by Rachel Jonas
Roman
“This better be good.”
From the apologetic look on Jon’s face, I guessed he understood how unhappy I was with having to postpone my departure. There was a private island awaiting me, and needless to say, I was in need of a lengthy getaway. If I was ever going to clear my head, devise a viable plan for how to move forward, I’d have to distance myself from the Dynasty’s chaos.
The driver and I had nearly made it to the jet, when my assistant patched Jon through with an urgent call. Now, here Jon and I were, standing face-to-face outside the hanger as rain pelted our umbrellas.
“Please, Your Highness, understand that I’d never dream of wasting your time with nonsense,” he assured me. “There’s been a new development, and I thought it best that we speak in person. And if I can trouble you with one other thing, I’ll need access to a computer to share my findings with you.”
Of course he will.
It was becoming difficult to hide my frustration, and even harder to hold my tongue. I would have thought he’d gotten the picture when I ignored the five phone calls that came through while I packed and made arrangements for this retreat. Clearly, that hadn’t been the case.
Gesturing for him to follow me, we crossed the runway and I took the stairs by two, entering the jet’s cabin a few feet ahead of my unwelcomed guest. In all honesty, I was growing weary of our communication. The more he pushed, the more uncertain I became that his way was the best way to proceed.
Hence the unscheduled vacation, an attempt at finding much needed peace and quiet to think for myself.
Our last encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth. It wasn’t until I returned home later that evening that the tactics he employed really sunk in. Suggesting that Blackbird had been present when my sister, Regina, was killed was his attempt at manipulating me into following him blindly, and I had. But I was no one’s lapdog. If he hadn’t gotten that from how I distanced myself from my brothers—whom I even loved and cared for—he hadn’t been paying attention.
Had there been viable evidence to support his claim concerning what took place at the Dorchester Compound, I would be convinced we were still on the same team. Yet, it was beginning to feel more and more like Jon wasn’t playing on anyone’s team, but instead sought to further his career, regardless of who he dragged down along the way.
“Sit,” I commanded in a clipped tone, logging onto my laptop while he waited. As soon as I was in, I turned the screen toward him. “You have exactly five minutes to show me whatever you came to show me. I’m already behind schedule.”
With a quick nod, he reached inside his jacket and retrieved a large, brown envelope. It seemed to take him forever to unclasp it, only to remove a single USB drive from inside. He connected the small device, and within seconds, audio played through the speakers.
Next, he pivoted the screen back toward me, and there was a visual reference for the disturbing sounds that came through the speaker—a scream ghastly enough that even I shuddered to hear it.
“What on Earth am I watching?” Before my eyes was one unfamiliar face, but the other I recognized right away.
The Butcher.
“Well, it proved more difficult than expected, finding someone willing to give up information on their beloved Blackbird,” Jon explained. “So, I had to do a bit more persuading than originally planned. Hence the reason you see our good friend, the Butcher, starring in this particular video clip.”
When the man onscreen yelled out, I nearly turned away as a finger on his right hand was pulverized beneath the head of a heavy mallet.
“I had it on good authority that this particular Ianite, who goes by the name of Spencer, has been known to aid Blackbird in some of the disappearing acts she pulls with the donors. While he wouldn’t say exactly what part he plays, or where they generally meet, I did get a pretty convincing confession out of him.”
It wasn’t until Jon revealed that he’d been present at this torture fest that I was even aware. Finding it hard to imagine witnessing this event take place firsthand, it painted him in a new light as I realized he had the stomach for it.
His voice came in then, as he held a clear photo of Corina before Spencer. As the bloodied man lie wounded on a metal table, he opened the one eye not swollen shut by the ordeal. With the agony I knew he must have experienced, it was strange to see the calm that came over him as he examined the image. While the physical pain was apparent, it was only now that the emotional torment was present as well.
“Is the woman in this image Blackbird?” Jon inquired.
I was grateful not to have witnessed his entire session with the Butcher because, from the looks of things, this had been a lengthy, and gruesome ordeal.
Spencer continued to stare at the picture, but said nothing.
“Another round then,” Jon ordered from offscreen. The next sound I heard was that of a buzz saw whirring in the background. Whoever manned the camera zoomed in on the agony that flooded Spencer’s already tormented expression, capturing his increasingly desperate screams.
“Is this her?” Jon asked again, this time speaking loudly over the terrible buzz and sickening squish of a bloody limb being severed.
“Yesssss!” Spencer finally cried out, unable to withstand it any longer.
“Yes, what?” Jon asked, seeking clarity. Per Ianite law, a confession obtained by any means should be plainly stated, and devoid of doubt.
“Yes,” Spencer panted when the unpleasant buzzing finally came to an end. “Yes, that’s her,” he confessed. “The woman in that photograph is Blackbird.”
As soon as the admission left his mouth, he mumbled a few inaudible words before Jon formally thanked him for his help in bringing a fugitive to justice. Unable to look away, I watched as Jon went on to light a match, tossing it onto Spencer’s mangled body, bringing his life to an abrupt end.
