlaine was tucked behind a large tree—relatively safe but also without any way to counter the attack.
"Come out, come out, little Harken birds. You'll never get out of this jungle alive, so you may as well quit delaying the inevitable."
Pulling out one of her firebombs, Jac tensed and waited, watching the shadows that crossed the campsite, listening as the taunting voice drew closer. That arrow hadn't killed Harold, even though they'd had every opportunity to make a kill shot. Which meant their attackers likely wanted them alive—and that gave them the advantage, since they didn't have to worry about not killing anyone.
As the stranger came just barely into view, Jac lobbed the firebomb. "Go fuck your mother!"
The stranger burst into flame, shrieking loudly enough the few remaining birds and insects in the area scattered. Movement nearby snared her attention and Jac lobbed another one—and at Charlaine's direction, a third, adding at least two more screams to the mess.
Jac dove out of cover, rolling as she hit the ground and scooping up Harold's bow and arrows as she dashed across the camp to join Charlaine. "Where do we go?"
"This way," Charlaine said, looking as grim as Jac felt.
Looking around, Jac spied Harold, who looked pale and strained as he clutched his bleeding shoulder around the arrow still sticking out of it. "Come on!"
"I can go no further, much as I hate to leave you to your own incompetent devices," Harold replied. "I hope to see you again sometime." Before Jac could say anything in reply, he slipped into nearby foliage and was gone.
Swearing loudly, Jac followed Charlaine into the jungle, headed the opposite direction, keeping space enough between them to use the bow if she got the chance, feeling much more herself to finally have a bow again. She would vastly prefer a good crossbow, but this would suffice.
They traveled in silence for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have been more than a matter of minutes. The silence was the worst part, because it was more silence than two people should have been causing.
So they had pursuers.
Charlaine drew to a halt as they reached a place to cross the stream they'd been keeping in sight, though staying as far from it as they could since staying close would just make them easier targets. "Ever get the feeling you were being herded?"
"I was really hoping that was just me being paranoid," Jac said.
"Afraid not."
They crossed the swift-moving stream, stepping from stone to trapped log to a tiny strip of land and across more stones, slick with wet moss, but Jac hadn't spent an entire month's pay on one pair of boots because they were pretty.
Charlaine offered a hand as he reached the far bank and turned. Jac took it gladly and went easily as he reeled her in, looping her free arm around his neck and meeting him halfway. Normally being so much smaller than her lovers grated because all too often they equated smaller with weaker, someone who needed to be protected. Even people she'd known for years could fall into that pattern.
Not so with Charlaine, who'd never treated her as anything but an equal, who'd said on multiple occasions that she was more. Jac was getting to be entirely too fond of how it felt when he held her. Strength she could rely on, but he'd never use it do everything for her, or against her.
Drawing back, Charlaine nuzzled her cheek then said, "Let's go, Dragon. Assassins and a secretary await. This isn't going to be pleasant."
"We already knew that. Get moving, Lieutenant. I'm in the mood for a fight and there's one waiting."
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Charlaine said, and reclaimed the lead as they continued on, pausing occasionally to make certain they were still headed the right way.
Iron Moon came for them a short time later, a group of approximately twenty, heavily armed and more menacing than Jac liked admitting, even in the privacy of her own head.
A man who resembled Myra, lanky frame, beautiful hair, gray eyes and all, stepped forward. The men on either side of him shifted to close the gap in the tight circle they'd formed. "So you are the two I've heard so much about. What did you think you would accomplish by storming in here this way?"
"We're here for Myra, and we'll do whatever we must to get him back," Jac said.
The man's lips curled. "He is to be executed, and nothing a couple of pathetic Harken warbirds can do will change that."
"I'm getting really fucking tired of being called a bird," Jac muttered. It was a reference to the impressive system of messenger birds Harken bred and trained, various species for distance, strength, and so forth that could travel across the empire and even oceans. Accidents happened, of course, but Harken messenger birds were the most reliable in the world.
But it had also become a way to insult Harken citizens, the implication being they were always flitting and flying about, getting into things they shouldn't, going where they weren't allowed, carrying secrets and other private matters to people who shouldn't have them, stealing whatever shiny objects took their fancy… The list went on and on, and none of it was flattering.
"What are you, if not a foreign bird going where it shouldn't?" the man asked. "Secure them."
Jac didn't bother fighting—she and Charlaine were good, but they weren't twenty assassins good.
Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, and a black bag made of some scratchy, smelly material dropped over her head. Someone slung her over their shoulder, and then they were moving. Ugh, if she threw up she was going to kill someone.
But the far bigger concern occupying her thoughts was: why was Iron Moon taking them alive?
