A chair sat just outside the iron bars, and it took me a moment to discern who the large inhabitant was in the dimly-lit hull. I leaned against the ship’s wooden wall.
“Hello, Maxim.”
One side of the Untouchable’s mouth quirked up. “Calamity.”
“How you been?”
“Just a little treason here, a little kidnapping there.”
“Sounds busy. I don’t know how you have time to satisfy all the women in your harem.”
He let out an amused breath. “Oh, I promise they’re all taken care of.”
I frowned disapprovingly but then shook my head. I was turning into my grandmother.
His amusement faded, his jaw tightening as he rested his elbow on the back of his chair. “I think you’ve taken us all for fools.”
“I could only hope so,” I muttered, looking the hull over.
“Those cuffs you have on prevent you from doing any magic, so save your strength. You’ll need it.”
I sighed. “I thought we were closer than that, Maxim.”
He only watched me with an unamused stare for a moment. “Your kind disgusts me. Truly. And the fact that you can now rise from the dead is disturbing beyond measure.”
“You only dislike ‘my kind’ because you think we are the ones who cursed your people with that lovely Untouchable gift.”
“I don’t think, I know,” he growled.
I’d hit a nerve there . . .
Apparently a Sister felt scorned by a man from the eastern city Talia ages and ages ago—so long ago I thought it was irreverent if I’m honest—who had been disgusted when he found out she was a Sister. So, she cursed him and his people, that if he didn’t want to touch her out of prejudice then he could never touch anyone but his own—oh, and then she made him fall in love with her. Seemed like overkill to me. But I supposed much of what the Sisters did was just that.
“I didn’t do it, so I’m not sure what your ire is with me. Besides—”
“Do not speak unless I ask you to.”
I shut my mouth, a frown on my lips.
“Now, I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer. I don’t need your annoying opinions or your insolent retorts in between, understood?”
I clenched my teeth, but after a quick thought I let out a breath and my irritation. Riling him up was not what I needed at the moment. “Understood.”
“I am not your prince, but I am the ruler of this city. Address me respectfully,” he told me as if he were speaking to a disrespectful common peasant.
Now he was just being a bastard.
Annoyance ran through me. It took everything to say it, but say it I did. I learned a little more patience since I’d been here, realizing where my stubbornness had gotten me the last time. “I. Understand. Milord.”
“How are you alive?”
I paused, the anger slowly draining out of me. I hadn’t spoken of this to anyone.
Swallowing, I glanced down at the wooden planks. “Why do you think I was dead? You are clearly mistaken.”
“I assure you, I am not.”
“Look, can we have this chat somewhere else? Particularly with these chains off?”
He stared at me, waiting for me to address him properly.
I sighed. “Milord.”
“No.”
What an infuriating man. “I don’t recall such an event as dying taking place. It must have been a different girl you’re thinking of. It wouldn’t surprise me with the way they go about willy-nilly with knives—”
“This falls under annoying opinions.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, milord. I am alive. As you can clearly see.”
“What was your endgame?”
“I wasn’t playing any games. Weston had me thoroughly kidnapped.”
“How can you still be here when Roldan told me you were thoroughly dead?”
I shrugged. “Magical maturity.”
Not true, but I doubted he’d know that.
Sarai went through hers when she got her monthly for the first time. Magdalena when she lost her virginity. Not one of them had ever died and come back.
“How did you find me?” I asked with a sigh.
“My men said they saw Weston’s woman in the city, having remembered you from when you graced us with your presence at our camp a while ago. I thought they were imagining it, or maybe losing their minds—it has been bloody hot.”
I frowned deeper. Because Weston’s woman?
“Secondly, I saw you light a Titan ship up. That’s when I knew it was you. Somehow that simple little flame engulfed an entire ship in seconds.”
Oh.
“Well,” I said, “I guess that would do it.”
A calm settled around us, the ship seeming empty with the quiet and only a gentle rock in the still water.
“What are you doing in the city?”
I countered with, “What do you want with me?”
He sat back in his chair, his legs spread out before him. I imagined that’s how he sat while a couple of his women fanned him. There was something amusing yet annoying about his self-indulgent air. That was the difference between him and Weston. They might share the same “mine” attitude about a lot of things, but Maxim was a hedonist—while I believed Weston had certain things he strived for, however giving up many pleasures in return. What are they, though? I wondered.
Maxim rubbed his jaw, thinking it over, while the silence did much for the slight ache in my head. “I know you better than you think, you know.”
I scoffed, amused. “I highly doubt that.”
“I probably know you better than Weston.”
I raised a brow.
“I’ve at least kissed you better,” he said with a little amusement in his eyes, “though, now I hate to admit I’ve kissed you at all.”
My brows knitted, ignoring his insult to me being a Sister. “How would you know that?” I did not figure Weston as the kiss and tell type.
