by Nina Walker
Mortified, I jumped back, wiping my lips and staring a hole into the gravel.
“Hello father,” Mastin said calmly over my shoulder.
Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I turned to face General Nathan Scott. As usual, he was flanked by men dressed in tan army fatigues. They watched us carefully, like we’d committed a crime and had been caught in the act.
Or something like that ...
After a long, tense minute, Nathan laughed. It bellowed out of him freely.
“I wondered when you two were going to get together.” He eyed us, face growing serious again. “This better not get in the way of our mission here, neither of you need the distraction.”
“It won’t,” Mastin said and I nodded. But was that even possible? At that moment, I was most definitely distracted by Mastin.
“All right then.” Nathan nodded. “Sasha, I’d like you to spend the day with me. We have a new prisoner, an alchemist. And I’d like your help with this one.”
“I’m coming, too.” Mastin inched forward.
“Very well.” Nathan strode away purposefully, motioning over his back for us to follow.
Mastin slipped his hand into mine again, and despite my better judgment, I warmed at the attention. I ought to be annoyed with myself. This thing with Mastin, whatever this was, needed to stay second to what mattered most: protecting the alchemists.
As our group neared the area of the prison, the very one I’d helped to set up, a sense of foreboding fell over me, and also, a trickling of guilt. How many more alchemists was West America going to catch? And how many more times would I be forced to watch my own kind be beaten and tortured, treated like animals and punished for their magic?
I gathered determination within me like the magic that pulsed through my veins and followed the group inside.
7
Lucas
“Are you really going to try to conduct your business from here?” I said, leaning against the doorframe of my father's, apparently new, office. He’d set up shop in one of the guest rooms of the orphanage. Hunched over a small desk in the middle of the makeshift office, he looked completely out of place and utterly uncomfortable.
“Until I decide what steps to take next, this is my new office.” He sighed and reclined back in his chair, folding his arms over his broad chest, shirt stretching with the movement. He wore casual clothing. Well, about as casual as he got, anyway. The first two buttons on his starched white shirt were undone.
“Lucas, I don’t know what to do with you. That’s the truth.”
“What do you mean?” I stepped into the room and slumped into a red velvet armchair, body relaxing like butter left to melt in the sun. The back of my head pounded, the persistent throb ebbing with wave after wave of dizziness. At least it wasn’t the sharp knife it had been yesterday. At least the churning nausea had subsided.
Richard leveled me with a sparkling gaze. “I announced to the entire kingdom that you were dead.”
I raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Why?”
“What else was I supposed to do? Once again, someone made an attempt on your life, and this time they very nearly succeeded. You were in a coma for over a week and even our best alchemists couldn’t pull you out of it.”
“And that’s how I ended up here,” I moaned. It wasn’t that I disliked the orphanage. I loved the people here. But I had nothing to do here, and I still hadn’t been given a new slatebook. The doctor said if I got misinformed it was possible I wouldn’t regain my memories. I wasn’t sure I bought it.
“Yes,” Richard continued. “I decided to move you to an unknown location and wait until you woke up to take further action. It was easier to tell the world that you were dead—still is.” He rested his elbows on the collage of papers and open journals on the desktop, linking long uncalloused fingers. “This way, whatever assassin West America sent, Jessa or someone else, will back off. Once we have more answers, we can tell the truth about what really happened.”
I still hadn’t told anyone about mine and Jessa’s telepathic connection. It seemed nobody knew to ask, and from her reaction, I had to guess it was a secret. Now that I knew what it was, that I wasn’t crazy, I should’ve said something. But I didn’t. I had too many suspicions to let go of my secrets just yet.
“It makes sense.” I nodded, rubbing my stubbly chin with my palm. “But you also have to consider the fact that I did wake up and I’m fine now. Am I just supposed to stay hidden until the war is over?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
The very idea of being stuck here sent dread sweeping through my body. Growing up, I’d often thought of the palace in the same way. Always trapped within its stone walls usually left me itching to get out, but at least that had been my home. At least that had space to breathe and answers instead of secrets.
I bristled. “But I want to help, and I want my memories back. I’m not going to remember anything stuck here. Besides, don’t you want me to remember who killed me?” I pointed to my head. “The answer could be unlocked if I was taken to the scene of the crime.”
“You’re not going to the palace,” Richard snapped. “It’s too dangerous. We already discussed this. That wife of yours is the number one suspect; we just need to confirm it and find out who her contacts are.”
I watched him carefully, noticing the way he broke eye-contact, and for a moment, I wasn’t so sure he was being honest about Jessa. The way she talked to me wasn’t the way a person talked to someone they’d just tried to murder. No, she’d seemed completely horrified at the accusation. But as I studied my father, I knew he was set in his assessment of the situation. Which meant I wasn’t going back home. Not yet.
“Okay, fine. Why don’t we work from here, together? I want to avenge Mother’s death just as much as you do. How can I help?”
He stared at me for a long moment something in his gaze shifted. “Okay, Lucas, that’s something I can agree to.”
