“I’m going to speak to Stone,” I repeated, brushing past Ronad and heading for the house. It was much quieter without the horde of brothers taking up space. And yet, I missed the comfortable chatter. The silence was awful.
“Riley? How are you feeling?” Lauren stepped out of the lounge, sipping from a mug of something hot. “You’ve been in that lab for ages.”
I smiled. “I’m feeling okay, but I’ve got a whole lot of questions.”
“For me?”
“For you and for Stone, if he’s feeling up to it.”
She nodded. “He’s just through here, playing up the suffering patient act.”
“I hurt me eye, not me ears!” his voice chirped from the shaded living room.
Lauren chuckled. “As you can see, he’s feeling more like himself.”
“Could Szayan help?”
“He did what he could and seems hopeful of Stone making a full recovery, which is good news,” she said nervously.
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Aye, am keepin’ all me extremities crossed!” Stone joked, lightening the mood. It didn’t last long, my visions drawing me back to seriousness. “Now, what is it yer wantin’ to chat with me fer? I’m hopped up on a bunch o’ crazy pain meds, so if I start seein’ dancin’ imps doin’ the conga ‘round yer head and suchlike, don’t take it to heart.”
He was sitting in an armchair, surrounded by a tangle of plant roots, looking very pleased with himself. A goofy grin turned up the corners of his lips. He held out his hands for Lauren like a petulant toddler, chuckling to himself as he tugged her into his lap. She laughed, looping her arms around his neck and slapping his hand away as it went wandering.
“Excuse him, the coldblood medicine is having a weird effect on him,” she explained.
“Ain’t nothin’ weird about lovin’ every morsel o’ yer lass.”
“Who said I was your lass?”
He nuzzled her arm. “Me greatest wishes did.”
Lauren blushed furiously. “Come on, Stone, you’ve got to focus. Riley needs you for something.”
“Always nice to be popular! What can I do ye for?”
I grimaced, wondering how much use the ambaka might actually be. “I was wondering if you could tell me what you know about those handcuffs you stole from the Museum of the Universe. It’s very important that I find out as much as possible.”
“That were one o’ me finest hours!” he said proudly. “In all o’ pirate lore, that tale is gonna go down as a perfect example o’ stealth and sophistication. Not that I class meself as a pirate—much too grand fer that title these days.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, ye can’t be tellin’ the authorities or ought, but I snuck in there, masqueradin’ as a regular sort o’ visitor,” he explained, whispering drunkenly. “Found one o’ them boxes they put rich dead folk in and hid inside ‘til closin’ time. Was bustin’ for a piss by the time the lights went off, mind.”
I frowned. “You hid in a sarcophagus?”
“Aye, that’s the one. The sarco-whatsit of some snoot from a planet I ain’t never heard of, from ages and ages ago,” he went on, slurring. “Man, he were fusty smellin’. Never thought I’d get that hum out me nostrils. Anyways, the lights went off, place were closed down for end o’ business, all kinds of junk hawked in the giftshop. I sneaks out and creeps for the rare artifacts room. Ye’d think, if they didn’t want their best loot nabbed, they’d not put it all in one place, but hey—I ain’t gonna complain.
“So, I gets into this rare thingamajigs room and has a looky-see at what’s what. Spots the cameras, keeps away from ‘em. Sniffs out the security barriers and all that, makin’ sure no one can pin it to me. In all o’ pirate history, no one’s ever nicked ought from that museum.” He paused, grinning. “Right in front o’ me, I see these stonkin’ great golden thingies and know I wants ‘em. They look easy to carry, and they’re tucked all neat in a camera blind spot. Perfect pickings. I know they’ll fetch a grand ol’ price on the darkstar, ‘specially if they’ve locked up someone good.”
“Did you find out who they’d been used on?” I pressed.
He nodded. “Oh, aye, first thing I found out. Museum were harpin’ on about how these here cuffs were dead special ‘cause they’d been used on some poor Vysanthean bastard—their last god, or somethin’ like that. Now, I figures the museum makes up a whole host o’ tall tales like that, to make their stuff seem all valuable and interesting. Mystique, I think folk call it? Well, them cuffs didn’t seem like ought to me, so I pinched ‘em and got meself out o’ there sharpish. Froze a couple o’ guards and went home happy as ye like. Knew I could spin me own yarn to sell ‘em.”
