“Escort Miss Marlowe to the kitchen.”
He stretches. “Then am I free to go?”
Foster neatly aligns a stack of books on the coffee table. “Attend to your training and return this evening.”
Cole opens the library door and waits for me to walk through. As soon as I pass him, he mumbles, “No boyfriends? Not even a pet, huh?”
“You were pretending to be asleep?”
My face burns as my mind whips through every detail I gave Foster. I storm through the hallway, only to find Maddox waiting by the archway to the War Room. His face is cleaned of blood from the fight, but the scrapes remain.
“How’d it go?” he asks me, his wary glance flickering to Cole.
“Foster wants me to sit around and do nothing but look at artwork for the next three days. They won’t train me. They won’t fight Sage.” I fling out a hand. “If I even show an ounce of rebellion, I’m dead and Mom will be labeled a traitor. You know I can’t sit still. What if I have another vision?”
“We’ll figure it out.” Maddox places his hand on my back guiding me away from Cole.
He really shouldn’t touch me. “Figure what out?” I widen the distance between us. “How to get me trained? How to convince Council to fight? I don’t understand why everyone is so paranoid that I’ll recreate something that happened way back in the Renaissance. Something I don’t even know about.”
Maddox walks through the War Room with a comfortable familiarity, even though he seems so out of place. It’s hard to imagine this museum being his home. “It’s because a Blight almost gave Sage access to the Empyrean Well,” he says. “The portal was near a villa in Florence. Sage almost got through the gate but was splintered. Burst into sparks but didn’t die. The rest of the world, the Commons, had no clue. Since the fight took place in the second realm, they only felt a minor earthquake.”
Maddox glances at the gruesome tapestry. “It’s taken Sage centuries to reform. But now that he knows the power of the gate, everyone’s worried he’ll find a way of getting through.”
Cole follows surprisingly silent behind us, probably listening to every word and mapping it to what he knows about Sage.
I’ll grill him about it later. Right now, I’m more interested in what Maddox can share. Something tells me I won’t get this chance again. “When I was changing, I overheard you mention the Well was your power source—or at least where the Current comes from, but—”
Maddox comes to a hard stop as we reach the entry hall. “How much did you hear?”
“I kinda heard everything.”
Maddox rubs his forehead. “About that. I wanted to, I mean, I tried to—”
“Forget it, seriously. That’s over and done between us. You’re Elite. I know what I am. I get it. Mistakes happen. Let’s just move on.” With those platitudes, I go into the dining room, following the scent of warm bread.
Maddox turns to Cole. “Hey man, you can go, if you want. I’ve got her.”
“Not sure you do.” Cole walks off and out the front door.
I overlook Maddox’s expression and continue on. “I can’t sit back and do nothing while those creatures roam around, picking off Awakened like a”—I catch sight of the dining table set buffet-style—“like a dessert bar. I only agreed to come here because I wanted training. I know that taking on Sage is way bigger than me. I wanted to join the Alliance so I could save lives. But now I learn they won’t fight. Why?”
“Council will preserve what they have at all costs, but they won’t initiate a fight they don’t think they can win.”
“But they have all the weapons, the training, the knowledge,” I argue. “Even a global army. Don’t they have what it takes?”
“I don’t think they did, until now.” I’m caught in the rising hope of Maddox’s eyes that gleam brighter than a sunrise. An electric charge hums in the thin space between us, a connection that’s so much more than the Current. I look down at the table set with pristine silver and white china. At the delicate patterns in the linen. I will myself to stay calm. He’s not—it’s not possible. But I wish it were.
A door to the back patio opens. A grumpy Blade with a patchy beard and pocked cheeks steps inside. Maddox pays him no attention, even as he side-eyes us not so discreetly.
My voice is a decibel above a whisper. “Maddox, I want to train. I want to fight, but they won’t let me. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Trust Foster,” he tells me. “Do what he asks.”
The grumpy Blade walks out. Clearly spying.
