by E. C. Jarvis
“Larissa, we are wasting time here,” Holt said as he joined her on the ground.
“How can we be wasting time? This is everything. This is…” She faltered as her heart ached anew for the Professor. To think, someone had stolen his efforts and then tortured and killed him for no reason at all.
“Larissa,” Holt said, his voice low and commanding.
“What?” she barked in a whisper, turning so quickly her hair whipped around her head.
“We are here for one purpose, and this is not it.”
“If only we had some Anthonium left. I think there is a hatch somewhere in the middle. Did you use the entire last piece?”
When he did not answer, she turned to find him walking away, his fists balled at his sides, legs marching with angry strides to the opposite end of the room. Her heart sank. Had she really upset him so much? Was it the mere mention of the Professor which made him angry? Couldn’t he tell that someone had already beaten them to the palace? For all they knew, the President was already dead, and they were about to walk into a palace full of assassins and pirates.
She stared at him walking away with tears in her eyes. Until now, she had been so sure of their course, so determined to push on regardless. Only now, in the shadow of the looming Machine which bore a terrifying resemblance to the original, did she start to truly doubt. They could walk away right now, walk away together. They could rescue Cid from wherever he had ended up, ensure Narry and Sandy were safe, and just leave. Who would ever know?
“Holt,” she whispered as he turned past a large copper pipe protruding from one end of the Machine, moving out of view.
She took two steps and froze on the spot as the hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.
“It doesn’t work.” A voice from behind stopped her dead in her tracks.
With a shaky breath, she turned on her heels and came face to face with her father.
Solomon Covelle, Professor Ronald Markus, the son of the last Emperor of Daltonia—her father glared down at her with a stern expression. His hand leaned on a section of the Machine, more possessive than for balance. His eyes flicked upward to somewhere behind her head for a brief moment before refocussing directly on Larissa.
“He has lasted far longer than he should have, given the dosages I provided,” Covelle said.
Larissa couldn’t speak—couldn’t think. Her entire body seemed to pulse with every beat of her heart. Her eyes danced across the features of his face—the tanned skin marked with thick lines, the white wiry beard on his chin and white, wildly curly hair atop his head. She had his hair and his steely, blue-grey eyes. Her feet inched backwards, an attempt to put some space between them, but her back bumped into one of the large copper domes, giving her only one option for escape—to kill him.
“No matter,” Covelle said with an odd sort of smile. “It will catch up to him eventually.”
“What doesn’t work?” she asked, finally finding her voice. Why she had asked that question when there were so many more pertinent ones, she didn’t know. Why couldn’t she just take her dagger and plunge it into his heart? She could end it all here, now.
“This Machine. It was built to the same specifications as the one Professor Markus was working on, except for a few modifications.”
“How? There were no copies. He didn’t share the design for the technology with anyone but Cid.” She snapped her mouth shut, feeling foolish for involving Cid in the conversation. There was no sense in dragging his name through the dirt.
“Professor Watts used various people over the years, builders, mechanics. He paid them all good money to keep silent. The President ensured they talked by reminding them that they were complicit in illegal activity and they, and their families would face serious punishment if they did not share his secrets. The President built this monstrosity at great expense and found it to be utterly worthless. Not even Anthonium seemed to help. It was supposed to provide power to the entire capital, and then, later, he would modify it to produce weapons. That sort of thing would secure his position of power for generations.” His eyes twinkled with a soft smile in the yellow gaslight, and he looked down at Larissa, waiting patiently for her to speak.
“You sabotaged it?” she asked.
“Naturally. As I have done with every other effort the President made. He never suspected me. Arrogant fool. As soon as he is disposed of, I shall secure my reinstatement as Emperor with this contraption by making it work.” He patted the Machine. “And as the stupid Empress of Eptora wouldn’t deal with me in the proper manner, I will destroy her and her people. I must say, child, I am rather disappointed in your conduct. You need some schooling. Never mind, I shall teach you.”
“You shall do no such thing,” she said. As if she’d been waiting for him to remind her of what a horrid bastard he was, that single sentence sharpened her focus. She glanced down at the dagger stuck into the block, too far from reach to be of use. She slid the fingertips of both hands between the folds of her skirt on either side of her legs, seeking another blade hidden within. Her thoughts turned to her mother, laying on her deathbed, suffering and crying out for the husband she’d lost. How could he have been so callous?
“As to your boyfriend, he is not acceptable. I will not allow you to keep him.”
“He’s not a pet and you are not my—”
“Father?” He smiled again.
Her fingertips found the edge of a sharp blade which sliced her skin. She flinched, then moved to find the handle. She felt the skin on her fingers heal instantly, and a slight flutter of excitement replaced the constant fluttering of fear in her chest. Larissa rubbed the blood from her fingers and focused on his chest. Perhaps plunging a blade into his heart would be impossible, since she wasn’t sure he had one.
