Halfblood Journey

by Rheaume, Laura

  “You endanger the hand that shielded you, your wife and your son.”

  “Shielding us was his obligation,” he reprimanded lightly, but then added in a show of remorse, “I am not without gratitude. You know this to be true.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Nevertheless, it is not in the welfare of the Kin to permit this ability to exist. I am beginning to think that all of them are a real danger to our society and its citizens.”

  “He is not a danger. I will vouch for him.”

  “Cousin,” he frowned, “why do you test your kinsman’s patience?”

  She could tell that he was getting tired of being argued with, something that she doubted happened often when she was away. “I am sorry to hurt my loved one, but I must speak my conscience.”

  “Yes, you always do.” He sighed and sat back, rotating his chair and staring absently out the window. “I used to love how you would talk to my father and my mother. You used to make my father so red in the face that everyone would know if you visited up to a full half hour after you left.”

  “He was a good king,” she said. “You must be one, too.”

  “This is what I am talking about. You go too far, cousin.” He looked at her with a tinge of sorrow, “It is not always possible to be both a good king and a good king.”

  She waited while he decided which he would be for this.

  He shook his head. “Cousin, I don’t know how the Scere managed to hide him as long as they did. A man who can read minds? An ability which the Kin have no defenses for? I shudder to think what any one of the Families would do with such a power. I shudder to think what I might do.”

  “Not you, My Lord,” she objected.

  “You know what circumstances here do to you, better than most, as you are one of the few sufficiently wise to distance yourself from it enough to see it well. Eventually, everyone talks themselves into doing the thing they swore they wouldn’t.”

  She knew the old Kin expression was true from experience: When what is right is stronger than what is right, the heart breeds the demon and the mind dresses him as an angel and the arms embrace him and the legs carry him on his way. They all were taught this as children and then learned it again as adults.

  She couldn’t argue with his statement, so there was nothing to do but wait.

  “You have your instructions, Temper,” he said finally.

  “My Lord, I do,” she nodded but let him see her disappointment.

  He raised his eyebrows when she didn’t get up to leave, “And?”

  “Perhaps, in light of this sacrifice, you could offer something precious to the lamb?”

  He winced at her choice of words. “More like a wolf, cousin, but I will hear it.”

  -----------

  He blinked again in the dark, but it was still there behind his eyes, deep in the center of his head where he used to be the master, but was now just a tenant. When he tried to look at it, his vision slipped to the side, missing it by a hair, leaving just a vague image in his mind of something he had seen. Except, he had yet to see it.

  How can you remember something you’ve never seen? It was idiotic, like everything else around here.

  “Special Agent Cord,” said the nurse, a very pleasant sounding Kin woman. “Do you require anything?”

  Of course, they were all Kin here. He hadn’t seen a Human since he’d taught the last one to pee every time someone called his name. And he thought his name was “Is.” No, no Humans around here, he smirked to himself.

  “I require getting the hell out of here,” he said angrily. “I require some decent food, my own place, and a little time with something experienced and sexy. I require you to take this thing off my face so I can see.”

  “I will bring you some food,” she said, patting the hand that was tied to the bed.

  He wondered again for the hundredth time if he had been treated like this, because if he could handle it, Cord sure as hell knew that he could. However, what burned him was the thought--no, the growing conviction--that Scythe had never had to endure anything like it. They had told him that the interview was a success, and that he only needed to remain in the hospital until he was feeling well enough to start training. However, with the exception of his arm, he had been feeling fine shortly after the time he woke up in this bed with his body tied down.

  “The Scere doesn’t trust you, Cord,” was what he had said. It was one of the handful of things that Cord remembered of the interview; he could recall that, the fucking necklace he had worn to rub his nose in it, the table legs for some reason, the fake memory and him: casually sitting there, looking like he had just arrived at a barbecue, leaning forward with his forearms relaxed on his knees. Scythe took up a normal amount of space in the room but an enormous amount in his head. Heck, he had filled the room before he had even opened the door, and pushed back Cord’s power and his confidence all in one blow.

  Cord’s first thought had been that he had been right to avoid meeting the man for as long as possible; the second was the same treasonous thought he had had from the beginning. He hated himself for that. After all, Cord told himself again, he had everything that Scythe didn’t: good looks, freedom, anonymity, a powerful family, a place where he belonged, even if it was just the lesser Human world. The ugly bastard didn’t have a damn thing on him, except power. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a crucial thing.

  But Scythe had his weaknesses, too...ones that were comically easy to exploit. Cord pictured the girl again, casting aside the memory of her death after only a moment’s appreciation. It was weird how it still seemed so real to him, as real as the true memory, even though he knew it was fake. It was something he had just come up with in the heat of the moment, and he was impressed at how well it had worked...at first.

  She was nothing special. He had seen a dozen young, pretty girls like her in the bordertowns, had slept with a few of them, only one of which he had to pay for. They were cute for about ten minutes, before you wanted to strangle them to make them shut up.

