The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4)

by E. C. Jarvis

  An explosion followed; the piercing boom rocked the floor beneath, and another spray of glass pelted her skin. A body pinned her down, pressing her chest to the floor. Her first instinct was to fight, but a familiar voice commanded her to stay down. The explosions and shuddering continued, the cacophony so loud it left a high-pitched ringing noise whirring through her head when the airship finally passed by, launching cannonballs elsewhere for a change.

  When the ringing subsided and the weight shifted from her back, Larissa rolled onto her side. She was covered in dust and rubble, her skin dotted with cuts and bruises which healed in an instant. The shards of glass which had embedded into her skin had all popped out, and besides the dust, she looked unharmed. Holt, on the other hand, looked as though he had fought an entire war by himself. His face was bruised, the beginnings of a black eye surrounding his socket. He scooted backwards slightly, drawing his body away from the door leading to the corridor, tucking himself out of sight.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What?” Larissa’s entire head pounded as though she were in the middle of waking up from some horrific nightmare.

  “I shouldn’t have left you. I was coming back to find you.”

  “Did you kill the President?” she interrupted. More than anything, she hoped he’d say yes, leaving them free to leave or at least attempt an escape.

  “No. I have been unable to locate him. You are distressed because I left you?” he asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

  “Distressed?”

  “I heard you sobbing from the other end of the hallway.”

  “Oh. No. I’m distressed because…” She groaned and sank her head into her hands, drawing her knees up to rest her elbows upon.

  “Because?”

  “Cid is dead.”

  A sudden and prominent silence descended. Even the wind that had been whipping through the holes torn in the walls seemed to die down. Whether out of ominous divination or simple respect, she didn’t know, but it certainly seemed pertinent. A silent moment passed by. Some more pieces of plaster cascaded from the ceiling, covering her boots.

  “Imago too. And my father,” she finished, the last word quiet, even in the silence.

  She heard a noise, Holt shifting across the floor toward her. Something wrapped around her shoulder—an arm. Strong and determined in his approach, he held her, not saying a word as she buried her face in his chest and wept.

  “Someone once told me this was a noble cause,” Holt said eventually as her sobbing subsided.

  “Someone must have been wrong,” she said, knowing full well that she had been the one to say those words.

  “I think she was right,” Holt said.

  She sat back and looked him in the eye as her shuddering breaths steadied. “This isn’t the time to mock.”

  “I’m not mocking. This is a noble cause. Cid died a noble death fighting for it. Whether it was worth the price remains to be seen. You’ve come this far, Miss Markus. It would be disingenuous to his memory to give up now.”

  As if he had just rubbed her mind with a soothing balm, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The ache of loss still remained, and her heart still longed to change time itself. Sadly, there was neither magical element nor mystical illusion she knew of to achieve such a miracle.

  Larissa stood, surveying the damage to the room. It looked like some form of private office—at least, what remained of it looked office-like. Large, open doorways on either side led to balconies. The entire wall of the office had caved in on itself after being pelted with cannon fire, and the expended balls lay lodged in the far wall and buried in former pieces of furniture. The large, ornate desk in the middle of the room had protected them both from the worst of the attack.

  Larissa looked out at the skies. Pirate airships launching projectiles at their pursuers.

  “Vries,” Holt said as he came to stand by her side.

  “You think?” She could see some of the ships battling the pirates were Sky Force vessels.

  “I suspect he would have regrouped at the coast. I didn’t think he would bring the entire fleet inland on his own initiative, though.”

  “Perhaps he’s acting on orders?”

  “Orders from whom? The President would not have been aware of the attack.”

  Larissa scanned the city scene. Several buildings appeared to be burning, and small skirmishes had broken out in the streets below.

  Holt chuckled slightly in her ear.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  He pointed in the direction of the fort. A group of soldiers were systematically charging through the city streets, fighting off groups of men who dared to raise arms against them. In the melee, Larissa could just about see Kerrigan leading the charge.

  A chuckle of her own escaped her lips. “Are you still upset I prevented you from killing him?” she asked.

  “He has proven useful,” Holt said.

  “Well, as long as they’re keeping Covelle’s people busy, I’m not going to argue. We’ll worry about whether Kerrigan and Vries fight for the President or for our murky side of justice later,” Larissa said. “Let’s finish this.”

  She turned on her heels, newly intent on finding and assassinating the President.

  A large pop echoed around the room.

  Larissa jumped as she spotted a man standing in the doorway, glaring directly at her. He was short and plain-looking with a bald head. Time seemed to slow as she stood staring at him, her head wobbling with a sickening waver. Holt’s mouth was open; he appeared to be shouting something, but she couldn’t hear or see why. Slowly, her mind meshed the pieces together. The man in the doorway had the President’s face. The gun in his hand aimed directly at her. Her chest hurt.