The screen went dark then, and we sat in silence. The only sound to be heard was the faint, mechanical whir of the jet’s cabin as it hummed.
“Do you have any idea what this means?” Jon asked quietly, while I processed the onslaught of terrible images and screams that had just bombarded my senses.
There were no words that would leave my mouth.
Jon studied me a moment longer. “I know that was difficult to watch, but—”
“What were his last words,” I interrupted, caring very little to hear him justify the scene I just witnessed.
“Pardon me?”
He’d become so hyper-focused on an interrogation he deemed a success that he failed to comprehend my question.
“He mumbled something, before you set him on fire,” I reiterated through gritted teeth. “I want to know what the man’s final words were.”
Peering up, I was able to observe the extent of Jon’s callousness, when he had to put a tremendous amount of effort into recalling this particular detail. I wondered if I’d asked how many limbs they removed from their subject, if he would have quoted it to me within seconds.
“Uh … I believe it was something along the lines of ‘Forgive me. I tried’. Or something close to that. My guess was he meant the words for Blackbird, but it’s impossible to know for sure,” he added dismissively.
“He was an Ianite.”
Stating this fact seemed to cause Jon offense. Perhaps because he’d managed to justify his actions during his visit to the Butcher’s funhouse.
“Well, if we’re being technical, he was. But beyond that, he was a traitor,” he reasoned. “A traitor who’s aided the Dynasty’s most destructive terrorist.”
The words left his mouth in such a way, I got the impression he thought I needed reminding. I didn’t take kindly to that.
“He should have been taken to the authorities,” I retorted. “There, they may have been able to get even more viable information from him.”
Confusion marked his expression now. “Roman, have you forgotten what we discussed previously, how I have possible evidence that Blackbird was presen
t when your sister met her untimely end?”
“Don’t you dare use my sister’s death as some sort of punchline. Some statistic to hurl at me when I’m not quite responding in the manner you would like.”
His hands flew up as he all but raised a white flag.
“I didn’t mean to cause you offense,” he assured me. “My only aim was to point out how detrimental it is to not only the Dynasty, but you personally, that we lay this villain to rest. And if the best way to bring this operation to its knees is by picking off one traitor at a time, then that’s what I intend to do.”
There was something in the way he uttered those words, with so much determination, that I was certain he would never let this die. Not even if I were to have a change of heart, and decide that sparing my brothers’ lives was far more important to me than ending Corina’s.
“We’ll discuss this when I return,” I muttered, finding it difficult to look at him now.
“Please, Your Highness, if you’ll just agree to join forces on this with me, you’d give the story the weight it needs to—”
“I believe I was clear,” I growled, cutting him off brusquely. “We’ll continue this conversation when I say we’ll continue it.” He seemed to need reminding who had the authority here. “As of right now, you can officially escort yourself off this jet.”
We were finished speaking, and I couldn’t stomach another second of having him in my presence.
Swallowing his pride because he had no other choice, Jon stood and straightened his rain-soaked jacket. From the corner of his eye, I watched as he retrieved his belongings—the umbrella he boarded with, his USB from the port on the side of my computer.
There was a loaded silence between us as he moved toward the exit, glancing back.
“If I might trouble you with one last request, Prince Roman,” he groveled, finally remembering his place. “I would much appreciate it if you would keep what I’ve shown you here today between the two of us. I understand if you’re not certain you’d like to continue supporting this investigation, but I hope that you’ll at least honor my wishes and not hinder it.”
Holding my composure, I didn’t justify the request with a response. Mostly because I couldn’t rightly promise to uphold it. Not anymore. Not with the same certainty as when we first communicated several weeks ago.
Suddenly, my gut was telling me to handle things differently than planned. In fact, as I sat pondering, it became clear I could no longer ignore my brothers. Pretending to be at peace with the idea of them being affected by the fallout had gotten me nowhere.
So, it was decided. I’d use my week away to gather my thoughts, and determine the approach to which I believed they’d be most receptive. And then, upon my return, the first order of business would be to visit the Eastern Quadrant. There, I’d reconvene with my brothers to reveal this damning knowledge I’d discovered. My hope would lie in their ability to see past whatever spell Corina had them under, and that they’d do right by the Dynasty. It was high time they chose.
They could either cling to their birthright.
Or cling to her.
But they could not have both.
Chapter Sixteen
Corina
It was way too early for this—Elle and her cheery, morning routine. Especially seeing as how I’d gotten to bed so late, going over the plan Silas and I spent nearly a week fleshing out to perfection. The goal was to leave no stone left unturned. That way, once we made it inside the Simon Tine Facility, there would be no surprises.
“Rise and shine, Mistress Corina!” she practically sang, pushing the curtains in my bedroom wide open.
Wide open.
My eyes popped open and I was only mildly annoyed. Mildly because, despite being exhausted, her energy was somewhat contagious.
Not that it got me out of bed or anything.