“Great, where do we start?”
“One of my most trusted advisors is en route as we speak. I’d planned to keep you hidden while he and I discussed the latest reports. You can join in on our meeting.”
I nodded, a little surprised with myself. I wasn’t normally the type to care about politics. But then again, I did have a head injury. I chuckled to myself, the little bit of comic relief going a long way to ease my inner turmoil.
Richard stood and sidestepped around the desk, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re missing a lot of information, but I will do my best to fill you in. You are going to be the king one day and you’re right, I should let you help.”
I peered up, meeting his steely gaze. His eyes softened with pride.
“I have to admit, I like this new Lucas.”
I cocked my head at the comment.
New Lucas? What was that supposed to mean? Had I really changed so much in the last year? A warning bell rang inside my head, and I held my tongue, tucking the questions away for a later day. It wasn’t like I didn’t already have secrets from my father, secrets I’d kept hidden for years.
My curse of alchemy being the number one culprit.
But I didn't use it much, not since I’d found a way to keep it locked away. What else had I locked away over the last year? From the way he was looking at me, the relief in his eyes, it almost seemed like we’d hated each other. Jessa made it sound like that. But had it really come to that?
While we had always had a rift between us, I’d never hated him.
“Anything else?” he asked, a question in his eyes. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”
I shook my head.
I’d learned at a young age that he believed magic was a blasphemy to be controlled. He already had enough hold on me. I didn’t want to add another.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Son, you can trust me. If we’re going to get through this, we have to be honest with each other.”
I smiled, guilt tugging deep inside. “I know.” I stood
and walked to the door, running my hands down my jeans. I’d be expected to dress up for dinner. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The weight of his stare bored holes in my already aching head, but I refused to turn back.
Jessa claimed that I’d worked for the Resistance, too. If that was true, it meant I’d wanted to see my own father dethroned. But that couldn’t be. The idea of it twisted and caused my headache to return with a vengeance. Still, the question remained: who was telling the truth and who was the liar?
Maybe they were both being dishonest. Maybe I was simply a pawn on their shared chessboard and not the one playing the game.
I placed a stack of gravy-stained plates on the counter. They clanked together as one of the kitchen staff patted my arm and took them to the sink. The scent of dish soap and hot steam filled the room. The playful sounds of giggling and pattering footsteps on the floor above made me smile. It felt good to be up and moving. I went back to the dining room and leaned against the doorframe, watching as the staff expertly reset the table.
When the orphans had finished their meal, helping with the clean-up had made me feel useful, even if I hadn’t dined with them tonight. Instead, I would be eating dinner with my father and his guest. The table was quickly finished and ready for us. Crystal wine flutes, silver cutlery, and white porcelain plates all gleamed under the low lights. The staff scampered off, and still, I waited beside the oak door, eager for whatever came next. It wasn’t like me to care so much about this kind of thing, but with my memory—and my life—on the line, things had changed.
On the other side of the space was another door and my eyes flicked to it the second I heard them. Voices, murmuring conversation, the low rustle of my father’s voice, filtered through the door. He talked fast, urgent, and without thinking of the consequences, I rushed forward, pressing my ear to the door, straining to eavesdrop.
A woman’s velvety soft voice joined the men.
“I hope you don’t mind that we came along,” she purred. “I simply had to apologize for my husband in person.”
A male voice interjected. “Yes, truly, Your Highness, I’m so sorry. I deeply regret my insensitive and unwarranted actions toward you.”
“It bordered on treason,” Richard replied in an unreadable tone.
“You’re absolutely right. I let my role as a father get in the way of what was best for this kingdom.”
“And he had too much alcohol,” the woman added. “It was foolish.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Richard replied with a relaxed tone. “It’s forgiven. And forgotten…for now. I am known for my strength, but I am not without mercy.”
The last part didn’t ring true, and I wondered if the people on the other side of the door agreed.
Another pause, and then the woman spoke. “Thank you, your Royal Highness. You are too gracious.”
“Yes, thank you,” the man added, voice as washed with relief as a summer rainstorm.
“And I think you’re right,” Richard continued. “I do think we all had a little bit too much to drink that night.”
The group laughed together. The woman’s high cackle and the man’s low guffaw sounded a touch too forced. Something intense had certainly happened between this couple and my father, and I wanted to know what it was.
Add it to the list of questions.
“Speaking of family, mine is here as well,” Richard said smoothly. “Or, what little there is left of it, I should say.”
“What?” The woman’s question came out sharp.
“Lucas!” Richard's voice boomed through the door I skulked behind. “Please come in now, Son.”
Finally! I flung open the door and strolled into the dining room. Not two, but three new faces gaped back at me. They were vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the family. I assumed they were part of the royal court and I’d dined with them before, but not recently. Well, not in recent memory. They stared at me as if I was stark naked or brandishing a butcher knife or something equally unsettling.
“Um, hi.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for letting me join you. I’ve been getting bored up here, hidden away like this. It will be nice to have a change in pace for the evening.”
