Whisper

by Christine Grey

  ***

  Royce felt Reo’s growl, a kind of deep rumbling that made the hair on his arms stand on end, an instant before he heard it. Before the boy could stop him, Reo had shot to his feet and ran out of the tent. Royce followed closely behind him and dropped to his knees beside the bristling animal when he’d stopped. Royce had to put an arm around him to keep him from springing at the two strangers who stood before him. Though the wolf had already reached his adult size, he would continue to fill out a bit more as he added more muscle. Without Royce’s mother here to feed the wolf choice scraps, he had lost the last of his puppy fat and grown lean and hard.

  “What now?” Hugh asked, hearing Reo’s incessant growls. He exited his tent, to take in the scene before him. Royce was struggling to control the wolf who was less than pleased with their uninvited guests. They appeared to be two Breken children, standing about ten feet away from the animal, obviously halted in their progress by Reo’s fierce snarls.

  “Reo, down!” Hugh spoke with calm authority, and Reo lay down in the sand, but did not completely cease his growling.

  Hugh eyed the children appraisingly. The little girl was probably younger than she seemed, her height giving her the look of someone older. The other was covered with a hood and a dirty rag that could just barely pass as a cloak, if you loosened the definition of the word enough. There was something about the way the child stood, though, something about the way his hands twitched nervously at his sides. Something—

  “Father?” The word came out in a hoarse whisper, and the child lunged forward.

  “Pip!” Hugh ran toward his son, embracing him tightly when they collided. He pulled the cowl from his son’s head, and lay his large hands, one on each side of the boy’s face.

  Father and son stared at each another, tears running unchecked down both of their faces.

  Hugh’s hands stroked Phillip’s face, ran over his slim shoulders, and down his arms. He lifted his hands, gently examining every finger, in much the same way he had the first time he held him as a newborn, exploring the life before him, not quite able to believe he was really there. How many times had he dreamed of this moment?

  Hugh’s smile lit his whole face, and he swept the boy into a mighty hug, lifting him from the ground, spinning him in circles, until he was dizzy with giddy joy, and Phillip’s laughter filled the air. When Reo barked loudly, Hugh remembered himself and where he was and lowered Phillip to his feet, keeping one hand on the child’s shoulder, as if to completely release him might make him disappear.

  Pip beamed at his father, held out his hand, and beckoned his friend forward. “Father,” he said, “this is Zuzu. She pretty much saved me. Well, not pretty much—she did save me, and more than once at that.”

  “It’s Zusia, actually,” she said, scowling a little bit at Phillip for using the nickname she’d grown to hate so much.

  Hugh could see the filthy child was clearly Breken. She had the same black eyes and haughty manner. Where she fit into things he couldn’t say, but if Phillip credited her with saving his life, then it must be true. He was here, after all. How else could he have escaped if he didn’t have her help? “Come here, child,” Hugh said gently, for though the girl wore a proud look and held her head high, he could see she was trembling, nevertheless.

  Zusia hesitated for an instant before stepping boldly forward and planting herself squarely before the Lord of Maj. She took another step forward and looked him dead in the eye, as if daring him to do his worst to her. Phillip had spoken for her, but there were no guarantees it would mean anything to the strange man before her, and he might just as easily kill her as reward her. While it was true Pip had been kind to her, and he had told her such wonderful stories of his island home, there was always the chance they might be no more than that: stories, the wishful imaginings of a child.

  “Well, Zuzu, it seems I owe you my thanks, but I think I should also know a little more about you. Who are you, my dear?”

  “It’s Zusia, not Zuzu.” Zusia squinted menacingly once more at Phillip, and then turned her gaze back to Hugh, trying to ignore the obviously amused expression on the little boy’s face. “I am the second daughter of House Falco, so I guess the answer to your question is that I am pretty much no one. If someone gets up the courage to do what should have been done when she was a baby and finally kills Mili, then I might be someone, but right now…” Zusia shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her feet, pushing the toe of her shoe nervously into the sand.

