by Cait Ashwood
He was young to have his tattoos, but they glowed below his eyes as he came puffing back up the path, the overcast day making them brighter than his eyes. Not only would he be able to verify his wards, but he could ensure that they’d been the only ones visiting this place.
But the best part is that we’re alone. No harassing girls. No duties. Just us, and the ocean. With the check complete, Brana headed for the edge of the cliff, letting the wind comb her hair back from her face. The waves were stormy but not yet violent. This part of the world never seemed to see a day of sunshine, but she didn’t mind. The charged atmosphere let her release everything she held inside all the time, and then she could watch it play out in arcs of electricity through the sky.
Jasper was a silent form at her back. She was aware of him, as she was aware of most living things in her surroundings. He was quiet, unassuming. Easy to be around. He was the person she wanted when she didn’t want to be alone but wasn’t feeling social, either.
“I think I want to try it, today.” Brana bit her lip after the admission, glancing sideways at him. He’d been begging her to go cliff diving for months, but she’d always been too afraid to try it.
“What, really?” Jasper leaned out over the ledge of the cliff, eying the waves. “Not the best day for it.”
Brana shrugged. “So don’t let us get wet.”
It took Jasper a second, but comprehension dawned on his face soon enough. “They really got to you today, didn’t they?”
Brana felt the insecurity welling up inside. She set her jaw, refusing to let it sully this place. “They’re not worth my time.”
Jasper’s slow smile reached his eyes. “That’s my girl. Come on, then.” He offered her his hand.
She took it almost reluctantly. He backed them up a few paces, then grinned at her. “Ready?”
No. She nodded.
They burst into a run, heading straight for the ledge of the cliff. Feet pushed off against crumbling stone and then they were airborne. Brana’s stomach flipped as they began their fall. She gripped Jasper’s hand so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Wahoooo!” Jasper apparently had no such reservations about cliff diving. Eyes watering at the rush of air, he looked at her. “Scream, Ana! Let it out.”
But I can’t let it out. If I do, I might lose part of myself. The pressure built in her chest, and she felt she would surely explode if she didn’t release it somehow. The waves came ever closer. Desperate, primal, she let out a terrified scream. She kept screaming until the spray from the surf lashed against her face, and then her feet were on solid ground once more. She panted, legs shaky. Jasper sat down with her, not releasing her hand.
Once she got over the fear, the adrenaline coursed through her veins, begging her to do something, anything. It actually was freeing, in its own way. She’d never dare behave like this at home. She had to be calm, polite, professional at all times. As Audrey’s daughter, it was an expectation. But this. This was living. This is what childhood should be about.
“Can we do it again?” She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she was nearly giddy.
Jasper raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to?”
She grinned at him, not quite trusting herself to say yes.
He chuckled as he pulled her to her feet. His eyes crossed her face, but she ignored what he likely saw. He read her better than all others, and knew her exhaustion wouldn’t allow her to play long. He knew her limits, maybe even better than she did. “One more time, then.”
This time, she soared on the way down, her screams gleeful, exhilarating, powerful.
He returned them not to the cliff ledge, but the beach, close enough for the waves to toy with their toes as they sat on the sand. Brana dug her fingers and toes into the sand, relishing the feel of it. Jasper trotted off for a bit, returning with a pair of reed mats and a small parcel.
“They’re not expecting us back for a bit. Want some lunch?”
Brana gazed up at him, smiling as she shook her head. He’d planned the whole thing out. I do hate working with them in the Groves. They’re always more vicious afterward. She didn’t even have the heart to be upset that he’d seen through her again, so she took the sandwich he offered and sat on the mat cross legged, the wind tugging at her clothes and hair.
She swallowed a bite, eyes on a pair of birds hunting for fish out over the waves. “Jasper?”
“Hmm?” He answered around a mouthful of dried nuts.
“This really is my favorite place.”
He smiled. “I know.”
But something more than nostalgia ate at her. The girls were turning into piranhas, competing for the attention of the boys. Brana didn’t have it in her to compete when her time came. It was a duty, not a status grab, though several were eying the son of the First Seeker as just that. The thought that Jasper might get caught by any of them, that he might bring one of her tormentors here--she couldn’t stand it.
“Promise me something?”
“Yeah?” He sounded nervous, something she didn’t ordinarily hear from him.
One of the birds dove again, this time coming up with a wriggling fish. She kept her attention on the birds, avoiding eye contact with Jasper. “Swear you won’t bring anyone else here?”
She felt his warm hand land over her own, enveloping it. “Never. This is your spot, Ana.”
Chapter Ten
He’s hiding something from me. It wasn’t a new thought, but it still managed to put the assassin off his game. He’d have thought the boy would trust him with anything at this point, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. He certainly hadn’t acted as expected upon finding out the identity of his family, but he hadn’t spoken a word about it. Zeche excelled at reading people, but this was one conversation he wasn’t looking forward to. He knew that boy of his was going to have to get it out of his system one way or another, though. A good fight had a way of knocking things out into the open.
“Grab your sword.” Zeche barked the order into the silence of their camp.
Rowan jumped, startled. He rose and dug through his pack until he found the wraps they traditionally used on their blades.