“But he only wants me to stare at classical artwork for the next three days. Unless . . .” The flames in the wall sconces send fluid shadows over a Florentine urn in the middle of the table. The design suddenly feels alive. “Do you think he believes there’s a solution embedded in the artwork that they haven’t been able to decipher?”
“Maybe,” Maddox says as we approach the entryway of a cozy terra-cotta kitchen.
“If I discover the answer, do you think Council will change their mind and fight?”
“Maybe not.”
I stop. “Then what’s the point? If there’s a way to defeat Sage, shouldn’t someone try?”
“Look, a lot of us feel the way you do. It’s kinda why I created Hesperian.” He lowers his voice, even though we’re alone. His gaze lands on a stained glass frame hanging on the wall. The vivid colors remind me of Hesperian’s ceiling. His words come quickly. “I’ve been thinking about something for a while now. About how to create art as an effective way to fight, you know, combine our talents and Bents for battle. We’ll still need training, but art could give us an advantage Sage and the creatures wouldn’t expect. If you could cooperate with Foster and find the answer, find something that might show how to bring Sage or those beasts down, then we might have a shot at convincing the Alliance.”
“Really?”
“If they won’t listen, then at least we’ll have a strong group ready to protect Awakened. We can start something new. You find an answer. I’ll gather support.”
I want to brand his optimism into my heart.
Before I can ask him anything more, Lina comes in the back door with Harper at her heels. “So this flower will—” Harper frowns when she sees us. Then she notices the scrapes on Maddox’s face. “What did you do? Was it Gray?” She drags him toward the small nook in the back of the kitchen and quickly washes her hands before whipping out supplies from her kit. “How are your ribs?” She prods his side.
He jumps a little. “Fine.”
It never occurred to me that Harper’s been the one bandaging his wounds and putting him back together after his brawls with Gray. It makes sense why she was so protective—possessive—of him when we first met. I shrink onto a wooden barstool, suddenly feeling out of place. Especially as Harper dabs the corner of Maddox’s lip with clean gauze. Her face bears a skeptical look as he says something I can’t hear over the exhaust fan. Not like it’s any of my business. I turn away.
Lina scoops out a thick broth loaded with corn, chicken, and potato that’s been bubbling on the stove. She sets the clay bowl in front of me and then slides over a plate filled with rice, chopped avocado, puffy cheese bread, and a few other foods I don’t know. “Gracias, Lina.” I swirl my spoon in the broth, watching wispy steam flit away.
Familiar but unwelcome steel-toed boots appear at the threshold. “Maddox. Get to training. We had a deal.” Gray’s voice grates under my skin and spreads like venom across the pit of my stomach. I don’t dare look at him or else my fingers may accidentally chuck my steaming bowl in his direction.
Maddox stands without a word. Doesn’t put up a fight. I’m not sure what deal was made, but he looks determined. Stronger. Taller. As he passes me, he whispers, “Later,” and leaves.
Gray doesn’t.
His hard footsteps shatter the solace. One. Two. Three steps in my direction, and he’s standing beside me as Harper separates her cuttings on the counter. She doesn’t acknowledge hi
s presence. No, I take that back. She’s refusing to.
“Harper.” His tone is flatter than the herb she smashes on the counter.
“Gray.” Her glower could chill the fires of hell.
I sit still, flicking my gaze back and forth between them as Lina stirs the bubbling pot. I’m trying not to squirm in the seething silence of their two-word exchange.
As if I’m invisible, Gray says, “Tell the Blight she’ll be harnessed to someone else. All ties to my brother are now severed. If I find her near him again, she’ll know what that means.”
He walks out.
Harper picks up a knife and chops the flowers with hard, quick beats. “Elitist jerk.”
I smile on the inside. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.
After I’ve finished eating and Lina has patched my leg with a waxy ointment that has the burn of fire ants chewing their way to the bone, Harper escorts me to the library.
I’m determined to stay focused. If I can find the solution to defeat Sage, then with Maddox’s help, Council might agree to fight.
