by Queen, Nyna
“That was a completely different situation.”
“How so?”
Alex flung her hands in the air. “Because there was no other choice!”
Josy’s delicate, dark eyebrows drew together. “If there is a choice this time, then why aren’t we allowed to make it ourselves?”
Because you are children, Alex wanted to yell at her. Because your parents don’t want you to get hurt. Because I don’t want you to get hurt. Why don’t you understand that we simply want to keep you safe?
Yet the words simply wouldn’t find their way over her lips. Before her inner eye, she saw, once again, Darken vanishing between the trees astride his hover-cycle, and herself, standing helplessly at the upper floor window, not being able to do the damndest thing about it. The feeling of betrayal, the impotence, the pain. Ah, the pain…
He was just trying to keep her safe, too, she knew that. But by making the decision to leave without her, he had effectively robbed her of her choice in that matter, and if he were to appear right now, the first thing she would do would be to slap the hell out of him for thinking he could make that decision over her head. Well. Maybe not the first.
The point was, having lived the life she had, with her choices inherently limited by the compromised deck of cards she’d been dealt at birth, Alex had learned to value every choice she could make. If she wished to do a lap dance for the devil, she would damn well do that, and if she wanted to risk her life for the man she loved she’d do that, too. That was her choice to make, and hers alone.
Now, looking into Josy’s wide eyes, she recognized the same desperation which was eating up her own heart. The desperation which had seeded this entire crazy plan in the first place. The only difference between the girl and Alex was that Alex could do something about it.
The moment she had made the decision to save Darken’s royal ass, the weight of the worry on her shoulders had lightened at least by half. Yes, she knew it was risky, that she might even die, but at least she was doing something, and that was what kept her from losing her mind altogether.
Max was scuffing the ground with his house shoes and absently plucking the bristles from a hand brush, yet Josy kept looking at Alex with those big, bottomless eyes that were filled with anxiety but at the same time with a small, hidden spark of fierceness. She appeared so very young in her house gown and the pink plush slippers with their little bows on top, yet those eyes were older and they were burning with a silent, desperate fire.
At least for Josy, this wasn’t about swinging a sword in the front row nor about some ill-perceived notion of adventure or about proving her bravery. This was about feeling useful, about staying sane when your mind wanted to splinter into pieces from worry. Eventually, it was about being able to sacrifice something for the ones you loved, about … well, having a choice.
So how could Alex, who knew so well how it felt to be left without a choice, condemn the children to the same fate?
She bit the inside of her lip. There had to be something they could do that wouldn’t put them in immediate danger, some kind of token contribution that would, at the very least, take the worst sting out of the powerlessness they must be feeling right now, and still be enough of a contribution so they wouldn’t feel babied again.
Josy’s shoulders hunched as if she were already bracing herself against the rejection she was clearly expecting to come. Alex could all but hear Heloise’s sneering voice asking what they could possibly do to help anyway? But then, Heloise lacked imagination as sorely as she lacked any sense of humor, while life on the streets had made Alex resourceful and creative. Spinning a subtle web was a spider’s daily task, and she had always been a skilled weaver.
No longer tempered by morals and pseudo-parental qualms, it wasn’t exactly difficult to see how the kids and their requisite talents could be useful for their scheme. Stephane and Edalyne would throw a hissy fit if they ever found out about this, but Alex would deal with it when the time came—if they all survived that long, anyway. If not? Well, then at least that was one problem solved by itself.
Leaning forward, Alex raised a hand and crooked her forefinger at Max and Josy in a come-closer motion. “Actually, there is something you could do.”
The kids stepped forward simultaneously, eyes lighting up with eagerness.
“But”—Alex held up the same finger in warning—“not a single word to your parents. Or to your grandmother. Capisce?”
Eager nods.
From your lips to the Great Mother’s ear.
“Alright, here is what I need you to do.”
TWENTY minutes later, Alex left the townhouse, feeling distinctly as though she’d just stuck her hand into a wasps’ nest, hoping against hope she wouldn’t get stung.
She shouldered her bag, which suddenly seemed a lot heavier than before. The responsible thing would have been to deny the children’s request, she knew that very well. But responsible had never been her strong suit, and Max and Josy had been so excited about finally being included in the plan that she couldn’t feel all too bad about it. She just hoped Stephane and Edalyne would be lenient with them—and with her. After all, she had done her best to limit the kids’ involvement to the possible minimum.
At first, they had grumbled a little about the small scope of the contributions Alex was willing to allow them—Max in particular had complained about only getting a role in the backup plan, and how was it fair that Josy always got to do so much more than him?—but when Alex had pointed out that the alternative was not getting a role at all, they had both been quick to agree to their offered tasks, too happy to be given one to risk even that.
To be honest, Alex was relieved that Max had so easily accepted his role in the backup plan—or, more accurately, the backup of the backup, although she’d solicitously neglected to mention that. His assignment was grand enough to keep him busy fantasizing about it, while at the same time highly unlikely to become necessary in reality. In fact, Alex wholeheartedly hoped that they wouldn’t have to implement this phase of the plan, because if they did, it meant that she was probably already dead.
