Lightning Rider

by Jen Greyson

  He stops on the other side of the table. “Too late.”

  I spread my feet, balance on the balls, and soften my knees like Constantine taught me. I didn’t expect I’d need it here. Like this.

  Ilif leans forward and picks up a plum from the dish, twisting it between his fingers. “You think you’re something special, don’t you?”

  He asked me that once before, but this time it’s layered with a threat. Oh, how I want to answer in the affirmative, tell him what a badass I’ve become while he’s been off plotting to take over the world. But I don’t. Crazy people don’t always signal before they T-bone you, and Ilif’s headed my way in a full-on collision. I give him the answer he wants to hear. “No.”

  He cocks his head. “No? Really. All your bravado and hot-headedness gone, just like that?” He squeezes the plum, splitting the skin, and a stream of juice squirts across the table. A line of red pulp runs between his fingers.

  My eyes widen but I force my face to stay impassive. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

  He shrieks with maniacal laughter. “Read any history books lately?”

  I wish I knew where he was headed with this chat.

  “Not really,” I answer, opting for vague.

  “You’ve meddled one time too many.” The plum lands with a thud on the table. He snatches a cloth from the edge, wipes his fingers, and inclines his head. “I had high hopes for your father. After all, I spent sixty years waiting for him, waiting for the line to be picked up again, for the rider I needed.” He makes me wait while he finishes cleaning his hands. “Unfortunately, it appears our time away has left him too far behind. His struggles and ineptitude as a rider are proving too difficult to overcome. He may not be the rider I’m looking for. You, on the other hand . . . you’ve become quite the little rider while I haven’t been looking, haven’t you?”

  I swallow. This conversation just plunged off a five-hundred-foot cliff. Now he’s contradicting all his earlier statements, and I’m having a hard time following him. The invisible dangers in his thought process are crocodiles in the disease-infested river at the bottom of this gorge. No way I’m getting out of this without a few broken bones.

  “Let’s see if I can bring you up to speed since you’ve ignored the impact of your little sight-seeing trip,” he says. “Viriato, a goat-herder who became a legend, who was to prevent Spain’s fall to Rome, whose sons were to become legendary in their own right as they plunged Spain further into collapse, has died decades too early, not as an old man, but on the battlefield.”

  We did it. What I read online didn’t actually happen. My heart swells. We saved the future. Well, not yet . . . but soon.

  “Do you know the way in which he died?” He dabs his mouth with the napkin, then folds it, perfectly aligning the corners.

  I shake my head.

  “Not during the battle where he’d have had men protect him on every side, but on the eve before. When everyone thought he was safe and asleep. Instead, they found him dead, his throat cut by his most trusted advisors.”

  I stand immobile even though I’m jumping up and down inside. Constantine’s bribe worked. Or works . . .

  “Since I’m intimate with the details of Viriato’s life, I’m very aware of the multiple close calls throughout his lifetime. A handful I’ve helped alter. At first, I didn’t understand how someone like Viriato could be killed in his sleep, surrounded by soldiers. It seemed almost . . . supernatural. That’s when I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise, finding you here.” He sweeps his upturned, open palm across his body.

  I force myself not to move, not to flinch.

  “Viriato’s early death ruins, in one moment, a series of events I spent decades creating. His death was a mistake, an oversight on the part of everyone he’d put in place to protect him.” He leans closer. “People I put in place!”

  “Why?” I ask, jamming my foot down on the accelerator as we head over the cliff. If I’m going to die today, I at least want to know his insane reasoning.

  “Viriato’s death—and Spain’s subsequent fall to Rome—paves the way for certain scientists to rise. Scientists unfit to ever work in the field. Unfit even to exist.” His voice cracks, vehemence coloring each word.

  “I don’t understand.” I was wrong. Ilif never wanted to save someone in Spain, he wanted to kill someone.

  “Of course you don’t. Which is why you were never supposed to be here. You are just as unfit!”

  His outburst startles him, and he straightens. “The surest way to prevent a scientific misfit from happening was to destroy her entire family—wipe out her entire ancestry.” His face contorts.

  “For a woman?” I take a step back. “The decimated Spain I’ve seen was for a woman?”

  He laughs again, but it’s a saner Dr. Jekyll than evil Mr. Hyde. “Women. Two, specifically.”

  “And the reason you hate me.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, then freezes, as if waking and realizing what he’d done to his perfect coif. “An oversight.”

  I jerk and take another step back. Now I know he’s gone crazy.

  “I erroneously treated you as the mistake since the moment I learned of you. I knew I could bring your father to heel, like his father and every Rivera man before him. At the time, you weren’t worth worrying about. But it’s your father who is the mistake, not you. Your skill is impossible to ignore. Coupled with your ability, as a woman, to see things differently, to react like you do . . . I’m here to implore you to let me teach you—”

  I choke. He cannot be serious.

  “I have grand plans for the future. Concepts barely exposed by science now could be centuries-old knowledge.” He waves the details away. “It’s time to work together. You cannot complete this alteration. We can work together on others, but Viriato lives. Spain does not fall to Rome. My plan succeeds.”

