Hospitals were supposed to be places of healing, but I was developing a major headache to go along with my full-body itch. I sulked at the presence of the mittens, although I understood they were for my benefit. Scratching would slow my recovery—and make the itching worse.
I wasn’t left waiting for long, and an older doctor with a clipboard stepped to my side. “I’m Dr. Clemmondale, and I’m in charge of your recovery. Kayla tells me you remember your name, which is excellent, however she expressed concern about potential confusion. I want to do some memory tests to confirm if you’re suffering from any impairment.”
I went with my usual trick, which involved an assault on my doctor’s misconceptions. “Advanced mercury poisoning impairs memory, yes. I’m aware. I know the drill, although I’ve never been sent to a hospital for treatment before. I already know to avoid scratching the rashes.”
“This isn’t your first exposure?”
“No. Mexica tribes use cinnabar to decorate—and trap—their temples. I was helping a team at Los Horcones, Mexico when something went wrong. Now I’m here, and I had a run-in with cinnabar where I got dumped. That’s how I was exposed. I have no idea where I am.”
“You’re in Nevada, Miss Cassidy. Someone reported your disappearance, and your phone’s GPS signal was traced to your location. You were found in the desert in critical condition. While we were able to get the worse of the mercury out of your system, there’s reason for concern.”
Doctors could work magic, but they couldn’t—often—work miracles. I understood that. I inhaled, concentrated, and checked my lungs with my talent.
I could detect cinnabar still in my body somewhere, but my lungs were free and clear. “My lungs are clear, but you’re right. There’s cinnabar somewhere. I can’t tell where.”
“Ah. You’re an earthweaver.”
I nodded. “Mid-grade, specialized in movement and shaping. On a good day, my depth range is a hundred feet. I help locate and excavate ruins. Cinnabar is a common hazard.”
“I see,” he replied, and his tone promised he had no idea what I was talking about.
I’d dump the whole thing on Sebastian’s lap as punishment for involving me with his cursed temple, floating golden body, and obsidian discs. With luck, I’d never have to speak to the bastard again. “If you call Dr. Sebastian Hoover, he can verify my claims and tell you everything you need to know.” I gave him Sebastian’s personal cell number and the main university line, as reception anywhere near Los Horcones was on the whim of uncaring gods and the weather.
Without Sebastian’s help, I would’ve landed in a lot of legal trouble for being in Nevada. The kingdom disliked undocumented entry, but it was lax about who it let in. Instead of a quick trip to prison, I was shipped to Carson City and politely incarcerated at the kingdom’s largest university, Carson City Royal University.
The professors of the history department drooled over me like I was a choice cut of meat, and for a rare change, my tits and ass had nothing to do with their interest. I couldn’t tell if they wanted more intel on the Nahua ruins ripe for their study or my expertise.
I hoped for both, although it’d be a cold day in hell before they got me to go back—at least for a month. I needed at least a month to recover from the temple kicking my ass. After a month, I could regroup and rejoin the fray.
And, with a little luck, I could contact Landen and make good on my promise to grovel, tell him he was right, and wait for the expected smugness. I liked it on him; he toed the line between smug and asshole with grace.
Damn him for being a smart, attractive man with a good tailor. I missed his company, his wit, and his warmth. I definitely missed him feeding me tidbits of BBQ in bed, too.
My primary holding cell was a conference room in the main building, not far from the Dean’s office, where Professor Dunleavy questioned me about the Nahua site while Dr. Clemmondale kept a close eye on me.
The other professors kept quiet, scribbled notes, and listened.
“The cinnabar and mercury deposits in the temple are a concern,” Professor Dunleavy said, leaning back in his chair. “Despite your earthweaving talent, you suffered extreme exposure. Everything we’ve read about you indicates you’re skilled with your talent and are ideal for this sort of work. What are your recommendations?”
