“Um, want to come with me?” Ashby asked. “To look for Perry, I mean.”
Finley’s eyes roved around the room as if trying to find an excuse to say no. She probably liked being alone, and he kept intruding.
“Um, never mind.” He smiled and took a backward step. “I can tell you want to leave.”
“No, I’ll come with you. I’m curious to see what Perry’s up to. Maybe he’s practicing. Portos and the others go in there sometimes. Inside the pool, I mean.”
Finley put her book on the table, cover down, and joined him. They started down the hall.
“What are you reading?” Ashby asked point-blank.
“Just whatever.”
Ashby was tempted to rush back to take a peek, but that was childish. This was only his third conversation with Finley, and he was still trying to make up for the first.
“I used to read quite a bit when I was small,” Ashby said, attempting to break the awkwardness between them. “Lately, I haven’t had much time for it, but I miss it. I used to enjoy . . . ”
Ashby stopped. Saying that his favorite subject was philosophy would probably sound pretentious, even if it was true. He enjoyed other things as well, so he should probably lead with those.
“Um, science fiction about other worlds. Strange stuff, really.” He smiled, finding that it felt good to share something of himself that wasn’t part of his perfect Regent persona.
“I would’ve never guessed,” Finley said a smile in her voice. “I pictured you more like the—oh, I don’t know—scholarly type, studying philosophy and geology and stuff like that.”
“And that would be bad?” Ashby asked, not knowing whether to feel insulted or not. “I like many things, you know.” He added trying not to sound defensive.
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be bad. I guess I just imagined you sort of . . . one-dimensional. But I guess I was wrong.” She smiled up at him, her cheeks coloring.
He was surprised to see how beautiful her tan skin looked when she flushed.
Beautiful? The thought left him feeling confused.
“I was . . . um . . . reading a stupid human romance novel,” Finley admitted.
Ashby raised his eyebrows, not sure what to think of that admission. Morphids had no room for romance novels. They were all filled with drama, break-ups, cheating—things that didn’t belong in their world. Companions were fated to faithfully share their futures.
“Please don’t tell my aunt,” Finley blurted out.
“I don’t see why I should mention it to her. Why should she care, anyway?”
“She thinks it’s pathetic,” Finley said, hiding her face.
“Well, it’s just fiction. You just have to suspend reality more with romance novels, that’s all.” He chuckled to himself.
“That sounds a heck of a lot like something she told me once,” Finley said, her voice wavering.
Was she going to cry? Ashby tried to catch her eye, but she stared at the ground. His jaw worked up and down as he tried to figure out what to say.
“I’m . . . sorry. I don’t know what . . . I . . .”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Finley rushed forward, headed for a double, metal door with the word “pool” painted on it.
He followed, scratching his head. Was he being an insensitive idiot again? The way he had been with Sam and Greg and everyone he’d ever met?
“Finley, wait!”
She ignored him and pushed past the door. Ashby caught it before it slammed on his face and walked in.
An unusual scene greeted him: Perry sprawled at the bottom of the empty pool, his hair on end, a hand over his reddened chest, and Katsu and Greg hovering over him.
“What in bloody hell is going on?” Ashby asked.
Katsu and Greg looked up, smiling. They were both holding swords.
“We’re training,” Perry said with a groan that sounded a bit exaggerated.
“Training for what? And why didn’t you tell me? I might have joined in.”
“Portos didn’t mention anything about training you,” Katsu said. “Greg, I think it’s your turn.” The Warrior gestured toward Greg’s sword.
“My turn?” Greg echoed. He lifted the weapon, examining it. “Is this sword just like yours?
Perry stumbled to his feet. “Aren’t you a bloody genius? Of course it’s like his. It was forged with magic by a traitorous Sorcerer. That’s the only reason this little Warrior was able to stop my attacks. But if this is how it’s going to be, I’m not training anymore. I didn’t come here to get clobbered.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were so delicate,” Katsu said, wearing a twisted smile.
