Asha held her breath, exchanging a tense glance with her father, as the two Manti shook hands.
“I think we should return to the temple immediately,” said Pax. “Waiting until tomorrow night risks discovery. And if I don’t check in with my father soon the temple is the first place he’s going to look.”
Smart, Pax. It was good to remind them regularly that it was in their best interests to protect him.
“We can’t move everyone before dawn,” said Micah. “But yes, the priestess and her attendants need to return.” He glanced at Asha. “I assume you’ll want to remain here with your father?”
She was being given a choice?
“I think it’s best,” Pax said in a low voice, fixing his eyes on her. “It’s a long walk back.”
She realized he was alluding to her injuries, but trying to spare either her privacy or her father. Maybe both. And not only that, he was letting her go. Or … dismissing her. His expression was neutral and it was hard to be sure.
“Ash,” began her father, moving closer. “I hate saying this, but I think you should go back with him.” He glanced at Paxton. “She hasn’t been processed. The lab doesn’t know she’s here. I’d like it to stay that way.”
“You’ve somehow protected this area from the flies, though, isn’t that right?” asked Pax.
Asha couldn’t help smiling at her father’s sudden guilty look.
“Yes, that’s true. But there are more of these new arrivals.” He nodded toward Beck’s broken body. “If she’s living here unprocessed and outside surveillance there’s nothing to stop someone else threatening her.”
While Pax was chewing on this, she made her decision. “I’ll go back to the temple. For now.” She had to talk to Pax. Explain to him what she’d done, and tell him the truth about what she was. The truth was all he’d ever asked of her, and he had more than earned that.
She also wanted to avoid her father seeing what had been done to her—she knew he would blame himself. She could come back when she had healed.
Her father’s emotions were written on his face—relief, sadness, guilt that she’d been drawn into all this. Pax was another story. He acknowledged her decision with a nod, and she ached for … for what, she wasn’t sure. Something more. A reaction of some kind, so she’d know what she was facing with him.
DAMAGE
As Asha crawled through the opening in the wall, the top of the cutting grazed her lower back. The pain was enough to force a groan through her lips.
Pax bent and reached for her hand, raising her to her feet. “Are you sure about this?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she breathed, wiping moisture from above her lip. She looked up at him. “I need to talk to you.”
He regarded her silently. “That can wait.”
Micah came through the opening behind them, and they made room for him. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I am.”
Micah’s gaze sought Cleo, who had already started toward the opposite hill with her mate and attendants.
“Was it her?”
“No,” she assured him. Not that I’d put it past her.
Micah glanced at Pax, his eyes moving from the prince’s face down along his arm to the hand that held Asha’s. She realized that she had gripped his fingers so hard her hand shook, and she released them. A drop of perspiration slipped between her shoulder blades and down her back. She winced as it seeped into her wound.
“Can I do anything to help you?” asked Micah.
“Would you answer a question?”
“Of course.”
“We should get moving,” said Pax, stepping away from the fence. Away from her.
As she moved to follow, Micah offered his arm.
“Thank you. I’ll be okay.”
They drew their cloaks close around them and started back toward the city.
“What did you want to ask me?” said Micah.
“What brought you to Al Campo? I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Yes, I know. But after we split up I started to wonder more about what Cleo was up to with Paxton, and how you might get drawn into it. When I got back to the lab I pinged your father, just to make sure you’d arrived there okay. He didn’t answer and I decided to check for myself.”
“I’m really glad you did.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Can I ask what happened to you?”
She gave him a thin smile. “I seem to have a talent for making enemies of dangerous people. It’s a long story. But I’m grateful for your help with Cleo.”
“I don’t really think you needed my help. Do you have any idea what you just negotiated?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t me so much as Pax. Why would anyone here care what I think?”
Micah laughed. “That’s not the way I’d tell the story. He jumped on the cart right as you drove it over her.” Asha smiled, self-conscious, but he sobered quickly. “I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing. There’s going to be fallout with Cleo. I don’t know that I’m really qualified for this.”
“Less qualified than her?”
“She’s been dealing with the Paxtons for more than two decades. But murdering the prince would have propelled us into war. And pinning it on you … I hope I never grow so hard that a maneuver like that seems justifiable.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine that you could.”
Asha watched Pax, who walked a couple meters ahead of them. She was sure he could hear their conversation, but she wondered if he was actually listening. More likely he was preoccupied with his decision, and all that had happened in Al Campo. Guilt continued to gnaw at her for the part she’d played, delivering him right into Cleo’s hands, whether or not it had been her intention.
“Do you mind if I ask you something else?” asked Micah.
“Go ahead.”
“There’s something about that man who was with Paxton—the man who stayed behind with your father. I don’t think he’s Manti. Do you know if he’s human?”
“Carrick. No, he’s transgenic.” She tried to think whether she was betraying anyone’s confidence by explaining about the priest. But Carrick was safe in Al Campo. The amir’s forces weren’t likely to look for him there, and though it was easy enough to sense there was something different about him, the humans in Al Campo wouldn’t guess the truth.
