Thirst of Steel

by Ronie Kendig

  “Stand down,” Ram said, tugging Haven back.

  “Cole!” Haven cried. “Cole, stop. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  His gaze struck hers, and it felt like a cool breeze washed over him. He slowed from the fight, stopped throwing punches. Fell into her reassurance. She gave a small nod.

  Reluctantly, he pulled up. Locked gazes with Ram once more. Allowed the guards to shove him against the counter. Secure his hands. All while visually warning Ram that he was making a big mistake.

  “The bust,” Ram growled to the side, to Haven. “Did you get the bust?”

  “What bust?” Tzivia asked, coming around Tox.

  “A statue,” Haven said. “Of a woman.”

  “It’s in the library,” Ram said.

  Tzivia nodded, confusion in her gaze as she eyed her brother. “Yeah, I saw it when we were here last. Why do you want it?”

  “Tzaddik said it’s related to the sword somehow,” Haven said, bouncing her gaze to Tox.

  Rage vibrated through Tox’s veins, and it took everything in him not to launch himself over the counter and take a chunk out of Ram’s hide. And yet a large part of him sagged at this turn of events. How? Why? Had Ram been doing the AFO’s work all this time? The thought sickened him.

  “Igor, bring the bust.”

  The new voice snapped the AFO guards to attention, sent Igor hurrying to the library, and drew Ram around. The voice also jolted Tox. He’d heard it before—in the penthouse.

  “Abba!” Tzivia gasped. Then froze. And Tox saw what she saw. No bruises. No swelling. No limp. Yared Khalon was in the pink of health.

  “Stand down, Tzivia,” Ram said, his expression hard and impassive. He turned the gun toward Tzivia. “I do not want to do this—”

  “She’s your sister,” Tox growled, straining against his captors.

  The barrel canted toward him. Ram lifted his chin. “Don’t give me a reason.”

  Balling his fists did little to help Tox restrain his rage.

  Stepping closer, dragging Haven with him, Ram tightened his lips. As if begging for a reason to shoot.

  Nur followed Yared Khalon into the room and jutted his jaw at Tzivia. “Do you have the piece?”

  She glowered but held up the scrollwork. “It’s only half.”

  Face reddening, Nur shot a frightened look at Yared. “We have no time to find another half, sir.”

  Sir? So Nur wasn’t the head of the AFO. Yared Khalon was. Tox had seen him, seen Yared walking the penthouse when they were in Moscow but hadn’t recognized him. Something familiar had sparked, but Tox had been too slow to put the pieces together.

  “Where is it?” Yared demanded of Tzivia, surging forward.

  “How would I know? I’m only the daughter you abandoned. The one you manipulated and used to get what you wanted.”

  “What we needed! You do not understand—”

  “You’re right! I don’t understand!” With that, Tzivia unleashed her skills. Hooking her leg, she caught and yanked the nearest thug’s calf out from under him. Pitched him forward. Her hand shoved hard, nailing his head against the wall.

  Crack!

  “Tzivia!”

  Wide eyes flared with anger as she pivoted to Ram. “You are my brother!”

  “You didn’t care about that when you set off in search of our father against my advice. When you forced me to pull Tox into this. When you dragged me into it.” His jaw muscle twitched. “Now—now you’ll play your part. You’ll free our father and me from this curse.” He pivoted to the rear hall. “Igor! Where is the bust?”

  50

  — LONDON, ENGLAND —

  After a cursory look toward Cole in the hopes of once more reassuring him—though it tore her heart out to see him writhing internally over not being able to stop this madness, not being able to protect her—Haven turned when the man emerged from the library.

  The great bust of Elisabeth Russell seemed to float in his hands. She was a grand work of art, so lifelike. So much larger than Haven expected—nearly in proportion with a real person. And despite being carved of stone, Elisabeth’s features were elegant and beautiful. Haven’s gaze naturally fell on the empty space at Lady Elisa’s forehead where the piece was missing.

  “Why do you need this?” Nur demanded.

  Haven hesitated. Fearful that mentioning Tzaddik might inflame things, she kept to facts, not names. “I am not entirely sure. Just that it’s tied to the sword somehow.” Which, now that she thought about it, seemed ridiculous.