Since ‘avoid the damned temple, idiot’ wasn’t the answer he was looking for, I considered how someone might reach the inner sanctum without repeating my poor example. Frustration and exhaustion hadn’t helped me at all. Had I been thinking clearly, I would’ve been a great deal more cautious about how I explored the temple.
Even with my lack of caution, the outcome wouldn’t have changed. With my talent exhausted from my flare at Los Horcones, I wouldn’t have been able to control the cinnabar no matter how I entered the temple, and I expected similar results had I gone in from the top rather than the bottom—if I could enter from the top at all.
I wasn’t eager to test my luck again quite yet.
“Don’t go in without a strong earthweaving talent and an understanding it’s a lethal place. There’s a pool of liquid mercury in there.” I picked up a pen and grabbed the nearest notepad, doodling the entry chamber beneath the temple. “There’s magic in there, and it’s nothing like what we use today.”
The stone bracelets I wore served as a reminder of that truth; I didn’t know anyone who manipulated toxins on such a grand scale—or made something so permanent. I hadn’t found the limits of my talent yet, but I doubted I’d ever match the splendor and longevity of the Nahua.
“What are the hazards of cinnabar and mercury exposure, Dr. Clemmondale?” Professor Dunleavy asked.
“I think Miss Cassidy is the best to answer your question. She’s living it—and has before, if my understanding of the situation is correct. While my hospital is equipped to treat it, we’re not specialized in it. We were lucky we have several stronger earthweavers with the sensitivity required to identify individual elements and manipulate them within the body—and a strong leech. Otherwise, we would’ve had to call in a specialist. We still might need to.”
Dr. Clemmondale was right, although I hadn’t gotten around to telling him there was definitely cinnabar or mercury still in me somewhere. While I could check my lungs reliably, I was otherwise blind.
I blamed the rashes and the skin-level staining. It pinged against my talent despite being residual amounts that hadn’t entered my bloodstream. The naked eye couldn’t even detect the cinnabar’s bright hue.
“It depends on the severity of the poisoning. Full exposure to vaporized mercury is going to kill you within a few days up to several weeks. It depends on how much of the toxin reaches the internal organs. Fatal immediate mercury poisoning is rare. It’s usually a slow decline. But, most people aren’t exposed to mercury in the quantity found at some of these temples. Generally, it affects all parts of the body. In severe cases, learning capacity, memory, hearing, speech, motor skills, and vision are impaired. Psychosis is a possibility, too.”
I was proud of how neutral I sounded. I shrugged. “In the worst cases, the victim will eventually become mute and prone to episodes of rocking, crying, and unusual behaviors. Some victims may become violent.”
Will had, but he had lacked the strength to be a danger to anyone other than himself.
“In Miss Cassidy’s case, we’re not sure what’ll happen. Normally, lung and kidney exposure are the real dangers of exposure, but we haven’t pinpointed the primary sources of her contamination. If it’s within her brain, neurological symptoms are a likelihood. The problem is, we’re unable to get a clear reading on any of our scans. The machines malfunction.”
They did? I frowned at that unwanted piece of news. “What’s causing the malfunction?”
“We’re fairly certain it’s a variation of an earthweaving talent, but none of the doctors or weavers were able to identify any specific signatures.”
Nahua magic again—or the oddball mix of Nahua, Maya, and
Ch’olti’ I was beginning to associate with their magic. Only when the three dialects blended did things begin going downhill—or show as obviously magical.
“Their magic isn’t like anything I’ve seen before. I really don’t know how to best approach it. Anyone who enters the temple could easily die. We had three deaths at Site C near Joya de Ballesteros due to similar traps; they had a pit full of vermilion pigment. The three men who died had been fully submerged in it.”
My talent hadn’t been able to cope with the volume.
Professor Dunleavy watched me with narrowed eyes. “Without the direct evidence of your exposure, your story would seem rather farfetched, Miss Cassidy. Your contact in Mexico has mentioned you have an unusual interest in confirming magic in ancient cultures. This would fit your dialogue well, wouldn’t it?”