“I will give him up if you tell me how to heal him,” she said. “I owe him so much, I can’t just let him die. You poisoned him, so tell me how to cure it.”
“There is no cure,” Covelle said flatly.
“But—”
“No, Larissa. Believe me, I’ve studied it my entire life. I found the information about the Anthonium very easily. The moment I stepped inside the volcano, it was all there, waiting to be discovered. If only the Eptorans hadn’t let their fears and superstitions prevent them from going into the mountain or the forest surrounding it, they would have found it all for themselves. They didn’t mind letting a foreigner go look, of course. What did it matter to them if a young man got himself killed up there? Aside from the loss of an assistant or two to those bloody Rifarin, and the occasional puff of smoke from the volcano, spending all that time there was surprisingly easy.”
“So there was nothing you could have done to save my mother?” she asked, her voice quiet and meek, though she fought back the threatening tears.
“No. I’m truly sorry, my dear. I did care for her, but I couldn’t really drag her and you around the world with me. It was far too dangerous. I didn’t know she’d worn my gift as a necklace. It was meant to have been given with instructions for proper storage. I even wrote to her telling her to sell it, but I suppose she ignored my letter or…well, I can’t change that now.”
“There must be a cure,” she pleaded again. Though she had no intention of giving up Holt, if there was a chance of discovering how to heal him, it would be worth keeping Covelle alive for just a few more minutes. Her grip on the blade in her dress tightened.
“If you intend to kill me, I suggest you make your move,” he said.
Larissa froze.
“You think me stupid?”
“I…”
“Did it not occur to you how I have spent so many years living inside an active volcano?”
Larissa pulled her right hand away from the blade, giving up the pretence. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, arms dotted with white scars. She pieced the information together, her stomach sinking into her feet. If he possessed the same healing ability as she did, sticking him in the heart might not be as effective as
she’d hoped.
“You’ve been injecting yourself,” she said.
“Good. Smart girl.” He leaned back, taking a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes growing wistful. “The Anthonium grants certain benefits to each recipient of the element. It has granted you healing power. It granted your friend Holt the power to disappear. It granted me the greatest power of all.”
“The power to withstand heat?” Larissa asked, not quite comprehending how such a thing could be considered so great.
Covelle smiled. It might have seemed a warm and genuine smile if he weren’t so sinister and clearly mad. His gaze flicked between her and the ceiling with curious meaning. Larissa found herself stuck to the spot, unsure where to go or what to do under the domineering watch of her father.
“I escaped this place the night the army turned on my father and attacked. I was just a boy, alone and frightened, dragged from my bed by my priest and whisked into the night as the fire burned in the palace and the screams of my parents echoed down the halls. That bastard Hague Senior organized the treasonous act under the ruse of imposing a Republic in place of the Empirical line, and then he went and assigned himself President.”
“Wasn’t there a vote?” Larissa asked, trying to recall her school lessons on politics. Had she known that history was such an important part of her own past, she might have paid more attention at the time.
“Oh, there was, of course, as there has been every five years ever since. Hague Senior won every time until his son came out of the military after just a few years served, and then guess who won the next vote.”
“Junior,” Larissa said, understanding the implications and seeing it all too clearly now.
“They simply replaced one brand of nepotism with their own, conspiring, treasonous bastards.” Covelle spat the words out in a flash, then turned his attention back to Larissa, his eyes twinkling with passion. “If Daltonia is to be ruled by blood, it may as well be ruled by the right blood.” He lurched forwards, grabbing hold of both of her wrists, locking her into his grasp. “I have the only right to sit in this palace, to rule the Empire and make it great again, with you by my side. It was always meant to be this way, Larissa. It just took me longer than I’d anticipated to bring it all together. Do you know how difficult it is to find trustworthy pirates?”
“Very,” she said simply, wary of his growing desperation.
“For years, I’ve been planning, building, destroying from within. It’s no mistake that I chose my first disguise to be an archaeologist, specialising in Empirical items. Who else would know of the locations of such obscure artefacts than someone who had been born into the family? Of course, I had to regress into my memories to find the detailed information, but I had my priest to help. Those trinkets, along with the Anthonium, bought me everything I’ve needed to plan for our future.”
Larissa stared up at him, listening, trying to take it all in and process the information as quickly as he spat it out at her. She considered the priest he’d mentioned twice and wondered about the Cleric. But he had been too young to have done all of that.
“You were the final piece of my puzzle. I knew you would come here after you showed such determination and strength. It’s somewhat misplaced. But that can be corrected.”
“Me?”
“My legacy. Your destiny. Forgive me, my dear, but the Anthonium effects weaken the farther one moves from the source. You have noticed a reduction in your healing ability, have you not?” He reached into his pocket.
Larissa’s breath caught in her throat. That explained why she struggled to heal anyone, including herself, only she couldn’t figure out why he’d suddenly brought it up.
“And your Rifarin creature—when was the last time you saw it?”