“You’re alive?” a new voice breathed in a soft cry. I frowned at the girl who was so striking in resemblance to the couple, that I knew she had to be their daughter. She brought her dainty hand to her painted lips as she gawked at me like I was the stuff made of nightmares and redemption. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders and her pale cheeks filled with color.
“Uh, yeah.” I shrugged.
Richard’s laugh boomed good-naturedly, as if to break the tension. It didn’t work. Nobody took their eyes off me.
“There was another assassination attempt on my son the night of his wedding,” Richard said. “You already know Jessa disappeared, that much was true. But Faulk and I made the call to twist the truth on my son’s behalf.”
I raised my hand sheepishly. “Not dead.”
“He’s been in hiding. I’m still trying to decide what to do about him."
The family was still ogling me like I had risen from the dead. The man’s eyes were wild and slowly, so slowly, he inched himself back toward the door.
“Unfortunately, Lucas has suffered quite a bit of memory loss,” my father continued. “He hasn’t been able to identify his attacker yet, but I’m confident, given time, it will all come back to him.”
Richard was still convinced Jessa had been the one to harm me. He’d gone into great detail about how she’d tried to get to him first, and how she wasn’t to be trusted because of her red alchemy. I had taken everything on face value, but the more I mulled it over, the more I questioned it. And now this man, with his face so clearly terrified to see me alive? What part of the story was I missing? And what did it have to do with him?
“You really don’t remember anything?” The older woman glided forward with complete assuredness and ran inquisitive milky-blue eyes up and down me, inspecting.
I shrugged. “I know who I am. I remember plenty. But the brain injury made it so that I’ve forgotten the last year.”
Her eyes widened. “Remarkable.”
“More like annoying.”
“You don’t remember Jessa?” the quiet member of the family asked. When I caught her eyes she quickly looked down at the floor, as if ashamed, pink burning the edges of her cheekbones. But then a small smile formed on her rouge lips and I wasn’t so sure. “And you probably don’t remember me?” Her head popped back up, eyes sparkling under long, dark lashes.
“No.” The back of my head was starting to throb again. “I think that my memory-impaired status has been sufficiently established. There’s nothing more to say about it, really.” I cleared my throat, sheepishly. I hoped I didn’t sound rude. “We’re here for dinner and a debriefing, correct?”
“That’s correct,” Richard motioned to the table and swept his hand toward his guests. “Lucas, this is Mark, Sabine, and Celia Addington.”
An air of civility fell upon the group as they shook my hand before we all approached the fine white tablecloth and the array of place settings on top. The rich smell of expertly prepared food wafted through the air, warm and welcoming. I pulled out a chair for Celia, the legs scraping the polished oak floor. Her eyebrows drew in as she sat, puzzlement returned to her face as she peered up at me. There wasn’t anything I could do to unveil her reasoning, so I found my own chair, resolved to pay attention to every word, said and unsaid.
Richard pulled off the gleaming silver dome covering his plate, leaned over his roasted chicken and vegetables, and inhaled. “Let’s eat.”
The early tension dissipated over dinner, replaced with a new sense of urgency as we discussed the status of the war and the recent battle. New Colony wasn’t faring as well as we’d like. We had taken more ground, only to be pushed back again. The battles were a mix of weaponry, magic, and even hand-to-hand combat. Our losses were nearing two
hundred casualties, but West America’s were far higher, reaching into the thousands.
Sometime during the discussion, I stopped eating and pushed vegetables from one side of my plate to the other. I dropped my head into one palm, fighting the growing throb, gritting my teeth against the distraction.
Occasionally, I would meet Celia’s gaze, simply because she was constantly watching me. I could feel those eyes on me like a shadow. She never said a word, just stared as if she knew all my secrets, as if she were the greatest one of all.
We wrapped up by indulging in a rich chocolate cake. I took a couple of bites and instantly regretted it, the dessert sitting in a pained lump low in my stomach. The conversation continued on around me as the party said their goodnights. I could hardly hear a word over being so focused on the ice in my head and the heat in my stomach.
I did catch one thing. They would be sleeping in the guest rooms before heading out in the morning to return to their post. With the new status of things, my father was itching to leave, as well. He wanted to be in the action—not that I blamed him. If only I could convince him to let me come along, maybe we’d both get what we wanted.
Warm air tickled my ear, an exhalation of breath that woke me moments before a soft voice whispered into the darkness.
“You really don’t remember?”
I blinked the sleep away and rolled to face Celia.
“What are you doing in here?” I hissed, sitting up, shoulders knocking into her thin frame. The night fell heavy through the gap in the curtains, only the light of the moon to see by. “What time is it?”
She pulled her legs under her and crawled up onto the bed, knees tucked under exposed thighs, sleep dress riding up. Heat burned through me and I forced myself to look up.
“It’s just after 2AM.” She blinked through thick lashes, the moonlight lighting her features just enough for me to see the gentle sweep of her neck, the soft angles of her face, and the parting of two full lips.
