The Hanged Man

by K. D. Edwards

  He stopped talking.

  “The phone.” I patted my pocket absentmindedly. “You told me the other day you track me on my phone. That means you know about the apartment I have in LeperCon, right?”

  There was a blue-collar area of the city called LeperCon. A sort of bastardized play on a translocated section of Boston’s old criminal Combat Zone, and the city’s deep Irish roots. A long-past client had transferred a rent-controlled lease in lieu of an unpaid bill. I’d thought, until a few days ago, that it was a secret from Brand.

  “I’m not angry about that,” Brand said, carefully, not sure where I was leading.

  “Why do you think I go there?”

  “To get away from me.”

  “Never.”

  “Bullshit. I can be a bastard. You deserve a night off every now and then.”

  I’d been a bastard to him, back at the Green Docks, when I was talking about his own nights off. He hadn’t thrown this back in my face, though. I didn’t deserve him.

  I took a quick breath and said, “It’s where I store all the evidence I’ve gathered. About my father’s murder. The death of our people. The fall of our court. My . . . rape. The rapes.”

  He waited, the wrinkles around his eyes as hard as steel wire. He knew there was more.

  “Brand . . . Ashton was one of the rapists.”

  “What?” he hissed.

  “I didn’t know until the very end. That’s . . . why I killed him.” It wasn’t. Not really. But that is the lie I needed to tell right now. And I repeat in my brain, for the sake of our Companion bond: This is the lie I need to tell right now, and that statement is true.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

  “Because I wasn’t ready. I’m still not ready. Please, Brand, I promise— promised. I’ve promised you before that if I ever go after the people that hurt me, I wouldn’t leave you behind. But . . . I’m not ready. Not even to talk about it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad.”

  “I would never be mad about this,” he whispered, and shifted forward so that he was standing directly in front of me, locked in eye contact. “But . . . Rune, you don’t need to face this alone. You can’t face this alone.”

  “I know.”

  He continued to search my face for confirmation. “Why tell me this now?” When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “Is it because you can use the Arcanum to help you find out what happened that night?”

  I slowly shook my head. In a way, it was the perfect question for him to ask, because anger is armor. I felt it creep over my skin, cold and impenetrable. “It’s because whatever happened that night couldn’t have happened without the complicity of at least one Arcana. So, yes, other Arcana may help me. But when I was in the Iconsgison? I didn’t forget for one second that there may have been someone in that room who killed my father and my people. Who hurt me. Not for one second.”

  Brand gaped at me. I’m not sure I’d ever shocked him, statement for statement, with such affect.

  “They treated me like prey,” I said. “They probably still think I’m weak and impulsive. But they—whoever they are—don’t know I’ve spent twenty years circling around to flank them. I will know what happened. I will bring an accounting.”

  “We,” Brand said.

  I smiled at him.

  “We,” I agreed.

  I heard a ragged cheer from the ruins of the house. Two of the guards emerged from behind a chimney, carrying a soot-stained object between them.

  It had survived. I knew it was likely to have survived the flames.

  Anna joined us, curiously, as we met the guards. They set the massive seal on the ground—the one with the Sun emblem, that had been stored in the upstairs linen closet—and backed away respectfully. One of them pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me, which I thought was a rather nice gesture.

  “Do you remember what I said about this?” I asked Anna. I began to clean the surface of the emblem with the cloth.

  “It still hums,” she murmured, running her eyes along it.

  “What does the seal do?” I quizzed.

  “It identifies you.”

  “It identifies the bloodline of my house,” I corrected. “Can you be very brave for me? I need a drop of your blood. If you want, we can—”

  The thirteen-year-old girl gave me a derisive look, pulled a godsdamn steak knife from the back of her waistband, and sliced her thumb. Even Brand’s eyes went a little wide.

  “Anna,” I said firmly.

  “Am I not your heir?” she demanded. “Wouldn’t your heir be armed?”

  “That—Annawan Dawncreek, we need rules.”

  “Now? Because I’m bleeding,” she said, and held up her dripping thumb like it was a middle finger.

  I sighed and said, “Here. Right here.” I gently touched her wrist, and guided her hand to the emblem.

  A drop of her blood fell onto the stylized sun.

  Beneath the patina of soot, the metal began to warm and glow. Amber light fell upwards, coating our faces.

  “But . . .” she said, and now her own eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “We’re kin, Anna,” I said softly.

  “You knew that?”

  “I suspected it. You’re very, very special. I don’t think you realize how special you are. The same blood that runs in my veins? That ran in my father’s veins? It runs in you, too, cousin.”

  “Cousin,” she whispered.

  “Cousin,” I agreed. “Kin. And for now, yes, you are my heir. It’s the best way I can think to protect you. One day, though, you’ll have a choice. I’ll always make sure you have a choice. You can lead whatever life you want—you can be whoever you want to be. You are strong, and talented, and clever. You’re the best mix of a Companion and an Atlantean, and I can’t think of a more amazing blend than that.”

  She edged closer to me, until our knees touched. I realized a second later that she wanted a hug. It wasn’t a request that came easily to her, so I had to spend another second blinking my eyes, and then pulled her into an embrace.