  Holt ran from her side, launching at speed, though it seemed to happen in slow motion. He barrelled into the man in the doorway, leaping across his back and wrapped his arm around his neck. The two men toppled to the ground, and Holt braced his legs on either side of the President’s hunched body as he squeezed his throat, choking the life from the man’s eyes.

  Larissa watched with an oddly detached interest. Her chest hurt.

  A sickening crunch sounded as Holt finally snapped the President’s neck, and Holt ran once again directly toward Larissa.

  She fell to her knees as the battle outside continued. Two soldiers appeared in the corridor. They passed uneasy glances at each other and at the dead President, although neither seemed willing to fight as they both backed away slowly.

  She laughed, the sound oddly alien and completely out of place. Finally, she looked down at her aching chest; her shirt was soaked in blood. Holt caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. Her pulse raced, her hands seemed to tingle, and everything else paled in comparison to the realisation that she had been shot. Every beat of her heart grew laboured. Every breath felt like a marathon attempt. Darkness encroached around the edges of her vision. Was this a noble death? Was this worth the price?

  She wanted so much to ask him, or at least to tell him not to worry—to carry on and find love elsewhere. He deserved so much. But as the vision of Holt’s distorted face faded from her eyes, she realized it was too late. A strange smile played on her lips, and then silence descended once more.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  A cool breeze disturbed a curl of hair, pushing it across her face and tickling her nose. Her nose wriggled of its own accord. A cough escaped her lips, and a stabbing pain followed.

  “Gods,” a voice came from nearby.

  “I’m not a fan of the gods right now,” she said. Her voice sounded gravelly, as though she hadn’t drunk anything for days. She willed her eyes to open, but for some reason they refused. She listened carefully, expecting to hear the noises of battle growing in the city. Instead, a slight hint of birdsong greeted her attention. Was she dead? Was this the afterlife? Did they have pretty birdsong as a form of greeting in the afterlife? Perhaps claiming to dislike the gods hadn’t been the bes
t idea. It was hardly a good first impression at the entrance to eternity.

  “Larissa?” The voice belonged to Holt, that much she knew. Maybe he had died with her. She couldn’t help but feel glad for that prospect, though she instantly regretted feeling happy at his demise. Another bolt of hope boosted her joy. Would she see Cid again? And Imago?

  “Do cats go to the same afterlife as people?” she asked, still unable to open her eyes.

  “What?”

  She raised her hand to her chest, finding the front of her dress soaked and sticking to her skin. She frowned. Surely she wasn’t doomed to spend eternity walking around in the same clothes she’d died in?

  “Larissa,” Holt said again, his hand covering hers.

  Finally, her eyes popped open and she was able to focus on him. She lay on her back and he sat by her side, his hair coated in white plaster dust and his face streaked with tears.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No.”

  She moved to sit up. A tightness tugged across her chest, feeling as though something were lodged inside.

  “You should be dead,” Holt said. “I thought you were.” His hand moved up to her face to push her hair away from where it had stuck to her lips. “You should be dead.”

  “You said that already.”

  “He shot you in the chest. He shot you in the heart. I thought, since your healing ability is impaired…”

  “Covelle,” Larissa said, rolling her eyes shut.

  “What?”

  “He injected me with Anthonium. I had no idea why. I’m not even sure he knew why, except that…”

  “Except that what?”

  She took a deep breath and stood up slowly, a light-headed sensation making standing a chore. She climbed slowly over rubble and mess, ignoring the President’s prone form and snapped neck. She moved out onto one of the balconies and looked out at the city. The remaining airships in the skies were all Sky Force, not a single pirate airship in sight. The city had grown quiet, and just a few burning fires remained.

  She slumped down onto her backside and stared out at the world through the balcony balustrades. Holt emerged and came to sit nearby.

  “It is over, then,” another voice spoke. Larissa turned to find a rotund man dressed in military uniform, standing in the entrance to the room and glaring down at the President.

  “General Gott,” Holt said. He didn’t move from his seated position beside Larissa.

  “On your list?” she asked, unsure if this General was a friend or foe.

  “It’s about time you caught up to him, Captain Holt.” The General gave a nod towards them both, interrupting Holt’s reply. “Might I presume you have dealt with Covelle as well?”

  Holt looked at Larissa. Was he expecting her to answer?

  “Covelle perished in the fire beneath the palace.”

  “Ah. Good.”

  “You might spare some men to round up the firemen and take care of that issue before it burns the whole place down,” she said, still unsure whose side the General was on.

  “I’ll have Kerrigan see to it.”

  “Is Kerrigan…”

  “Alive, well. Mopping up the last of the scumbag pirates on the streets. If the two of you are planning on leaving, now is the time. I can turn my back for long enough.” A second terse nod was all they received by way of farewell before the General turned to leave.

  “That explains why the palace soldiers didn’t make any effort to stop us,” Holt said.

  “The General was on your side the whole time?”

  “The General was on the side of whoever came out on top, hedging his bets. He’s better at betting games than all the high-ranking officers put together.”

