Samantha idly braided a strand of her dark hair and sighed. “And, if that’s not reason enough, he has the money and resources to make all of our lives a living shehalla if we try to just flee. If Jade doesn’t accept the throne, we’ll lack the funds for protection.”
“Let alone Andre.” Garnet rubbed her arm, eyes distant. “If we leave, Everett would feel vindicated to do whatever he wants to Andre.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “We can’t let that happen.”
Jade stared at the window. Zaborah had returned from her exploration of the villa earlier that afternoon and had all but glued herself to Jade’s side while Zak left for his turn to roam the grounds and get acquainted to their new surroundings. She wanted Zak back. Desperately. He was just as stressed and worried as the rest of them, but his presence soothed her more than her aunt’s tense apprehension or her mother’s and Krista’s fierce anger.
Briar folded his arms and leaned back in his mobile chair. “Well, whales.”
The door on the far side of the room swung open silently, and Francene glided in, her movements smooth and graceful. Weston followed Francene, his eyes downcast. Krista hummed deep in her throat, like a cat warning off a threat, and his eyes snapped up to hers. He paled and crossed behind Jade to claim a chair in the far corner of the room, furthest from her fuming friend.
Zak walked in and clicked the door shut behind him. His eyes narrowed at Weston before he joined Jade, his hand resting gently on her good shoulder.
Francene clasped her hands before her and sank onto a cushioned seat. Faint lines marred her beauty. “I need to tell you more of what’s happened.”
“What more could there possibly be?” Samantha asked, her voice incredulous.
“Andre has been sentenced to the Aerugan Hollows.”
The simple statement knocked the breath out of Jade, and Zak’s fingers dug into her shoulder. The Hollows?
“So he’s as good as dead.” Tears slipped down Garnet’s cheeks. Horror etched lines of grief along her eyes and mouth. “There’s nothing that can be done.”
“He’s tough. He’ll survive.” Zak loosened his grip on Jade, and he gently rubbed the muscle in silent apology. “We can still make an appeal, go with the original plan.”
Jade dipped her head forward, letting her loose hair cover her face and hide her shock. What good was it to come here? She should’ve stayed in Doldra. Shouldn’t have let herself be taken in by Weston’s pleas and distracted from the Monomi and the tragedy they’d all just suffered. A proper queen would have stayed, stood by her people. Not been brought to another kingdom. Not allowed herself to give in to sentimentality. Wasn’t that something that Uncle Andre had always told her, growing up? That she needed to look at the whole machine, and not just the small gears?
She scrubbed at the tears dampening her cheeks. But she couldn’t lose Andre. Not after losing her father. Not after just losing Zander. But she also couldn’t marry Weston! She bit back a wail. She couldn’t run away; she knew it already, and her aunt’s words only added to that conviction. She had to stay. But what could she do here, except be a pawn in Everett’s game?
“There’s got to be a way we can save him.” Weston’s subdued voice broke into the silence. “Maybe—”
“There’s nothing we can do!” Jade shouted. Zak’s hand lifted, and she jumped to her feet. “Don’t you get it? He outplayed us and we’ve lost. I need to go back, and I can’t! I’m being held hostage here until I marry you.” Weston shrank back from the poison dripping in her voice. She turned away from his kicked-puppy expression and looked at Francene, shaking from the overload of emotion. “Why does Everett even want me to marry Weston?”
“To keep you under his eye,” Francene replied softly.
“He can watch her from a distance just fine,” Krista exclaimed. “Why marry?”
Francene’s gaze didn’t waver from Jade’s. “Because you’re a threat. And he needs to keep his hold over Doldra somehow, now that the true heir has resurfaced.”
Zak came up behind Jade, a dark shadow in her peripheral. “Why are you even willing to help us?”
Francene tilted her head and looked past them to Weston. “I want a strong Aerugo.”
Jade pivoted just enough that she could see Weston without looking directly at him. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands, only his dark curls visible.
“Everett is getting sloppy.” Francene shrugged, and the sleeve of her dress slipped down, baring her creamy white shoulder. She ignored it. “He cares only for his own power, and his treatment of you is proof of that. If he had Aerugo on his mind, he would stop his pet projects, invest that money into our military, and prepare for whatever the future brings. Not obsess over a princess that could be a powerful ally.”
Zaborah spoke for the first time since she’d returned from her scouting earlier. “And you’re okay with this, Weston?”
Weston looked up, his shoulders hunched. “I don’t want to be my father. I know now that power corrupts, and I don’t want to have the mantle passed to me.” He hesitated. “Not yet, at least. I’m not ready. I don’t trust myself, alone.”
“Noble words, but are they true?” Zak asked. His brow lifted, and he tapped a finger against his sword hilt. “It’s easy to say one thing, and do another.”
“I wouldn’t risk my father’s wrath to bring her here if there wasn’t a good reason.” Weston frowned as he fiddled with the golden buttons on his vest. “I-I know how he is. I wouldn’t risk her like this. Not on purpose. I swear.”
“It’s too late now,” Garnet sighed. She twined her hair around her fingers. “What can we do about it?”
