by Cayla Kluver
I was escorted to a cell that afforded a view of the entryway, the blankets still draped around my shoulders. The door was left ajar, although two officers were stationed to watch over me, and a doctor came to tend my wounds. Realizing I was still clutching Hastings’s chain, I shoved it into the pocket of my tunic. For no reason I could fathom, I had not been searched; the Constabularies hadn’t even bothered to remove the knife in plain sight at my hip.
The physician laid my wrist on three planks of yellowed wood that passed for a table, then poked and prodded at my injury. He’d just determined it was broken—something I already knew—when the jailhouse door opened and Marcus Farrier strode into view, Tom Matlock close on his heels. My heart soared until I registered the ashen look on Tom’s face, the odd deadness in his eyes.
“Sit down,” Farrier instructed, pointing Tom to a bench. He did as he was told, hunching over with his forehead pressed to the heels of his hands, fingers jammed into his normally tidy brown hair.
I watched Tom while the doctor splinted and wrapped my wrist. He didn’t move. What nerves the sight of him had quelled built up rapidly again—I wanted to go to him, make him look up, wake up, say something to prove he was more than just a body. But I was under watch, and the physician was now plucking glass from my palms.
The doctor finally departed, and my gaze went to Constable Farrier. He paced the main room, occasionally glancing at Tom, occasionally at the door. Every once in a while he ran a hand through his graying hair. I had never seen him so agitated. What was going on? The crisis was surely over. After all, the robbery had been interrupted and I had been arrested. Shouldn’t he be questioning me? Why was he stalling?
The station house door opened, and everything became clear. Luka Ivanova, son of the Governor and Lieutenant Governor in his own right, strolled in like a king greeting his conquering army, with the wardrobe to match. In spite of the fact that it was late at night, he was clean-shaven and attired in an embroidered russet coat with gold buttons strung by chain to an elaborate brooch. This was not a man who had been pulled from his bed.
He met Farrier partway across the room, his demeanor and half-a-head advantage in height giving him tremendous presence.
“What is it?” he snapped with the easy brusqueness of someone in charge. “I was told there was a problem.”
“The girl is fine,” Farrier prefaced.
“The girl is royalty, Constable.”
My insides flipped. The last time I’d talked with Luka, he’d known nothing of my status in the Faerie Realm.
Farrier bowed his head, conceding his commander’s point. “The Princess is fine. She was attacked, but we arrived in time.”
“Her attacker is on a slab, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to have to explain Princess Anya’s death to Queen Ubiqua. I’ll see her now and assess her condition myself.”
The mayhem in my brain increased dramatically, their brief exchange generating dozens of questions. But I couldn’t focus on any one of them.
Luka’s attention shifted toward the cells, and I examined my bandaged wrist, not wanting him to know I’d overheard. I nevertheless caught the movement of Marcus Farrier’s hand as it closed around his commanding officer’s upper arm. I lifted my eyes to see the Governor’s son, his posture tense and expression confused and but a breath away from offense, staring into the Constable’s face. What was going on between these men? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem I was their primary concern. My head ached with the effort to find clarity, for very little about this situation made sense to me.
“I didn’t shoot her attacker,” Farrier ground out, and Luka rocked back on his heels.
“I don’t understand. You said you were there in time.”
“We were.” Farrier waited for the significance of his words to hit.
Luka’s expression went slack. He turned for the first time toward Officer Matlock, who still sat against the wall, though his posture had changed. He was now leaning back and gazing at the ceiling, idly rubbing his hands together as though awaiting a verdict. Fear clutched at me, for this was not the young man I knew. Tom was always confident, alert, and in control of every situation. He was the one human I’d never been able to fool. This new Tom, this subdued Tom, made my heart ache.
“You were the one I assigned to protect her,” Luka said accusingly to Farrier, his emotion skirting the line between white-hot anger and despair.
“He didn’t give me the chance, sir.” The reply was barely audible, and he shot a disapproving glance at Tom that perplexed me. How could he condemn his partner for taking an action he had apparently been about to carry out himself?
Luka ran a hand down his pale face. “I understand.”
He stepped around Farrier, but not to come to me. He went to crouch in front of Tom, resting a fist on the bench next to his Constabulary so they were at eye level with one another.
“I want to see her,” Tom said in place of the deferential greeting I expected. He tried to stand, but Luka halted him with a hand square on his chest. Tom sank back down, his expression suggesting he was too dazed to put up a struggle. The men, one ripe with status, experience, and wealth, the other barely brushing his modestly lived twentieth year, were eye to eye again.
“No,” Luka replied, a simple, incontestable order. “She’s fine.” Making sure Tom was looking at his face, he added, “Thanks to you, I understand.” He paused, letting the statement resonate. “Are you all right?”
Tom covered his face with both hands and nodded. Then he reiterated, “I want to see her.”
Luka straightened and snapped his fingers for Farrier, and the Constable came to his side so quickly it seemed he had sensed the command before he’d received it.
“Get him home,” the Lieutenant Governor directed, releasing a heavy sigh.
Perplexed but mesmerized, I blatantly watched the scene from my cell. Never would I have imagined Luka despondent, but he certainly seemed unhappy with the way the events of the night had played out. Why?