  “Cousin,” she said against my shoulder.

  It only lasted a few seconds—like she had only that much childhood left to spare. She pushed away and rubbed her sleeve over her eyes. “So I really am your heir? For now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “We can work out the details next week. Let’s have a few days to relax, and then we’ll enroll you.”

  She lowered her brow. “Enroll?”

  “In Magnus Academy. You’re my heir. You’re well past homeschooling age.”

  “School? You’re putting me in school?” she demanded.

  “Absolutely.”

  Ten seconds later, she was done telling me what she thought about that, which cost her about every quarter in her pocket.

  I’m not sure formal invitations were sent out—though we had a Queenie, so there appeared to be structure around the entire operation—but the Sun suite at the Enclave was slowly filling with people to celebrate our victory.

  The Enclave was a swank private beach club on the western end of Nazaca Road, the priciest real estate on the island. A global ley line ran under it, bolstering the monarch-level defenses of the building.

  Once, it had been a ruined resort in Cambodia called Bokor Hill. The jungle’s rust-red moss still clung to some of the outer stonework, giving it a decrepit allure. Each Arcana was portioned suites, even the poorer courts like mine. It was a tradition as old as the Unsettlement of Nantucket.

  Addam, apparently, showed up very early with Quinn, and joined me in the master bedroom. I didn’t hear him arrive. One moment I was dreaming of a fight, the next he was pressing around the curve of my body and stealing half my pillow. I started to wake, but he shushed me, and I sank back into a peaceful sleep while the palm of his hand slid over my stomach. The last thing I remember was smelling his new cologne— amber
and sandalwood.

  I woke before him. There was a period where my brain didn’t fully engage. It was the most peaceful few minutes I’d spent in weeks. I saw the sunlight slowly crawl across the golden hairs on Addam’s arm. Felt his heartbeat where my elbow was pressed into his chest.

  Then my brain turned on, and I spent some time thinking. So many thoughts, all with question marks—either because they were genuine questions, or because I didn’t understand my luck.

  Was he really that handsome? Did he really want to build a court with me? Are you supposed to stare at people when they’re sleeping, even when you’re in a relationship with them? Would I be able to give him more of myself—physically share more of myself with him? Was I being fair to him? Was—

  “Perhaps drink a glass of water,” Addam murmured. “Then come back to bed.”

  Fair enough. I went to the bathroom, fought my bedhead with a cheap black comb, and returned to the master bedroom.

  In the interim, Addam had woken up. In every sense of the word. He sat, naked, under a single sheet that pooled over his lap. He had his back against the headboard.

  “This is a very disappointing start,” he sighed. “I am wearing no clothes, and yet you stare at my hand.”

  I felt the color rise to my cheeks. “I haven’t seen your . . . new hand. It’s very bright.”

  Addam held up his hand—his metal hand, the color of new brass.

  And . . .

  “Godsdamn,” I whispered, and rushed to the edge of the bed. I held my fingers over the metal, barely touching the surface. “That’s a sigil.”

  “It is, Hero.”

  “You don’t do anything by half, do you?” I said in absolute astonishment. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this before.”

  Addam turned the hand in a partial gripping gesture. He grimaced. “Not quite as articulate as a real hand. And please don’t mention I said that. This is a gift from Quinn, and I am very, very sore about it.”

  “You’re mad that he found you a sigil to replace your bloody hand?”

  “I’m frustrated that my mother let him plunder his trust fund to buy it. Do you have any idea how expensive rare sigils like this are? He should not have spent the money.”

  I marveled at that. Addam had a razor worth six figures. How much had this sigil-hand cost, to be considered too expensive?

  I sat down on the end of the mattress. “You knew.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You knew you’d lose your hand. Didn’t you?”

  Addam met my stare, and finally raised a bare shoulder in a subtle shrug.

  “It’s too much. I can’t . . .” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Addam, you can’t be sacrificing yourself like that. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Now he smiled, and there was nothing subtle about a smile from a man like Addam. It reached up to make his burgundy eyes crinkle and shine; it made his cheek cave into a small dimple. “My Rune. The other day, at the hospital? I said that, through you, I would be able to serve my city.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to lose body parts to do it.”

  “There are times I wish I could look into your head, the way that Brandon does. I wish I could understand why you have such difficulty accepting that others may need to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, while being so casual about your own role in matters. Why must it all rest on your shoulders? Why don’t you shrug off this burden?”

  I didn’t answer. I’m not sure I could, without sounding like an asshole. Getting up, I went over to the gauzy curtains that were closed against a liquid blue sky. I parted the cloth and looked at ocean and air. Too high up to see the narrow beach; just ocean and air.

  “It’s fine, Rune,” he said from behind me. “You don’t need to answer. I think I do understand. I suppose, if I were honest, I understand much of what hasn’t been said between us. You must not consider me so fragile. I can handle such truths. For instance, I know that I will never be the love of your life.”

  I froze. Turned. Stared at him.

  He smiled at me, a little sadly. “What you share with Brand? I could spend a lifetime chasing it, and it will always be decades out of my reach. How could I possibly offer something to compare to that which you’ve always known? He isn’t simply a lifelong friend. He is irrevocably linked to your very concept of safety and protection. And I can understand that, because I raised Quinn. Quinn is an emotion for me, too.”

