by Laura Kirwan
But the guards didn’t move. They wore the same narrow-eyed scowl she’d seen on John’s face when V’hren has first spoken to her in English.
“Look,” she said to Jamie. “They aren’t obeying him.”
Jamie didn’t respond. He was unravelling in front of her eyes. The pain and terror of the previous day and night, combined with the physical toll on his body from injury and blood loss, were overwhelming him. That he was still functional at all was testament to his extraordinary strength, but he was at the far reaches of that strength. She hated having to ask him to give more, but without Sid, and without her drug-induced extra sense, Jamie was her only link to the battle of wills going on between John and V’hren.
“Honey, I know you’re exhausted and in pain and it’s not fair of me to ask, but I need you to keep going. I know it’s hard, but I need to know what they’re saying.”
With a moan, Jamie lifted his head and nodded. “My father is telling them why he went to Eldrich in the first place. Better life, food, water. He’s telling them that I didn’t want to come back here. He’s telling them about . . . he met Patrice and my kids?” Jamie looked up at her, shocked.
“After you got grabbed. They hid out at his house while I tried to stop the wizards at the gateway. They’re at my house now. The kids love him and he really helped Patrice keep it together after they took you. He stepped up. I’ll tell you more later, but now I need to know what he’s saying.”
“He says he doesn’t want to be their king either, knows he can’t because he’s not a Fahrayan man anymore. But there’s another . . . Jhoro? My cousin? He’s still alive?”
Meaghan nodded. “Yeah. He helped save my life after a scorpion attacked me. He’s close, watching and waiting for his moment.”
“This would be a good moment,” Jamie murmured.
V’hren glared at Meaghan and Jamie.
Meaghan glared right back. You don’t scare me, she repeated like a mantra. You don’t scare me.
But he scared Jamie, who buried his face in Meaghan’s shoulder and began to sob. V’hren’s face screwed up into that rictus of a smile as Jamie’s terror flowed into him. He’d found a new food source.
Meaghan felt hatred for V’hren flare in her chest. This was a different anger than she’d felt earlier. Before it had been pure, fueled by her desire to protect Jamie. This was darker and revolved around her sudden desire for revenge, to hurt V’hren like he’d hurt Jamie, who now clung to her like a terrified child.
V’hren stood taller, a gleam in his eye.
He enjoyed the taste of hatred too.
Jamie, she thought. She had to focus on protecting Jamie. The anger that surprised and weakened V’hren had come from a place of protection and love, not hate and fear. The thing inhabiting V’hren had mentioned how much it enjoyed the original V’hren’s bitterness and cruelty, and John’s shame. And now her hate.
If negative emotions fueled him . . . In a sudden flash of understanding, she let all the pent-up maternal desire, all the longing she’d stuffed so deep inside her since she’d lost her chance to be a mother, rush over the young man weeping in her arms. A fierce love for Jamie swept through her and she rocked him like a baby.
“Shh. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.” Now she was weeping too, overcome by the feeling rushing through her. She looked up at V’hren and saw the shock on his face.
Meaghan thought about the suffering the thing controlling V’hren continued to inflict on what remained of the actual man. V’hren, who felt abandoned and passed over, who had only wanted what he thought belonged to him, who had enforced against John’s family what John conceded was valid law. V’hren, who even now writhed in torment deep within this creature who wore his skin. V’hren, who, even in the depth of his bitterness and despair, with a monster whispering in his ear, had spared the woman he once loved not from death but at least from the more hideous aspects of the fate to which her husband’s actions had consigned her.
Meaghan knew firsthand how loss could twist a person. In her case, she’d closed herself off from human contact and spent ten long lonely years refusing even to feel her pain, growing colder and harder with each day. She could have chosen to channel her longing into another course, she could have given that love to a child who needed it, she could have given it to friends, to family. Instead she grasped her hurt close like a bitter treasure to be protected at all costs, the highest cost being her loss of a functioning heart.