  “Constantine—”

  “Is no match.”

  He believes it. In his deluded mind, there is no one who can stop Viriato, even though he’s already seen that we do stop him. That history stands. Chaos rises up in my mind, but I bat everything but the essentials away.

  Right now, I need to get Ilif out of here. “How will you stop me?”

  He snickers and edges around the table. I turn with him. Bolts flare from my hands.

  He advances and I ready myself for his attack. I’ll have to do more than just evade. One last bench stands between us. My bolts slither to the floor, ready. I spread my hands away from my sides, and everything goes silent.

  “Evy, are you back already? What did—” Penya freezes in the doorway.

  Ilif spins.

  They both jerk back, shocked recognition impaling their faces.

  “You!” Ilif seethes, pointing at her chest.

  He looks at me, loathing covering his features. “You’ve been working with her all along.”

  At his perception of my betrayal, his face reddens, his cheeks puffing with unasked accusations. His jaw drops then, and his tongue thrusts around in his open mouth as he tries to form words. Finally, his lips mellow into a hateful sneer. Whatever their history together, it’s a whopper.

  I look to Penya for help, but she’s focused on Ilif, her face drained of color. She’s pressed against the edge of the doorway, stepping backward in escape.

  Ilif’s whole body flickers to nearly transparent, and most of the room is visible through him. He freezes as panic erodes the edges of his confidence, but he still manages to spit his parting comment as he dives away from me and toward Penya. “This isn’t over.”

  “Far from it, asshole!” I slam my hands together and the bolts zigzag toward him.

  They strike through empty air.

  Penya vanishes, too.

  I swallow great gulps of air and try to control my breathing. My knees wobble, and I grab the edge of the table. He was here, threatening me. Threatening everything.

  The front door opens, and I lunge, electricity firing from every limb.
<
br />   Someone shouts a muffled curse, and the door slams shut.

  I’m shaking all over, and small blue bolts leap outward in chaotic patterns. I smooth my arms, but it only agitates them. “Who—” I clear my throat. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, you crazed idiot,” Constantine says.

  “Sorry.”

  He opens the door a crack. “What was that?”

  “Ilif was here.”

  He closes the door behind him. “Your Ilif from home?”

  I nod. I forget Constantine’s only been on the fringe of my conversations with Penya about Ilif. I guess I figured they’d talked about him as well.

  “This is the first time you’ve tried to kill me over him. Are you okay?”

  A shiver wracks my body, and more sparks ricochet around the room. “Yes . . . I mean, he didn’t hurt me. He threatened me. Us. He threatened the whole mission.”

  “Not possible. He knows nothing of what we’ve planned. That’s absurd.”

  “To you and me. But he knows . . . and what I saw tonight . . .” I tremble and try to gather my thoughts.

  He steps closer and waits.

  I suck in a huge lungful of air and let it slip out my nose before replaying the whole conversation. “I want to check on Papi. The way Ilif acted, the things he said, I’m worried he’s going to do something horrible or find a way to use him against me.”

  “Penya didn’t think Ilif would risk harming him.”

  I swallow. “Things took a turn before he vanished.”

  “Vanished?”

  “Yeah. He flickered. Then he was gone. Just in time, too.”

  He steps to me and wraps his hands around my shoulders. “Was Penya here?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Yes. Why?”

  “But she didn’t stay?”

  “No, she vanished, too.”

  “Before or after he did?” The pressure of his fingers increases.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “How did this happen while I was away?”

  “I’m okay.”

  He slams his fist down on the table and I jump. “I told her this would happen.”

  I take a step back, and an icy rivulet of dread runs down my spine. “Constantine, what’s going on?”

  His arms splayed wide on the table, he hangs his head. “Penya knew if Ilif found you here, he’d panic. Damn her.” He straightens but doesn’t turn. “Damn her.”

  A chill sneaks up my spine, and I can’t control my breathing. Nothing we’ve encountered so far has rattled him. The situation with Aurelia messed him up, but he got it under control.

  When he turns, his face is composed. I step closer.

  “It’s my job to protect you. All of you.” Strain etches the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you held your own against him, but I’m worried about what he’s done with Penya.”

  “I’m worried about my papi, too.”

  “As am I. When’s the last time you talked to him?” The strange urgency is back in his voice.

  “I don’t know, days, weeks. I can’t keep track.”

  “Where is he?”

  I shrug. “Home. I hope.”

  Constantine paces the room.

  “I have to find him,” I say. “Ilif might already be manipulating him. Who knows where he’ll lead him for his next alteration, what he’ll tell him about me, or what I’m doing here, or about our fight.” I can’t get enough air. This must be what hyperventilating feels like.

  Then I’m swallowed up in his arms and pressed against his chest. Air comes back slowly while he rubs my back.

  Once I recover, I push away. We have to go. He holds me for another moment, searching my face. There’s a compassion in his eyes that hasn’t been there before, a softness. “We have three days with which to figure this out. I went to see Audax and his men. They accepted my offer, but they will require time.”

  “Ilif said Viriato gets killed in his sleep.”