  Hugh did not miss the marks that covered the girl before him. She was young, certainly no more than a year older than his own son. She was tall, and too thin, and her hair had been cropped haphazardly into a shaggy mop. Hugh looked past the dirt and the rags she wore, and he could see she was actually a pretty little thing. The fact that she could endure years of this life and still have a spark in her eye and a fire that gave her the strength to go on spoke to her courage and determination. There was something about her that whispered and hinted at more than what could be seen on the surface.

  “How did you get free? Will your father be looking for you and Phillip? Do we need to get away from here, or is there still time?” He asked these questions in rapid succession, but gently, so as to not alarm her.

  “Lord Falco probably hasn’t noticed we’re gone yet, what with the wedding and all. We should have until morning for sure. He won’t really be looking for me. I used to take off for a week or more all the time. Sometimes he noticed, and I took my beating, and sometimes he didn’t. Besides, he’s got his new toys to play with, so we’ll be fine. For a while, anyway.”

  Hugh cringed a bit when Zusia mentioned Falco’s new toys, but he let it pass. He also noted the way she’d said “Lord Falco” and not “my father” and he added that bit of information as a point in the girl’s favor. There was certainly no love or loyalty between them that he could tell. He lowered himself to one knee and looked his son in the eye meaningfully. “Phillip,” he said, “I know you say that this girl is your friend, but how can I know if she is to be trusted? Perhaps she just got you out as some sort of trick? This might all be a trap of some kind.” Hugh ignored the girl as she stiffened noticeably.

  “Oh, no, Father! Zuzu’s been my friend almost from the very beginning. If it weren’t for her, I probably would have starved, or been poisoned, or something else, a long time ago.”

  Hugh looked at Zusia in appraisal, and then back to Phillip.

  “She has, father! Look. Here! I wrote it all down, all the stuff she’s done for me. Everything that’s happened.” Phillip lifted the edge of the garment he wore, and unwound the cord that tied his journal tightly to his chest.

  The pile of dirty pages were curved from being pressed to Pip’s body and a little sweat stained, but that wasn’t what caught Hugh’s attention. There were dozens of pages there. He could not fathom how the child had gotten hold of so much valuable paper out here where trees were scarce, or how he must have labored to keep it all secret. Hugh took the pages and flipped through them slowly, catching words and phrases as he scanned over his son’s tidy script. Zusia’s name appeared before his eyes again and again. He looked up at the girl, watching in surprise as a pink blush colored her cheeks in a most un-Breken like way.

  “We can trust her, Father. She’s already saved Carly and Daniel, besides. Why would she do that if she wasn’t really on our side?”

  “What? What did you say?” Hugh stopped his examination of the journal and stared at his son expectantly.

  “She did. She got them out yesterday. I figured they would be here.”

  “Is this true, Zusia? Are Daniel and Carly free?”

  “I expect so. Unless that red-headed one did something stupid, they should be fine. I had them hide with the bodies to be taken out and dumped in the desert…Lord Hugh.” The words were said cautiously, as if trying them out on her tongue. Hugh knew it was a great leap for her to call someone “lord” other than her father.

  Hugh eyed the gir
l as she watched him warily. “Royce,” Hugh boomed. Zusia jumped a little, but to her credit, held her ground.

  Royce trotted closer, Reo clinging closely to his side. “Yes, Lord Hugh?”

  “Get Aesri.”

  “Yes, sir!” he said before bolting away.

  “Lord Hugh?” Zusia’s bold expression had been replaced by a look of fear.

  “Yes, child?”

  “What…what are you going to do with me?” she almost whispered.

  “She can come with us, can’t she, Father? I told her she could. I promised we would take her with us. We can’t leave her here. They would kill her, and she…she’s my friend, Father. I promised.”

  Hugh looked from his son, his eyes bright with expectation, to the Breken child whose own expression was quite different as it flittered from hope to fear and then back again.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I always am.” Hugh thought she sounded more confident than she looked, and that she was probably trying to convince herself of the validity of her statement.

