She ran a finger tentatively over a mark on her collarbone in the shape of Alan’s lips. She was making things more difficult for them both—she knew that. She also couldn’t bring herself to stop. Her problems with Alan were valid, and she refused to begin their marriage as the only one compromising. Still, her first dreams about a man had starred Alan, and he cut a stunning figure. It would take a truly cold fish to not be excited by his attention.
She smiled at her own inadvertent pun and stepped into the shower, jumping as the hot water sizzled across her skin. Water always calmed her. She took her time, letting the steady rhythm of the shower lull her back into something resembling peace.
She dried her hair and dressed, deciding against returning to her rooms. Another shouting match with Alan was the last thing she wanted at the moment. Instead, she pivoted on her heel and went back downstairs, where Kale and his mother were sitting in the back garden.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Kale said with a smile, rising and pulling out a chair for her. “Are you well rested?”
“I feel much better now, thank you,” she lied.
“Where’s your husband?” Mrs. Davis asked.
“Oh, he’s still resting. Flying doesn’t agree with him.”
“No, I’d imagine it wouldn’t—I’m surprised you’re so unaffected, dear.”
Leiani shrugged. “There’s water in the air as much as there is on land. How have things been here in San Francisco?”
“Quiet, as we prefer it,” Kale said. “We lead a very peaceful life here by the sea—I’m sure you’ll love it here.”
“Maybe so much you’ll decide to stay!” Mrs. Davis interjected.
Though she was trying to be polite, Leiani’s horror showed on her face for a moment before she tamped it down ruthlessly. “Oh, no, we couldn’t! I mean, I’m honored, of course, but Beachhead is our home. As Lady Younger…” she trailed off, afraid she was offending them.
Kale smiled again, though the corners of his mouth were terse. “Of course, Mother was just being silly. Weren’t you, Mother?”
Mrs. Davis swallowed her objection and nodded. “Just wishful thinking, dear girl. Now, you must tell us all about the wedding!”
That topic was no more comfortable, but she did her best, slowly warming to the story as she went on. Just as she began to describe their reception, the sound of footsteps made all three turn.
“Good afternoon, Alan. Sleep well?”
“Oh, yes, Kale, thank you for asking. I was quite worn out—lots of activity this morning.”
His quirked eyebrow left no doubt as to his meaning. Leiani blushed, viciously biting her tongue to keep from speaking.
Kale was pale but his voice only came out slightly strangled as he said, “Yes, I can see that.”
Mrs. Davis tried to rescue them all. “Who wants something to drink? I can go--”
“No need, Mother.” Kale rose to his feet, not looking at either of the newlyweds. “I’ll go.” He disappeared into the house, leaving them to sit in awkward silence until he returned, bearing a pitcher on a tray with four chilled glasses.
“A toast,” he said after he handed them each a drink. “To our Lady Younger. Long may she reign!”
“Hear, hear,” she responded quietly, taking a tiny sip of her drink. To her embarrassment, Alan was watching her closely, his eyes darting back and forth between her and Kale. After a moment, he scowled and held his drink up to the light.
“Verum esto,” he answered instead in the traditional way, tossing back the liquid in his glass with a stiff wrist. Without another word, he dropped the glass on the tray hard enough that it rattled, and then went back into the house.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“That’s everything,” Pyrrhus said, slamming the trunk shut and circling around to the front of the car. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Gia said with a strained smile, eyes still locked on the woods behind Caer Anglia.
“He’s not back there,” he said under his breath. “Let’s go.”
She jumped guiltily. “How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked with a scowl as she pulled the car door shut behind her and adjusted the seat more appropriately for someone of her size.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He was trying to sound brash, but she could hear the doubtful undercurrent in his tone. Impulsively, she leaned over and bumped his shoulder with hers, the closest she could get to a hug while strapped into the passenger’s seat. “Of course we are,” she said. “That still doesn’t answer how you knew.”