Chapter Thirteen
Myra looked up blearily as he heard footsteps. The door swung open a moment later, and Ryan stepped through, followed by the others. One of them picked him up, carrying Myra in both arms since he was still recovering from the beating he'd taken. They didn't want him to die too quickly after being staked in the field, after all. "Where are we?"
Ryan cast him a disgusted look. "You don't recognize the place?"
"It's been twenty years. Why would I remember everything clearly?"
"Che. We're at the hunting cabin at the Horn."
Myra closed his eyes. The Horn. They were not even half a day from the clan's primary village. Iron Moon was actually spread over three villages, but two of them were small, barely more than elaborate, long-
term camps.
He drifted in and out of consciousness as they traveled, too exhausted and in pain to stay awake the whole time, and the stifling heat and humidity he hadn't missed didn't help matters. Even Harken in peak summer wasn't as bad as Soltorin on its coolest day.
Mosquitos feasted on him, adding irritating itching on top of everything else. They stopped once, for food and rest, and to give him more medicine, then were moving relentlessly on again.
Myra could smell the village long before they reached it. Many took that to mean it would be easy to find from that point, but the jungle could be confusing and disorienting, even for the people who'd grown up there.
Even with the pain medication, he was near to tears by the time they finally stopped. And now everything was only going to get worse.
The village was quiet, the square deserted when they reached it, save for the one person Myra had most dreaded seeing after his mother: Matthew. As Myra had expected, he wore the marks of the village chief. Of all of them, Matthew had always been the most obedient, the most faithful. Whatever he was told to do, he did it, sinking deeply and happily into the cultish existence Myra had despised.
"Eliza."
Myra glared as he was set on his own feet—then promptly pushed to a kneeling position, which did nothing for his ribs. Holding one hand to them, for all the good that actually did, he looked at Matthew. "My name is Myra."
"Your name is irrelevant, as it will be stricken from Clan records and banned from ever being used again once you're dead. Tonight, we welcome back our comrades and mourn those who died in the mission. Tomorrow is your trial and sentencing, and the day after that your execution will take place at dawn."
"You mean begins at dawn."
Matthew smiled coldly and jerked his head. "Lock Myra up in the holding cell." As they passed him, he reached out and playfully slapped Myra's cheek three times, leaving it stinging. "Look on the bright side: you'll have company in there—company you'll keep when you die."
"What are you talking about?" Myra asked, fear slicing through him, leaving him cold. Who else was the clan executing, and why did it sound like he knew them? That didn't make any sense.
Pantheon, please don't say they'd managed…
His thoughts scattered as a door was yanked open and he was thrown inside. The building was one of the few that remained strong in his memories, though he'd only ever seen the outside of it: a small, one room building reinforced with metal bars so whoever was inside could not get out. It kept out the elements, but only minimally, just enough to keep captives alive and healthy enough to face trial and execution.
Plenty of people could come up to the windows to gawk and shout and spit at the people inside, since traitors to the clan deserved nothing but contempt.
But Matthew must have ordered everyone to stay in their homes so nothing would get out of hand. If the rest of the village was as angry as Ryan and Matthew…
Maybe someone would show him twisted mercy and kill him before hours of exposure did.
"Myra?"
He jerked up, moaned as that pulled at his ribs, and clung to the ache as he peered through the gloom. "J-Jac?"
"Myra!" She came rushing toward him, looking more than a little battered and bruised herself, and dropped down beside him. "Oh, my gods, what have they done to you?"
Before he could reply, further movement drew his eye, and Myra started crying. "Why are you two here? They're going to kill you, damn it."
"We weren't going to stand by and do nothing while they dragged you off to die," Jac said fiercely. "You belong to us, not this crazy cult."
Myra leaned into Charlaine as an arm slid across his shoulders and pulled him close. Jac reached out to hold his hands, and Pantheon, Myra didn't want either of them to ever let go. "Do you know how nice it is to hear people call me 'Myra,' without mockery or derision?"
Fresh fury filled Jac's face. "I'm going to kick every last one of these motherfucking bastards in the groin, break all their noses, and throw them in the ocean to be shark food."
Charlaine cast her an amused look. "You've been spending too much time with Jader and Shemal."
"You be quiet," Jac said, but smiled. "Come on, let's make you more comfortable—as much as anyone can be comfortable in this wretched place."
They gently got Myra to his feet and across the room, where normally four small beds were arrayed along the wall in a row, with just enough space between each to maneuver.
But Jac and Charlaine had pushed three of the beds together in a corner, the pillows piled on the left side, to make one long, wide bed. They got him onto it, and Jac settled next to him. "Do you need anything? Looks like you're favoring your ribs."
"They're bruised, I think," Myra said. "Thankfully not broken."