“Do you remember anything else? Do you remember who you sold them to?”
He shook his head. “Nah, long time ago now. Can’t remember me own breakfast, let alone me former clientele. Might have a list o’ them somewhere but can’t promise ought.”
“Anything else?”
“Yer really squishin’ me buzz here, Ri,” he complained, with a smirk. He gasped suddenly, lurching forward with Lauren in his arms. “Ach, aye, now that yer mention it, there was one other thing.”
“What?”
“There were this nasty paintin’ behind the pillow-thingie that them cuffs were sittin’ pretty on,” he continued. “Some dusty Vysanthean king with his caboose on a mighty big throne. Shards stickin’ out o’ his head. Looked like he were in a palace made o’ ice. He had these creepy, pitch-black eyes. I remember it ‘cause I were certain them eyes were followin’ me about the room; they looked like they were burnin’ from the inside out. Gave me the tingles—not the good kind—so I left it where it were. Didn’t think anyone’d want some weirdo watchin’ em. He had them cuffs on his wrists, though. Museum probably wanted to make their story look less like a barefaced fib or somethin’.”
With a feeling of dread, I realized that Stone’s description of this Vysanthean king was exactly like the one I’d seen in my trance. The black eyes filled with burning fire. The ice palace and the crown of icicles. He was not a king—he was a god. The last Vysanthean god, clad in chains, just as the visions had shown.
Before I could even contemplate my next move, the front door of Sarrask’s cottage crashed open. Navan and Bashrik burst in, dragging Lazar between them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Navan! Bash!” I hurried through to the kitchen, glad to see them safe. Lauren raced after me, while Angie appeared on the landing, hurtling down to throw her arms around Bashrik. I wanted to do the same with Navan, but he was having some difficulty lowering Lazar onto the kitchen bench. The one-eyed coldblood wasn’t fighting, but he wasn’t moving much either. Regardless, Navan was alive, and he was here, in one beautiful piece. It was a happy moment. Not to mention the fact that, with Lazar in our grasp, we might actually be able to develop this anti-elixir. I could practically feel Orfaio’s pieces slotting together.
Nisha and the other Idrax brothers barreled in a second later, escorting another rebel coldblood. He wasn’t familiar to me, but it looked like they’d spread their options, taking another prisoner to use as a test subject.
“Who’s this?” I asked Harko, who had the prisoner’s arm draped across his shoulders.
He shrugged. “Some dude the queens had captured alongside our uncle. We thought he might be useful, so we brought him along for the ride. Rask, he put up a fight, though, this one. Didn’t want to be taken by a bunch of Idraxes, scratching and clawing like a wild throat-tearer. Reminded me of that time we had a nest of throat-tearer bats trapped in the attic; Szayan brought one of them home to study and didn’t realize he’d caught a pregnant one. Rask in a box, we had bats everywhere for weeks, do you remember?”
Szayan rolled his eyes. “The results of my study were extremely useful, and the exterminators were called before anyone could get hurt. There was no harm done, Harko.”
“Funny, though.”
; I was distracted by the sight of Sarrask appearing on the landing, with Seraphina in tow. I guessed that she and Angie had been keeping him company while the rest of his brothers were out on their mission. She was holding Nova, though she quickly hurried back into one of the bedrooms as she caught sight of the unruly brood that had come through the door. The brothers were fine to be around my daughter, but we had no idea who this stranger was. I was grateful to her for her quick thinking.
Sarrask looked puzzled. “Are we back home? This doesn’t look like our childhood home.”
“Sarrask? Where in Rask’s name have you been hiding?” Garrik asked, smiling up at his absent brother.
“I have been looking over my geology books,” he replied, distracted. “What are you all doing here? Shouldn’t you be in your own houses?”