  “No,” Hugh said firmly. “You won’t be fine, but it’s your decision. Phillip says he promised, and the Maj are men of honor. We keep our word, but you must consider if this what you really want, Zusia. Life on Maj isn’t always easy. If you leave here, it is likely you will never be able to return.”

  “So if I go with you, I can never, ever come back?”

  “I can’t see how,” Hugh said seriously.

  “That’s all I need to hear,” Zusia said, her voice firm. “When do we leave?”

  Chapter 49

  The door to the dank cell swung wide, letting in the flickering glow of torchlight. Dearra squinted to protect her eyes from the light, having been secluded in almost complete darkness. She sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in her back and legs. She had been made to perform before the crowds of Bandar for the last three days, but thankfully, Phillip had only been used as motivation the first time. She had been alone, separated from Darius since that first day, probably because her Breken jailors worried that the two of them together would be too much of a risk, but without Darius, Dearra had no desire to toy with the idea of escape.

  The light increased as the door to her small cell opened further and Lord Falco and two of his guards entered the room. Dearra’s eyes went to the sword that hung at his side. The blade glowed ominously, further intensifying the light in the room.

  Lord Falco saw her expression and the thrill of recognition and longing in her eyes. “Now, now, Dearra,” he said. “Don’t wish for things you can’t have. Brin’du Drak’Tir has a new master, now. The sooner both of you realize that, the better off you will both be.”

  “Judging by the gloves you wear,” Dearra said pushing herself to her feet, “I would say the new master thing isn’t really working out for you.”

  Falco looked at his glove-covered hands and casually brushed away a bit of charred leather hanging from one of the palms. “The best horses take a bit of extra breaking. We’ll get there in the end. I have all the time in the world, whereas you…That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually.

  “I cannot deny what you say. The dragon is proving to be a challenge. He seems to be under the delusion that he and you are still bonded. And while I do, indeed, have time, I would prefer to hurry things along a bit. It seems your little performance in the arena has caused a few—not many mind you—but a few people to question my strength. My spies tell me there are rumblings that the time might be right for an attack on my house. I am guessing house Tempestas has something to do with it. They see the sword as theirs. If I can fully claim the blade, then my position will be strengthened.”

  “Get to the point, Falco. Why are you even telling me all of this? What are you going to do with me?”

  Falco tipped his head back and roared laughter. “I like you, Dearra, I really do. There’s something about you that’s almost Breken in some ways. Too bad you’re only a woman.

  “Why am I telling you all of this? I have no idea, honestly, beyond thinking out loud, I suppose. And why not, seeing as it amuses me so.

  “As to what I’m going to do with you? Well, you’ll have to die, I’m afraid. It’s become too much trouble to keep you about.”

  Dearra didn’t even flinch at the cold proclamation. It wasn’t much of a surprise, besides. “My father will kill you,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m counting on his trying, darling Dearra. Your father will certainly try to avenge your death, but to do that he will need help. He will have to return to your home to gather support, and that’s precisely what I am relying upon. That and your people’s misguided sense of loyalty to one another.

  “While he is back in Maj plotting, planning, and building ships, my people and I will be coming to you. Mirin Tor is much too rich a prize to sit around untouched by my people any longer.

  “Can you imagine it? All of the Breken acting as one? And not just Darak, but all of the Breken cities united in a coordinated attack on the Mirin Tor? It’s delicious, is it not? Granted, uniting them may prove to be my biggest challenge yet, but think of the rewards: slaves…gold…power!”

  “No!”

  “Most definitely yes! With the dragon by my side I will be unstoppable!”

  Dearra’s eyes burned pure gold. She lunged at Falco reaching desperately for Brin. A gloved fist flashed out and caught her under the jaw, sending her flying to the stone wall behind her. She shook her head in an effort to remain conscious in spite of the black spots that swam before her eyes.

  Falco hissed as the scabbard holding Brin first started to smoke and then disintegrated to ash sending the blade clattering to the floor below. “You will obey!” Falco reached for the sword, but as he touched it, he could feel the heat that threatened incinerate his hand as it had done to the scabbard.