"What happened?" Charlaine asked, sitting on his other side, running the backs of his fingers along the still-healing cuts on Myra's right cheek.
The gentle gesture stung his eyes anew, and he clung tightly to Jac's hand where she'd taken hold of his again. Myra swallowed. "My mother. She's part of the Seven and the clans' liaison, and she wasn't happy to learn I was still alive and all that I did. She ordered me beaten to make up for the fact she wouldn't be able to see my trial and execution."
"Pantheon," Jac muttered. "I'll never whine about my shitty childhood ever again. I wish had something to give you, but they only give us food and water and check twice a day to make certain we're not up to anything."
"I still don't understand why we're alive," Charlaine said. "It makes no sense. I'm not complaining, mind, but it can't be smart to keep us alive."
"They're going to put you with me." Myra closed his eyes, then forced them open again. "My 'trial' is tomorrow, and shortly before dawn the next day they'll stake me in the execution field. You're going to be staked too. So I can watch you suffer and die, because I have every faith they intend to keep me alive long enough to see that, and only then will I be allowed to die."
Charlaine's fingers curled where they rested on Myra's stomach. "I'll kill every last one of them myself. The more I learn, the more I wonder why you didn't leave sooner and kill more along the way."
"I had to make it look like I was dead. Harder to do with a trail of bodies," Myra said. His eyes slid shut again, despite his efforts to stay awake. "It's good to see you both again, though I wish the circumstances were anything else. You should have stayed in Harken."
"Shut up," Jac said. "Get some rest. We'll talk more when you wake up."
Myra tried to reply, but speaking was difficult, and they were both so warm and reassuring…
*~*~*
He woke to the crackle of a fire and soft voices lost in conversation. Myra dragged his eyes open and saw Jac and Charlaine sitting close together in the middle of the room, tending a small fire and eating bowls of what looked like rice noodles.
Jac laughed at something Charlaine said, then jabbed him with her chopsticks and stole something from his bowl. Charlaine protested and stole something in turn. Myra smiled and started to sit up—and froze in shock, dropping back down as Jac leaned in and planted a kiss on Charlaine's mouth. Not a first time doing it kind of kiss, either. No, that was definitely a 'we've done this before' kind of kiss.
Myra didn't know whether to laugh or cry or simply give up and try to go back to sleep and pretend he hadn't seen it. How could he be so happy to be reunited with them and now so miserable?
Well, maybe that was what he got for being torn between them, for kissing them both and not having the guts to make a decision—for wanting to have them both, after the life he'd already stolen.
He must have made some noise because they broke apart and turned in his direction. Both looked chagrined as they saw he was awake.
"How are you feeling?" Jac asked as she hastily set her bowl aside. "Up for food?"
"Yes, food would be lovely." Myra managed to get out of bed mostly on his own and needed Jac only to help him over to the fire.
A pang cut through him
as long-faded memories stirred, of the few happy times he'd sat like this with his family talking over the parts of their days that did not make someone upset or angry. Laughing with his siblings, bragging about how practice had gone or who had been seen flirting with who, an approaching festival or pending hunt.
He managed to eat a few bites before the awkward silence grew unbearable. Mustering a smile he didn't remotely feel, Myra said, "So is there a new development you'd like to tell me about? Did you realize you asked the wrong person to tea, Jac?"
Jac's answering smile was teasing but hesitant as she shared a look with Charlaine before turning back to Myra and saying, "More like I realized I should have asked you both to tea."
Myra choked on a bite of noodle and hastily set the bowl aside before he spilled the rest of his dinner. "What?" he gasped out.
"It was hard not to notice that we both wanted you," Charlaine said. "I already knew Jac asked you to tea, and apparently I do a lot of ridiculous staring in your direction."
Jac's hesitance vanished beneath a brilliant grin. "We thought maybe there was a better solution to be had than one of us walking away. Although I hadn't thought we'd be discussing any of this until we were safe again."
"Better to say what we can while we can," Charlaine said, reaching out to take her hand, curling their fingers together. He looked at Myra and offered his other hand. "Would you be willing to consider it, High Secretary?"
Myra clung tightly to Charlaine's hand, laughing shakily. When Jac reached out with her free hand, he took it and held fast. "We really do have the worst timing. Is it terrible I had thought about it too? I felt like a greedy, selfish fool and dismissed the idea. So far as I knew, you two didn't even know each other well."
"We know each other well now," Jac said with another of her beautiful smiles. "Not as well as we could, but Charlaine won't let me near his well-shaped ass—"
"Stop making jokes about my ass," Charlaine hissed.
Myra laughed, even though he had to let go of Jac's hand when it hurt his ribs. "You do have a nice ass, Charlaine. Hasn't anyone ever told you?"