  “Addam . . .”

  “We are a people that share our love. I am very Atlantean in that regard. So I do not ask for more than you offer. I know I have a place, and I am happy with that, Lord Sun.”

  “No, don’t—not you.”

  “Apologies. I didn’t mean it critically. I am very, very proud of you.” His Russian accent rose with the R’s, and his eyes got misty.

  He brought up one knee, which made the sheet slide off his leg. After a moment, he smiled, because he knew I was no longer looking at his hand.

  “What is your favorite part of my body, Hero?” he asked quietly.

  I thought about all the ways that question could go wrong and said, slowly, “Your heart.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Rune.”

  “Your legs,” I admitted.

  “My legs,” he repeated, and stretched out a bare leg. “That was a rather certain answer. Do you often think of my legs?”

  “Well. I mean. You’re so damn tall. Most tall people have skinny legs, but yours are . . . sort of . . . perfect.”

  His smile widened. He turned and reached down into a duffle bag by the bed, which made his abdomen do all sorts of interesting things. When he resurfaced, he had a length of silk cloth in his hands.

  Before I had time to ruin the moment by deconstructing it, he’d tied the silk around his head, effectively blindfolding himself.

  He leaned back into the bed and seemed to be enjoying my stunned silence.

  “I want you to look at me,” he said. “Without feeling judged by my own gaze. Without being able to look to me for approval. I want your attention, and I want your touch. I want this moment to be yours. I will do whatever you want. The only I thing I will not do gladly is to end this moment before we even give it a chance.”

  I went over to the mattress and sat down on the edge of it again.

  My fingers spoke for me.

  I touched the arch of his foot, and trailed upwards along his hard shin—lightly scarred from a lifetime of activity. I circled my fingers in, to the inside of his thigh, palest of all his skin. Brushed quickly to his abdomen and its hard muscles.

  He sat beneath me and just breathed. Trusting me. Wanting me. Wanting this. Knowing that the best way to give me control was to yield all of his.

  And I thought, But I do like his heart best.

  “I love you, Addam,” I said, and then kissed his smile before he could answer back.

  Hours and hours later, I found Max in one of the three guest suites.

  The windows faced the ocean, and Max was watching Addam and Quinn. Addam had crawled out of bed minutes before I did, grabbed a bagel, and headed to the beach. Now, he and Quinn had separated from the herd, and appeared to be taking turns putting each other in a head-lock.

  “That needs to stop before they give Brand ideas,” I said, joining Max at the window.

  Max smiled at me. “Addam started training Quinn. In self-defense.”

  I hadn’t known, and was surprised at my surprise. I knew we’d been heading in this direction. But seeing it? It filled me with carbonated emotions—flickering hisses of guilt and pride and worry and apprehension.

  “Do you think Quinn has it in him?” I asked honestly. “To fight?”

  “I think Quinn has a million different ways not to fight,” Max said, rather wisely. “And that’s sort of going to be his fighting style. Plus, he’ll have me.” Max cut his eyes at me, uncertain. “I can learn.”

  Now I smiled at him. “You’re going to have the shoulders of a linebacker
, Max. You’re going to be a ferocious fighter.”

  “So you’ll let me train with Brand? Really train?”

  I thought of the conversation we needed to have. Now. Soon. No, now. There were things between Max and me that needed to be said.

  Predictably, I stalled.

  “Of course you can train with Brand,” I said.

  “The real moves? Not the fake Companion moves he pretends to teach me?”

  “Technically, those are still self-defense moves, he just flowers up the terminology to make eye gouging and nut kicking sound pretty. I’m sure they’ll teach you the same sort of moves at Magnus.”

  Max went still. “Magnus Academy?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided to punish you for stealing the boat by giving you a world-class education.”

  “Rune,” Max whispered, horrified. “No. You can’t.”

  “It won’t be as bad as it sounds.”

  “It’s a school for scions. It’s expensive. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

  “You make it sound like facing the Hanged Man in a battle to the death is cheaper than a semester there. It’s really not.”

  It was a joke, and landed badly, because Max’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s my point. I’m costing you too much. So much.”

  “I accept that cost. We all do. Letting people into your life is never without a cost. You do it because, in the end, you’ve got people in your life. That’s what I’ve learned recently, at least.”

  I heard a commotion outside. I looked out the window and saw the rarely unsmiling Quinn had crossed his arms and was stomping his foot. He and Addam shouted some things at each other. Quinn kicked sand at Addam, spun around, and stormed away.

  “Oooh,” I said. “He just found out he’s going to Magnus Academy too.” I smiled at the look on Max’s face—that despair now edged with something like hope. “What? You thought he was getting a pass on stealing the boat? Oh, no. Both of you—and Anna—are being enrolled. It’s perfect. It’s a punishment, an investment in the future, and also a way to get even with the fat-headed administrators at Magnus. They don’t know what’s about to hit them. You will tear that place down.”

  Max just stared at me.

  “And, you know, get an education in the process,” I added half-heartedly. “Are you at least a little excited?”