“He’s on my mind, too. More than he should be.” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat as he palmed the ignition key and the engine turned over with a roar. When he continued, his voice was faint. “I’m worried about him.”
“Me, too,” she said as they raced down the back roads to the highway. “Me, too.”
“So, where to first? North or south?”
“North, I suppose. It’s closer to get to the end of the road up that way. We can swing by on the way back through to see Claire.”
“That was quite a shock, wasn’t it?”
“Yes! Why didn’t she tell me—tell anyone?”
“Claire is odd like that—she never seems to think the things she does are that important.” Pyrrhus flinched under her sudden glare. “I didn’t say they weren’t, I said she doesn’t seem to think they are. Completely different.”
“Mmm.” She made a dissatisfied noise deep in her throat and leaned back in the seat. “Can you wake me when we get to Boston? I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept hoping…”
“He’s not going to come back, Gia. Not alone.”
“I know, okay?” she snapped. “I know! It was this great, glorious plan between you, for him to die rather than end up in Artifex’s hands. I get it.”
“I don’t think you do,” he said. Though his volume was soft, his tone was brutal. “If Michael Warrington had arrested Nolan last month, he’d be dead already. They would have pushed through a trial on some ridiculous trumped up charge, or there would have been an ‘accident.’ Perhaps someone would have done the deed and taken the fall in Warrington’s name. I don’t know. What I do know is this: as long as Nolan is alive, the Sword is his. No one else can use it. Nothing is more important than keeping him alive.”
“Then why are we looking for him? Shouldn’t we…” she swallowed, looking miserable. “Aren’t we running the risk of exposing him?”
Pyrrhus sighed, letting his hands relax on the steering wheel. Gia ignored the smell of slightly melted vinyl and stared at his profile, waiting for him to speak.
“The line’s been drawn in the sand now. We need to find him so we know what he’s thinking. If he wants to take his place on the Council, he’s going to have to pry it out of Warrington’s cold, dead hands.”
“You think it’ll come down to one or the other?”
“Frankly, yes. I don’t see Warrington walking away from this. And if Nolan just kills him, Manas will be right there to step into the breach. He’ll need to conquer, not reclaim.”
“If that’s not what he wants?”
“Then we’ll get him to Wales and hide his ass—forever, if we have to.”
“And if it is what he wants?”
“Then I’ll be the first one to kneel at his feet and pledge the future Ignis Court to his service.”
Gia nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. She turned her back on Pyrrhus and curled into a ball, staring out the window until the rhythm of passing scenery lulled her to sleep.
She woke to the absence of the engine’s rumbling, shaking disjointed dreams from her head as she looked out over an underground parking garage.
“Are we there?”
“We’re at a hotel,” Pyrrhus said quietly.
“What? I thought we were staying with Claire’s relatives while we were here.”
“We’re visiting, but I’m not sure if they can accommodate us. They’ve just gotten back from Caer Anglia, if we h
aven’t beaten them here. One night to get our story straight and to know we’re safe from spies, at least for the night—we can worry about permanent plans later.”
She nodded, her forehead creased in worry.
“We’re playing a part,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to be liars, in actions if not in words. There aren’t a lot of people I’m willing to do that for, so if I must, I want to get it right.”
She looked down, biting her lip, silent for a moment. When she finally looked up, he was shocked to see her smiling. “Then don’t you think you should open the car door for me?” she asked sweetly.
He laughed out loud and swung his long legs out from behind the steering wheel. “As you wish.”
Their time in the hotel was uneventful but tense. Several times during the night, Pyrrhus woke up to hear Gia crying. He didn’t press her, knowing that the pressure of their search was bad enough without his interference. Instead, he pretended to sleep and waited for dawn.