Perry didn’t take the bait, for once, and just narrowed his eyes at the Warrior.
Greg held the sword, reverently. “So it can withstand any kind of magic? From any Sorcerer?”
“Probably,” Katsu said. “It was forged by my great grandfather—not a traitorous Sorcerer, by the way.” He gave Perry a derisive glance. “If you wield it properly, you may as well be immune to magic.”
Realization dawned on Greg’s face, and a certain something he’d lost when he was ripped from Sam seemed to return. Perhaps it was confidence, hope or just relief to find out he didn’t have to be useless anymore.
Ashby’s chest tightened. Why hadn’t Portos offered him a sword? Why had they left him with nothing?
He bit his lower lip, doing his best to stop the questions from pouring out and spilling to the bottom of the pool. Questions he didn’t really need to ask because he knew the answers.
He was rubbish. To everyone. His mother, Sam, and Portos included.
Anger rose within him, but he fought it down. He was resigned already, wasn’t he? He’d come to the realization that the things he once had would never return. Loss after loss after loss, Fate had made it clear that his initial casting had been a mistake.
It had all been written, and there was nothing he could have done to change it. So none of it had been his fault.
Not my fault.
“Are you okay?” Finley asked, pressing a hand to his forearm.
“Uh, sure. I’m fine.” He smiled weakly.
Not my fault.
Fate’s fault.
Why hadn’t he realized this earlier?
His manner, his upbringing, his clueless pomposity hadn’t been the reason. Sam would have never loved him properly, no matter what.
And didn’t he deserve more than that?
Before, he’d thought he’d made peace with his situation, but judging by the weightlessness he now felt, it was clear he hadn’t. He exhaled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.
His smile stretched further. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m truly fine.”
Chapter 18
Sam
Your own son will be your doom, Anima had said, and now Danata sat on the floor looking dazed.
The guard had let go of Sam and was now tending to Danata. Unnoticed, Sam gestured to Jacob not to move, then inched closer to the old Seer and knelt next to the cot. Her hand trembled over Anima’s face. She wanted to smooth a lock of hair off her forehead, but she was afraid to touch her. The woman was so still that Sam feared she’d died.
How would death feel through her fingers?
Taking a deep breath, Sam smoothed the graying piece of hair back. Tears filled her eyes.
This is my fault.
Gently, she caressed Anima’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “Please forgive me.”
Slowly, Anima’s eyes opened and found Sam’s. A muscle near her mouth twitched, and Sam imagined the Seer wanted to curse her. However, a weak smile formed on the woman’s lips instead.
“This was my purpose,” Anima said in a broken, barely intelligible voice. “Do not fret. Now remember yours . . . remember the homeless. Remember them.”
Anima winced, let out a small cough, then went utterly still.
“What . . . what are you doing?” Danat
a asked.
Sam turned back. The Regent was shaking herself, getting back to her feet with Simeon’s help.
“What did she tell you?” Danata demanded. She’d dried her tears, but red blotches dotted her face.
“She didn’t say anything,” Sam lied. “She’s dead, you murderous bitch.”
“No, she’s not.” Danata took a step toward Anima’s body, denial stamped on her features. It only took her a second to see the truth etched on the Seer’s vacant face.
Panting like a bull, she whirled back, took a hold of Sam’s hair again, and pulled her to her feet. Sam’s scalp burned as strands of hair tore from their roots.
With no intention of being abused this way, Sam reached for the Regent’s face, claws out, but before she managed to unleash her own ire, a searing pain shot down her spine, igniting her every nerve as if lightning had struck her.
For a moment, she thought Simeon had tasered her, but then realized that Danata had taken hold of one of her broken vinculums and was ripping it further, tearing small pieces of the already frayed bond.
All ability to fight fled Sam’s body as pain spread like wildfire to her arms and legs. She went limp and dropped to the floor. With more strength than Sam would have given her credit for, the Regent dragged her to the cell across the hall.