  Something about the way everything in Scythe’s brain had come to a halt just at the mention of her made Cord angry. He had no business messing up such a nice collection of skills with a weakness like that; it was a fucking waste. Cord had never been that stupid, ever, not even then.

  He grit his teeth and pushed the beginning of a memory down where it belonged.

  He really hated him.

  “Here you are,” she announced, as if he couldn’t smell her coming. “And, we’ve got orders to remove your blindfold, now that you’ve calmed down a bit, so let’s have that off, too.”

  “About time,” he complained, squinting through eyes that seemed to burn in the light. She wasn’t as pretty as her voice, but he had expected that. “You gonna do the hands, too?”

  “When Firon gets here, yes. Now, open up.” She angled the spoon into his mouth. She didn’t do it right and he had to tilt his head forward just to get the stuff off. Stupid useless bitch.

  Soup. That’s all he got, like some kind of toothless invalid. He was beginning to hate soup. The first thing he was going to buy when he had the opportunity was a steak.

  An hour later, when he was about ready to call the nurse just to have something to do, the door opened and Firon walked in. Cord had something really clever lined up to say to him, and had already opened his mouth to speak, when it happened. The man came around the door and Cord saw him and the world tilted one hundred and eighty degrees until Firon’s face snapped into a shadow that had been nesting in his head. CLICK.

  Chapter 35

  Ian looked down at the chair they had set up between them. He rolled his eyes, grimaced, and lifted his pencil to make another mark on the score pad. Mercy and Scythe were both chuckling. Their laughter was one of the few sounds in the room, aside from the rolling of the dice and the scratching of pencil on paper.

  However, it was not quiet.

  You deserve it, after backstabbing me earlier, Mercy thought, readjusting herself on the pill
ow she was sitting on. Thin ribbons rose from her ankle and connected her to her father and Scythe.

  That’s the game, Mercy. That’s why it’s called “Cutthroat.”

  We had a truce!

  I don’t know what you are talking about. He scooped up the dice and started again.

  You don’t know what I’m talking about? I’m talking about when you said, “Mercy, let’s call a truce, at least until we finish off the tough guy.”

  Never happened.

  And I said, “Never! I’ll never betray Scythe.”

  Oh, now who’s the liar? I believe you said, “He will never know what hit him,” which was funny, I admit…” In fact, he wished he had thought of it.

  Scythe was his usual calm, quiet self, but through the ribbons, Ian could feel his deep pleasure in the simple activity. It made a noise of its own: it was almost as if he were purring. On his turn, he took the dice and rolled, knocking out Ian again, and making a formidable challenge for Mercy to overcome, even if she did have the advantage with the last roll. Ian marked his column again, wondering if they had made an alliance without him hearing...

  Underneath it all, their shared happiness vibrated like music in the air.

  They all agreed without saying a word to accept this time as a gift, since they didn’t know how much they had left together. Scythe’s case had had no good news in two days and it looked more and more like he would be imprisoned for a long time. Because of that, Scythe had started talking again of their return to the city. To his frustration, with the second vision and the Cord threats out of the picture, Ian and Mercy were in no hurry to depart. They both wanted to see him as much as they could. Ian was also delaying because he knew that his daughter was going to have a terrible time returning home without Scythe.

  Ian had done his best to let Mercy have her space for the last few days, but he knew that eventually she was going to have to tell him what had happened during the time she had disappeared. It was something that ate at him, especially at night when he heard her restlessly tossing in the bed and sometimes crying out in the middle of nightmares and waking herself. However, she stubbornly refused to give him more than the most basic information, leaving him unable to give her more than the most basic comfort.

  At first, he had feared that she was growing away from him, or that her experiences had hurt her enough to make her push him out of her life, but watching her during their visits had convinced him that he was just being a paranoid father. She wasn’t overly moody or spiteful like some of his friends’ teens had become; she didn’t resent him. She was just less dependent on him.

  Since he was being honest with himself, he could admit that it was painful to feel her pulling her hand out of his. They had always had a very close relationship, one that rivaled the one he had with his sister. Knowing that it was a healthy and inevitable stage didn’t help one bit; it still stung. He tried to see the positive side during the day, and bandage his wounds at night.

  Yes, that is how it is done, boys! Mercy raised two hands in triumph at a particularly good roll.

  Ian adjusted the scores, shaking his head. There was no way to win now. All he could do was to try to take someone down with him. Hmm. Mercy was ten points behind Scythe. He could either tank her, or try to trip up the leader and give her a chance at toppling him.

  They both knew he was debating what his strategy would be. Scythe just looked at him, confident in his win and slightly amused that Ian felt he could make any difference at all. That in itself almost decided him, until Mercy chimed in with an over the top, Daddy, you know how much I love you, right? I mean, way more than mom. Then she batted her eyelashes at him, which started another round of laugher.