She felt a flicker of compassion for V’hren. What he’d done had been monstrous, but he had paid for it, continued to pay in unimaginable torment as a prisoner inside his own body. He had done terrible things, not because it amused him, like the creature now controlling him, but out of fear and pain and loss, manipulated by a monster. And he’d been denied any chance at all to atone for what he’d done. Maybe if this thing hadn’t been whispering in V’hren’s ear, darkening his thoughts, maybe none of this would have happened.
Meaghan looked V’hren in the eye and let the compassion grow into a warm flame.
V’hren shrieked with rage.
“Don’t hate him,” she shouted to John. “It makes him stronger.”
“I don’t hate him,” John answered. “I pity him, at least what is left of him. He was not always bad. Not as a boy. And this thing, that wears him.” He gestured dismissively at V’hren. “Hating it is like hating a disease. It can’t help what it is.”
V’hren whirled on John, desperate now. “I can give them back to you,” he said in English. “I can give you back your wings and make you a man again. All you have to do is ask. I have the magic to do it.”
John wavered. “My wings?” His eyes narrowed. “What is . . . how do you say . . . the catch?”
“Give me your son. His life for your wings. Let me finish the ritual. They won’t even have to know you agreed to it. You can be king again.”
Meaghan felt Jamie stiffen in her arms.
John said nothing, staring at V’hren, his expression unreadable.
Jamie moaned in fear.
Meaghan held him close. “Don’t you dare even think it,” she said. “He’d never do that to you. He loves you. You’re worth a lot more to him than wings.” She hated herself for it, but she felt a tiny trickle of doubt as John’s silence continued. He wouldn’t, she thought, feeling sick. He couldn’t, could he?
Finally, John shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “That’s not worth even an answer. How can you ask me such a thing? What father would do this to his son? I would not give him to you even to save my own life. If I let you have him, I will have no life even if I still live.” He snorted. “Wings. You’re a fool. Like my brother. There is more to being a man than wings. Better a wingless freak than the twisted thing you would make me. A thing like you.”
John now gazed on Meaghan and Jamie, huddled together. “I think, brother, I understand you now. I came here to offer my life for my boy to go free. And you laughed at me, made the people laugh at me, and you crawled inside my mind, burying me in my shame. And I let you do this to me, because I thought it was what I deserved. But now I know why you wouldn’t kill me in his place. You can’t let me give myself to die for him because it’s a good death. It has honor. It gives you no way into me, no way to take me like you did my brother. But, if you can get me to trade my son, let you hurt him more and kill him, for my wings? This act is so evil it would let you enter me and have a way into the human world. I think this is your plan. To use Fahraya to get to the human world.”
John smiled at Meaghan, the broad free smile that made the years and pain drop away from his face. “She doesn’t need me to have wings. Why feel shame for losing something I don’t need any more? I don’t need wings to be a man, Fahrayan or human, no matter what anyone thinks.”
And I don’t need a womb to be a mother, Meaghan thought. Just a functioning heart. “See?” she murmured in Jamie’s ear. “I told you. He loves you. It’s time to get you home.”
Chapter 51
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br /> Meaghan heard a voice speaking Fahrayan. Faltering at first but growing stronger. She craned her head around to see Sid, sitting up as he spoke. She felt a dizzying rush of relief.
Sid dragged himself to his feet and, still speaking, walked toward John. He gave V’hren a contemptuous look, and once at John’s side, grabbed his hand and raised it victoriously.
“What’s he saying?”
Jamie, who seemed energized by Sid’s recovery, pulled himself up and sat without support. “He’s telling them about the deal and about my father turning it down flat and why.”
The murmur of the crowd grew louder. After eighteen years of living in fear of V’hren, of having their thoughts clouded by magic, the Fahrayans were waking up, many nodding as Sid spoke, and staring at John with growing admiration.
And then V’hren made his move. Much like it had when Meaghan witnessed Emily attack Jamie, time seemed to slow. She saw V’hren pull a stone knife from his belt and run at John, knife raised, as Meaghan screamed a warning. Sid and John, turning toward her, saw V’hren nearly on top of them. Sid, who in his present form was bigger than John, shoved John aside as V’hren swept his hand down to strike. Instead of hitting John, V’hren plunged his knife into the middle of Sid’s chest. Sid fell to the ground.