Jade returned to her chair, falling back into it with a defeated huff. She cast her gaze toward Weston, staring at his polished boots instead of risking eye contact. “I’m not marrying you.”
“I know.” Weston’s voice was soft, filled with pain and acceptance. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“You may not ask her to, but your father is demanding it,” Krista snarled from where she stood by Briar. “To shehalla with marriage anyway! This isn’t what it’s meant to be used for!”
Briar said nothing, listening to the conversation with concerned eyes, his hand pressed against something in his pocket as he gazed up at Krista.
Tears slid down Jade’s cheeks, regardless of her earlier desire to not cry anymore. She was trapped. Cornered. She loved too many too deeply, and it was impossible to hide them all away, protect them from her problems. And she couldn’t run away.
She couldn’t pretend to marry a royal. That would be all or nothing.
And if she did, the sky would be locked away, never hers to roam freely again.
“We’ll fight back.” Passion filled Samantha’s words. She looked at Francene with a desperate hope shining in her dark eyes. “Clearly, you have resources. And a strong motive against Everett. You’ve known of this situation longer than any of us. Can you think of anything else that can be done?”
Francene shook her head, regret wrinkling the smooth makeup on her cheeks. “There’s not much we can really do right now. But the Leaders’ Summit will be held in a little over a month.” She nodded to Jade. “That will include you. Act like a princess between now and then. Declare that if you’re going to marry a prince, you need a grand wedding worthy of your status. Custom gown of Vodan’s finest work. Multi-course meals. All the nobility and rulers of the land.”
Jade’s stomach flipped, and the tips of her fingers tingled as she shuddered. Pretend that she was going to marry Weston? Go through the motions? How would she pull off such a lie?
And for how long would she have to keep up the act? When would they call it off?
“Buy time,” Zak murmured. “You want to keep Everett appeased until the leaders are all here.”
Francene’s smile and appreciative gaze set Jade’s teeth on edge, mostly because it was directed at Zak. “Exactly.”
“But will sh
e be able to break the contract of the engagement after all that is done?” Samantha asked. “I can’t imagine it going over well if she backs out at the last minute.”
“My father wants her to marry me. If it comes down to it, I can say ‘no’ at the altar. I don’t desire to be a ruler, so any damage to our reputations will be on me.” Weston stood and walked past Francene to kneel before Jade. She stiffened. Weston looked up at her, his brown eyes wide with earnest warmth that she could see her reflection in. “He’s threatening you. He’s threatening your loved ones.” Weston swallowed hard, a light furrow appearing in his brow. “He has murdered. But don’t let that sway you. Don’t give in to him.”
“What about you, Weston?” Garnet asked, her voice softer than her eyes.
Weston dropped his head and shrugged. “He already took away Andre.”
“What about your mother? Does Violet not count for anything?” Garnet persisted.
Weston flinched back, his eyes wide. “We’ll have to protect her. Somehow.” He scratched the back of his neck and frowned. “I want to help my nation be strong, but not with the methods that my father uses. How that will look, I don’t yet know. For now, I can only focus on one thing at a time.”
Jade rubbed at the headache growing behind her eyelids. “How is Andre? Is he alive? Do we even know?”
Francene sighed. “I used my influence to get Andre sent to the Hollows.” She held up a hand to forestall any commentary. Her eyes glittered. “It was the Hollows or execution. Hollows are a bit easier to rescue a person from than death.”
A lump formed in Jade’s throat. “I’m not worth this. He shouldn’t have to pay for just knowing I’m alive.”
Zak set his hand on her shoulder again and massaged her neck with his thumb. “He understood the price and why. He’s strong. He’ll endure.”
Jade trembled as she reached up to touch Zak’s hand. His fingers twined with hers, and he squeezed gently, gifting her with just enough strength, even hope, to take another breath.
Francene nodded. “He’ll last until we can rescue him.”
Jade looked up through her tears. “Rescue?”
Francene nodded, her eyes burning in determination. “You need a boost in morale. Weston needs his mentor. One way or another, we’re getting him out of there.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Weston
Weston and his guards left Francene’s villa not long after the conversation with Francene and the group, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to think about where he was going or what he was doing. What will Father do when he finds out what we’re planning?
His father already had Count Mendez’s blood on his hands. He had to. Every time there was an “accident,” Weston suspected his father. He knew his father’s tells: the faint twitch of the lips, the lift of the eyebrows, the calm answers no matter what was happening. Everett never mourned, never displayed sincere surprise. He didn’t have to, because he was the one orchestrating the tragedy.
What would his father do to him now? Even during the worst of his father’s episodes, Weston had never feared for his life. But he’d also never killed his father’s governor before. Or brought back the one woman that could nullify half the power that Everett held. Let alone schemed to bring back a man that his father had banished.
Niles cleared his throat and Weston startled, looking up to see the gleaming white palace glowing orange in the light of the sinking sun. Had he really walked the whole way from Francene’s to here? The muscles in his calves twinged, and he shifted from one leg to the other, a throbbing ache numbing his feet. Maybe he had. He lifted a hand to the guards behind him. “Dismissed.”