“It’s a tight squeeze, right?” Lojak said. “Sorry to impose on you like this, but we can’t stay in our own homes while we’re helping these folks out. Wouldn’t want to invite any unwanted attention, y’know? We didn’t even know you were home, bro. Why didn’t you say something? Have you been hiding up there? We heard a while back that some bomb had gone off in your face—had no idea you were even alive. Glad to see it, though!”
Sarrask frowned, visibly struggling. “Are we back home? Where are we? Why are you all in my house?” His eyes sought out mine, but there was nothing I could do for him. I offered a look of encouragement, feeling useless.
“We’re helping these guys out,” Rethela chimed in curtly, dumping the stranger on the ground. “Father and Navan need our support, so we’re here to start a revolution. That’s what family is for, right?”
“A revolution? You’re fighting against Queen Gianne?”
Rethela snorted. “We’re fighting against all of them, Brother. No more tyranny, no more fear, no more biased rule. Vysanthe is going to have a government, and we’re going to be the ones to make it happen. Those rebels won’t know what’s hit them.”
Sarrask squirmed. “Rebels? They left years ago… didn’t they?”
“Have you been living under a rock, Brother?” Garrik teased. “It’s the queens versus the rebels, locked in a fight to the death. We’re going to level the playing field, take that sweet immortality out from under them.”
“The queens versus… the rebels?” Sarrask faltered. “What are you all doing here, in my house?”
“Are you feeling well?” Szayan stepped forward, concerned.
“He was injured in the battle between the queens,” I explained hurriedly. “That bomb that exploded in his face? It caused some kind of problem with his short-term memory. He doesn’t remember much after being brought back here by Kaido, after the explosion.”
Rethela smirked. “Old Crabweed did a crappy job fixing him up, by the looks of it.”
“Call him that again, and it will be the last thing you say,” I warned.
He sneered. “Where is the little reptile, anyway?”
I glowered at him. “None of your business.”
“I will take a look at Sarrask later, if there is time,” Szayan said solemnly. “Brain injuries are notoriously difficult to amend, but I will do what I can for him. I doubt there was anything Kaido could have done to make it better.” He flashed a pointed look at his eldest brother. “If I perform some tests, I can at least gauge the limits of his retention.”
“Thank you, Szayan,” I said, relaxing a little.
“Right now, we need to get Lazar to Father so he can begin to reverse engineer the elixir,” Navan urged. To my surprise, he seemed conflicted at the thought of offering his uncle up as nothing more than a test specimen. Lazar wasn’t all bad, our past disputes aside.
I nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“Make sure you secure that prisoner,” he instructed, turning to his brothers.
“We will,” Garrik replied. “Might put him in one of the rooms on your ship, Szayan, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” the medic replied.
“Good, that should keep him out of our way, whoever he is.” Navan sighed, shouldering Lazar’s full weight. Helping him back to his feet, he carried Lazar over to the staircase and carried him up toward the landing. We passed Sarrask, who continued to squirm in confusion.
He grasped my wrist. “Riley?” he whispered. “You came here a few days ago, didn’t you? You went away, and then you came back, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I can’t remember you coming here. I can’t remember my brothers arriving. Everything is so fuzzy.”
I removed his hand from my wrist and held it for a moment. “Your memory is coming back, bit by bit. Soon enough, everything will be clear again. Kaido and Szayan are taking care of you, and I don’t think you could be in better hands.”
He frowned, tears of frustration glittering in his eyes. “I pray you’re right.”
“Go down and speak to Szayan, see what he can do for you,” I urged, eager to follow Navan into the room where he’d taken his uncle. I didn’t want to see the experiments, or watch Lazar suffer. I just wanted to hear everything Lazar had to say about Ezra and Aurelius.
“Perhaps… yes, my brother is a doctor… maybe he can make things less hazy.”
I watched him head down the stairs in a daze, before hurrying into the nearby room. Lazar sat in a chair, slumped against the back, his breathing sharp and short. Jareth stood on the opposite side of the bedroom, by the window, toying with the frond of an overgrown plant. Neither of the brothers seemed to want to look at one another. There was a wariness between them, a bristling tension.