“Did I say to wrap it?” Zeche didn’t give him any more warning than that before leaping at the boy, his own blade bare and arcing toward the youth.
Rowan dodged to the side and threw himself in a roll to put some more distance between them. He drew his sword and his entire posture changed. He seemed more sure of himself, almost cocky.
Boy, you don’t know half of what I knew at your age. But by all means, show me what you’ve got.
Zeche let Rowan come at him, even toyed with him a bit, letting the boy think he had the upper hand. Zeche paced himself, parrying blows and avoiding strikes to conserve his energy. He was still capable of short bursts of speed, though his years were catching up to him. All it was going to take was for the boy to start getting sloppy.
Ten minutes into the match, Zeche had his opening. Rowan stumbled while striking, and Zeche lashed out like a cobra. Rowan’s blade flew through the air and the boy grunted as he fell face-first into the earth. Zeche tossed his own blade to the side, one arm holding Rowan in an arm bar. With his other hand, he fiddled with a contraption in one of his many pockets. He activated it and waited, hoping the damned thing still worked.
All resistance beneath him immediately ceased. Rowan’s free hand went to his head like he was trying to shield himself from something. He groaned loudly, clearly in quite a bit of discomfort if his writhing legs were anything to go by.
“A bird came the other morning with a message. What did it say?” Zeche’s voice was calm, but he let a bit of his ire show through. He was not used to being kept in the dark, least of all by his apprentice.
“What’re you,” Rowan paused, panting, “doing--to me?”
Zeche leaned back, keeping only minimum pressure on the arm bar. With the electromagnet disrupting magnetic forces around them, Rowan was going nowhere. “As far as int
errogations go, this is pretty mild.” The tone of boredom was a carefully cultivated one, but Zeche enjoyed using it. It gave the impression that he had all day and was in no rush to get information. The wonders such an attitude worked on the human psyche were impressive.
Rowan continued squirming, legs twitching. Zeche watched the muscles in his neck convulse, tilting his head slightly as he watched the youth struggle. Zeche, for all his lethality, wasn’t much of one for torture or interrogation. He had the skills, but generally referred the dirty work to Nikita. She got off on that sort of thing.
“It’s--in my vest.” The boy ground the words out between locked teeth, his jaw muscles clenched shut.
Zeche paused. Not only had he kept a message from him, but then he hadn’t destroyed it? Destroying evidence was rule number one when it came to operating without a trace. Zeche shook his head.
This lesson was going to have to take a bit longer to sink in.
He released the arm bar and rose to his feet. Rowan curled up on the ground, hands on his head. Zeche nudged him with his boot, just enough to get him over onto his back. He began rummaging through the youth’s vest, his attitude perfunctory.
“And do we keep evidence when it can be held against us?” His hand closed on a small slip of parchment and he extricated it carefully. At least the idiot kept his sweat off it. His eyes narrowed as he read the script, glancing at Rowan after his first read. The last line, “One is enough,” couldn’t be more clear. Zeche still felt a bit bad about that, but it had needed to be done. Lily was an important one, though, and not just to Audrey.
“I should have known about this immediately.” Zeche kicked the soles of Rowan’s boots before turning off the magnet. “And we’ll have a nice little chat about that later. For now, get your head out of your ass. We need to get to Ebonwallowe.”
It would take Rowan a while to shake off the effects of the device, but that was fine. Zeche’s mind was already spinning. He’d made no attempt to get to know the young Lily. He hadn’t exactly been a welcome party at the Tower after he’d insisted on being entrusted with Rowan. Predicting her movements wasn’t going to be easy. Luckily for him, many Ravens still took turns helping to guard the Tower. They might know more, as might Nikita, who likely had a few more days’ notice on this than he did. Zeche sighed, stroking his Van Dyke. Teenagers. Useless creatures. Thank heavens I never was one. His one hope was that he wouldn’t have to resort to interviewing teenage girls at the Tower. He shuddered. He’d rather be drawn and quartered, thank you very much.
Rowan eventually made it up to his feet and stumbled over to his sword. He managed to get it sheathed on his second attempt and staggered over to his pack. Despite his disorientation, he stomped around in a huff, shooting angry glares over his shoulder at Zeche.
Pout while you can, boy. You brought this on yourself. He obviously wasn’t handling the whole family revelation well, and that was likely why he’d hidden the note. Curious that he isn’t interested in helping them, though. I wouldn’t have expected that. The Watchers existed to look after the future of the entire world, but much of that future rested on the shoulders of the Lilies and Seekers that would be taking them forward into the next age. For the first time, Zeche began to have serious doubts about Rowan’s capabilities as a Watcher.
I hope to hell this is just adolescent bullshit and nothing more. Well, there was only one way to find out.
Zeche stalked over to Rowan, stopping in front of the boy. Gray-blue eyes flicked up to meet his own, the look simultaneously guilty and unapologetic. “You took an oath, did you not?”
Rowan straightened, jaw set. “I did.”
“And just what did you think selfless meant, hmm?” Zeche waited for an answer, but there was none. “In all things, we strive to keep the balance. Your sister, one of a precious few pure bloods available to the Order, goes missing, and you think what, hmm? That the world will be just fine without her?”