“Manti?” asked Micah.
“Wolf.”
His eyes widened. “Interesting. Are there more of him?”
“I don’t know. Not in the group Pax picked up.”
“And he’s a holy man?”
“I believe so, but I don’t know much of his story. I think he’s a good man. And very alone now.”
Pax glanced over his shoulder at this, but he said nothing. She wondered how he’d convinced Iris to part with Carrick.
As they reached the southern border of Al Campo, Pax stopped and waited for them. “We’ll cross open ground now. We need to keep close and quiet.” He looked at Asha.
“I’m ready.”
As hard as he was to read right now, it was clear enough he didn’t believe her. But he nodded, and they started across the valley.
* * *
For the rest of this last, long trek, Asha’s mental resources were monopolized by pain and exhaustion. She’d hoped eventually the sensations would dull to a manageable level. But the ground was uneven, and they spent too much time crouching. The trip back through the tunnel, with its rocky traverse, was the worst. Her muscles stretched her open wounds, and blood dripped down her back.
As she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, Pax and Micah discussed the problem of ensuring their safety in the temple. Pax didn’t trust Cleo to stick to their truce, and Micah agreed that they’d need to somehow secure one floor of the temple. But it wasn’t something that could be accomplished tonight, and Asha found herself doubting her decision to return with the others. The idea of sitting up for what was
left of the night, or sleeping lightly enough to watch for danger, was laughable.
They made quicker progress through the underground, where at least the passages were lit and the ground was level. But by the time they reached the stairs that led to the temple, her cuts were so raw and inflamed she had to grit her teeth to keep from groaning.
“Almost there,” said Pax softly, following on the stairs behind her.
When they emerged in the priestess’s chamber, Pax hung back with Asha as Micah and Cleo consulted in low voices. The priestess had regained her composure, but Asha was more afraid of this controlled Cleo than of the Cleo in Al Campo.
Pax stepped close to her, murmuring, “I don’t trust her.” The shiver that ran through her at the sound of his voice in her ear had nothing to do with fear or cold.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t think we can afford to. But I do think she needs Micah.”
Pax nodded. “And can’t risk him turning on her. He’s taken an interest in your welfare as well, it seems. That’s fortunate for both of us.”
She met his gaze, and her face grew warm under his scrutiny. But his expression remained as neutral as it had been since leaving Al Campo. She could imagine what he was thinking: neither of them would be in this mess if she hadn’t run from him.
“He also sees the benefit of the deal you offered them,” she said. “It will make it difficult for her to justify betraying us.”
“Agreed. But I think she’ll use every spare cycle to figure out a way to get back at me—at us—without losing Micah’s support.”
Her stomach fluttered at his use of the simple two-letter pronoun. “Yes,” she breathed. “We’ll still have to watch her. What do you propose?”
“Until Micah can secure a section of the temple for us, we need to stay close to each other. I know you’re used to thinking of me as your jailer. But that stops now. I’ll watch out for you, but it’s your decision whether to remain here or return to your father.”
Asha swallowed. “Okay.”
“I also want you to understand that I’m not a threat to you. You don’t need to worry about—”
“I know,” she interrupted, hoping to relieve him from an explanation she could see was paining him. “I trust you.”
At last the shield slipped, revealing a combination of surprise and gratitude. His expression caused the worm of guilt in her stomach to turn.
“I’m not a threat to you either,” she continued, breaking from his gaze. “I don’t know if you can believe that.”
Her whole body strained, waiting for his answer, but before he could reply Micah returned.
“The priestess insisted you be given rooms high in the tower,” he said. “She believes you’ll run otherwise.”
“That ensures there’s no escape for us if she goes back on our agreement,” Pax pointed out.
“There’s one more group returning from Al Campo tonight,” said Micah. “They’re all people I trust—I made sure of it. I’ll ask them to keep an eye on the others. It’s the best I can do for now. She’s given me her word she’ll stick to our agreement.”
“So she doesn’t trust us,” grumbled Pax, “but we’re to trust her.”
Asha laid a hand on Pax’s arm. “We’ll be all right,” she said. Regardless, she knew she’d reached her limit. She was sleeping in the temple tonight, whatever the risks.
He eyed her a moment, features softening. He nodded at Micah. “Let’s go.”
They rode the lift to the eighteenth floor.
“The disciples take their meals together in the hall on the second floor,” said Micah as they exited the lift, “but I can see that yours are brought up to you. Will you want anything before morning?”
“Yes, if possible,” replied Asha. The broth she’d drunk before leaving Al Campo had been burned away by the long walk. “Anything is fine.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll take care of it myself. As for the rooms—”
“Just one room,” Pax said firmly.
Micah shot her a questioning look that raised heat from her chin to her hairline.
“I think we’ll both feel safer,” she said. “We can make a change later.”
He gave a neutral nod. “As you like.”