  “Ngozi,” Chiji said calmly from the chair he was cuffed to. He nodded to Tzivia.

  Haven glanced toward the other woman, confused.

  “What?” Tzivia shrugged, lifting her hands. “I don’t know anything about that statue, except the professor has had it since before I met him.”

  But Haven’s gaze seized on the metal in Tzivia’s hand. “What are you holding?” She drew the picture from her pocket.

  “Actually, that belongs to me,” Tzivia’s father said.

  “Wait.” Haven stepped forward without thinking about the repercussions.

  Two men slammed into her. She stumbled and hit the wall.

  “Leave her!” Ram shouted. “She’s pregnant!”

  Startled at the pronouncement, Haven stilled, then came to her feet with the rough aid of the goons. She glanced at Cole. Saw the shock in his expression, the way he seemed to move in slow motion. Grieved that this was how he’d found out, she gave him a sad smile. “We couldn’t reach you. I wanted to tell you, but . . .”

  A thousand emotions roiled through Cole’s normally stoic features. Surprise. Joy. Shock. Fear. Then anger, no doubt over their predicament.

  “So,” Ram barked, “now you know what you risk, Tox. Your wife and your child.” He stalked closer, indicating the bust. “What is this?”

  Once the men let her go and stepped away, Haven straightened. She traced the indentations around the neck of the bust and then, bolstered that she might finally understand why Tzaddik had sent her here, she turned to Tzivia. “Can I see that?” When the woman hesitated, Haven added, “Just for a moment.”

  Tzivia glanced at her father.

  Yared Khalon considered Haven for several long seconds. Then he nodded sharply.

  With quick strides, Tzivia crossed the room and handed off the scrollwork. “Careful with it. Centuries depend on it.”

  “So it seems,” Haven said quietly as she accepted it. Surprised at how lightweight it was, she bent toward the bust. While she wasn’t sure what would happen, especially with the ampoule still missing, Haven knew she needed to return the piece to Elisabeth.

  “Who is the bust of?” Tzivia asked.

  “Elisabeth Linwood Russell,” Haven said, still a bit surprised by the legacy staring back at her. She set the scrollwork around Lady Elisa’s neck, right into the grooves near the shoulders. It fit perfectly.

  Nothing happened, so she drew back her hands. Stared at it.

  “Is it supposed to do something?” Tzivia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Haven muttered. Had she set it right? She glanced at the place where the ampoule should rest. There was a slight indentation, but it wasn’t like the spots for the scrollwork. “Maybe . . .” With her fingertips, she pressed the indentation.

  Schink.

  At the heavy sound that cracked through the bust, Haven snatched her hands away and drew back. She searched the marble for a crack or opening.

  Tzivia glanced at her. “I don’t—”

  “The back,” Igor noted.

  They shifted around and saw a small panel had opened. Haven widened her eyes as Tzivia drew out the other half of the metal scrollwork. She removed the piece around the neck, which snapped the panel closed, and held the two pieces together.

  “I will take those,” Yared Khalon said. “They must be returned to the Adama Herev.”

  “But this isn’t the whole thing,” Tzivia said. “I found one half of the blade, and this scrollwork. Half the
blade—”

  Yared’s brows drew down toward his nose as he homed in on the scrollwork. He took it in hand, then flashed a furious glower at Haven. “Where is the ampoule?”

  Most lies were borne of truth and therefore seemed more believable. Haven’s only reassurance that she might get away with this. “I don’t know.”

  “But you know of it?” Yared edged into her personal space with a show of contempt to exert his power.

  “I do,” Haven admitted, the journal burning a hole in her pocket.

  “How?”

  Her gaze drifted on its own to Cole, pulling her pulse into a faster rate, especially when he gave her a nod. Which she knew was only in the hopes of securing her safety. And their child’s. Yet Tzaddik had entrusted this task to her, even though he knew what lay before them.

  “Mrs. Russell?”

