by K. E. Blaski
Every lantern was dark. They could be walking through the dungeons, for all Jennica could see. As they approached the door to the harem room, she asked, “Why won’t the lanterns light?”
“The Cidrans escaped. It’s why I was late. We’ve a few lanterns, and a few rooms still have light, but nothing in the passageways.”
“Oh. I see.”
He must’ve heard something in her voice, because he stopped just outside the door, grabbed her shoulder, and turned her to face him. By the flickering light of his lantern, she saw realization spread across his face. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How’d you get to them all? There are thousands of lanterns in the castle.”
“I didn’t.” She shook her head, worried that she’d made life in the castle much worse, scared to admit what she’d done. “I freed one room.”
“No.” His jaw dropped. He knew. “Tell me you didn’t release the Cidrans in the harem room.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed open the door. The harem room was a cave now, black and cold. Damen held the lantern up, swinging it around, throwing light into the corners and around the walls.
The wives were gone.
JENNICA
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE CONFESSION
What had she done? Jennica clasped her elbows.
“The wives must be infected with Cidrans, and now they’ve opened all the lanterns to let the rest of them out,” Damen said.
“But where are the wives now?” She worried for them. And for Lasca. And Logan. Sweet, funny, brave Logan. She thought of him sharing his breakfast with her that very morning, and a heavy hand pressed against her heart.
“I don’t know where they went.”
Damen and Jennica sat across from each other, cross-legged, on the warm stone floor of the North Tower. Aprica was high and hot, but clouds drifted by often enough to give them a reprieve from the heat. Jennica reached around and tied up her hair to cool the sweat off the back of her neck.
“Talk to me,” he said.
She did. She told him about Lasca and the harem. Februus’s murder. She got up and paced, sat back down—restless and wrestling with the consequences of what she’d done. She kept seeing Logan thrashing on the ground. Accusing her. Because of a picture she’d sketched to save her life. She shared her guilt with Damen.
His face full of concern, he listened intently to her. Never interrupting, he never averted his gaze.
Finally, she told him about Argathe, the death of the hawk, and the proposal to kill Noble.
He let her words sink in for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but you can’t trust Argathe. Even less than you can trust the Cidrans.”
“How can I trust anyone? Even you? The minute someone asks you what we talk about, you have to tell them. Telling a secret to you is like shouting through a bullhorn.”
“I try to avoid situations where I have to talk about you.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working for you?”
“I’ve had mixed results.”
“That’s what I thought. So why do you dislike Argathe so much?” She was ghastly to look at, and crude, but Damen’s reaction went beyond those things. His contempt seemed—personal.
She watched him struggle, but he had to answer her question. She waited.
“Argathe used to be my mother.”
There were no words. Only shock. “Wow,” was all she could come up with.
“I don’t know ‘wow.’”
“I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t expect ‘mother.’ I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t ‘mother.’”
“Used to be mother. Since she joined the Order of Enau, she renounced her family. I gave up on her long before that.”
“What happened? Why’d she turn into . . . you know, what she is?” The witch from “Hansel and Gretel” is what Jennica wanted to say, but she kept her snideness to herself. Damen seemed to be reliving something painful. She didn’t need to add to his misery.
“I wish you hadn’t asked me. You’ll think less of me.”
She reached for him, threading her fingers through his so he couldn’t twist them in his robes. His dark eyes flashed with panic, then dread, and she wished she could take the question back. Her chest tightened as she watched him fight the answer, like he was fighting himself, two sides of the same person: the one obligated to tell the truth, the other longing to be silent. As long as she’d known him, the Tovar side had always won.
“It’s my fault she is who she is. Mine and my father’s.”
“Your father? I thought he died in a war.”
“No. I told you he died shortly after he was recruited into Noble’s army. He left the battalion before they were done fighting.”
“He was a deserter.”
“Here we call them traitors. He left the battlefield, left his fellow soldiers. It’s an unforgivable crime. He hid in the villages, always on the move, never in one spot too long to look suspicious. We didn’t know where he was. All we knew was the soldiers were looking for him. And we knew what he’d done—or in his case, didn’t do: stay and fight like a soldier.
“Eventually, he came home. Of course, we were glad to see him. My mother cooked him a welcome home meal, bathed him, waited on him. But he was a danger to us—we could be imprisoned for hiding him.
“About a week later, soldiers came to the house looking for him again. They asked my mother where he was. She said she didn’t know.” Damen dropped his head, hesitating. “Then they asked me.”
His hair had fallen in front of his face, hiding it. Jennica drew it aside. “You told them where he was,” she said for him, so he wouldn’t have to. “Damen, it wasn’t your fault. You can’t help telling the truth, it’s your nature, you’re a Tovar—your parents knew that. It was wrong for them to put you in that position.”
“No. They didn’t know. And I didn’t know. None of us knew until that moment when those soldiers kept asking me questions, and I kept answering them. My tongue wasn’t my own.
“They pulled my father out from under the floorboards, threw a sack over his head, and shackled him to a cart. One of the soldiers said I must be a Tovar or . . .”