I stand outside the library doors, not sure what waits on the other side. But I’ll cooperate and do what’s required. I’ll work hard to be who they want. Push aside what they don’t. Show that I can be part of their community. Do my best to fit in and find a place in Maddox’s world.
As I open the door, hope sprouts wings. My pulse charges faster than stormy lightning seeking solid ground.
My training is about to begin.
Training is torture. Mental torture of the cruelest kind.
“Try again.” Pop leans forward in the wingback chair as I sit in the corner of the couch for what seems like hours and try to interpret past visions from memory. “Pick another vision. We’ll start over.” Pop eases back in the chair.
Dusk chokes the library with purple hues as natural light fades.
He has no idea what he’s asking, having me pull up images from the deep subconscious graves of my mind, cracking open nightmares I’ve spent my life trying to forget. Still, I bury my frustration because he’s never taught a Blight, and I know he’s teaching me to interpret visions the way normal Seers do—the only way he knows how.
Any vision training I should have received early on would have come from Dad, if he hadn’t walked out on us. But as a Dissenter, Dad’s teaching would have only skewed me toward helping Sage.
I refocus and work hard to give him what he wants. Foster, who has been at his desk observing, taking notes, and assessing, gets up to turn on the lights.
“Let the vision have control,” Pop says. “Now don’t go wrestling the images. Let the Current guide. Seers, we get a whole image. Art complete. We take that image and transcribe what’s there. I know it ain’t the same for you, but starting in the same place we do might help you see.”
I study him talking to the air instead of looking in my direction. The amber lights soften his round face, aged with wrinkles of pain, wisdom, and loss. The dark glasses shield his delicate eyes. I can’t imagine giving my life to the Alliance, only to be cast aside, blind, and walled up inside an apartment, counting down each sunset only by the heat withdrawing from my skin.
“You hearing me?” Pop points his shaky finger in my direction.
I pat his hand in both of mine. “Yes, Pop. I’m listening.”
“Good.” He sits upright. “Your visions are broken because both sides war within you, wantin’ control. To interpret, you need to connect the lines. I’m guessin’ that like you, Blight artists pulled one or two main elements from a vision and embedded those in the message. You’ll be searching for the connection between ’em.”
At this rate, my limited time to find an answer is going to quickly run out. “Should I look at the art now?” I pick up a book.
“Visions first.” Pop taps his forehead. “Hold one element still in your mind. The Current will present itself, and slowly reveal the others, pulling ’em together until the pieces tell a whole story. Watch ’em come together from your periphery if you have to. Don’t try ’n’ grab one too fast. They’ll scatter away like rabbits in a hawk field.” He adjusts a blanket over his lap. “Let’s give it another try. What do you remember from your last vision? First thing that comes to mind.”
I set the book aside. “The broken goblet,” I say, unequivocally.
“Close your eyes, and use that image.”
I place my hands on my knees, yoga-style, and close my eyes. I work hard to shut out Foster shuffling papers and voices drifting from the courtyard. I visualize the goblet, but the only image that forms in my mind is the one Maddox drew—the careful strokes, the perfect details in the stem, the severed basin. Every detail foretelling Harper’s impending death.
Pop’s voice slices through the hazy memory. “Careful not to think on what the boy drew. That’s a common problem. Think on what the Current gave you.”
“Once it’s on paper, I can’t see anything else.”
“’Cause your sight gets in the way,” Pop tells me. “No worry. You’ll be having another vision soon and can work on it then. Before you see the drawing.”
“How do you know I will?” I sit up. “And if that’s the case, I won’t have time to wait around and figure things out. Someone’s life will be on the line.”
“I reckon it’ll be different this time.”
“Every vision I’ve had meant someone was about to die.”
Pop’s dark glasses focus on me. “Outside these Walls your visions were warnings about Sage finding you first. Now that you’re here, things are different. I reckon the visions will be too. All depends on what the Current shows you the Well is tryin’ to do.” Pop is quiet for a moment. “The Well, it’s up to something. I can feel it. When the time’s right, it’ll send you another message. In the meantime, practice lettin’ the images form in your mind.”