“My Regent, I can do that,” Simeon offered.
Danata didn’t answer, but continued to drag Sam into the cell, the guard staying well-away.
“Your usefulness has considerably diminished,” Danata growled, throwing her to the floor.
Too limp to brace her fall, Sam collapsed face first on the stone floor. Pain sizzled under her every pore. Her spine arched. Her eyes swiveled into the back of her head.
“But you’ll still be useful, damn you! If only one last time.” Danata’s words crackled in Sam’s ears as the Regent turned and walked out, her heels pounding like hammer blows. “Lock her in. No food. Only water.”
Simeon snapped Sam’s manacles back on, then the door closed, a click following as the lock automatically engaged.
The room spun.
Sam’s skin burned as if the pain in her heart were trying to escape. In her feverish suffering, she thought of Jacob in the next cell, hurting because she had dared come into his life. She thought of Greg wherever he was, torn from her, perhaps not even aware of the world around him. She thought of the parents she’d never met. Of Ashby, who she’d disappointed even though she’d been fated to love him. She thought of all those homeless Morphids Anima had reminded her of, those people who no one but Sam could heal.
She had let down so many. People she’d probably never see again. She didn’t understand what being a Morphid meant. She hadn’t been raised to believe in Fate or trust its purpose. And no matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t figure out why Fate would allow this to happen.
Why had she grown in ignorance of who she really was? Why had she been raised by two people who didn’t love her? Why—when she’d finally found a breath of happiness, a reason for being—was it all taken away? And for what? For this?
Sam crawled to the cot that sat against the wall, rested bent elbows on its edge and laid her head between them. Her manacled hands hovered uncomfortably above her head, and she wished she could press her knuckles into her temples until the misery that weighed on her squeezed out.
She sobbed like a child, like she hadn’t in quite some time, at least since she’d met Greg and learned she could be loved. She despaired, convinced that he would have been better off without her.
Physical pain soaked through her bones, mixing with her emotional anguish and erasing all hope of the simple life she’d always dreamed of.
She was a Morphid and Fate had planned this for her. And now, she’d come to the end of the line. Loneliness sidled next to her, an enemy that pretended to be a friend. She cried for a long time, feeling as if the tears would never run out.
But slowly, a certain calm came to her. She imagined Greg standing over her, smoothing her hair, and telling her everything would be all right. His gentle words took away the pain and slay the loneliness, making sure it would never return. His handsome face smiled down at her, blue eyes sparkling with assurances. She nearly smiled to herself. Instead, she sniffled and ran a hand over her face, dispelling the last of her tears.
She opened her eyes slowly, wishing to find Greg sitting next to her, his strong hands ready to pull her into a tight hug. But what she found surprised her nearly as much as if he’d actually been there.
Afraid to break the spell, she glanced around the room, holding her breath.
Tendrils of light were whirling around her, soothingly touching her, delivering comfort and warmth.
Her torn vinculums had stretched and separated into thinner strands, translucent filaments blanketing her like hundreds of comforting arms.
Shining brightly, they arched around Sam, assuring her she was not alone.
Chapter 19
Greg
Portos had wanted to give Greg a fighting chance. Really?
Rather surprising, considering that Greg had thought the Sorcerer wanted to sweep him under the rug. Still, he didn’t see what good this sword or any other could serve in his hands.
Greg’s gaze went back and forth between Perry and Katsu. “Magically forged or not, I don’t know how to wield it. I’ve never even touched a sword before.”
“That’s because you didn’t need to,” Katsu said. “Now, you do.”
“Yeah, that and ten-thousand hours of practice to become an expert. And while we’re at it, a billion dollars would be nice.” Greg peered around the dilapidated pool as if searching for the money.
“I’ll have to agree with Greg,” Ashby said, sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling. “It would at least take months, and he doesn’t have that kind of patience.” He smirked.
