Forged Absolution (Fates of the Bound Book 4)

by Wren Weston

  Lila slid her arm around his.

  I woke up in a basement somewhere. I don’t even know everything that happened. I just remember them beating me and cutting my skin with knives and whips. Hot metal charred and scared my back. I kept asking what I’d done, but all they would say was that I had talked, that I had said things I shouldn’t have said, that I was a traitor to the family and had to pay.

  On the last day, my matron came down. She ordered me to sing to her one last time. I thought if I sang well enough that she might let me go. I sang for hours until my throat burned with each note. When I could no longer sing clearly, she told them to cut out my tongue. Then she had them put it in a box and address it to Adelisa.

  Lila squeezed him closer.

  I don’t remember much after that. Just pain. The next time I came to, I found myself in a room. Tristan sat on the bed next to me. I remember my scalp felt so very cold and odd. They’d had to shave it to get at some of my wounds.

  “They?”

  He and Shirley and Doc.

  “They broke you out?”

  They tried. Their rescue attempt turned into a diversion. The blood squad was so distracted that when they loaded me up and dumped me in the river, they didn’t check my pulse so carefully. I was barely alive when Doc fished me from the water. He patched me up and fixed Shirley, too.

  “That’s how she lost her fingers and her ear?”

  Dixon nodded. The explosives she took had been mislabeled. She said her boss never did run a clean and orderly shop. After we were strong enough, we fled to New Bristol.

  “And Tristan and Shirley went with you?”

  They had to. Their boss noticed their absence and the loss of explosives. He ratted them out as thieves. They would have gotten another year in the auction house if they hadn’t run. Doc went with us, too. I think he’d grown sweet on Shirley. Besides, he’d been fired a few months before that and had no job and nowhere else to go. Tristan promised to help him.

  “I don’t understand why your family called in their blood squad. You didn’t try to kill anyone or steal the family’s fortune. That’s all a blood squad is for.”

  I suspect the Holguíns use them differently than most other families. I’m glad I do not belong to them any longer. Our family is better.

  “It is,” Lila said, resting her chin against his shoulder.

  Dixon shifted his weight, reaching for the shamrock bracelet on his wrist. He unclasped it and held it out to her. You keep this from now on.

  Lila took it uncertainly.

  Adelisa gave it to me. I’ve kept it all these years to remind me not to open my damn mouth, to keep my own secrets, to trust no one but myself. But I don’t want to live like that anymore, and I don’t want you to live like that either. Wear it and remember there’s always someone you can talk to if you want, someone who will keep your secrets and who will always tell you theirs.

  Lila thumbed her belly, wondering if she should tell him her deepest secret. But what could she tell him, exactly? She still had no idea whom the baby belonged to. Perhaps when she knew more, she’d talk.

  She just wasn’t ready.

  When Lila did not accept the bracelet, he clasped it around her wrist. Lila played with the green shamrock charm, its unfamiliar weight odd against her skin. It shone in the light and paired well with her sapphire ring.

  Lila cleared her throat. “Before I went to the Closing Ball, I found out more information about the snoop in the BIRD. It turned out that he had infected more than just that one application. He called himself the Baron. While I was at the ball, I found out that Senator La Roux might be the Baron.”

  Dixon’s eyes bugged out.

  “Yes, I know. That was my reaction too. I asked my sister’s fiancé to introduce us. They were cousins. I wanted a peek at his palm data, so I took him back to the great house. I got a look at his palm, all right, but what I found led me to believe he was innocent. I thought he was being set up.”

  So you didn’t sleep with him?