  Though Yared hissed that name, and though it was the first time she’d heard it spoken directly to her since Israel, when Cole said it as they stood on a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee, it did not have the desired effect of weakening her. “Tzaddik told me.” In a way it was true.

  A storm rolled through Yared’s face, darkening his eyes.

  “You know him,” Haven noted and took courage when he did not answer. Whether it was the mere mention of Tzaddik’s name or something else, she wasn’t sure. “Then you know I am not lying.”

  He whirled, stalking toward the door. “Bring them all!”

  Cole, somehow freed, came to her in three long strides. Hauled her into his arms. Held her tight. Kissed the top of her head. And Haven wondered if they would survive.

  “Are you sure?” Nur asked, glancing at Haven, then Cole. “They—”

  With a stab of his hand, Yared curled his lip and pronounced, “More sacrifices at Elah!”

  — VALLEY OF ELAH —

  “Am I to believe you have suddenly changed sides?”

  Ram betrayed no emotion, a skill he had mastered since the night his father walked out of the house. Out of their lives. “I do not care what you believe.” They had beaten him to force his awareness to their plight. “Would you like to beat me again?”

  His father sneered, staring at the sword pieces laid out on a table. “More than you know.”

  What had Ram done to earn such seething hatred? Granted, he felt the same raw energy toward the man whose seed had given him life, but that was where the connection stopped.

  “Yared,” Nur said, shifting on the seat brought in to make their tent accommodations more comfortable. “The ampoule. Without it—”

  “Cease!” His father flashed Ram a look of fury and disgust. “This woman—your friend’s wife—can you convince her to turn over the ampoule?”

  Ram frowned. “I don’t think she knows where it is.” Besides, talking to Haven meant facing Tox again.

  “She’s but a skilled liar—as your mother was!”

  The words struck below the belt. “Do not speak of her,” Ram bit out.

  Igor and his guards shifted at the way Ram spoke to their leader.

  But Ram didn’t care. This man was his father, and a coward. “You left her with no job and two children!”

  “I left her with her lies. She made out fine for decades with them,” his father spat. “Don’t think I will feel sorry for that witch!”

  Heat shot through Ram’s chest. “What did she ever do to you? She was the kindest, most loving—”

  “She lied,” his father said, dragging out the last word. “Tricked me. De—”

  “You are weak!” Ram spat. “She was the best of women. You drove her to the grave early with your selfishness and abandonment! I knew—knew you weren’t dead. I heard that call. Heard you say it was worth the cost.”

  The words were meant to anger his father, but for some reason, Yared seemed to gloat. “It took her too long to die!”

  Fists balled, Ram lunged at his father.

  Nur stepped in, flanked by Igor and two guards, to protect their leader.

  “I hope you die on that battlefield,” Ram growled and pivoted toward the tent entrance.

  “I am willing to die, as long as your friend’s blood is spilled as well!”

  In a tent with a cage divided into four cells, Tox drew Haven into his arms, mind spinning at all she’d shared about the bust, his genealogy, and their interlinked lines throughout history. About their child.

  “Hard to believe Linwoods and Russells married before us.”

  “It’s just a sign that God intended us to be together from the start—well, once you were no longer blinded by Brooke and noticed me.”

  “Hey,” he whispered, “who did I marry? And who is pregnant with my baby?” He shared a look with Chiji, who’d watched after her. Though Tox wanted to berate his friend for letting her go to London, he couldn’t. Haven had a mind of her own. A strong one. And she was here. It had been too long since he’d held her. Too long since he’d smelled the scent that was uniquely hers. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and breathed deeply.

  Haven laughed. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, but no.” He snorted. “We’re in a terrible situation, but all I can think is that I can’t believe you’re pregnant.”

  “You’ve said that a few times.” She laughed again, clinging to him.

  His hand rested on her belly, and he was amazed at how it was already rounding. “How far along?”

  “Coming up on five months,” she said with a sigh.

  “Do you know the sex?”

  “No. It was cruel enough not to have you there when I took the test. I wasn’t going to learn that without you.”

  He brushed the frazzled strands of hair away from her face, staring into the eyes that had become a haven to him, just like her name. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he vowed.