“Nice of you to join us, Brother.” Jareth was the first to speak, while Lazar collected himself.
“I’m sorry, was I supposed to get an invite to this family reunion?” he shot back. “Wouldn’t be the first list I’ve been left off, now, would it?”
“No need to be sour, Brother. It’s not my fault you chose to embarrass the family name with betrayal and deceit.”
Lazar chuckled coldly. “And yet, here you are, fighting against the establishment whose ass you have been kissing since you were a boy. Anyone would think you were trying to copy me. What would our parents say, if they could see you now? Two disappointments.”
“Speak for yourself.” Jareth snorted. “And you are the one gifted with mimicry, Lazar. I have heard of what you have done with the immortality elixir. It would seem years of following me around, stealing my ideas and eavesdropping on my concepts, have paid off for you, at last. You copied me. You took my theory, got lucky, and pilfered the credit for yourself.”
“No, I applied logic and fastidious study—something you would not understand,” Lazar replied. “The theory might have been yours in the end, Jareth, but you stole the spark of it from other alchemists. Alchemists who were better than you but lacked your name and your power. Those who would not dare to speak up against you when you stole their glory from them.”
He smirked. “I see your jealousy, Lazar. You know there is no truth in your words, only the bitter envy of a washed-up rebel whose cause has faded.”
“You think I am jealous? I proved your theory, Jareth. I’m not a petty man, but the thought of doing what you couldn’t did bring me a good deal of satisfaction. You cannot imagine how many times I pictured you receiving the news, and let the twisted mask of your envious face lighten my spirit.”
It was amusing to see the two brothers acting like squabbling siblings, each trying to get the upper hand. I imagined this was a practiced back-and-forth, developed over years of rivalry. I just had to look at the behavior between Navan and his brothers to see the same actions mirrored in them. Some might get along better than others, but there were some for whom the rivalry would never end. The fact that Jareth seemed to favor Navan, even after everything that had happened, had to be a source of irritation for the other Idrax boys. Harko sprang to mind.
“A stroke of luck and circumstance, nothing more,” Jareth replied with forced nonchalance. “Anyone could have co
mpleted the elixir if they’d had knowledge of my work and my theory, and been given the right snippets of information. I am certain you did not do it alone.”
Lazar smiled. “There was a notebook, I confess, but I was the one to piece everything together. Besides, I am no glory hunter. I don’t care if my name ends up in the history books, unlike you. Hasn’t that always been your dream, Brother?”
“Nobody will remember you.”
Lazar shrugged. “I told you, I don’t care for accolades. All I want is for the future of Vysanthe to be a peaceful one. Once the queens are overthrown, the rebels will ensure that all citizens become immortal. There will be no death, no pain, no injury, no disease. Fighting will end as a result. Peace will reign. I am certain it will happen.”
“Uncle, you keep waiting for the rebels to do good. You keep waiting for certain conditions to be met before we can have peace on this planet,” Navan interjected. “What if you’ve been duped? What if those conditions will never be met? Do you think Ezra and Aurelius will let civilians live, if they refuse to bow and scrape to their new leaders?”
“I believe they will do right by our nation. I believe they will give immortality to everyone.”
“Then you’re a fool, Uncle. As long as the coldbloods—rebel and queen alike—wish to become more powerful than they already are, there will always be a barrier standing in the way of true equality on Vysanthe. Only a complete change in leadership, the kind that works for everyone, can bring about that kind of peace, not false promises and synthetic eternity.”
Lazar glanced at his nephew. “That is your opinion. I know better.”
I couldn’t wrap my head around his stubbornness, his constant refusal to accept that Ezra and Aurelius might not be telling the complete truth. They wanted superiority, not peace. I feared it would be a long time before Lazar had his eyes opened.
“Well, whatever your idiotic opinion, we plan to redress the balance,” Jareth said coldly. “I have no love for the queens. I have no love for the rebels. I care only for the people, which is why we’re going to hand power back to them, one of these days. But first, we need to reverse the effects of this elixir you’ve made.”
Hotbloods 8: Stargazers Page 32