Marcus Farrier gripped Tom’s shoulder, urging him to his feet.
“No, wait,” Luka interrupted, one hand massaging his forehead. “Take him to his mother’s. Tell her what happened.”
Farrier gave a quick bob of his head in apparent approval of the decision. Then he escorted Tom out of the station house. I gulped, any courage I still possessed dissipating. The only person I thought I could count on to advocate for me had just left the building.
Luka at last directed his attention to me, and I trembled, struggling to meet his gaze. I knew from the attitudes of the men under the Lieutenant Governor’s command that he generated tremendous respect. He would not be an easy man to placate. And I was not in a position to negotiate.
Chapter Ten
PAIN AND PERSEVERANCE
The two guards who had been standing watch over me bent slightly at the waist when Luka entered the cell, then stiffened their spines to come to attention, hands clasped behind their backs. The members of the Ivanova family weren’t royalty, but it appeared they were treated as such, perhaps more so than my own relation. Queen Ubiqua had never alienated her people with undue formalities. She accepted the reverence given freely to her, but I hadn’t once seen her demand it.
Luka waved his men away, his sapphire-blue eyes drilling into me, and I fought to keep my emotions in check. Part of me wanted to cry, another part wanted to confess, and still another part wanted to appear calm and stoic. But my strongest desire was to ask about Tom, to find out what was wrong with him. In the end, however, I waited for the Lieutenant Governor to fire the first shot.
Luka took a chair opposite me, laying his lithe, heavily ringed fingers on the rickety table that separated us. He perused me, and sweat began to trickle down my back. Questioning I could handle, a star
ing contest I could not.
At last he spoke. “First, allow me to congratulate you on your unexpected disguise, Princess. Blond hair. No wonder my men had trouble finding you. And how is your wrist? I presume it’s broken. Did the doctor give you something for the pain?”
I watched him warily, wondering what game he was playing. This didn’t strike me as the normal course for an interrogation.
“My wrist will be fine. And the doctor offered me something, but I refused. I want to keep my wits about me.”
“Admirable, but unnecessary under the circumstances. You see—we know who you are. So before anything else is said, I must apologize to you profoundly and profusely.”
My jaw dropped, and a touch of a smile played on Luka’s face. If not for the aches in virtually every inch of my body, I would have thought myself hallucinating.
“You are a princess among Fae, Anya, and therefore a princess among men. You will be charged with no crimes because of the crimes committed against you. The loss of your wings...that I let you walk out of my office with but a pouch of coin for your troubles...that I didn’t ascertain your identity by your royal ring that very instant... No apology I can extend is sufficient.” His voice grew thick with an emotion I did not understand. “What you have suffered is unforgivable. And tonight—tonight was a mistake. My mistake.”
He hung his head, jaw tight, then stretched his neck to one side. Composure regained, he released his breath in a slow exhale that seemed to affect every inch of his body. Tension flowed out of him, leaving the impression of a lounging, predatory animal.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked, resuming what I still considered an interrogation, no matter how unexpected its course.
“Because I didn’t want you to know.”
It was the simplest and most truthful answer—also the least revealing. Could I trust that my freedom would come so easily? Besides, he didn’t need to know that Queen Ubiqua had warned me against making contact with Zabriel’s human relations.
Luka was waiting for me to speak, so I diverted his attention, not wanting him to pry further into the reasons behind my self-inflicted anonymity.
“What happened tonight? How were Matlock and Farrier there so quickly? And that man...the man who attacked me...”
I peered at him, sensitive for any reaction. All he provided was a rueful shake of his head.
“I know the man only as a former prison guard here in Tairmor by the name of Pritchard Hastings. He was given an assignment some time ago to rehabilitate a boy for whom my father had some sympathy. He disappeared. So did the boy. No more was known of the affair until Hastings’s name resurfaced by coincidence.”
Luka paused, and my thoughts whirled. He had to be talking about Spex. So who had given Hastings his orders? How had he come to use Spex in the scheme to spot and abduct Fae? Why had he been the one to arrest Zabriel on Evernook Island? And how much did the Lieutenant Governor, and perhaps the Governor himself, know about all of this? Hastings had been with Spex at the execution of the young man’s father, after all—he could not have completely disappeared from the eyes of the Governor despite Luka’s assertions. In the midst of overwhelming uncertainty, there was one belief to which I clung: Evernook Island had been established for military use, and that meant the forces that had conspired to create the hell we had discovered were inexplicably intermingled with the government. This was a puzzle with massive pieces missing, threads that trailed into smoke. But there was someone with significant power manipulating the game, and that person had to be weeded out.
But none of my concerns were addressed when the Lieutenant Governor continued, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table.
“This, I’m afraid, is where my series of mistakes begins. If I’m correct, you went to the Fae-mily Home sometime after your return to Tairmor and were concealed from me there.”
I flushed, shame creeping inside me like an unreachable itch, though there was no reason for it. I had every right to conceal myself if I wished to do so.
“I asked Fi not to—”
“I know. And she didn’t say a word to me, despite how many times I asked after you.”