He watched me for a moment as if thinking over what he should tell me. “Weston and I are blood brothers. We were young and stupid. Cut our palms and shook hands. Our fathers had bonded when they were younger to show allegiance between our cities; we thought we’d do the same.” He laughed, completely unamused. “There’s not much that happens in Weston’s life that I’m not aware of and, unfortunately, vice versa. His emotions feel like my own sometimes. I felt your little ‘moment’ shortly before . . . well, your magical maturity or whatever.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That was none of your business.”
He chuckled. “Seems it was, when I felt it and all. Didn’t seem to last very long, though, before I felt the strongest sexual frustration I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“How thankful you must’ve been that you had your harem,” I said, feigning indifference.
“Quite.” He smiled. “Although that particular revelry didn’t last very long . . . considering a tidal wave of pain hit me. I’d thought someone had actually bested Weston and killed him. But the pain just kept coming. I was sick for a month. It put my plans to invade Symbia on hold.” He narrowed his eyes at me, but I vaguely noticed.
I always wondered what happened to Weston. He’d told me he’d die from the bond as well, but I knew that wasn’t what happened when he seemed to be alive and healthy if you asked anyone in the city. At least he’d suffered a little pain from it.
“Well, get your apology from Roldan if you want one because he’s the one who stabbed an innocent woman.”
“So I heard,” he drawled.
Anger sparked in my chest as he took the information in with an indifferent gaze. “What’s wrong with you men that murdering a woman is just another day for you?”
“The interesting thing about it is, that it was all done to protect a woman. Or a girl, I should say.”
I faltered. “What?”
He eyed me warily but then shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Roldan has always been . . .
well, Roldan. The least sympathetic of us all. But he has one soft spot, and his father knew it. Even without the threat, though, I’m sure he’d have tortured you if that was the arrangement.”
“What do you mean, arrangement?”
“Why do you think there are posters of you all over this city? There were all sorts of people looking to find you. Roldan was sent to kill you by order of the seven kings, and he would’ve done it a lot sooner if Weston hadn’t been there.”
The posters were vague, not at all hinting that the kings had officially ordered my death. It was a little much to take in.
“After Roldan realized he wasn’t going to be able to get close enough to you with Weston stuck to your side, he went back to the council. Weston was committing treason, of course, but nobody fucking cares when their golden boy runs off with the woman who could destroy our entire society if she meant to.”
Bitter, much? was my first thought.
But then, I faltered.
He knew. He knew about the seal and me. Of course, he did. My heart beat against my ribs. What did that mean for me?
“Titan had the most to lose in this. If you opened the seal, a farmer could have more power than a Titan warrior. Of course, they were in an upheaval about the whole thing. Warrick, Weston’s father, took matters into his own hands and threatened Roldan’s daughter’s life if he didn’t find a way to kill you.”
A sinking sensation began in my chest. “How old is she?”
He smiled. “Just turned three. Gonna be a fierce little warrior.”
I pulled my knees up close to me, my arms still uncomfortably chained behind my back. I hated Roldan for what he did to me, and would never forget the details of that day. How his emotionless gaze still burned into my dreams making me wake with a thin sheen of sweat. But his motivations, saving his daughter, loosened a bit of the resentment in my chest.
I realized then, that hate—it only dragged you slowly under. And the last thing I wanted was to be pulled into the deep. It danced around me, just waiting for its moment.
There was a companionable silence that settled between us. Maxim had his hands clasped, looking at the floor with his elbows on his knees.
My words were quiet. “Why do you hate each other?”
He was still before meeting my eyes, a reminiscent smile pulling on his lips. He was handsome as it was, but when he smiled—I had the sudden urge to fan my face. An awkward feeling to be sure.
“We didn’t always hate each other. Hell, we were close enough we did a blood bond. Stupidest mistake I ever made.” He glanced at me meaningfully. “You have to know Weston isn’t a normal Titan.”
I looked at him blankly, because, of course, I knew that.
“I said something to someone I never should have. A secret Weston told me that ended up getting his mother executed.”
My eyes widened. “How long ago was this?”
He paused in thought. “Twenty years ago.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
I blinked, putting it all together. “You were nine years old when you let a secret slip? And somehow you’re still enemies?”
He smiled sadly. “But that’s only when the feud began.”
I groaned, because of course.
“His mother was . . . different like him, and his three siblings.”
I already knew Weston had two sisters as well as a brother. Princess Fallon and Rowena. They came up in the gossip rags too, but not as often as Weston. He was always in the spotlight, and I wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t aggravate me.
“Titan looks down on those who have magic—it’s considered a weakness, and it’s banned the same as here. Weston’s mother lied to her pledged about who she was . . . and when it became known she had magic, her life as a Titan was void. I was speaking to a trusted servant in passing, and I let the truth slip. I’d known it for years, and it just became common knowledge that I didn’t think before I spoke. It was the early morn; his mother was executed before lunch.”
I swallowed, my throat feeling thick at the bitterness yet remorse in his voice.