Greg flipped him the bird.
“It won’t take as long as you think,” Katsu said. “Even though you’re not a Keeper anymore, your body is still built for battle. Certain innate abilities remain. At least that’s what Portos thinks.”
Greg cocked his head, his interest more than piqued.
“What he’s saying,” Perry intervened, “is that a Keeper without his immunity to magic is still as good as a Warrior.”
“Hey!” Katsu exclaimed indignantly. “I didn’t say that. I could beat him with a blindfold on.”
“All my quids are on Katsu,” Ashby piped in.
“Wise man.” Katsu pointed at Ashby, then turned to Greg. “What I’m saying is that you’re strong, agile, and keen enough to wield the sword to good purpose. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a great risk, but you can become useful in the battle . . . when it comes. Plus it can cut through magical shields, if you manage to get close enough.”
Strong. Agile. Keen.
Greg’s gaze shifted to the sword in his hand, feeling the truth of Katsu’s words. He lifted the weapon and traced an arc in the air, testing it out. Maybe it would work, and he wouldn’t mind being able to cut through protective shields.
He took a step back and crouched into a fighting stance. “Let’s give it a try then.”
Katsu smiled and looked him up and down, considering. Then, with a few taps on Greg’s arms and shoulders, the Warrior corrected his fighting stance and hold on the sword.
“Good,” Katsu said, then turned to Perry. “This is your chance. If you hold a grudge against this man, make your magic mean and fast.”
The Sorcerer rubbed his hands and smiled. “Someone’s gotta pay for this.” He pointed at his battered, reddened chest.
“Um, this doesn’t seem very wise,” Finley said, peering down at them, concern in her eyes.
“Probably not,” Ashby said. “It involves Greg and Perry. Two troublemakers, if I ever met any.”
“From what I hear, they aren’t the only troublemakers around here,” she said.
Ashby gave Finley a raised eyebrow. She was smirking at him, thou
gh not in disapproval. Ashby smiled back.
“His mother would agree,” Perry offered.
“That evil woman?” Finley said. “Forgive me for saying that but—”
“No need to apologize.” Ashby waved a hand and turned his attention back toward the impending fight.
Taking this as an invitation, Perry whirled his hands and released his initial attack.
Greg’s first thought was that the approaching green orb didn’t look impressive, nowhere near to what the Sorcerer had used on Katsu.
His second was that he was screwed.
Magic hit his right shoulder, crackling and sending him flying against the concrete pool wall. The sword fell out of his hand and hit the concrete with a metallic clatter as he cradled his arm and shifted to one side.
“Son of a bitch!” he cursed. “It hurts.”
It felt as if a giant wasp had stung him.
“Sorry,” Perry said, sounding anything but sorry. “Just so you know, I’m too powerful to cast weaker magic than that. It’s simply not possible.”
“I think all that means is that you have no control.” Greg sat up, holding is arm.
Goading Perry was a terrible idea, but the cocky Sorcerer had a knack for getting under his skin.
Greg stood and shook his arm.
He could take this pain and much more just to save Sam’s pinky finger. For the whole of her, he would gladly die.
Picking up the sword and squaring his shoulders, he said, “Again.”
Chapter 20
Ashby
“This is horrible,” Finley said, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Ashby said. “Perry wouldn’t really hurt him.”
Or would he? He considered Perry’s intent expression.
“How many people will die?” Finley asked in a quiet tone.
Die? He turned to Finley and found her worried expression had grown deeper.
“I never met my parents,” she said. “I grew up among all these people. Each one of them taught me different things. I didn’t even go to school. Yanci taught me how to read and write. Homero taught me math. Others filled in wherever needed. When I was ready, I took a test online and got my high school diploma. It was easy. You might think it’s sad, but I wouldn’t change a thing. These people are my family, everything I have—the only ones who understand me and know I don’t need a caste to be someone.”
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