“THAT’s the rest of it.”
Rachel stowed the last wooden box in the trunk of the halfborn rental car and stepped back, wiping her hands on her jeans. The sea breeze played with the white braid dangling over her shoulder, tugging at loose strands and ruffling the owl feathers tied into it.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed Alex with her piercing blue gaze. “And you’re absolutely sure you want to go through with this, Lex?”
Alex let her eyes glide over the boxes in the trunk and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure.”
When she had arrived at Rachel’s cottage about two hours ago, she had told her friend everything that had happened since they had last seen each other, not omitting any details this time, including her involvement with Darken. She had also told her what they had found out about the Maria P. Carvalis Prison Camp, and what they were planning to do.
Rachel’s eyebrows had crept higher and higher on her forehead. “Well, butter my butt and call me a cookie,” she had muttered when Alex had finally wrapped up. “That prison camp sounds like one special part of hell. I don’t think I have ever heard anything more despicable. This Master-guy needs to be stopped, but darling, what you’re planning? It’s utter madness.”
“That’s about the kindest thing anyone has yet said to me on that account,” Alex had told her with a dry grin.
Rachel hadn’t jumped on her attempt to lighten the mood. Instead, worry had crinkled the skin around her eyes.
“You could die, Lex.”
Alex had sighed. “I’m aware of that.”
Rachel’s eyebrows had arched upward. “Well, then let me rephrase this, darling: You will most certainly die.”
“I know, Rachel,” Alex had told her softly and then quickly raised her hands to stifle further protests. “I know … I know it all.”
“Uh-huh.” Rachel had looked at her dou
btfully and pursed her lips. “Is the boy worth it?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Alex hadn’t been able to stop herself from chuckling.
Rachel had frowned. “Did I say something funny?”
“Seriously, Rach, I think you’re the only person in the world who would refer to Darken as ‘boy’.”
“Well, those are the privileges of the elderly,” Rachel had said. "But you didn’t answer my question, darling. Is he worth it?”
Alex didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes.” There was no more laughter, only quiet conviction as her heart hummed with the truth of her words. “He is everything.”
“He really means that much to you, huh?”
“I love him, Rachel.” It was a simple as that. And Alex wished she’d had the chance to tell him before he’d left.
Rachel had raised her eyes to the overcast sky where gray and white clouds were battling for dominance and sighed. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting for you to say these words.” She slowly shook her head. “I just wish the circumstances wouldn’t have been quite so … dramatic.”
Her gaze had returned to Alex. “And he? Does he love you, too?”
Alex had smiled. “I believe he does.”
Rachel had sighed again. “Very well then. I think I have a thing or two in my repository that you might find helpful for that scheme of yours.”
Now, one hour later, everything was packed in the car, and the only thing left to do was to say goodbye.
Alex pawed the sandy ground with the toe of her boot, watching the sand form little rises around it. In the distance, waves rolled against the sandy shore with a low, incessant mutter. A seagull cried overhead. The air smelled of salt and memories. One memory, in particular, shoved its way into her mind, like a spider squeezing itself though a narrow crack: of one evening, many years ago, when she’d spent the night at Rachel’s place and had sat on the floor in front of her friend’s armchair with her head leaned against Rachel’s lap, both of them snuggled up in blankets, reading books and drinking cheap, heated honey wine while rain pelted the windows. It was such a random memory, she had no idea why it was this one she remembered so clearly right now. Maybe because its mundaneness had made it so special. Maybe because she had been happy that night. Maybe because she was afraid that this was the last time she would see her friend and the fear was trying to woo her away from her chosen track.
She swallowed. It felt like swallowing a mouthful of sand.
“Sure you don’t want my help with this, Lex?” Rachel asked into the stretching silence.
Alex forced herself to smile and gently shook her head, saying again what she had already said five or six times today, “You already helped more than enough, Rachel. I’ve got this from here.”
Not that there was much Rachel could do to help anyway. But the truth was, she didn’t want to put another loved one at risk. Things were bad enough as they were.
“Very well.” Rachel nodded, accepting the truth—and the subtle lie—in Alex’s words. After all, she had been the one who had taught Alex to recognize when it was time to ask for help and when there was a road that had to be walked alone.
Rachel reached into the back pocket of her jeans and held out a small, slightly crooked dagger. It was a beautiful blade clasped in a scabbard of thin black leather with a gleaming black handle inlaid with a silver knot pattern. “Here.”
Alex blinked and took a step back, determinedly shaking her head. “No, I can’t take that one. It’s your lucky knife.”
“Exactly. You’ll need all the luck you can get if you want your plan to work. Take it. It will make me sleep better at night.” She shoved the dagger into Alex’s hand. “By the way, it’s just loaned. I expect to get it back.”
Alex bit her lip as she pocketed the knife. “Thank you, Rachel. For everything.” Her eyes were suddenly burning. The salt. It had to be the salt.