“In Titan, children aren’t allowed to be close to their parents. They live in the barracks as soon as they’re off milk and until they’re fifteen when they test out to be sworn in as a Titan. But even so, Sasha, she would go see them in the barracks, bring them things, trinkets they hid underneath their pallets. Mostly knives and other killing devices,” he laughed, “they were still Titans, well . . . even worse.”
I listened, so entranced hearing about Weston’s past. I felt like I could read books about him and never grow bored.
“My family was invited to her execution like it was a celebration, and I sat there, not being able to see what I’d done. I murdered her, but I couldn’t watch her die. I glanced across the colosseum and Weston stood there, only ten years old wearing the thin rags Titan children wear to understand rank and humility, with his hair cropped to his scalp. His father stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder, another guard on his other side. But he didn’t move—he was a child, there was nothing he could have done. He watched. He fucking watched the executioner’s blade sever his mother’s head from her neck. I understand why he did it. So every time the image played in his head, the rage would fester like a disease. Maybe it was his reminder never to trust anyone again.”
I swallowed, my chest feeling heavy.
“When the Titan Council petitioned to execute the children too because they could have magic in their veins, Warrick stopped it. Not out of a sense of fatherhood, I thought, but because he knew he’d have the strongest sons in Titan. The magic was appealing to him when it served him a purpose.”
I cleared my throat, the sound loud in the quiet hull. “And then?”
“I was prepared for Weston to kill me. I was going to let him. I decided it was what I deserved, but you know what he did? He walked past me, not even giving me a second look. For some reason, that hurt worse than if he’d stabbed me. And that’s exactly why he did it. Even then he knew people better than most.
“Though, it took not only a week before he snapped. He beat the life out of me at a formal dinner while our fathers watched. I let him, I didn’t fight back. My mother sighed and got up from the table, taking her wine into the other room. His siblings were silent, but I could tell by each of their heavy stares, they were glad someone was finally going to kill me. And when he grabbed the knife, I was prepared to die. I deserved it; I knew I did. No one was going to stop it, not even my own father. I had shamed him by not fighting back. To this day, I still think he remembers it.
“Weston didn’t kill me, of course. He stabbed the knife next to my head and left the room. The following years, we ignored each other. When we were fifteen, and he’d been sworn in, I came to train in Titan for a few years. We got into fights over stupid things. Training. Women. Anything we could find to argue or beat the shit out of each other about.”
I paused. “No offense, but how could you even measure up to Weston?”
He finally glanced up at me as if the story he’d been telling was written on the floor. “He gets his strength with his age, and at that time we were equally matched. He can best me now. It’s been five years since I’ve learned that much.” A small smile played on his lips, and I wondered just what he did to learn that, because he had instigated it—and had enjoyed it—that much was clear.
“And yet you still egg him on?”
“Just because I can’t win, doesn’t mean that I don’t like to try.” His smile turned sly. “Besides, learning dishonest methods to best him has served me well.”
“You mean cheat,” I supplied.
“If you can’t beat ‘um, cheat ‘um,” he replied.
That’s not how the saying went, and he knew it with the playful glint in his eyes.
“I understand why he hates you,” I said hesitantly, “but why do you hate him?”
“That’d be because he ruined my sister, and refused to pledg
e her,” he said darkly.
I faltered.
“He knew our customs, and he knew what he was doing. It was all to get back at me.”
“And you mean ruin . . . by?” I was hoping it was like Alger, and holding hands could be cause for ruin . . . Yea, because I could see Weston holding some woman’s hand . . . not.
“I mean he fucked her and refused to pledge her.”
I flinched. And . . . I was suddenly done with this conversation. “Why did you lock me up, Maxim? We could have had this talk over tea.”
“One, you’re a criminal who’s been messing with trade. Two, you’re a fucking witch. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you lying to me when I asked you before at my camp. And three, because I fucking can.”
A frown pulled on my lips at his sudden mood change. “You were so agreeable before.”
“Until I realized you’ve been pulling some witch shit to get me to talk,” he snapped.
Whoops. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.
There was something I could do—it was a simple energy like persuasion I exerted that cooled someone’s ire. But the side effect was that it made them much chattier.
He jumped to his feet, his chair hitting the floor behind him. He gave me his back while running his hands through his short dark hair. “Those magic cuffs you got on? They don’t work, do they?”
I pursed my lips, but then let the cuffs fall to the wooden floor with a clank.
He laughed darkly, his back muscles tense under his thin white shirt. He didn’t dress like a stuck-up prince, but more a humble one. He might be a profligate, but I learned he might have a softer side to him.
“Fucking witches. I should quarter and hang you all.”
Or . . . maybe I just spoke too soon.
The cuffs never worked on me. It wasn’t a normal gift, but any magic cuffs, locks, or enchantments I’d come across were useless against me. And I wondered why that man’s brand seemed to work.
“You can look at me, you know. I’m not going to turn you into a woodland creature if you do,” I said, slightly amused. Henry inspired me often.
A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2) Page 7