  Falco slashed a hand toward Dearra, and one of the guards sprang forward to hold a knife to her exposed throat. “You will obey,” Falco repeated threateningly. Brin’s blade did cool then, just enough to allow Falco to pick it up, and he nodded his approval.

  Poor, misguided Brin’du Drak’Tir, Falco thought. Perhaps if I show the female some kindness you will be more disposed to treating your master with the respect he deserves.

  To Dearra he said, “Maybe it will please you to hear that I have decided you and Darius will die together. There are some who believed the nonsense he spouted about my daughter and the foreigner, Jacob. If Lord Tigre believes Darius, it could cause me trouble. Not that Lord Tigre cares one whit for his son, but he might be tempted to use any excuse he can come up with to challenge my authority. I need the other houses by my side if I am to unify all the Breken.”

  Dearra’s heart felt as if it were ripped from her chest. Darius was going to die. Then again, maybe death would be preferable. More and more it seemed as if life with the Breken was no life at all.

  Falco was right in one thing, by killing her, he would assure Lord Hugh’s speedy and decisive quest for revenge. They only thing that might cause him to hesitate was— “Wait! My brother, Phillip! What about Phillip?”

  “Your brother is gone, Dearra, along with my daughter. I can only assume the brats are together. I would have released him, anyway. The sword needs you dead to accept me, and I need you dead to start my war. Your father would never leave here while his son remained.

  “This is best for all, don’t you think?”

  “We will not be defeated easily, Falco. If you do this, it will cost you.”

  “You may not be defeated easily, but you will be defeated. And as for the cost? The reward I will reap will far outweigh the expenditures. A good thinning of the herd from time to time always makes for stronger stock, besides.”

  Dearra watched mutely as Falco turned and swept through the door. The darkness settled over her once again, the cold laughter form the Breken Lord echoing indifferently off the stone walls and hitting her like an arrow, straight through her heart.

 
An inky blackness enveloped her, magnifying her thoughts. Falco had planned everything so well. Her father would be sure to seek revenge for her death, she did not doubt that for one instant. Given the circumstance, Hugh would not rest until Falco was dead, or until he was, himself.

  Alone with her thoughts, her mind drifted back through the years. Life on Maj had not always been easy, but Dearra wouldn’t have traded an instant of it. No matter how this ended, at least she knew she was loved. She recognized, now, that not everyone could make such a claim. No matter how reckless, or wild she had been—and she most assuredly had been reckless and wild—her father had never wavered in his devotion to her.

  Dearra remembered the summer of her tenth year. The roiling purple clouds should have been enough to give her pause, but all she could think about was her own impetuous desire to gather shells before the rough seas had wiped the beach clean. She’d had her heart set on making a necklace for Carly, and she wanted to complete it as soon as possible. With Dearra, everything always had to be done now, always immediately. Her father had asked her to help with the shutters and move things inside the safe walls of the keep, but she’d figured one small pair of hands would not be missed.

  She had been in such a rush to get the job done, it never occurred to her to let anyone know where she was going. She hadn’t planned to be away more than an hour, certainly no more than two at the outside. She felt sure they’d never notice her absence. When she was done, she could spend the hours cooped up inside, waiting out the storm, working on Carly’s surprise.

  In order to get there and back quickly, she needed to take a bit of a shortcut. The winding path that led down to that particular stretch of beach would take forever to traverse, but there were plenty of handholds to allow her to climb down the rocky slope. She had brought with her a sack in which to stow her treasures, and to make the climb back up easier. It was a perfect plan; what could possibly go wrong?

  She’d swung one leg over the edge and stretched out a booted foot until she’d found a narrow ledge to stand upon. Her fingers twisted in the plants that grew stubbornly in the fissures of the stone face. She’d moved more quickly than was wise, but except for a moment when the stone gave way beneath her weight and she’d slid several inches, she had no trouble negotiating her way to the beach below.