They looked at each other, the silence between them filled with too many words, none of which adequate enough to express what Alex really wanted to say—all the words that were written on her heart with the ink of gratitude, friendship and love that simply wouldn’t find their way over her tongue.
Rachel waved her arms. “Oh, give an old woman a hug.” Alex leaned into the embrace, trying to convey everything that she felt through her touch. Rachel’s arms were warm and comforting and their touch gave her strength, like so many times before.
Rachel finally broke away, took her by the shoulders and peered into her face, her blue eyes solemn like the rolling waves. “Now, I know these words don’t mean much to you, but for once, please be careful, darling. Promise me you’ll be careful. I mean it, promise.”
“I promise,” Alex whispered, choking on the tears that would no longer be denied. They slipped from the corners of her eyes in hot trickles and added to the salty taste of the sea on her tongue. She hugged her friend once more—a short, crushing embrace—and then quickly climbed into the car before she could crack. She started the engine and drove off, the car jolting in the deep tire tracks of the sandy beach road.
Twenty minutes later, Alex was on the highway, speeding back toward the city. She held onto the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers ached. She had meant it when she had promised Rachel that she would be careful. Only in this case, she wasn’t sure if that would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE magic-fueled street lamps flickered to life like silver-blue ghost lights floating under delicate glass bulbs as Lord Lystiteles Édouard Falcrum disembarked the chauffeur-driven coach at the dead end of Whitestone Avenue. He tossed a couple of bills at the driver, left instructions as to when to pick him up again on Monday morning, and then sent the man on his way to spend the rest of his evening as he pleased. He wouldn’t need his services anymore tonight.
When the coach was off, Falcrum turned around and shuffled his way up the small hill to his manor house.
Falcrum Manor. The sound of it would never cease to delight him.
His home was located in the best part of Aeryum, one of Lancaester’s finest towns, not too far from Gral de Bassano yet far enough away to escape the convent’s foul air for a while.
He could have moved somewhere a little less fancy, he reflected, somewhere closer to the town center, a place that wouldn’t have been so horrendously expensive—but why contend himself with second rate quality if he could have the prime selection? He could afford it after all. His salary as Provost of Lancaester’s Forfeit convent might not buy him any castles, but it more than sufficed for a life with all the comforts and amenities he would never have dreamed of as a boy.
Not that his family had been poor, but they weren’t descendants of the royal elite and simply because of that, certain circles had been closed to them.
Not anymore. The Provost smiled to himself. People were completely right when they said money ennobles. Money—and good connections. Ah, what a little bit of money could do. The parties, the performances, the gala dinners … and of course, the manor. The place even came with a number of trained servants, including a cook, cleaning personnel, and a gardener, who lived close by in town. This kind of luxury was something Falcrum hadn’t thought he would ever take for granted, although he had quickly learned to enjoy its perks. How easy it was to get used to a certain standard of living…
Yes, his position as the head of one of the biggest Order convents in Arcadia had opened him many doors. If only it didn’t come with having to deal with them.
The Provost shuddered involuntarily and threw a quick look around. The soothing glow of the street lamps was falling behind, getting lost in the encroaching gloom. Up ahead, he could already glimpse the warm lights of the manor atop the hill, its bulky shape outlined against the falling dusk, but around him twilight reigned, quickly gulping up the world like a hungry beast.
A soft shiver ran down Falcrum’s spine.
Deep blue shadows pooled underneath the sturdy oaks and alders lining the paved pathwa
y, crawling closer to him the farther he moved away from the street. By the Blind Child’s cursed eyes, he really needed to ask the town major to have some additional lights installed up here. Certainly, considering his position, his bidding would be fulfilled in a blink.
Increasing his steps, he nervously scanned the shadows through narrowed eyes, almost expecting to see two red dots igniting inside them.
You’re behaving ridiculously, Lord Falcrum chided himself.
Darken was probably at the other end of the country by now, perhaps even trying to seek asylum in Tharsis, though it seemed doubtful that it would be granted to him. As far as Falcrum was aware, the Tharsian bastards killed those born with Death’s curse as soon as it manifested itself—a practice Arcadia would have been well-advised to look into as well. For all their military worth, keeping Death’s Servants under control was simply too much trouble. Not that he intended to mention this to his superiors.
Something snapped to his right and he wheeled around, heart beating in his throat, fingers closing around the vocarum in the pocket of his jacket. His gaze snagged on the shadows, but nothing moved nearby. A raccoon, perhaps?
He nervously fingered the smooth little device in his pocket, feeling foolish for wanting to activate it yet unwilling to let go of it either.
After a few long moments, he forcefully uncurled his fingers from the vocarum, rolled his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the anxiety tensing up his muscles, and moved on.
No need to be so jumpy. Not even Darken would dare come here, into the heart of Lancaster. The whole area teemed with Forfeits, and everyone was on the lookout for him.
Still. Falcrum tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself, feeling chilly despite the warm summer evening. He would only be able to sleep peacefully again once the bastard was finally apprehended.