Turning onto my side, I shielded my eyes from the sun with a pillow. Had it not been for the sound of something being dropped in front of me, I wouldn’t have budged. One eye slowly opened, and I observed the stack on the mattress—an array of envelopes, varying in size and color.
“What’s this?” I croaked, feeling my lips move on the sheet I had my face pressed against.
“Fan mail,” Elle beamed. “And also a couple more official mailings, but mostly fan mail.”
I frowned. “But why? I’m pretty sure every Ianite from, literally, every Quadrant hates my guts.” To me, that didn’t sound like an exaggeration.
Elle moved about my room, tidying up. “Well, I said this is fan mail. That doesn’t mean there weren’t a few stragglers of the darker variety, discarded before bringing these up. Can’t please them all, right?”
Her honesty was refreshing, causing me to smirk.
My interest was certainly piqued, though. Reaching for the first, I lifted my head just enough to read the words printed on the hot pink stationary, adorned with hearts and flowers galore.
“You’re officially an icon,” Elle’s chipper voice reached me again.
Thinking I misheard in my tired stupor, I peered up at her. “Say what now?”
She laughed. “Despite the controversy surrounding your initiation into the princes’ lives, you’re the object of their affection. So, by default, that makes you the envy of nearly every Ianite female, between the ages of fifteen to twenty-five.”
The frown still hadn’t left my face. “But … don’t most of them disapprove?” I questioned. “It was my understanding that most women despised Dolls, or any human woman who took up with an Ianite man.”
Elle sighed, giving me the impression that I ought to be a bit more ‘with the times’.
“Their mothers and grandmothers might feel that way, but to this demographic, you’re the mysterious, heartbreakingly beautiful equivalent of a queen. An empress.”
I had never considered myself becoming any of those things. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be revered as anything other than a glorified Doll in their eyes. The title still didn’t move me, but I was flattered that it seemed to mean something to them, these girls who’d taken the time to send their love through the mail.
Setting them aside, I promised myself I’d read them later, and would likely respond to each one.
“Thanks for bringing these,” I said to Elle, placing a stray envelope I’d missed on top of the pile.
She was in the middle of responding when I gave that envelope a closer look, seeing the electronically printed address labeling it, as opposed to the curly freehand of a teenage girl. I reached for it and my heart raced.
“This one’s from the Magistrates.”
The statement earned me Elle’s full attention. She knew as well as I did, any correspondence from them was bad news, but I couldn’t help but to feel it was worse that the letter had been addressed to me, and not Julian or one of the other princes.
I stared at it a moment, and then lifted my gaze to Elle again. “What do you think it says?”
She dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, focusing on it just as intently as I did. “Well, I suppose we can’t really answer that until you open it.”
She had a point there.
I hadn’t even been back at the palace for a week, and already, it seemed trouble had arrived at the doorstep.
Literally.
Swallowing hard, I decided to woman up, sitting straight as I tore through the thing like I had no fear whatsoever, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. The paper crinkled in my hands when I unfolded it, taking a moment to focus on the words printed in black ink.
Elle leaned in to read alongside me.
There was silence while I scanned a few seconds longer. “They want to see me,” I said flatly, still skimming the page. “Once I’ve fully transitioned.”
The rest was a montage of formalities I wasn’t interested in reading. No reason was given for why they’d make such a request, but their expectations were clear.
Shortly after I turned in the next few weeks, I’d
meet them face-to-face.
“Elle,” I blurted, “Can you do me a favor and keep this between us? I’d like to talk to the princes about this myself. When I’m ready,” I clarified.
Her head quirked to the side as curiosity filled her expression. “Of course,” she promised.
I offered an appreciative smile just as a rhythmic vibration on my nightstand redirected my thoughts. It came from the device I’d been given, the one that linked me to my team. When I flashed Elle a thoughtful smile, she took the hint and left so I’d have privacy.
“Hey, everything okay?” I answered.
“Cori,” Liv replied, nearly panting. “Something’s wrong.”
Right away, hearing the panic in her tone, I pushed the covers aside and my feet touched the carpet. “What is it? Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, I mean no,” she stammered. “Jonesy and Dev were taking a vanload of transports to the docks for extraction, but Spencer never showed!” I could feel her nervous energy bleeding through the phone. It made my own heart race. “He’s never even been late, Cori. So, I know without a doubt he’d never stand us up.”
She was completely right about that. Spencer had been aiding our cause for years—for a sizable fee, of course. Decades, considering the connection with him was established by my parents, before I was even in the picture. Yes, what drove him initially was the hefty sum we paid him, but he was a loyal resource nonetheless.
One our operation couldn’t rightly function without, not now.
“Breathe,” I instructed. “Where are Jonesy and Dev now? Have they made it back safely? Are they certain they weren’t tailed?”
“Yes, and yes, but they waited for him all night,” she rambled again. “And he just … didn’t show.”
“Liv, what’s important is that the guys and transports made it back safely. Let’s focus on that a moment, and leave the Spencer dilemma to me. I’ll see what I can find out on my end, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she assured me after a few calming breaths, sounding more like herself. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind she would be.