That’s easy for him to say. He doesn’t have years of carnage choking his memories. I slump in the couch, feeling like an epic failure.
Someone beats on the door, hard. Insistent. I jump. Foster gives the command to enter.
“Lieutenant.” Devon rushes in, his voice urgent and his expression strikes fear within me. “We’ve received reports of an attack by Legions at a training location we thought was secure and unknown to the enemy.”
Foster turns rigid. “Fatalities?”
“Unknown.”
I spring off the couch. I have only one thought. “My mom?”
“It wasn’t Hesperian.” Devon’s face is wrung tight.
My heart slows a millisecond. “Can you bring her here, behind the Circuit Wall, so she’s safe?” It’s a bold request and probably out of line.
“Calm yourself, Honey.”
I can’t be calm. I’ve caused my mother so much pain over the last ten years. Her failing health is my fault. Taking on the pain of my visions, not using a Healer’s help because she was hiding me from the Alliance and Sage. Now she’s the one exposed while I’m locked inside the Garden.
“Edward is correct in his assertion that there has been a battle to acquire you. Now that you are here, Miss Marlowe, I expect this will be one of several attacks.” Foster straightens a paperweight of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. “I have no doubt that Sage will utilize whatever triggers possible to lure you. Securing your mother within the Garden for safekeeping may minimize those attacks.” He adjusts a silver picture frame. “Call Sergeant Carver,” he instructs Devon. “We will coordinate a plan for Delia Marlowe’s transfer and outline a strategy to defend further attacks. I will notify the admiral.”
Foster is agreeing to get my mother? I search him for any ulterior motives, but only worry shadows the crease between his slender brows.
He glances somewhere behind me. “Colton, escort Miss Marlowe to room three on the east corridor.”
Cole? I look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Cole has slipped into the room without a sound, studying the chess table, playing a game against himself. His wavy locks poke out f
rom under the hat, curling along the back of his neck where tension is binding his shoulders.
“Would it help if I stayed?” I ask. If they’re making plans that include my mother, I want in on it.
“Not at this time.” The lieutenant is firm. “Rest. We will convene after breakfast.”
Cole opens the glass door to a pebbled courtyard lit with weak light from gas lanterns. “Come on, Blighty.”
Our footsteps crunch over the rocks, echoing as we walk along the side of house where night greets the roofline. Despite the sweet nectar scent dousing the air, there’s an unsettling chill that ripples under my skin. Or maybe it’s the incessant thrum coursing through the Garden that drowns my pulse.
My feet grind into the gravel. I shouldn’t be escorted off to bed. Not when I have only three days inside the Garden. Resting is a waste of time. But Maddox told me to trust Foster. So I will, if only for Mom’s sake.
We turn the corner near the entrance of the arbor. I want to ask Cole about his weapon—or even about Sage—but several Blades dressed in black combat gear with glistening knives tucked in their belts linger within earshot. Who knows which one Foster might send to retrieve my mother? I scan their hard faces for any trace of kindness but find none.
We pass the water fountain and head toward the far side of the house, down a corridor covered by a wisteria canopy. Scarce light from flickering lamps casts distorting shadows. Cole stops and leans his shoulder on the wall. “Room three.” He lingers as I open the door. “Hungry?”
Sage is out there terrorizing people. My mom isn’t safe. Food is the last thing on my mind. “No, but . . .”
His flirty smile returns. “Yeah?”
“What can you tell me about Sage? Does he have a weakness?”
Cole gives a wry grimace. “Way to kill a mood. Hang with a guy first, maybe get to know him a little before grilling him for information like that.”
“Cole, I was—”
“Too late, Blighty. Time’s up.” Cole glances behind me. Someone’s dark shadow patrols the corridor. “See you tomorrow.” He walks away.
I step into the room, turn the lock, and slump into the closed door.
Realms of Light (The Colliding Line Book 2) Page 5