If I ever saw Sebastian again, I’d drown him in mud. I straightened and met his glare with one of my own. “My dissertation was going to be on the presence of magic in ancient cultures, yes.”
“Was?” he demanded.
“Was,” I confirmed. “There becomes a point where it’s obvious the greed of established men interested in my earthweaving talent overwhelms my direct ability to overcome the odds, and it’s no longer worth it for me to remain an intern and be deliberately failed so that a university can continue to take advantage of my talent so they can have cheap labor. While I appreciate not having been sent directly to prison for violating Nevada’s borders unintentionally, I’m no longer willing to put my life on the line as an intern.” I shrugged. “I’m a prideful fool at times, but even I can tell when I’ve hit a wall I can’t climb. I’ve already decided I’m filing my withdrawal.”
“You attend the University of Florida, correct?”
“Correct.”
“It would be a shame to waste your talent. I’m certain an arrangement could be made.”
As always, it always boiled down to my talent. Everything else I’d worked for didn’t matter. Maybe my parents had had the right idea; corporations valued their ability to mine without question, treating them well enough for members of the lower castes. Their talents would never be strong, but they did their job well, and they were rewarded for it.
All I’d have to show for my efforts was heartache.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Professor Dunleavy chuckled. “Well, you did enter Nevada illegally. You know how paper pushers can get.”
I did. Professor Dunleavy was the perfect example of one set to add to my misfortunes. “Do I get my single phone call before I’m locked up?”
“I think we can provide more comfortable accommodations. As for your call, it depends on who you wish to call and why.”
“There’s someone I need to speak to in Texas about the purchaser of a Nahua relic at their charity auction. I need to ask him a question.”
When I called the Texas auction coordinator, I hit yet another wall I couldn’t climb: Bachelor #103 had already left Texas to handle a problem at home. The woman refused to give me any information on how to find Landen, not even the name of his kingdom. She did mention I’d missed him by only a few hours, which stung. Frustrated, disappointed, and more than a little annoyed, I thanked her and hung up.
I supposed it was for the better. No matter what he had said, Landen didn’t need or deserve my baggage. I’d gotten myself into the situation in Nevada, I’d have to get myself out of trouble on my own.
I wouldn’t be able to thank him, but I could live with that, too. Sometime after I figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I’d try again. How many elites named Landen could exist in the world? It wouldn’t be impossible to find him if I really wanted to.
Being lonely was no excuse to bother him.
I needed to stop hoping for something that wouldn’t be and get over myself. We’d both wanted a fling and nothing more than a fling, no matter how much of my life he’d changed in one evening. It wasn’t his fault I’d discovered something I hadn’t known I’d wanted in him.
I needed to worry about my immediate future. Nevada would find ways to keep me in the kingdom; earthweavers trained for archaeological dig sites were few and far between. We’d been warned in school that most kingdoms would stoop to coercion to keep any earthweavers who left the sanctuary of their dig sites. Some kingdoms went further than coercion, too. Some wanted good researchers so much they’d kidnap them before stooping to coercion.
With a temple full of new magic and a fortune of knowledge to secure, I doubted I’d be returning to Mexico.
Nevada would treat me well enough until they decided what they wanted from me, then the pressuring would begin. If I did as Landen suggested, I’d wait out the storm to get the best deal possible, preserving my ability to pursue my goals in a new way.
If I led the Nevada dig team, it wouldn’t matter if I had a doctorate; I’d make my mark on the archaeological community. It’d be unorthodox, but I’d receive the recognition I wanted and it would open doors to other sites.
The temple catered to my expertise—if I was stubborn and brave enough to take the chance.
I knew little about Nevada; they had native populations and ruins, but they fell outside of my scope—or had prior to the discovery of the death temple.
Only an idiot would return to a place where men who believed they were gods would wade through cinnabar and mercury to prove it. I was insane for even thinking about returning to the place.