He didn’t sound upset—more like he was making a point about having placed my faith well—but I couldn’t be sure of anything when it came to him. Luka Ivanova wore sincerity like a second skin, exuding an earnestness that begged confidence, but there was an unflappability beneath it all that was most unsettling. He was too smooth, too controlled, too much a politician. And that made him unpredictable.
Luka was studying me, his eyes slightly narrowed, and my senses rallied to full alert. I was being set up.
“I’m afraid, however, that Fi is more compassionate than she is trustworthy,” he remarked, and every muscle in my body tensed. “She was worried, and she brought word of you to one of my Constabularies—Officer Matlock, with whom she knew you to have a rapport. She asked him to be discreet, and with his typical liberal interpretation of instructions, he discreetly carried the news straight to me.”
Anger bubbled up inside me, and I scowled. Had I no friends in this city? It was wonderful that Fi had such a compassionate nature, but compassion could take someone too far—she had to learn to keep her nose out of other people’s business.
“So you’ve been following me,” I muttered through gritted teeth, my heart rate climbing. Had he learned of my Cysur use? Had he gained additional leverage to use against me? In an effort to mimic his relaxed posture, I leaned back, cradling my throbbing wrist.
“Afraid so. Officer Matlock trailed you to the antiquities shop and reported that you were looking for something—a relic that might put you in danger. I should have had you intercepted immediately, but my instincts as the chief law enforcement officer in the Territory took over. I felt compelled to learn your goal, and doubted you’d be open with me if I prevented you from pursuing it. Constable Farrier was to let you carry out your plans, protect you throughout, and take you into custody thereafter.”
“And Hastings?” My sense of control was returning, for I was now confident my drug habit had not been discovered. Tom had trailed me only to the antiquities shop, a visit that occurred after my last excursion to The River’s End. On that point I was certain, because Tom would have stopped me from obtaining the Cysur, regardless of his orders from Luka.
“Ah yes, earlier I said his name resurfaced by coincidence. We had reason to suspect him of a recent home invasion and the murder of a guard who worked at the West Gate. I had no idea he was after you.” He paused, and I examined his eyes, not believing his last assertion, though I desperately wanted to accept his earlier one—that Hastings had murdered the Constabulary. “Now I am left to wonder if you know of any connection between that incident and tonight’s affair.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question. I could tell from the way he sat in comfortable silence, tapping a single finger in a slow rhythm on the table while he awaited my response, that he already knew the answer.
“Perhaps the guard knew something about me.” My reply was carefully phrased, for I did not want my own actions against the Constabulary to come to light, despite Luka’s assertion that I’d been granted immunity.
“Perhaps.”
Luka calmly watched me for several moments, then abruptly came to his feet. Apparently tired of wasting time, he placed his palms flat on the table, looming toward me, his aspect grim.
“Whatever you were after, Hastings wanted it and so did the person you partnered with tonight. It appears he made off with it in all the confusion.” He let his words resonate in the small cell, and I felt like a mouse about to be devoured by a cat. “Have you considered that he and Hastings might have worked in concert?”
I stared at him, nonplussed. I hadn’t considered anything, hadn’t had a chance to process the chain of events that had landed me in this st
ation house. I’d barely had my wrist set and bound, barely caught my breath. And now Luka was insinuating I had been betrayed yet again. Desperate for answers, I opened my mouth to speak; then a warning flashed in my head. This was exactly how the Lieutenant Governor wanted me to feel.
Though it took tremendous effort, I slowed my thoughts and stilled my chaotic emotions. Having grown up the daughter of the Lord of the Law in the Faerie Realm, I knew a few things about interrogation techniques. Luka was attempting—laudably, if ignobly—to alarm me into some kind of confession. I stood and met his gaze, letting the blankets slide off my shoulders and onto the bench.
“Whether those two worked in concert hardly matters now, does it?” Though my brain was stuck on four words—Spex has the Anlace, Spex has the Anlace—my mouth kept moving, miraculously forming coherent sentences. “Besides, I didn’t locate the relic I sought. So I wouldn’t know what my partner took with him when he left me to die.”
I glared at Luka, my words once more carefully selected. I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t located the Anlace—Spex had. Nor did I personally know whether he had taken it with him or not. Desperation gnawed at me, though I refused to let it show on my face. How could I have come so close only to lose the Anlace a second time? Gwyneth be damned—I should never have trusted Spex. I had ended up with nothing to show for my efforts; nothing to redeem me in the eyes of my family.
“Well, that should be a pleasure to tell Mr. Sandrovich,” Luka wryly commented, straightening to his full height. “We had to twist his arm to get him out of his house for the night. He threatened us with all the powers of heaven and hell if we didn’t protect his precious artifacts.”
At my questioning gaze, he waved a hand in the air as though swatting a fly.
“Yes, of course we knew your plans. Not that hard to determine, in truth. And once we knew them, we had no need to follow you. We only needed to keep an eye on the house.
“Now back to your partner. Interestingly, my men recognized him. He’s the young man I referred to earlier, the one my father thought could be rehabilitated. Name of Haruspex Eskander, if memory serves. I would like to know where he might have gone.”