The three he’d never bothered getting to know saluted and turned away. Weston stared up at the wrought iron gate, the two shacks manned with silver-and-black-clad guards armed with steam-pistols, and the steam wafting in front of the palace. What would his life have been like if he’d been raised like Jade? With parents that cared for him, protected him? Without the pampered lifestyle that catered to his every whim?
Weston ground his teeth and rubbed his temples. He’d never know, because that wasn’t the way the tiles lined up for him. He needed busywork to distract him until he could work through everything—hopefully avoiding his father tonight. As bad as it would be to put off the meeting until tomorrow, he was in no state of mind to be able to talk to him right now.
The evening air held a light bite to it, hinting at the approaching autumn, and Weston crossed his arms as he walked, focusing on the path. He considered Jade’s expression at the idea of buying time with their ruse of a wedding. Her horror and shock had eventually morphed into grudging acceptance, but it was clear that this would be yet another trial for her to deal with. What, if anything could he do to help ease that burden?
“Highne—”
Weston ran into someone, jarring him from his thoughts. He stumbled.
A rapier-thin gentleman with a white top hat and a burgundy suit raised his eyebrows at Weston. “Distracted, are we?” His dark gaze raked Weston from his shiny boots to the ends of his curls, and the skin around the stranger’s eyes tightened. “Your Highness.”
Weston waved a hand at Niles before his guard could interrupt and chastise the stranger or ask if Weston was hurt. “It seems so.” He waited to see if the man would apologize, but he remained silent, so Weston tacked on, “My apologies.”
The man tilted his head in a gracious gesture of acceptance. “Have a productive evening, sir.”
Had his father witnessed the exchange, he’d be appalled over Weston’s lack of princely bearing. But Weston couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He filled his lungs with one last sip of cool air outside the workshop building before opening the door and plunging into the humid warmth. Despite it being close to the dinner hour, the workshop bustled with apprentices moving material to and fro, and the music of metal and ceramic being tinkered on resonated in Weston’s ears. He nodded to Trade Master Raffael and turned on his heel to face Niles. “I’ll be here for some time. Consider yourself relieved of duty for the night.”
Niles surveyed the room before nodding. “As you command.”
Weston didn’t stay to watch his guard leave, instead working his way through the workshop to the corner that his master, Pistoia, had long ago claimed as her own. He caught a glimpse of her shocking purple hair, and he sped up, dodging a female apprentice whose arms were stacked with copper rods.
Pistoia didn’t even look up at him as he neared, merely pointing a slender finger at a screwdriver that had rolled across her work table. “Hand me that.”
Amusement rose like a bubble through the sludge of worry in his chest, and Weston placed the tool in her waiting hand. “Hello to you, too.”
She glanced up, her mechanic goggles and their magnification making her pupils look bigger than her actual eyes. “Prince. Hi.” She bent her head again, hunching her shoulders as she focused on the assembly of gears on a metal plate. “You created quite the ruckus with your stunt, you know.”
“Not on purpose,” Weston sighed.
“I’m assuming this was all for your mechanic-of-interest?” Pistoia pulled a thin hose from her pile and started winding it on the plate, avoiding the delicate mechanics.
The gears of stress started to loosen as Weston watched her work. “I made a huge mistake, and I don’t know how to fix everything.”
“Grab a mold and start impressions for this, will you?” She tugged on a thin iron plate and slid it over to Weston. “Catch me up on everything.”
Weston opened a locker and searched for the mold case that would fit the master piece. He brought everything back to her table and set up in his normal corner station. He tugged on his gloves before starting to measure out the chemicals, mixing them together as his words spilled out to his master. He told her of his hasty decision to leave for Doldra, and his horror over Zander’s death. Words choked in his throat as he stumbled over Bentley’s death, and he had to stop s
tirring the setting mixture for a moment to breathe deeply before recounting his arrival back home.
The whole time he talked and worked, he kept an eye out, lowering his voice if anyone got too near their workspace. He trusted Pistoia, and most of his fellow students, but he wouldn’t risk bringing trouble to anyone here. He’d already brought enough trouble to Jade and her group.
Pistoia stopped working during the last bit of his story, lifting her goggles to reveal her sharp eyes and button-tipped nose. She tapped the back of her screwdriver against her jaw as she listened.
“The official story is that the count was killed in a training accident involving an electro-staff,” she informed matter-of-factly. The feet of her stool squealed as she dragged it closer to Weston’s side of the workstation. “How exactly that happened, I’ve yet to hear.”
Weston tapped a gloved finger against the gelling mold. A few more minutes. “I’m concerned for your safety. If my father took out Count Mendez, who knows what he’d do to you.”
Pistoia’s distinctive goose honk of a laugh reverberated along the table. She gestured at the assembly before her. “He wouldn’t get rid of a Master Machinist. And as long as I keep designing these, I’m indispensable. Do you know what this is?”
Weston greased the thin plate, then pressed it into the mold. He shook his head as he kept the pressure even on the metal. “Looks similar to the inside of a steam-pistol, but different.” He frowned. “Did you figure out how to bypass the jamming issue on the steam-rifle?”
A grin split Pistoia’s face. “Indeed. And we already have an order from General Titus for two hundred of these beauties for the Hollows.”
Void Born Page 20