  “I’ll make a note to never play him at cards.” She smiled, looking out to the city once more, wondering if they should be rushing to escape as the General had suggested. Her hand trailed up to her chest, the odd sensation that a bullet remained inside making her feel woozy.

  “Covelle is truly dead?” Holt asked.

  “No one could have survived that fire. Do you think he knew I would be shot?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. How could Covelle know what would happen?”

  “No idea. That only leaves one possibility as to his reasoning for injecting me.”

  “And that is?”

  “He did it to protect me. To help me survive no matter what. Above all, he wanted to protect his legacy, no matter that he went about it in the worst way possible.”

  “If that is what you want to believe,” Holt said, ever the skeptic.

  Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was being too simplistic, still too naive. She laughed as she realized it didn’t matter. They had survived, against all the odds. A single tear escaped her eye for Cid and Imago. Had it been worth the sacrifice?

  “What now?” Larissa asked, not daring to look at him. Holt shifted his position, scooting closer towards her.

  “Well, there’s still my list. I know there are a few people who seem to have mysteriously disappeared.”

  “I thought the list was destroyed?”

  “It’s up here.” He tapped his temple. “Etched in memory.”

  “Gods, Holt, don’t you think you’ve avenged your brother already? I’m sure he’d appreciate everything you’ve done up till this point and want you to have a rest now.”

  “Is that what you want? A rest?”

  “You don’t think we’ve earned it?” she asked.

  “You could say that, though I note you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Do you want a rest? What do you want, Larissa?”

  She gazed across the horizon, taking in the view of the rooftops of the residential district; each billowed smoke from chimneys into the sky. The hazy cloud hung around the quiet evening air, causing the fading sunset to bristle with every imaginable color. The people in the streets below carried on with their lives, mostly unaffected by the strange events which had occurred above their heads and in the palace. What did she want? What could she possibly wish for? There was no way she could go back to working in a clothing shop and spending lonely nights huddled up in a small apartment. The mere thought of it made her feel restless and depressed.

  “Well. You might…” Holt’s sentence faltered. It was so rare for him to stumble on his words; he usually took great care to say anything at all, especially when it involved feelings and emotions.

  Her thoughts filled with all the things he might have meant to say, something romantic? Maybe something sordid? Maybe he wanted to proposition her for a few hours of horizontal exercise spent atop the Presidential desk. Despite having just survived a gunshot to the heart, she was more than willing to give it a try. She felt her cheeks flush as she noticed she was beaming an idiotic grin at him and had to suck her bottom lip to try to suppress it. She cleared her throat.

  “I might…what?”

  “Want to put your name down as a candidate.”

  “As a candidate...for what?”

  “President.”

  “Holt?” she looked him over, frowning.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  He chuckled at her and grabbed her hand with a firm grip. “Being here suits you. The public will favour you for being the only person to prevent the entire war—”

  “I’m not the only person who did that,” she interrupted.

  “No, but you were the mastermind behind it. The Empress of Eptora trusts you more than she would any of the other Daltonian military candidates. Not to mention you’re the heir to the original line of the Empire. With you in charge, you could even forge an alliance with Eptora. Hardly anyone votes in the elections these days, they’re so mistrustful of those in charge. If they saw someone like you in the running, they might just make the effort to make a change. Seeing as we’ve killed the man responsible for rigging the elections, we might have our first genuine round.”

  “If anyone knows my name,
it will be because they think I’m the crazed pirate who caused the deaths of all those men on the warship and the destruction of the Hub in Aditona…and the hub in Sallarium city. Now I’ll be known for killing the President.”

  “We both know those things aren’t your fault.”

  “Yes, but no one else knows, and I don’t know where I would start in trying to convince them otherwise.”

  “It’s all just politics and propaganda. Kerrigan is well respected. If he can accept and exonerate you, others will follow.”

  “Did you just say Kerrigan might be of use?”

  “I did.” His eyes narrowed.

  “It was a bit of luck I didn’t let you rip his head off when he jumped aboard my ship then, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure luck has anything to do with it. So ruling all of Daltonia doesn’t appeal, then?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I may have to think it over for a while.”

  “You should.” He sighed and turned away but continued holding her hand tightly.

  “And what do you want, Holt? Besides picking off the last few names on your list.”

  Holt said something in response, but she barely registered it as a bolt of thought struck her mind so clearly it drowned out everything else in existence.

  “I’ll do it,” she blurted.

  “That’s…not the response I was expecting.” Holt scratched at his stubbly chin with his free hand.

  “I’ll run for President. If I get elected, I can just give the names of the people on your list to the enforcers and say I want them brought in for questioning. Of course, I could just have them bumped off completely. I’m sure the Presidential position comes with access to some secret team of assassins, but... I don’t think that would be much of a way to start a term in charge, do you?”

  As her gaze turned to meet his, the incredulous look on his face told her that she’d been waffling. His eyes flicked back and forth between hers and his jaw shifted around as though he were physically chewing something over as well as mentally.