Rowan had the grace to turn away, his eyes on the ground.
Zeche sighed. “There will come a day when you will be asked to serve them, don’t doubt it. Regardless of your feelings for your family, that is your blood, your heritage, your privilege, and your duty, just as it is hers.”
Rowan shifted uneasily. “And what if she doesn’t want it?”
Zeche’s eyes flared, but he sensed they’d reached the crux of the problem. “What would make you think that?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I know every security measure they have on that tower, where each guard stands, hell, where every member of the watch even goes to piss in the middle of the night. You tell me there’s any way she could be taken from there against her will, her, and only her.”
Zeche rolled back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought it over. There may be something to this teenage nonsense. At least having Rowan gave him an idea of how to anticipate Lily. They were twins, after all.
“You think she left voluntarily?”
The boy gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I would have.”
Curious, but not necessarily relevant. “Are you ready to go?”
Rowan’s eyes were trained on the lump in his pocket. “What was that thing?”
Zeche was tempted not to answer, but the boy should be aware of things that could affect his performance and abilities. “Maybe if you remember who is the teacher here, you’ll find out more about how electromagnets work.”
The look of chagrin was answer enough for the moment. Teaching never ends, does it? Zeche swore he wasn’t this dense as a kid, but who knew? He’d been running the streets and putting together a rag-tag gang of kids that would eventually evolve into the Ravens at Rowan’s age. He could have been just as impertinent, for all he knew. He certainly had never anticipated the far-reaching effects of his actions at that age.
Rowan’s hand was on his shoulder for scarcely a moment when Ebonwallowe replaced his view. It took Zeche half of a second to orient himself before he took off into the darkness. His identity was something he normally protected, but not here, not in the city that was the home base for the Ravens. Anyone who saw his face in Ebonwallowe quickly pretended otherwise, lest they somehow attract his attention. He may no longer be co-leader of the Ravens, but common folk hardly took that to mean he’d retired.
They passed through the night-time streets mostly unbothered, though a beggar did reach out for Rowan’s purse. The quick flash of steel in the moonlight convinced the man to seek easier prey. At least he’s got enough wits about him for that. Small blessings.
Zeche ducked under an archway and paused, counting the bricks and pressing the third one in from the right on the eleventh row down from the top. The entire underside of the arch was kept carefully clean and free of scum, the only hint that this out of the many of the various underpasses in the city might be anything different. The Ravens didn’t want varying levels of dirt hinting at their secret access points, after all.
A grinding sound came from the brick, which swung open with a sheet of its fellows as a small door. Zeche didn’t have to duck to enter, though Rowan likely would. He pushed the boy past him and turned to reset the door.
“Don’t move further than four feet from the entrance.” The assassin didn’t monitor his apprentice, trusting to the reputation of the assassin’s guild to keep the boy in line.
“There’s a tripwire up ahead, and an arrow trap.” He sounded pleased with himself.
Zeche rolled his eyes. “Is that all you saw? Best you stay back here, then.” His tools were off his belt in the blink of an eye. Eleven traps of varying difficulty later, Zeche finally waved Rowan forward. He then returned to the first and began painstakingly resetting the traps.
“Do you really have to do that?”
Zeche froze a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Have I taught you nothing, boy?”
“Leave nothing of our passing. But does that apply even here?”
Zeche took a deep breath, praying to someone or something for t
he least bit of patience.
“It matters especially here.”
Zeche would know that feminine voice anywhere. “Nikita. So nice of you to come down.” Zeche kept his back to her, resetting the delicate pressure plate he’d been working on.
“You’re late.”
He pocketed the tool, standing and turning to face her. “Willful apprentices notwithstanding, yes.”
Nikita swept an appreciative glance over Rowan and Zeche felt himself bristle. That one’s not for you.
“Any word on the girl?”
The spy mistress shrugged, teeth tugging at her bottom lip with her hip jutted out to the side. “Depends on what you know.”
Rowan hadn’t missed her attentions, but that particular glint wasn’t in the boy’s eye. “Assume we know nothing, then.” It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. Nikita was eating it up like candy.
“Oh my poor, poor boy.” She sauntered toward him, running her fingers along his jaw. “I’d be more than willing to educate you.” She shot a daggered glance over her shoulder at Zeche. “Properly, I mean.”
Rowan let his gaze soften, his eyes hooding and voice dropping. “That sounds like a promise--after we find my sister.”
Oh, well played.
“Hmph.” Nikita turned, pinning a pouting glare on Zeche. “You’ve infected him with your sense of duty. He is well and properly spoiled.”
“He’s young. He’s hardly beyond repair.”
Rowan swallowed and turned his head away. Just don’t ruin your chances this time, boy. You’re getting too old for me to be lenient with you.
Nikita sighed dramatically, glancing between the two men. “I suppose we’d best speak in my quarters, then.” She snapped her fingers at seemingly nothing when two shadows stepped out from the walls of the passage. “Reset the traps behind us.” She turned on her heel and led the way at a surprisingly quick pace.