  “I thought the real Baron had him in their sights, Dixon. I thought that if I took him for the season, then I could protect him. The Randolphs needed an heir, anyway. So, yes, I did have sex with La Roux that night.” She sat up, pulling away from Dixon. “It wasn’t until he left the next morning that I realized the truth. He’d drugged my wine. He’d—”

  Did he rape you? Dixon’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “No, he just wanted to make sure that I slept hard after we were through. While I dozed, he broke into my computer and copied files. He also bugged my room and my palm. I discovered it only a few moments after he left.” She ran her fingers over her legs, her skin now chilled to gooseflesh. “I should have let Mr. Shaw arrest him then, but I wanted to hear what he’d say without Bullstow hovering. When La Roux came over the next night, Mr. Shaw listened in.”

  And?

  “And La Roux flipped out when he realized he was caught. I didn’t have my gun in my reach. He nearly strangled me to death. He bruised a few of my ribs, and my face and throat were a mess.”

  Dixon’s mouth hung open. That’s why you want to learn to fight.

  “That’s why I must learn how to fight. I should have paid more attention during hand-to-hand training. Reaper almost killed me. La Roux nearly killed me. The person who vandalized my Firefly last month tried to kill me. Now the mole has taken their turn. Twice.” Lila rubbed her eyes. “Dixon, I’m tired of people putting their hands on me. I don’t have a dozen militia backing me up anymore. I don’t always have a tranq at my hip. I can’t always sprint away.”

  You’ll always have me.

  “You won’t always be there either. What’s wrong with me, Dixon? I took La Roux home that night because I thought he might be the Baron, but I’d already been interested. Out of all the senators in that ballroom, I chose the murderer.”

  Tristan isn’t a murderer.

  “No, but an hour ago, he claimed to have feelings for me. He kissed me,” she said, not willing to confess more. “Now he and his lover—”

  He’s being an ass.

  “Is he? I told him months ago that we weren’t right for one another. Katia is, though. They’re the same. He’s better off with her, and happier, too. Instead of accepting that, instead of getting over it and being the bigger person, I can’t stop wallowing.”

  He’s not supposed to be with her.

  “Why not?”

  Because if he was supposed to be with her, they would have been together years ago.

  “Then, by your logic, if Tristan and I were right for one another, we would never have broken up. Sometimes people aren’t right for another. They break up and become lovers once more after time has passed, after they’ve grown as people. Perhaps Tristan and Katia needed that time.”

  Dixon shook his head.

  “I can be your friend without being Tristan’s, you know. He and I were never really friends, anyway. Relationships aren’t supposed to be so hard.”

  The thumps started again in the other room.

  Dixon gritted his teeth, looking at the wall once more. Don’t get involved with Nico just to get over Tristan. He’s not right for you.

  “I don’t have feelings for Nico, Dixon. Even if I did, I just can’t go there right now. I don’t think I want anything to do with men for a while.”

  The moment she said it, she knew the truth of it. She needed to get a handle on her feelings. All of them.

  You switching teams, then? Blair has a few hot cousins. I saw pictures.

  Lila rolled her eyes and shoved him.

  Dixon cackled over the moans coming from next door. The thumps died away, replaced with the creaks of two people falling into bed in frustration.

  Lila and Dixon eyed the wall, grins locked on their faces.

  For the first time, Katia and Tristan went to bed early.<
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  Chapter 22

  Lila rolled onto her stomach and turned her nose away from the dingy gray mat. It smelled of sweat and unwashed bodies and a bit like blood. She lifted herself with damp palms and got to her feet for the hundredth time, glad that Connell wasn’t around to toss her out. Dixon had taken her to one of the shop’s basement training rooms that morning, the floor carpeted with thick mats for sparring. He had even locked the door from the inside so that she could remove her hood while they worked.

  He hopped now in the center, barely tired or sore. Then again, he hadn’t spent much time being thrown onto the mats.

  Lila had begun to hate the man.

  She raised her padded fists and sank into a defensive posture.

  Dixon tapped his chest for her to attack immediately. He’d signaled so often that he likely had a bruise.