  Constantine stares over my shoulder, as if playing out the scenario. “It’s easiest. And we’ll be there to ensure it.”

  “What if I’m not back in time?”

  “We’ll worry about that later. Penya says you won’t miss it. We have to trust her words now more than ever.”

  “I thought you—”

  He rubs my arms. “That was before Ilif declared war.”

  Chapter 22

  I put my hand on Constantine’s arm. “Penya told me about Aurelia.”

  He pauses. “What else did she tell you?”

  I narrow my eyes. “What’s left to tell?”

  “We have no time if we are to save your father.”

  I dig my fingers in. “Tell me.”

  His stares into my eyes, reading me, weighing my honor, trying to decide if I’m worthy of the knowledge. “Something happened when your father arced.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “Penya told me.” He lowers his eyes.

  I jerk away. “What? And you’re just now getting around to telling me? Is he okay?” Not now. I can’t be hearing this now. Of all the secrets I thought they were hiding . . . I thought it was something about me or Ilif. Not my papi.

  “Listen!” He shakes me. “Penya’s been to see your father. He’s fine, but he failed his first alteration. Ilif left him alone, untrained, and someone died. What Ilif told you was true. He’s using this mistake of your father’s to keep him at home, where he’s safe, and Ilif will use it to control you if he can. You have to listen. You must do what I say.”

  “Wha—” He shuts my mouth with a look.

  “Penya only just found out. We didn’t want you distracted.”

  Lightning crackles from my fingertips, firing in little bursts toward the ground. Emotion ricochets around my mind, my heart pounds against my ribcage, and my breathing’s gone shallow again. So much deception. This whole time I should have been with my papi, but I entrusted his safety to Ilif instead and foolishly believed I was on a team working for the greater good.

  Constantine curls my fingertips into my palms, engulfing my fists in his. “You’re not listening.” His voice is even and calm. “Keeping you focused is the only way we can ensure Viriato’s death. We had to.”

  “You . . . had . . . to? You had to lie? You didn’t think I could handle it? You’ve tried to kill me on a battlefield. You’ve brought me within ten feet of the deadliest man alive. I’ve frozen my ass off in the darkest dark, but you didn’t think I could handle knowing my father was in danger? Didn’t think I could compartmentalize and do the right thing?” Balls of lightning flare in my palms, bright as an arc welder.

  “I knew you could, but Penya—”

  “Bullshit!” I yell and poke him in the chest. “You’re the one who’s been training with me for days! You could have told me. Does the mission always come first for you?”

  “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I had no idea how you would react, and I had to finish training you. It was imperative.” His voice is dangerously loud.

  “Imperative? He’s my father!”

  “She was my daughter!” he shouts. “Sometimes the mission comes first!” Pain and regret echo through the room. We glare at each other, breathing heavy.

  I shove the immovable mass of his chest. “You could have changed it this time. Could have put something more than the mission first. Could have erased a little of your guilt over Aurelia by telling me.”

  “Don’t.” His voice is quiet, but the threat is not.

  I step back. Raw pain is the only emotion rolling off him now. I could go for the kill. A younger me would have. Would have stabbed the knife of words right through his heart.

  But I’m not that me anymore. Has the lightning figured out how to reshape my metal insides? My hands drop to my sides, defeated. “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt your family. Please know that.”

  I shrug. I probably do, but I’m hesitant
to let him off the hook that easy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”

  He opens his mouth, and I can almost see his reflex to deny that anything can hurt him. Instead, he presses his lips together and nods. The acknowledgement of his pain makes his shoulders relax a little. He steps closer until I have to look up.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we go see your father and figure out a plan.”

  “We?”

  “I won’t let you out of my sight again.”

  I huff. “Has Penya really been checking on him?”

  “She believes he’s important to the other half of this alteration. She tried to talk to him about it, but he said he quit. She could not change his mind, even when she told him of your skill. Ilif’s scared him into believing disaster will befall each of his alterations.”

  “But you don’t think that’s true?”

  He shrugs. “I know little of alterations and only what you and Penya have taught me about time travel. Penya and I don’t discuss it. It does not lessen my trust of her judgment, however. Do not let it alter yours.”

  He searches me for a long time, then says in a low voice, “We did not want any harm to befall him.” Truth vibrates in his words.

  “Thank you.”

  And I believe him. I know he’d die to see this mission succeed, would give his life for mine if it meant our success. In the heat of the moment, I’m not sure if I could give the ultimate sacrifice. Dying for someone seems grandiose, and there’s no guarantee it would work. I might die only to have him killed a few seconds later. Then where would we be?

  But there’s no question this warrior training has reshaped who I am. Excess and frivolity cease to exist for me now. I am lean everywhere, not just my muscles but my thoughts, my needs, my actions. I get why the mission comes first. Without it, Constantine is nothing. Warriors have only the mission with which to gauge their results. I’m not too much different, though my actions are based off my invoices and repeat business. My relationships are nonexistent beyond my family.

  But I would die for them. Without question, without hesitation.

  Would he?

  If we found Papi in trouble, would Constantine weigh the consequences or leap into action?