They followed him around the elevator shaft and stopped in front of a doorway veiled by a lightweight, opaque curtain.
“This is a guest floor, divided into two chambers,” he explained. “The rooms are larger and more comfortable than those on the lower floors.” He glanced at Paxton. “I can easily reconfigure the lift to prevent access by anyone but you, myself, and an attendant. The stairs can’t be sealed off. But this high up in the tower it will be difficult for anyone to creep up on you.”
“But not impossible,” replied Pax. “I’d feel better with a gun. And I’d prefer to dispense with the attendant. I’ll go down for our meals myself.”
Micah studied Pax, weighing the demands. “I think arming you is asking for trouble. But we can work around the need for an attendant by setting you up to be self-sufficient for meals for a few days.”
Pax sighed and turned to survey the chamber, clearly dissatisfied with the refusal of the weapon but seeming to accept there wasn’t much he could do about it.
The room was roughly crescent-shaped, with six windows looking out over the fairy lights of the sleeping city. The large bed, piled with pillows and draped with richly colored fabric, was stationed near the windows on one end of the room. At the other end was a sitting area with plush chairs surrounding a low table, and beyond that a curtained-off area, maybe a bathroom.
Pots of flowering plants ranged along the curved wall, perfuming the air. Beneath the center window was what looked like a shrine, with a smaller version of the statue from the roof and a gurgling fountain.
Neither of the men appeared fazed by any of it, but Asha couldn’t get used to the opulence of the place.
“I’ll need to contact my father in the morning,” said Pax. “My sister knew I was coming here. If they don’t hear from me soon, you can be sure they’ll come calling.”
“Agreed,” replied Micah. “I’ll see to it first thing. Before I go tonight I’ll bring up food and fresh clothes. Anything else you need?”
“Medical supplies,” said Pax.
“Of course. I’ll be back soon.”
* * *
He left them, and the moment she’d both hoped for and dreaded dropped like a heavy snow, blanketing them with silence.
She took a deep breath, letting it out with more volume than she intended, and she teetered on worn-out limbs.
“Come,” said Pax, taking her arm.
She let him guide her to the bed, watching as he cleared off the excess pillows to make room for her. She crawled onto the soft, inviting mountain and sank down on her stomach with another sigh.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Arms folded under her head, she closed her eyes, and she slipped into a doze before her mind could even touch on the many things that were troubling her.
She woke with a start when she felt a hand at her back.
“Easy,” murmured Pax, his fingers lightly pressing her hip. “I need to raise your top to treat your cuts.”
She lowered her head again, relaxing her taut muscles. “Okay.”
The fabric had stuck in places, and as Pax gently pulled at it, her scabs broke open and she gave a muffled cry against the bedding.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and there was an edge of anger to his voice.
Once the tunic was free, he began pressing a warm, wet cloth against her wound. She could feel the shape of the mark as he dabbed the blood away—the spiral Beck had carved both to punish and brand her a traitor.
This kindness from Pax—the solicitous, almost tender treatment—was more than she could take.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her words coming out harsher than she intended.
He continued in silence, working loose the caked blood. When h
e finished, he pressed a dry cloth against her, stanching the fresh blood caused by the cleaning.
“Why am I doing what?” he finally asked.
“Helping me. Being so kind to me.”
When again he didn’t answer, she continued, “It’s not your concern, is it?”
She heard a scraping noise as he removed the lid from a jar. “You ought to know me better than that by now.” The softness of his rebuke only reinforced her petulance.
“I don’t understand you at all. I’m nothing to you but a problem. A mystery, and an enemy. I’m not even your prisoner anymore. You don’t owe me anything.” She cursed the lump that gained mass in her throat, choking her. “Why are you helping me?”
* * *
Pax scooped healing salve from the jar with two fingers, spreading it gently and thickly over her wound while he thought about what she’d said.
“The microorganisms will clean and seal the wound and help you to heal quickly. It’s deep enough there may be a slight scar.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Her tone was bitter, and resigned. He screwed the lid back onto the jar and wiped the residue from his fingers. He sank down on the bed and stared at the mark, replacing the lid on his anger as well. The anger was pointless. Its object was dead.
He understood where Asha’s head was. Or at least he thought he did. “You feel that you betrayed Beck,” he said. “That you betrayed your own kind. You feel that you deserved to be punished.”
Her face had been resting on her arms, but now she turned it toward him. The color had drained from her cheeks.
A tear slipped down across one cheek and over the bridge of her nose. His breath stopped.
“I betrayed you.”
Pax swallowed. “Did you?”
She nodded. A lock of hair fell over her eye, and he stopped himself from reaching to push it back.
“How so?”
“When I saw your city from Banshee, I remembered why I was here.” She pushed herself up on her arms, settling across from him, and looked at him squarely. “I’m a sleeper. I came here to find my father in Al Campo, and to do what I could to cause trouble for you and your people. The Alhambra was the trigger—the alarm that woke me.”
The Ophelia Prophecy Page 21