  It had only taken one sparring session for Dixon to figure out why she sucked so badly at fighting. She never actually attacked, not unless her trainer demanded that she parrot back one of a handful of scripted passes at her practice partner, just as Connell and Nico had done at the oracle’s compound. She performed moderately average under such conditions, but in a real sparring session—when Lila could pick from any move she’d ever learned—she was lost. She forever waited for others to bumble forward, trying to gauge their timing and rhythm. She feinted when she should spring forward and deliver a blow.

  All her opponent had to do was rush her, and she’d fall on her ass. Staring and half-assed jabs never won real fights. Real fights ended quickly, especially against a bigger, taller opponent. She needed speed against brawn, speed she didn’t have because she zoned out and overthought, wincing at the idea that she should partake in any violence at all. Heirs didn’t lift their hands or raise their voices. Both were unseemly. Never before had Lila realized how much of a snob she really was, how deeply the highborn attitude had been buried.

  She fell back again with a groan, spreading out her weight as she slapped the mat, coughing.

  Dixon had swept her legs again.

  “It’s my turn next,” she grumbled, knowing what he’d say. She didn’t have the reach to use a leg sweep in a fight. He’d swept, and swept slowly, so that she would hop over her leg and attack while he lingered off balance.

  She hadn’t managed it successfully yet.

  Dixon walked toward the side of the room, rummaging in his things.

  “Are we done?” she asked hopefully.

  He cut her a glance and shook his head, scribbling something on his notepad.

  She already knew what it would say. Real fights aren’t tidy. They’re fast and brutal. Until you’re willing to do what the other person won’t, you’re never going to win. He’d written some variation of it several times during their session.

  Dixon flipped over his notepad. Forget everything you know about fighting. Just imagine that I’m Tristan and hit me.

  “What?”

  Dixon tossed his notepad next to his water bottle and returned to the mat, shoving her shoulder while moaning lewdly.

  “Stop it,” she grumbled, repulsed by the idea. She might lose her temper, and she kept that well controlled, just as a highborn heir—

  “Oh,” she said as he shoved her shoulder once more.

  Pursing her lips, she let her eyes lose focus. Tristan and Dixon did have similar bodies. They shared the same swimmer’s build, the same approximate height and weight. Only their faces had been carved differently.

  He groaned again in a grotesque parody of sex, stepping forward to push on her shoulder.

  “I take your point,” she muttered, batting him away. “You can stop with all the noise.”

  But Dixon did not stop. He kept going and going, interpreting Tristan’s whole damn demeanor during their relationship, even during the last week. Always pushing, always poking, always going on and on about how nothing he ever did was good enough for either of them, always rolling his eyes at every highborn thing that she and Dixon ever did.

  This time when Dixon strode forward, she shoved him back in annoyance, both hands on his chest, pushing him with all her strength.

  She certainly hadn’t learned that during any of her training sessions.

  Dixon nudged her twice in a row, just hard enough to knock her off balance. It occurred to her then that Tristan and Dixon had the exact same curve to their lips when amused.

  Narrowing her eyes, she shoved him again.

  Fuck him and his opinions about her damn reach. When he shuffled back, she dropped to the floor and swept his legs.

  He slipped awkwardly, falling on his ass. His palms slapped against the mat with a thud.

  “Are we done now?”

  He shook his head, stood up, tapped his chest, and moaned.

  All at once, Lila barreled toward him. She didn’t care about hitting or kicking. She just charged into his chest full speed, her shoulder smacking into his pecs.

  Dixon fell back laughing, just as he’d rolled off the bed the night before.

  “Stop it. You told me to forget everything about fighting. What do you expect?”

  This time, when he stood up, she brought her foot up to kick at his groin. His eyes widened as the strike approached, and he turned his hips to the side.

  His body off balance, she swept his legs again.

  “How do you like me now?” She tapped her chest with a little thunk thunk.

  Dixon got back to his feet and lifted his arm. Too late to realize he’d intended to clap her on the shoulder, she grabbed his arm, turned into him, and used his momentum to carry him over her body in the same throw she’d relearned with Connell and Nico.