Jamie and Meaghan both screamed. Even in Jamie’s weakened state, Meaghan had to use all her strength to keep him from throwing himself at V’hren. John rose to his feet, and in one flowing movement, plucked the knife from Sid’s chest, grabbed V’hren, and cut his throat.
And for a moment, silence. It had all happened so fast that it took a moment for the crowd to register what John had done. Then, a collective gasp rose, and they erupted—cheering, crying, screaming.
John ignored the pandemonium and tossed the knife away, dropping to his knees at Sid’s side. Meaghan pulled Jamie to his feet and half-supported, half-dragged him to where Sid lay.
Sid’s eyes were open as he smiled up at John. The pink T-shirt was soaked with the blue blood that oozed from the hole in his chest. “Is Jamie okay?” he wheezed. He began to choke and John put his arms around him and pulled him up into a semi-reclining pose. Sid coughed spasmodically, then spit up more blue blood. He was drowning inside.
Jamie grabbed his hand. “Hey, buddy. I’m here. You hang on until we get home and Natalie can fix you up.”
Sid shook his head. “I’m done, sweetie. Circling the drain. But your shithead uncle’s going with me, so it’s all good.” More coughing shook him. “Where’s Meg?”
Meaghan took his other hand. “Right here. Don’t you talk like that. You’re going to be fine.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Sid was dying in John’s arms. Even if John and Jamie could still fly, they wouldn’t be able to get him to the gateway in time to save him. As it was, without help, it would be a grueling trek simply getting Jamie over the rocky pathless terrain to the gateway, let alone Sid.
With all eyes focused on Sid, V’hren was forgotten. Then Meaghan registered the screaming from the crowd. Sid’s eyes widened and he gave a thready hoot. Meaghan followed his gaze and saw V’hren, standing, covered in the blood that ran from his gaping throat. John had nearly decapitated him. But there he stood, his mouth twisted into a horrible parody of a smile.
As Meaghan screamed, one of V’hren’s bloody lifeless hands shot towards Jamie and twined itself into his hair. V’hren pulled Jamie onto his knees and dragged him away from Sid. V’hren’s other hand clasped the stone knife John had discarded. A hideous grin stretched across his dead face, he lifted the knife to strike.
Then a figure swooped down, like a giant bird of prey attacking, and pulled the knife from V’hren’s hand, knocking him to the ground.
Jhoro had finally chosen his moment.
Matthew had described a Fahrayan warrior in flight as a “helluva thing.” Try glorious, Meaghan thought. Terrifying, awe-inspiring. And sexy as hell. No wonder they equated losing their wings with losing their manhood. Nobody who was proportionally sized would ever mistake Jhoro for a childlike fairy.
V’hren stood up again, like a zombie in a bad horror movie. Jamie scrambled away on hands and knees as fast as he could, a look of horror on his battered face. V’hren took several fast steps and reached for the back of Jamie’s neck. His dead fingers grabbed but couldn’t get a grip.
Jhoro swooped out the sky, wrapped a muscular arm around V’hren’s neck, and pulled him into the air. A few wing strokes took them to the rocks surrounding the natural bowl where the assembled Fahrayans watched, transfixed. Jhoro made a lazy circle, climbing the air currents to about fifty feet above the ground, and then he dropped V’hren’s struggling corpse.
For a corpse it had to be. Meaghan had seen up close how deep and savage the cut across V’hren’s throat had been. John had struck a killing blow that V’hren could not have survived. Whatever inhabited him now manipulated his body through dark magic or sheer force of will.
Meaghan held her breath, waiting to see if V’hren would rise yet again.
He didn’t disappoint. After a quick moment on the ground, V’hren launched himself into the air, his wings broken and askew but still effective. He shot towards Jhoro, who watched in horror as his father’s corpse flew toward him. Jhoro hovered until the last moment, then he dove straight downwards at speed. V’hren howled in rage and dove after him.
