Derrick’s face fell even as he nodded. He saluted Christopher and disappeared into the trees.
Christopher cocked his head, studying the layout. Something about it seemed odd. Lucio had talked about magic in general, and he’d mentioned the place of power on occasion, but only just now did Christopher realize that neither Victor nor Lucio had ever said how exactly Lucio was going to restore the bloodstone.
The sage looked up, his face stern. “Once I start, do not disturb me, or this will be for nothing. All we do here, we do for the sake of taking down the barrier. Yes?”
Annoyance flickered in Christopher’s chest, and Deidre audibly sighed. What did Lucio think this was to them? A game? Christopher raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Quick as a flash, Lucio pulled his knife from his belt and jammed it into Andrew’s lower back. Andrew stiffened, his eyes wide in shock, a soundless scream visible on his lips. Lucio yanked the dagger out, and Andrew slumped. Blood bubbled.
Deidre emitted a choking sound, but Christopher didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her. Anger roiled through his gut. Of course. How else would a bloodstone be restored, if not in blood? He clenched his fists. And no one thought it reasonable to inform him that one of his men was to be sacrificed here for it.
Lucio’s eyes narrowed as he watched the crimson fluid flowing down the grooves. He lifted Andrew’s arm and sliced at the main artery. Now the blood poured. Lucio slashed at the three other main arteries, releasing as much of the crimson tide as possible.
It flowed down the pathways in the rock, splashing over the bloodstone. The stone glowed in response, an eerie crimson shining from the red flecks, casting shadows over them.
Lucio leaned forward, careful to not touch the accumulated cruor or the stone. He nodded to himself and wiped the gore from his dagger onto Andrew’s pant leg. “Some deaths are necessary for the greater good.” He looked up at Christopher, his eyes glittering in the unholy red light. “Now I must concentrate.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Weston
Weston’s boots rang out against the black Aerugan tile, and he pushed past the guards who were scrambling to get the door. He threw it open and let it slam against the wall with a barely satisfying clap of hardwood.
His father looked up from his desk, eyebrows raised. “Weston.” He set his pen down, completely unruffled by the sight of his son panting in the doorway. Everett sat back, his elbows on the desk, fingers knit together. “I take it you want to speak to me?”
A tingle shivered down Weston’s spine, but he refused to give in to the desire to turn tail and retreat. It was too late. He had to finish what he’d started. He owed it to Jade. He marched up to Everett’s desk, jamming a finger against the polished wood. “You killed Count Mendez.”
“Please,” Everett scoffed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because you didn’t want him to harbor Jade.” A glimmer of triumph ran through Weston. “But she’s with Francene now, so she’s even safer than she would’ve been. You wouldn’t dare harm Francene. Not when so many of your own men frequent her business. You miscalculated.”
Everett’s eyes hardened. “The Marchioness of Pleasures is hardly untouchable.” He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows braced against the table. “And how do you know you can even trust her? Think of how her riches are made. Do you really trust your precious princess to a whore?”
“She’s a businesswoman, and she understands the dangers to Jade. She’ll protect her.” Weston added more confidence to his words than he felt. Anger simmered beneath his skin. How dare his father call Francene a whore, when he was the one who’d bought Weston’s first night under her roof when Weston was only fourteen?
“So you trust her more than me?” Everett asked, his expression falsely hurt. “I’m your father.”
“You sired me, but I know what you’re capable of,” Weston replied. Murder. Extortion. Rape. Weston tamped down on the anger boiling in his gut. Calm. He had to stay rational, he had to—he spotted a parchment of his wedding announcement on his father’s desk, and he pointed to it. “And you had no right,” he seethed. “I don’t want to be engaged to Jade.”
“Adeline,” Everett corrected, lifting his chin to look up at Weston. “Adeline Grace Doldras.”
“Whatever her name is,” Weston exclaimed. “Don’t just decide things like my marriage without my involvement!”
Everett lifted an eyebrow, his gaze level. “Just because we aren’t run by a king in a kingdom doesn’t mean you’re free of all the politics.”
Weston stiffened his spine, unwilling to shrink back. What if he pushed too hard? It had been months since Everett had last lost control, but ...Weston swallowed hard. Set his jaw. Stand firm. Pistoia was right. I need to show him I’m strong.
“Do you know what would happen if you two didn’t get married?”
“Oh, I don’t know, she’d be happy and I’d be happy?” The words and sarcastic tone slipped out of Weston before he could bite them back. He froze. That was a line he knew better than to cross with his father. Strength was encouraged, sarcasm, not so much. But Everett merely tilted his head, gazing at him with narrowed eyes.
“If you two didn’t marry, yes, you would both be happy for a time. And you’d both be dead.” Everett spoke each word slower than the last, emphasizing each syllable.
Weston faltered.
Everett pushed back from his desk and stood, turning his back to Weston to stare out the window to the evening gas lights of the city. He smoothed his black coat and latched his hands behind his back. “We have enemies that are actively trying to take down the barrier,” he announced. “You know your lessons. What would happen if it were to come down?”
Weston chewed his tongue to revive moisture in his suddenly dry mouth. “War. Enslavement. Death.”