  He struck the mat with another grunt.

  “I’m done for the day,” she said, uncomfortable with the stirrings inside her. She wanted to go back upstairs, take a long shower, and have a pot of tea.

  She tugged on her hand wraps, but Dixon shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said, getting to his feet.

  The rare use of his voice stopped her.

  Dixon tapped his chest. For the next half-hour, her mind and body sloshed back and forth like a wave, sometimes bursting forth in anger the moment he signaled for her to attack, other times reining themselves in as a proper heir should.

  After one last sloppy attack, Dixon finally called for a timeout. He led her to one of the heavy bags chained to the ceiling, then set his wristwatch with a feeble little beep. Holding the bag, he jutted his chin toward it.

  Tristan, he mouthed, pointing at a face-sized X made from tape on the mat.

  Lila punched until her annoyance wasn’t enough to carry her through, her strength flagging in less than a minute. Her arms became lead weights, each muscle sore and hot, like some invisible force had latched on to her elbows, pulling them down. By the time Dixon finally called time, she’d been hitting the bag with the force of a toddler.

  Three minutes. She’d barely lasted three minutes.

  Lila rested her hands on her hips, panting and staring longingly at the door. “Can we be done now?”

  Dixon shook his head and gestured for her to start again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She could barely lift her arms into position.

  All at once, Dixon grabbed the bag, humping it while he moaned and groaned.

  Lila raised her arms with effort, punching out with dead, sloppy arms, biting her cheeks as she hit the heavy bag.

  After another three minutes, Dixon ended her torture.

  “Thank the gods,” Lila grumbled, taking off her wraps at last. “No more today. I’m exhausted, and I have a lot of data to go through. Hopefully, I’ll still be able to type.”

  While Dixon gathered up his things, she slipped on a borrowed hoodie, pulling it over her face as they trudged upstairs, each step creaking as her tired legs climbed. She kept her eyes on the ground, all t
o avoid curious eyes, but they met no one on the stairs. She checked her palm as Dixon led her down the fifth floor corridor.

  She had no messages.

  The fact did not surprise her. That morning, she and Dixon had driven to Bullstow. According to the militia at the gatehouse, her father was still in a meeting. Had he and the committee talked all night? Had they taken a break for breakfast? Couldn’t he have taken a few seconds to send her a message?

  Dixon pointed again to a sentence he’d scrawled that morning. They probably took his palm away.

  He opened the apartment door, both of them breathing a sigh of relief at the empty room. Tristan and Katia had vanished when they returned from Bullstow, and had not yet returned.

  They hadn’t returned after Lila’s shower, either, nor when Dixon hopped in after, leaving her to roam freely around the apartment. When the water turned on in the bathroom, she slid into Tristan’s empty room, only one thing on her mind.

  She opened the top drawer of Tristan’s bedside table with a little rattle, ignoring the half-torn sheet of condoms. Snatching Tristan’s brush, she carefully pulled out every strand of his hair and put them into the vial Helen had given her. She replaced the brush quickly and darted from his room, closing the door behind her.

  She’d have her answer soon.

  Tucking the vial in her pocket, she ordered pizza from a shop nearby, reading off the order exactly as Dixon had written it. On another day, ham and pineapple pizza might have been a culinary adventure. Instead, she barely tasted it while her eyes bounced between her palm and laptop.

  Luckily, Dixon dozed on the couch, too tired to stay awake after a poor night’s sleep, an early morning, a long training session, and a full belly.

  His gentle snores might have lulled her into a nap on any other day. Instead, she wiped her hands, tossed her palm on the coffee table, and took up her laptop, scrolling through the bios of those who had access to the oracle’s compound but were not on a Squab’s Sojourn. After reading through each entry, she took a quick break and peeked at the results of another search. A sea of workborn apartments stared back at her, nothing but anonymous off-white walls and grimy carpets, the price on even the smallest dwelling a shock.