“I’ve not seen Imago since we left Eptora.” She glanced down, looking around her ankles for any sign of the cat.
Movement in front of her caught her eye, and before she had a chance to react, Covelle launched directly at her, a flash of wildness ghosting his eyes. He caught hold of her shoulder, slamming her hard into the Machine. Her shoulder cried out in pain, but the agony was quickly masked by another pain in her left arm.
She flailed and flung him away, landing a punch across his jaw for good measure. He stumbled back, a look of horror across his face as his hand trailed across his torso.
Larissa’s throat ran dry when she saw the knife protruding from his chest. She’d struck him, without even knowing, the act more of reflex than of cold intent. Her lower lip wobbled as a pattern of dark red blood oozed across his white shirt. A tremble ran through her body, beginning at her toes. As though an earthquake rocked her core, she felt her skin crawling, bones creaking, blood boiling in her veins. She tore her gaze from Covelle and looked down at her arm to find an unwelcome addition. An empty syringe protruded from her upper arm. She plucked it out, regarding it with detached interest as the strange sensations rolled around her, as though she were standing in the ocean, wave upon wave crashing against her body, slamming her against a rock.
Covelle grunted and caught hold of the Machine as he tried to maintain balance.
“What did you do?” she asked, black spots dancing around her vision.
“Your power is to heal,” he spat as he clutched at his chest. “You will heal me…or I will burn you.”
Her vision wobbled; the sight of the Machine closed in around the edges, and she fell to her knees. “Holt.” The intended scream came out as nothing more than a whisper as the threat of unconsciousness claimed her mind.
Somewhere in the distance, explosions echoed, and the smell of burning tickled her nose, but nothing could rouse her body.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Kerrigan paced the General’s office. The pointlessness of pacing didn’t deter him. In fact, he felt his mind worked better during movement. If nothing else, he hated the sight of the chair behind the desk and the image of the General’s rolls of fat sticking through the gaps in the chair back. If that was what happened to a high-ranking officer after spending too much time sitting behind a desk, he was going to avoid sitting at all costs.
A knock at the door stopped him in his tracks.
“Come,” he barked.
The door flung open, and a nervous young man hurried in, clicking his heels together and smacking himself in the head by way of a salute. It was sloppy—too sloppy for Kerrigan’s liking—but he hardly had the time to worry about it.
“Report.”
“Sir, we’ve received a response to your message.” The man thrust his arm forward and flapped a small piece of paper at him.
He snatched it from the soldier’s hand, considering an admonishment for the inappropriate delivery, but his attention fell upon the message and all thoughts of protocol went tumbling from his mind. How could he admonish a Private for such a minor error when he himself had made possibly the stupidest move of his own career? Another knock at the door sent the churning contents of his stomach into overdrive.
“Come,” he barked again.
This time, Lieutenant Saunders entered. Kerrigan dismissed the Private, who left the room with an equally inept salute.
“Well?”
“They were not at the tavern. They left a message with the barman for us to say they couldn’t wait.”
Kerrigan grimaced. He had expected as much. After all, his displays of loyalty had been severely lacking. He would have probably thought less of Larissa if she’d been hanging around a tavern waiting for him to show up. No, that was not indicative of her as a person. In any case, they’d both made a different choice. She hadn’t waited, and he hadn’t gone to the tavern. It felt logical.
“Do you think they made it in to the palace, Sir?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it matters either way.”
“Why?”
Kerrigan sighed and passed the note to Saunders.
“Oh,” Saunders said. “How long?”
“A few hours.”
“Do y
ou think it’s the right thing to do?”
“Covelle will make his move soon. I’d rather be prepared for it than be caught sitting in here with my thumb up my ass.”
“But the President—”
“Doesn’t have a clue what’s coming his way. If we win and he lives, he’ll condemn me for going over his head. If we win and he dies, we might get lucky. If we lose…well, then everything is screwed.”
Saunders spoke, but his words were silenced by the dull clanging of an alarm bell at the opposite end of the fort. Kerrigan bit down on his teeth and launched towards the door. As he burst into the corridor, a second and third clanging bell joined the first. Kerrigan barrelled past a soldier marching in the opposite direction. His hands curled into fists. The additional bells were not needed; the first was sufficient enough, but now he would have to waste time trying to figure out which of them had started first to see where the threat was coming from.
His march turned into a jog as voices in the courtyard shouted. His eyes locked onto the young Private who’d delivered the message, who now stood in the open, loading a crossbow. The sight sent Kerrigan’s heartrate through the roof. The jog turned into a full-speed run as he reached the courtyard, watching the soldiers to see which direction they were looking. As he suspected, most of the men were climbing the steps to reach the walkway stretching around the wall of the fort, and most of them were bunching up toward one spot. His feet thumped across the stony gravel ground of the courtyard, and he grabbed a crossbow from yet another soldier struggling to load the bolt. He took the steps two at a time, shoving past people on either side until he finally turned his gaze skyward.
“Shit.”