The leader of Aerugo nodded. “They have the means to bring it down, and we, the southern kingdoms, need to have a united front.” He turned to face Weston, his face impassive, as if carved from gypsum. “If we lose our ties to Doldra, thanks to Jade being alive and your mother’s queenship being called into question, we lose our united front.” He paced around the desk, each step measured, crisp, even, as he came to stand by Weston. “If some other lord takes my place, our lives could be forfeit. And if saving your own skin isn’t enough for you, our deaths will mean certain annihilation for the southern lands.” Everett lifted his hands, inviting inspection of his athletic physique and precise uniform. “What land is as strong militarily as us?”
“None.” Weston’s voice was barely a murmur, and he winced internally at the sign of weakness.
His father’s smile was cold. “Exactly.” Then Everett’s eyes narrowed. “That reminds me. We need to talk about Bentley.”
Weston’s stomach roiled and heat flashed through him, rolling from his feet up to his face. “You had a child murdered.” He stepped forward, shoulders twitching with renewed anger. “And you almost murdered his mother!”
Everett worked his jaw, his shrewd gaze flicking Weston up and down. “He was barely a child. And all I did was tell Bentley to take care of the problem.” He shrugged, eyes calculating. “How he interpreted that order is no fault of mine.”
Even though he knew his father was baiting him, Weston couldn’t rein in his reaction. “He’s still dead!” He spun on his heel, hiding the tears of frustration. “I killed a man.”
“I see you’ve gotten soft.”
Everett’s words cooled Weston’s rage with the same effectiveness as a bucket of water on a candle. He closed his eyes, fisting his hands. What would his father’s punishment be this time? How would he try to harden him?
“And yet, you killed Bentley,” Everett continued, his voice thoughtful. “He deserved it, and I would have ordered his death myself, but you beat me to it.”
Weston stared at the books lining the shelf on the far wall, taking a moment to gather his wits and emotions
before turning around. He blinked twice.
A rare genuine smile broke the severe lines on Everett’s face. “Good job, son.”
Weston sucked in a quick breath.
His father returned to his chair, smoothing his coat as he sat, his bearing perfect. “Is there anything else I can do for you, son?”
Weston shook his head, backing up, his steps slow. “No, thank you.”
The guards closed the door behind him, and he stood in the hallway, silent, savoring the single bubble of joy that rose in his chest at his father’s rare praise. When was the last time that his father had said anything remotely positive to him? Let alone actually call him “son”?
He remembered. The bubble popped. It was right after he’d whipped Zak. That was the last time his father had come in, giving vocal approval of Weston’s enthusiastic start to the punishment, but then Everett made note of how Weston’s energy seemed to be lacking at the end.
Weston had washed Zak’s blood off his hands and clothes, then locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, unable to eat or stomach the sight of food. Cold replaced what warmth he’d felt just moments prior from his father’s words. His father’s approval only came when Weston brutally tortured or killed. Approval bought with the price of blood. Zander was still dead. It didn’t change anything at all.
Was his father’s sanction really worth it?
Dare he risk being his own man and tear himself free of his father’s shadow? What retribution would that bring down on himself?
Did he dare to continue to hide when he knew what it meant for Jade?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jade
The itch under Jade’s skin wouldn’t ease, slowly consuming her as she vibrated on the seamstress’ pedestal. She couldn’t contain it. “Please.” She tried to smile like Francene coached her at breakfast. “Excuse me, I need a break.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The seamstress unpinned the mock pattern from Jade and stepped back, bowing.
“Thank you.” Jade leapt off the stand and started jogging for the door.
Garnet coughed and Jade slowed to a brisk walk, closing the door gently behind her, then sprinted down the hallway. She passed Zak and Zaborah where they stood, keeping guard. Zak took off after her.
Her entire body shook, legs trembling as she moved, threatening to give out at any moment. She shoved against the large glass doors and burst out into the sunlight, breathing in the fragrance of the late summer roses. The glare of the sun stabbed at her eyes, but she stepped out into the garden, uncaring if she got mud on her boots and whether or not it would upset the seamstress whenever Jade returned to the torture chamber.
She couldn’t keep this up. It had been only one full day since others had decided for her that she needed to buy time by playing along with this farce, and already her heart was breaking.
Ever since she was a child, she’d thought about someday getting married. And once Krista and Briar had started dating, she’d started to think of whom she would end up with, to whom she wanted to devote her life. But never, ever, had she considered a prince. Never someone who didn’t fly the sky with her. Never Weston.
“It’s only a stalling tactic,” Francene had said during their meeting.
“Just to buy time,” her mother had whispered last night before hugging her goodnight.
“This may be the best chance we have,” her aunt had told her that morning before leaving for the Aerugan shipping yards.
And part of Jade agreed with them, resigning herself to do whatever she had to until they could figure out a way to break Andre free and safely get herself and her crew out from Everett’s thumb. But the other part of her was broken. Already unable to continue with the farce. What if they weren’t able to break off the engagement in time? What if Weston didn’t back out at the altar?
What if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life belonging to one man while her heart remained with another?