  Because they were connected to Scythe, Mercy and Ian knew that someone was coming just after he did; the three of them turned toward the door when Temper came in. Right away, they could tell that something important had happened, which was disorienting, because Ian’s own perceptions told him nothing.

  “What, exactly, did you do to Cord in your interview?” she asked Scythe without even a greeting.

  Scythe was just as startled by her unusual lack of courtesy as they were, but he answered immediately, “I did what I was asked. I tested his strength and I read his intentions.”

  “And?”

  “Why?” he wondered, his eyebrows pinching together.

  She crossed her arms and gave him a look as blunt as her tone, “Soon, the Eler will send people and they will not be as patient as I. What else did you do?”

  “I made him show me everything about the rebels and everything about how he was able to keep hidden for so long.”

  “Did you manipulate his memories?”

  “No, why?”

  “Did you...program him to do anything?”

  “No, but I did make him show me how he did it. What is this about?”

  She shook her head and said disbelievingly, “You didn’t make him do anything?”

  “No. I’ve never done that. I just look.”

  “You said you made him show you how. Could you do it?”

  He shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, “Scythe, why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?”

  Her question shocked them, although it was the first thing Ian had thought about when Scythe had told them. He was glad that Scythe hadn’t murdered the man...he didn’t want any of the people he loved hurting themselves that way...but he knew that Scythe didn’t have any objections to it himself, especially when the person was a real bastard like Cord. Ian had been wondering how and why he had restrained himself.

  Next to him, Mercy had the same question on her mind, except Ian was disturbed to feel a tinge of anger riding on it. When he concentrated on it, he realized that she wanted Cord dead. Mercy! he scolded her. He was about to say more when she gave him a direct look that reminded him that he hadn’t heard what had happened to her yet. Ian shifted uncomfortably and kept silent.

  While he was still digesting his daughter’s reaction, Scythe answered.

  “I don’t know. I wanted to, a couple of times, but I didn’t.” He loosened a tense shoulder. “My agreement with Firon was that he would be not be harmed. I tried to honor that.”

  “So you gave up on your revenge?”

  “No. I just knew I’d have to get it another time. Also, I knew that since he was an agent, I’d lose my place in the Scere if I killed him.”

  “Your place means that much to you?” she asked skeptically.

  “Right now it does. Right now it helps protect my okin,” he answered easily.

  “Well,” she said, accepting his words and obvious sincerity, “I am amazed at your forbearance, given what happened to you.”

  Ian agreed.

  “I was too,” Scythe said soberly. “There were a couple of times when it was a close call, though. Very close.”

  She frowned, “I thought maybe you had lined up something else. When I heard what happened today, I thought that was it, but you clearly didn’t do anything.” However, for the first time since Ian had met her, she seemed uncertain about Scythe.

  “What happened?” Ian asked.

  “On his first day of orientation, Cord slipped out of the training facility, made his way to the courthouse, met with the prosecutor on your case and gave a full confession.” She stared hard at Scythe the entire time, but Ian knew if she didn’t that his reactions were genuine. He was as astounded as the rest of them. She took her turn at being the confused one when she saw Scythe’s reaction, “Apparently, he was overcome with remorse.”

  No one said anything for a moment, because it was completely ridiculous.

  Scythe said finally, shaking his head, “I didn’t make him do that.”

  “He was very convincing, weeping uncontrollably by the end of it.”

  In the connection between them, Ian barely glimpsed the image of a memory of something that had never happened to him: the man from Juniper’s gate, but
not at the gate, crying and laughing maniacally. It was gone before it finished forming.

  “Could it be another type of manipulation, like blackmail?” Ian asked.

  She shook her head, “I have no explanation for it. Naturally, the Eler are furious and will eventually get around to finding someone to blame. They won’t be able to make him disappear very easily now. You should anticipate a visit from Firon or someone higher very soon.”

  “I...don’t know what to say,” Scythe said. He was starting to shrug off the shock, though, and warm up to something a little more like relief or happiness. They all were.

  Mercy asked, “What does this mean? Is Scythe free to go, then?”

  “Your team was on it immediately of course and your case should be dismissed by the end of the week. Nearly every one of the significant counts against you has been severely weakened or outright disproved.”

  “What about Summer’s testimony?”

  “Cord admitted to using drugs and hypnosis. He didn’t speak at all about having any powers.”

  “Drugs and hypnosis. Would that work?” Ian wondered.

  She shrugged, “That is his story.” She seemed to be in a daze, and Ian stood up and took her the chair they had been using as a game table. She sat in it gratefully. “The reporters are calling it ‘The case of the wrong halfblood.’ It is an incredible boon for you.” Ian wondered why she seemed disappointed by her own good news.

  “So, we can go home now, and Scythe with us, right?” Mercy leaned over and embraced Scythe. “Because he has to be close to his okin.” Ian could tell that she was especially satisfied to use Kin customs to get what she wanted.

  “That may now be possible,” she said cautiously.