  “I believe you,” she said quietly. “But I can’t see how we get out of this—the cage or the situation. They’re planning a slaughter.”

  “We are not alone,” Chiji said. “Remember that the odds were stacked against a shepherd boy as well. Yet God provided the means to slay the enemy.”

  “I’ll take any means He’s willing to supply,” Cole said.

  Worry did not look good on Haven, and he hated it. Especially knowing that his child grew inside her. It was a terrifying, wonderful thought. There was so much more to protect now. Such fragility in his rough, bloodied hands.

  She peered up at him. “I wasn’t entirely honest with Mr. Khalon.”

  “Good.” He’d seen her expression, seen that she was hiding something. “What do you know?”

  “Tzaddik went for the ampoule. I don’t know what it is or when he’s coming back, but both he and Yared are concerned about it.” She rubbed her lower back. “Do you know why it’s important?”

  “I do.”

  Tox spun at the voice, his mind a blur of rage and disbelief as he stared down the man he’d considered closer than a brother “What’re you doing? Why?” he snapped. “You’re better than this.”

  Ram looked at Haven. “Where is Tzaddik?”

  “He’s not a person like us. He goes where he wills or God wills.” Haven took Tox’s hand as he drew her to himself.

  Ram scratched at his beard. “Okay, let me rephrase—where is the ampoule he went after? I saw him on the street outside the flat. You said something to him, and he left quickly. What did you say?”

  “Which question do I answer first?” Haven asked, her defiance beautiful but dangerous.

  “None,” Tox said, tucking her behind him. “You’re not using her like you have me.”

  Something twisted through Ram’s features that couldn’t be read. He slid his hands into his pockets and inched closer. “You must know that this”—he glanced over his shoulder, out the tent flap, into the creeping dawn—“cannot be stopped.”

  “Whatever that ampoule is—”

  “It’s the blood of Gulat,” said a deep, resonating voice that drew them all around.

  Tzaddik stoo
d in the tent entrance with Tzivia. And yet, it wasn’t Tzaddik. This man radiated something . . . otherworldly. Confidence. Authority. Righteous anger. His clothes were not modern, like Tzaddik had worn. Instead he wore the distinctive white mantle with the Templar cross and a wide leather belt, from which dangled a sword and dagger.

  Tzivia stood to the side and folded her arms, clearly not happy to be here. No—not happy to be near her brother.

  “Thefarie,” Haven whispered.

  “I asked Miss Khalon to join us. She must hear my words as well.” The warrior inclined his head to her, but focused on Ram. “When David killed Gulat in this valley centuries ago, the Adama Herev drank the mercenary blood that spilled into the blood groove and gathered in a thin ampoule. Without it, the sword is nothing but hammered steel.” He stepped farther into the tent, his presence consuming. “It is the ampoule that the Nizari Ismailis and their Order have sought—and sought to cleanse.”

  “Cleanse?” Haven asked, frowning.

  “Blood for blood,” Thefarie said, nodding to Tox. “It is a grievous parallel that the sword comes yet again between friends, seeks to divide and kill.” His eyes, leaden with a painful truth, shifted from Tox to Ram, then back. “It was Ram’s ancestor who killed my friend and brother-knight, Giraude, all because Matin yielded to the thirst of steel. Giraude’s wife was slaughtered, even as she carried his second son.”

  Tox drew up, heat blazing down his neck and spine at the thought of Haven pregnant. Instinct thrummed. Anger boiled.

  A sharp intake of breath came from Tzivia as she stared at Haven.

  “Our brother-knight Ameus was there on that plain. He saved the child who would continue Giraude’s line.” He looked at Tox. “Your line. Ameus delivered the Adama Herev back to Shatira’s father. Once Yitshak healed from his wounds, he sought a blacksmith, who sectioned the sword. He hid the pieces well and was slaughtered by the Nizari for what they viewed as destruction of the sacred sword.”

  Ram shifted. “This is insane.”

  Thefarie’s razor-sharp gaze struck him. “Has your father explained why he left your mother and you two as children?”

  A ripple of confusion worked through Ram’s hard features as he and Tzivia shared a long look. “Yared said she lied to him.”