The next morning, she was bright and smiling, though the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the events of the night before. Chattering about nothing in particular, she gave the illusion of a happy girl on vacation as she filled him in on the newspapers she had read over breakfast. Pyrrhus pointedly bought a few tabloids, knowing that the strange doings of the numen were often relegated to the gossip rags. No stories of unexplained lightning, no pictures of young men controlling the weather. He did, however, see a story about a woman giving birth to an angel. Turning the paper around so Gia could see it, he watched as she scanned the page and snorted with amusement.
“Photo manipulation. A real Zephyrus never has wings that white.”
He rolled his eyes and continued flipping through the pages. A story about a fire that seemed to refuse to go out in Boston’s Back Bay—all the more devastating because of the historic brownstones in its path—sounded suspicious. He filed a mental note to contact his father and make sure none of their people were causing trouble.
“Are we going to Dr. Connor’s today?” she asked around a mouthful of muffin—the first thing he’d seen her eat yet.
“Yes. I thought he might have some insight into No—his abilities and where he might have gone.”
“You know…this is almost impossible,” she said, tossing the remainder of her breakfast in the trash.
“I know, I told you that last month. We still have to do it. There’s no way we could sit back at Conleth and Beaumont and just… wait.”
“No, I’d go insane. May as well get going, then.” She walked out of the breakfast area without looking back, leaving Pyrrhus to hurriedly leave money to cover the check and follow her to the car.
They arrived at Dr. Connor’s house with little fanfare, simply parking the car and walking up the steps to the front door. Gia had met the old man once before, at Claire’s sixteenth birthday celebration, but it had been long enough that she wasn’t sure what to expect.
The doctor himself opened the door to their knock, smiling at them both. “Come in, come in!” he said, ushering them into the living room with astonishing speed. He offered them tea, which they both accepted, and pushed them into comfortable chairs while he prepared their drinks.
Hospitality covered, he sat back in his own armchair and studied Pyrrhus through thick-rimmed glasses that gave him more than a passing resemblance to an owl. “So, Lord Younger… and m’lady, of course… Claire said you may have some questions for me.”
Pyrrhus looked to Gia, hesitating. Though they’d come for this very reason, every person they told was one more person they had to trust.
“Mr. Aeron’s secrets are safe with me, I assure you. I am one of the foremost experts on the Sword of the Nine in the world—except for Aderyn Rice, and that’s only because she won’t share her sources, that minx. I know how important it is that the Swordsmith takes his place on the Council. Please, ask me your questions.”
Seeing Gia’s small nod, Pyrrhus wasted no time. “Where do you think he would have gone, Doctor?”
He touched his fingers together in a steeple beneath his chin, clearly pensive. “I don’t know him personally, so I can only speak from my knowledge of Swordsmiths past.”
“We understand,” Gia said. “We’ve got the personal part covered. It’s the Swordsmith part we can’t factor in.”
“You know he’s not in possession of the Sword?” Pyrrhus asked.
“He’s not? Gods, how could that have happened? He didn’t give it up willingly, did he?”
“Define willingly,” Pyrrhus drawled.
Gia scowled at him and interjected, “He couldn’t take it into the Atrium arena, so he left it outside …in Dr. Jenkins’ safekeeping.”
“And he couldn’t reclaim it?”
“No, sir.”
“That makes things more difficult. Of course, the Sword is his for his lifetime—it cannot be taken or forced from him. He could pass it on willingly, of course, but that is something usually reserved for the end of a Swordsmith’s life. I’m not entirely sure the Sword would allow a 19-year-old Swordsmith to give it up unless he was terminally ill.”
“Doctor…”
“Yes, I’m sorry, off topic. The Sword itself has no trouble travelling, of course, but the Swordsmith has always felt more comfortable closer to a Seat of Power. In the last few centuries, that has meant Caer Anglia, though Caer Fyrrdin and the Castel Sant’Angelo are older options.”
“A Seat of Power?”
“Yes…aula fulgur in Latin, roughly translated means Hall of Lightning, though the English translation has been corrupted into Seat of Power over the years… places where the Swordsmith held court for more than two generations. The buildup of Power in the walls makes it an ideal place for a Swordsmith to hide his unique signature.”