A moment before he reached the ground, Jhoro did a tight forward roll so his feet now faced downward. He braked slightly with his wings. Using his legs like springs, he pushed off the ground at an angle and shot back into the sky.
V’hren’s broken wings and broken body lacked the dexterity to copy the maneuver. He crashed headfirst hard into the ground and lay still, face down, his body broken and contorted. Jhoro landed beside him and probed the corpse with his spear. When V’hren didn’t respond, Jhoro rolled him over.
The impact had crushed the top of V’hren’s skull, caving in his bloody forehead. One eye was gone and the skin below it was peeled back to expose the cheekbone. Something that looked like gray cottage cheese and raspberry jelly smeared his neck and chest.
Jhoro stared for a moment, nodded, and then launched himself back in the air.
Brains, Meaghan thought. Those are his brains smeared all over him. He’s not getting up from that. She turned her head, willing herself not to vomit. After several deep breaths, the nausea passed.
She felt Sid squeeze her hand. She turned her attention back to him.
“Showoff. Stealing my death scene,” he gasped. “Take care of Melanie. She didn’t want me to go in the first place. Neither did you. So don’t feel guilty. Tell her too. Tell everybody how awesome brave I was. Get Jamie over here and give us a minute alone, okay?”
John caught her gaze. He still kneeled at Sid’s head, supporting him, his arms around him. Silent, John gestured with his head to indicate Jamie’s position, a worried look on his somber face.
Jamie crouched a few yards away, a rock held tightly in his hand, glaring at his uncle’s corpse. “Stay dead, fucker, or I’ll bash the rest of your skull in. Stay dead. You stay dead,” he muttered.
He looked crazed and feral, like something had snapped inside him. It hadn’t even been two full days, Meaghan realized, since the cookout at her house, and the happy young husband and father was now a broken man. It would take more than medical treatment and rest to save him. She feared he might be so broken he couldn’t be saved.
“Jamie,” she said in a low voice, moving slowly toward him. “Honey. Sid wants to talk to you.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He grunted and lifted the rock to strike before recognizing her. The rock fell from his hand and he burst into huge racking sobs. “C’mon, honey,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let’s go see Sid.”
Meaghan helped him hobble to Sid’s side. She and John stepped away as Sid requested. A hush fell over the crowd as Jhoro landed next to her, followed by Finn, and several other young Fahrayan men. And a few women, Meaghan noticed. The
re were about a dozen of them, towering around her. She saw Finn slip his hand into Jhoro’s and squeeze it for a moment before he let go. They exchanged a quick glance. The contact was meant to be surreptitious, and neither Finn nor Jhoro realized that Meaghan had witnessed it.
Startled, she realized what it was she’d felt between them earlier. They were far more than friends and comrades. They were lovers. And they didn’t want anyone to know.
Your secret is safe with me, she thought. If you found love in this horrible place, as fugitives, good for you.
Meaghan felt the knot in her chest loosen. V’hren was defeated. Jhoro and his men would help them get back to the gateway with Jamie and Sid. The knot returned. Sid’s body, she corrected herself. She dreaded facing Melanie. But at least now they could return Sid’s body and give Melanie the small comfort of being able to follow whatever rituals the Troon observed at death.
Sid was gone, but Jamie was alive. Broken but alive. And John, somehow, was better. Not well, maybe, but better than he’d been since his exile. He’d made peace with his ordeal in time to help his son find a way forward. They only needed to hitch a lift back to the gateway and they would be home.
Where she could have a mug of Russ’s coffee. And a bath. And sleep. She noticed in that moment her own fatigue and pain. Her arm ached where the scorpion had bit her. Her knee and right palm, injured climbing the outcrop to free Jamie, throbbed in counterpoint. Her clothes were wet with Jamie’s blood. Every muscle hurt and she had a boom thumper of a headache.
“I’m too old for this action hero shit,” she mumbled. Jhoro looked down at her with his gorgeous smile. She smiled back.
They were going to be okay.
And then V’hren sat up.
Chapter 52
Jamie, by Sid’s side, let out a blood-curdling wail. With a roar, John threw himself at V’hren. An instant later, Jhoro followed.