“Or what? It’s okay, Damen, you can say it.”
“I have to say it.” He grimaced, his face a mask of disgust. With himself, she knew. “He said I must be a Tovar . . . or the most disloyal son he’d ever seen.” He squeezed her hand so tightly the bones in her hand screamed, but she didn’t cry out. She had to be strong for him. “Being a Tovar is my curse, Jennica. Even when I’d rather die than speak, I have to say the truth. And that’s what the soldier said, too. He said he’d die before giving up his father like I did. Then my mother said I was already dead. To her.”
“Oh, Damen.” How horrible. The worst her parents ever did was ignore her; they’d never wished her dead, at least not to her face.
“My mother was desperate to save my father. Traitors are tortured and executed. His fate had been set the moment he ran from the battlefront, but she wouldn’t admit it. She turned to the Order of Enau for help. They promised to teach her dark science—for a price. There’s always a price. She thought she could use dark science to rescue him.
“But Noble didn’t keep him around long enough to be rescued. He consumed the souls of twenty traitors the very next day. Soldiers hung my father’s body in the marketplace with the rest. They tossed his body in a mass grave at the edge of Durand.
“I dug him up for her. I thought she’d clean him, dress him, bury him proper, but no. She laid him out on the table in our cabin. Performed rights on him, injected his body with potions, cited incantations. His body lay there for months, rotting on the table, while she tried to bring him back to life.”
“You were there through it all?” Jennica couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like to see his mother’s desperation acted ou
t on his father’s corpse.
“I started sleeping in the shed. She left for a few days, to get more supplies, and to consult with the Order. While she was gone, I buried him myself. Left his grave unmarked, so she couldn’t find him and dig him back up again. Then I packed up a few belongings and joined the Priests of Tovar. I was thirteen.”
“How awful. Did she? When she came back, did she dig him up?”
“Not as far as I know, and she’s never asked me what I did with him. It’s like he never existed to her. A couple years later, I heard from a traveler that she’d been initiated into the Order of Enau.”
“She must not want to know where you buried your father—’cause she knows if she asks, you have to tell.”
They sat in silence for a while—Damen immersed in whatever misery his memories took him to, Jennica going over his story and feeling worse for him by the minute. She held his hands, running her thumbs over the backs, trying to soothe him.
“Argathe must’ve loved him very much,” she finally said.
“She did. She doesn’t love anyone now.”
Jennica shook her head. She didn’t want Damen to feel he wasn’t worthy of his own mother’s love. She tried to help. “Argathe loves you. She helped you save Nyima—she wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t love you.”
“Love? Ha—she wanted to make history, raise her position in the Order, she said so herself. And look at her now, Noble’s favorite. It’s the epitome of success for a dark scientist.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“How, then? How do you see it?”
“Your mother knows you love Nyima, same as she loved your father. She wanted to save you from the same grief. And maybe—maybe she’s here at the castle now to be closer to you.” She hoped he’d see the truth in her words. She believed them. Maybe he could too.
He set her hands aside, pushed off the ground, and tromped to the edge of the tower, his body framed by white clouds. Defeated, shoulders slumped, he looked like something was eating away at him from the inside out.
She watched and waited, choking back her questions. She wanted his words to come from his own need to say them—not because she forced him to answer.
“I still love Nyima,” Damen said at last.
Regret seeped into Jennica’s heart. If only she could take back the L word from last night. It was as she feared. She couldn’t compete with his feelings for Nyima; she was only a reminder of what he could’ve had with her.
“As my friend. She was my only friend, from when we were children,” he went on.
“I understand.”
Damen held up his hand for a moment. “No. Wait . . . I love you differently. I love you . . . like a mate. My soul mate. I’ve only recently admitted it to myself, or I would’ve told you sooner. You see, I never thought I could have this kind of love. Or that I deserved it. But last night, after you said what you did, I knew I had to tell you how I felt, too.”
Her heart pounded in her ears: he can’t lie, he can’t lie.
“That first night I might’ve cared because you were in Nyima’s body; I admit that. But I’ve come to know you, and you’re completely different from her. You make me feel . . . I can hardly put it into words. With you, Jennica, I’m alive. No matter how much inhibitor I take, when I think about you, spend time with you, see the real you inside this shell I forced you to wear . . . I never want to leave your side. The more I know you, the more I love you.”
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“I said I love you. It’s why I can’t apologize for bringing you here. I’m glad you’re here. I want you here. With me. Jennica.”
Her name was beautiful coming out of his mouth. She went to him, and he folded her into his arms. His lips found hers and they were warm and soft and trembling just a tiny bit. She kissed him right back. Not because someone told her to, but because she wanted to. She wanted to more than anything. More than breathing.
But they had to breathe, so they stopped, and Damen pressed his cheek against hers, his lashes dusting her skin. His hands fit into the small of her back and he whispered her name—not Nyima’s name, but her name. His lips moved against her throat as he said her name again and again. One hand stroked the curve of her spine through her robe, the other cupped her chin, drawing her into another kiss.