“Who could possibly look for him that way?” Gia asked, hands twisted in her lap.
Pyrrhus answered before the doctor could manage it. “Alixandra.”
“Lady Tempus? Why would she do that?”
Dr. Connor removed his glasses and wiped his eyes before saying, “There are many who suspected, years ago, that Alixandra was a bit too fond of Michael Warrington.”
“That’s against everything she told you about her deal with Juno!” she protested.
“You’ve read my book!” he said, pleased. “Most students don’t… well, it was only a rumor. I will tell you this: if Nolan knows anything about it, he’ll be hiding close enough to one of the Seats to hide himself effectively from any type of attention.”
“So Wales or Rome—I guess Alan and Leiani are on a pointless trip.”
“What if Nolan doesn’t know anything about it?” Pyrrhus pressed. “Where do you think he would go?”
“If he doesn’t know anything about his heritage, then my answers are useless to you. You would have to know the man himself.”
“So our best bets are to have Carmarthen and Rome watched and keep looking for him here?”
“I would say that’s your only chance. I will keep discrete feelers out in the academic community—we are a bunch of gossipy old birds, you know.”
Pyrrhus ruthlessly suppressed the desire to laugh as the doctor finished, “You can work your way through the major cities, checking with numen in each place. If he’s decided to go to ground in the country, though, you may look for years without finding him. His grandfather hid for almost twenty years. I fear your search is useless.”
“It may be, Dr. Connor, but it’s something we must do,” Gia said quietly. The good doctor had no answer to that.
~*~
Robert and Mara’s trip to Wales was much like those of the other searchers, with one distinct difference: Merry Tew knew exactly what was at stake. Her face was like thunder as she watched them from the other side of the table. Without saying a word, Mara leaned across the table and took Nerys Tew's hand. Startled, Tew tried to pull it back, but Mara held fast.
“Merry,” she said solemnly, “I need to find my son. He is innocent of the charges l
aid against him. I believe that Michael Warrington is attempting to push my son out of his rightful place so he can rule as he has for twenty years. Can you help me?”
Tew squeezed her hand carefully. “I've suspected that Warrington is up to something, but I couldn't pin him down.” She paused at Mara's sudden smile and took the opportunity to look her in the eye, holding her gaze until Mara's face dropped. “If Nolan is in Wales, I don't know about it. There's always a possibility that he's here in hiding, but I'd like to think my people would have told me immediately if an Aeron had returned to Wales.”
“I see.”
“I would like to make you an offer, however.”
Mara pulled her hand away and folded them on the table, trying to regain her composure. “Go on.”
“I would like you and your twin to remain here, in Caer Fyrddin. I will send word to my people to look for him, and I will send discrete feelers out to the other Sub-Lords to see if your son is in one of their territories.”
“That is very generous,” Mara stalled.
“Too generous,” Robert said from the corner. “What's in it for you?”
“For me?” Tew seemed genuinely confused. “Jenkins, all of my Fulmen have been killed or gone missing in the past few years. The people have noticed that their numina are getting less responsive. We were beginning to panic, because we couldn't figure out why. Truth be told, there have been long gaps without active Swordsmiths in the past when they become Swordsmiths as babies, but...”
She paused long enough for Robert to prompt her. “But what?”
She took a deep breath. “The Sword knows. It knows that Nolan should be wielding it actively, and it's punishing us for it.”
Mara laughed. “You're joking, right? The Sword can influence the wielder, of course, but it can't affect us. Right?” she appealed to her brother when no one spoke.
“No,” he said heavily. “There are many documented cases of the Sword affecting other numen. Alixandra herself told Clint Connor that each god used the Sword to choose their heirs. Why wouldn't it be able to influence us?”
“Why haven't you said anything?” she snapped. “For twenty years?”
The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0) Page 26