The truth bothered me. If I danced to Nevada’s tune, my life would change for the better. It had already changed for the better, at a cost of five dollars and a single quarter. What had begun as an attack on my pride and esteem had bloomed into opportunity.
I wouldn’t have to deal with Owen again. I wouldn’t have to deal with Sebastian again. I could move on. I could prove I was worth more than just my earthweaving talent. I could make something of myself.
It had taken so little to show me there were other ways. For that, I would never be able to repay Landen for his help. Worse, he’d never know.
Even if he deciphered my muddied business card, it wouldn’t do either one of us any good. The University of Florida wouldn’t forward emails once Nevada got their way, and I’d have a new phone number. The only thing I’d keep would be my name, and I doubted Landen would go through the hassle of finding me.
He surely had more important things to do.
I could accept that.
If Nevada had its way, they’d get the skilled earthweaver they wanted. If I had my way, I’d finally claim my dream of leading a dig at a site that truly mattered.
The death temple hiding in Nevada would completely change how the world viewed the Nahua, the Maya, and the Ch’olti’ empires. I’d discovered proof they’d been more widespread than believed.
I’d discovered proof they’d used magic.
I would open a new chapter in the history books, and I wouldn’t have to be content with a footnote credit.
My regrets would bother me, but I could live with them. If I crossed paths with Landen again, I would thank him for changing my life.
But if I never met him again, I’d thank him in the only way I could: I wouldn’t waste my chance.
Chapter Seven
To maintain the illusion I wasn’t a hostage, Carson City Royal University arranged for me to stay at a hotel within a five-minute drive from the hospital. I suspected they opted for a hotel over a prison cell, as if they kept me in a prison for more than twelve hours, they’d have to file paperwork with my home kingdom of New York, provide me with a lawyer New York deemed qualified, and file official accusations in a New York court.
Until I demanded a filing and a lawyer, they could keep me as a willing prisoner indefinitely.
Once settled in the suite, which had a kitchenette and felt more like an apartment than a hotel room, they gave my room’s number to Sebastian.
While I thought it was a dick move on their part, I waited for Sebastian to call.
It took hi
m less than ten minutes, and I grimaced when his phone number showed on the display. Bracing for the worst, I answered, “Hello, Sebastian.”
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
Okay was such a relative word, and I regarded my reddened skin with a wrinkled nose. “I’ve cost someone a fortune in medical treatments, probably myself. I got dumped into a temple full of cinnabar. In good news, it’s not in my lungs or kidneys now.”
The vehemence of Sebastian’s curses surprised me. “We thought they’d been lying about the cinnabar. Your talent—”
“I landed in a death trap, Sebastian. After a flare. I can’t work miracles. I’m alive, and that’s a miracle enough.”
“Oh.”
Maybe there were smarter men in Nevada who didn’t make me twitch whenever I was forced to talk to them. Instead of snapping at him like I wanted, I sighed. “I’m scheduled for daily exams at the hospital here until they’re convinced the mercury poisoning is under control. I’m not showing symptoms yet, but they don’t think they got it all out.”
Dr. Clemmondale had promised they’d fly in an expert with the appropriate talent to treat me if I did show symptoms. In two weeks, I’d likely find out if I was going to need additional treatments. I thought it was a clever way to keep me where they wanted.
“It’s really not a kidnapping?”
I considered hanging up on him. “Are you really trying to suggest Nevada yanked me out of Mexico?”
“It’s a possibility.”
What an idiot. “When you confirm teleportation actually exists as a talent, enjoy the global prestige.”
“It’s possible.”
“About as possible as ancient cultures having magic of their own?”
He sighed. “Don’t get nasty, Summer.”
“I’ll get nasty if I want. You weren’t the one covered head to toe in cinnabar, and that’s just the start of it. The temple’s in a desert. Dehydration would’ve killed me long before starvation or the mercury poisoning. Give me a break. I got lucky someone found me. Thank you for calling.”
The Captive King Page 9