Jade closed her eyes, tears leaking through her eyelashes and down her cheeks. She scrubbed at them and forced herself to continue through the garden, admiring the flowers while standing, never leaning over to smell them. It would be enough to see them.
Her father would have hated it here. Slate’s allergies would’ve gone crazy from the moment they set foot just outside Francene’s door. A sob lodged itself in Jade’s throat. Slate. She hadn’t realized that so much of her life in the sky was because of him, and how much of a gaping hole his death would leave in her heart. Her poor mother was trying so hard, putting on such a brave face, though Jade knew it was killing Samantha as much as it was her, going through these motions.
And how Zak and Zaborah were surviving this, Jade couldn’t imagine. To witness their own nephew dying like that, and because of her? Her fingers rose to her throat, skimming across her skin, brushing over the necklace from Ben. It was the cruelest of tricks, losing Zander when she had once dreamt of him being her own nephew someday.
And to learn that her uncle was in the worst prison imaginable. They didn’t even know if Andre was still alive.
A whisper of movement betrayed Zaborah as she strode to the other end of the garden, presumably to keep Jade safely pinned in. Jade turned away from the open hallway and back to the bush in front of her.
She touched the petals of an orange rose, wishing she had the passion and pride that the flower represented. Maybe if she did, she’d be able to think of a new angle to study this mess from, find a way out of the tangled wires and dangerous currents of electricity.
Or, if she just shared the conviction that her mother and the others had—that they’d make the farce work in their favor. Or if she could trust Weston to keep his word, then getting fit for a wedding dress wouldn’t be so hard.
She glanced over her shoulder, subtly watching Zak as he scanned the garden for possible threats. Jade would wear such a dress for him. And she’d happily step into tomorrow at his side. A sob choked her and she rushed at him, throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. His arms wrapped around her, shielding her, and she turned, pressing her ear against his heart. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.
Zak planted a kiss on her head, his warm breath stirring tendrils of her hair. “We’re not giving up, Jade.” He rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. “We can find a way.” He let out a sardonic chuckle. “We could run away, like you wanted.” His voice lowered. “I should have said yes then.”
She pulled back, searching his face. The stress of the last few weeks had added faint lines around his eyes, and a shadow seemed permanent in his gaze. His lips didn’t have their signature smirk. Then again, there hadn’t been much to be pleased by lately. She shook her head. “You know why I can’t do that. Not anymore.” She sagged and took a deep breath, forcing some backbone into her words. “I can’t risk any more deaths because of me, and—” she slipped a hand to her neck and unfastened her wrench necklace, dangling the chain over her fingers as she lifted it to Zak. “Please hold on to this for now. Keep it safe.”
“Jade, you’re playing right into Everett’s whims.” Green flashed as he shook his head, even as he accepted the jewelry. “He’s forcing your hand. And now you’re going to be queen, just as he wants.” Zak’s bitter tone cut into her. The necklace disappeared into one of his many pouches.
“I know. But I can’t lose you,” Jade said softly, searching his face, but for what, she didn’t know.
Zak’s other arm around her loosened, and he took a half step back, his hand still on her wrist. “But you’ll marry Weston?”
“I don’t want to marry Weston.” Irritation split through her depression and added an edge to her words. “It’s a stalling tactic, Zak. As you pointed out yourself. You know that.”
Zak sighed, dropping his head as he pulled her in again. “I know, love. I’m sorry. I’m letting my own fear get the better of me.” He pulled back and offered a small, crooked smile. “Forgive me?”
“Of course.” She squ
eezed him, selfishly taking a moment to enjoy the feel of their bodies pressed together before she ruined the moment. His belt buckle pressed against the stomach of her corset, and the fleeting thought of a hug unhampered by unnecessary layers sent a spark of bashful electricity jolting through her. Jade traced one of the white-and-pink-marbled tiles surrounding the garden with her gaze. “I’m scared for Andre.”
Zak’s arms tightened around her. “Me, too.”
“I don’t know what you two think you’re doing, but stop it,” Zaborah whispered from where she leaned against a nearby pillar.
Jade gasped and tried to jump back, but Zak twirled her to the side, automatically placing himself between her and the unexpected surprise. He let go of her a moment later.
“We were just talking,” Zak defended, his tone even, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Zaborah’s eyes glinted a steely blue, and she raised her black-gloved hand to point between them. “Then talk with space to breathe between you two.” Her brow knit as color rose to her cheeks. “In case you’ve forgotten, Jade, you’re betrothed. And not to him.” Zaborah gestured at her brother while holding Jade’s gaze, then Zaborah looked at him, incredulous. “And you. Have you lost your mind? You know your place. Stay there.”
Jade’s heart hammered. No. She wasn’t going to deal with being told what their places were again. They’d finally gotten to this point. She couldn’t lose him behind that wall of propriety again.
The sound of running echoed in the marble hallway, and Krista jogged into view. She waved, the grease-stained mechanic apron thrown over her dress pulling to the side, showing the rich yellow fabric beneath. She stopped at the edge of the pillars, leaning against one as she panted. “Francene has news.”
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