She didn’t feel awkward or anxious anymore. Instead, she’d found the piece to a puzzle she’d been searching for for a very long time. Her heart soared. She laced her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, willing his skin to melt into hers. She searched in his robe, seeking the warmth of his chest—to feel his heart beating against her palm. His skin grew hot beneath her fingertips.
He took her hand and pulled it away, holding tight. “We have to stop.”
“Don’t you want me?” It was mean to ask, but she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to make out forever. She wanted to . . . yes . . . she wanted to make love. But already the breeze threatened to erase the heat from his kisses.
“Of course I do, but if we carry this through—and Aprica knows I want to—your skin will change. Noble will kill us both.”
“Why didn’t he die?” The basket had been crushed on impact. Noble under the rubble, flaming canvas falling around him. “He should be dead. All our problems could be over.”
“They’ve only begun.” Marcis stood at the entrance to the tower.
How long had he been there? From the look on his face, long enough.
“What’s happened?” Damen wrapped his arm around Jennica’s shoulder, like he was claiming his territory.
“Noble is very much alive, and Argathe’s with him. They’re waiting. He’s asked the soldiers to find you. You’re lucky I found you first.” His cold tone left made it obvious what he meant. “I’ll tell Quintus that I think you’re up here. He’ll have to escort you to Noble’s room.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Damen said.
“While you two have been risking your safety getting to know each other better, thousands of Cidrans have been released. We’re lighting the passageways with torches where we can. The ventilation isn’t good, so it’s smoky. And the harem’s disappeared—all of them. Likely they’ve been kidnapped. Also, we’ve found the shooter who took down Noble’s flying machine.”
“Who was it?” Jennica asked.
“A servant girl. Named Lasca.”
JENNICA
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE DECISION
Propped with pillows, Noble lay across a couch, looking as healthy as ever. A normal man would’ve at least had a broken bone, a cut, a bruise, something. Maybe he bled internally.
“Are you in pain?” Jennica asked, making a special effort to keep the expectant tone out of her voice.
His gaze felt like unwanted hands. “Not at all, my lovely. Completely healed. Come here and give me a kiss.”
She placed her kiss on the air above his cheek, so he wouldn’t feel it. He let her defiance slide, like he didn’t notice, but she saw the left side of Argathe’s lip curl. She had the sudden urge to press her thumbs into Noble’s ogling eyeballs, like she’d done to Nyima’s aunt when the woman was choking her. How fast could he really heal?
“Damen, introduce your mother to my wife. Quickly,” Noble added when Damen hesitated. “I have things to discuss.”
“Nobless, allow me to introduce Argathe, dark scientist from the Order of Enau. Argathe, your Nobless, Jennica Lorinne Duncan from the planet Earth.”
Was she supposed to shake hands and say nice to meet you to the witch who’d broken into her room, broken into her life to snatch her soul, broken her son’s heart? She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, knowing everything she did about Damen’s mother.
Argathe bowed, and Jennica simply nodded.
Jennica had never been in her husband’s room before. Cylindrical, with eight round windows evenly spaced around the perimeter, it had a steady cross breeze that smelled like the sea. Shelves carved i
nto the stone walls contained weapons, papers, and books. There was no bed, only the couch set in the center; four chairs and one large table sat off to the side. She peered out one of the windows. Noble’s room was on the third floor.
Noble addressed Quintus. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“The servant girl helped the Cidrans infect the harem. She also murdered Februus Klaud, before her attempt on your life. It is unclear who broke the lanterns in the passageways.
“The rebellion is disorganized, for now. A handful of servants plus thirty or more citizens from Durand. They’ve been captured, and interrogations are underway.
“The problem is the word from the outlying villages. Some of the leaders see your keeping Nobless alive as a sign of weakness. Our spies tell us that Lombard is forming an army outside the city of Nathane, as is Fascienne from Casilda. Divided, they are easily defeated, but if they were to combine forces . . . it might be a strain on our resources to defeat them. We’d need your shield to protect us.”
Noble sighed. “What I do with my wife is not weakness. She enhances my power with knowledge not available anywhere else on this world. Drawing me out to the battlefield again? That is their weakness, when the destruction of their people is still fresh.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for their death wish. Send the least conspicuous of your company to infiltrate their armies and assassinate their leaders. And take out that tribal woman, Fascienne, first.” Noble wiped his hands.
Argathe shook her bony finger at Noble. “Your soldiers stand out like bos in the bedroom. Silver scales don’t camouflage. Send mercenaries, or even better, loyal civilians. They can hide and blend.”
“Ensuring a civilian’s loyalty is more difficult,” Quintus said, siding with Noble. “Also, they’re not trained to withstand questioning if discovered.”
With a rare look of thoughtfulness, Noble seemed to consider Argathe’s statement. “Civilians. They’ll be loyal, if their families are—under my protection.” Noble looked at Jennica when he spoke. “Argathe, you’ll give my new spies a way out if they’re discovered.”