The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0)

by N. M. Santoski

  “Nolan,” Pyrrhus called. “Can I talk to you for a moment? In private, little bird,” he added, winking at Gia.

  “Fine. Have your boy bonding, see if I care,” she said with a bit of a flounce, heading back into the house.

  “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing tomorrow.”

  “We have a plan, remember?”

  “Not that, moron. This fake engagement.”

  The shove was sudden, brutal, and completely unexpected. Pyrrhus tumbled sideways and almost fell, but caught himself at the last moment.

  “Shut. Up. Pyrrhus,” Nolan spat out between his teeth.

  “No, really.”

  “You aren’t helping.”

  Enough. Pyrrhus grabbed him by the shoulder and dug his nails into Nolan’s collarbone. He twisted to escape, but almost dislocated his shoulder in the attempt.

  “Listen to me, and listen well. If you do this now, things will be put into motion that can’t be undone. Gia will have to renounce her brother—probably not a bad thing, since Arias is a Grade-A asshole, but she will lose what little protection he offered her. If you do not win this, the House of Aeron will no longer exist. Whether you actually marry her or not, she will be considered the widow of a traitor, a murderer, and a coward. Her life will be worthless—she will be judged and found wanting for opening her legs for—”

  Nolan turned his face away from Pyrrhus’s burning gaze.

  “Look at me, dammit!”

  He forced himself to comply. “She will be called the Whore of Aeron, and she’ll be the scary story young numen girls are told to keep them on the straight and narrow. If you do this, you have to mean it.”

  “Of course I mean it!” He was shouting loud enough that Pyrrhus cringed, remembering their fugitive status. If Nolan remembered—or cared—he gave no sign. “I would have meant it six months ago! She’s stuck by me, she’s… she’s everything I wanted before I even knew what to want.”

  “That was beautiful—work that into the real one.”

  “The real what?”

  Pyrrhus was looking at him like he’d truly lost his mind. “Proposal!”

  “Pyrrhus…”

  “I mean it, Nolan. A real proposal would have been better—at least then she stands to gain something if things go somewhat well. As for you… no last minute death complex, no ‘one true love’ bullshit. Don’t think I won’t be telling her the same thing. If she accepts you, on her own head be it.”

  “And what if I wanted to wait?” Nolan countered fiercely. “I wanted this to be settled before I tied her to anything. What if we leave things as they are? Correct me if I’m wrong, but she’s living with two men on the run. How could that be construed as honorable by those stuffy idiots?”

  Pyrrhus let out a breath, visibly defeated. “It can’t.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now you decide if you want to go into Beachhead telling a lie, or if you want to turn it into the truth before it’s too late. Go back in the house and talk to her, please.” He plopped down on the lawn, looking up at Nolan with a smile. “Just let me know when it’s safe to come back in.”

  Nolan kicked him—more of a half-hearted nudge with his toe, really. “Ass.”

  Gia was sitting at the kitchen table, studying notes she had made about Beachhead.

  “Listen, Nolan, I was thinking that—“ she stopped as she saw his face. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

  "No, it's not. Listen, I..." Again, he was at a loss for words. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her. When they parted, the words followed in a rush.

  "I—I wasted the good phrasing on Pyrrhus, dammit, but it was always my intention to ask you to marry me when this was over. If things were different..."

  He shushed her as she opened her mouth to object, interrupting himself mid-sentence.

  "Let me get this out in one piece, please. If things were different, I would have waited until I was acknowledged Swordsmith. I would have gone to your brother and humbled myself; I would have done anything to gain his permission to court you the way our ways say it should be done. If things were different, your brother may have come to me, asking for the honor of combining our families. I would have said the honor was mine, that adding your blood to the Aeron line would make us stronger, better... You would have been Lady Fulmina, with all the rights and privileges that entails, and you would have known that a child of yours would be the Swordsmith after I’m dead. If things were different... but they aren't. I can't offer you honor. I can't offer you legitimacy; I can't offer you a house... or a House. I can offer you fear, and panic, and fugitivity... and myself. That's a terrible legacy, but it's all I have left."

  He bowed his head and waited.

  "If I were a different sort of woman," she said quietly, "Legitimacy would matter to me. I would love the things you could do for me, the honor you could bring me, or the title you could give me. If I were a different sort of woman, denying my family and my heritage for you when you are nothing would be inconceivable. I'm not a different sort of woman, though. I'm me. For me, I find more honor in helping you regain your place—not for what it can do for us or even our eventual children, but for those who suffer now in silence waiting for a leader, including my fellow Zephyra. I find more honor in being Gia Aeron than I ever would being Lady Fulmina. And if we succeed, and we do have children, I would ask only that the eldest Zephyra child carry the Disanza name on in the Council of the Nine if I inherit my brother's seat through the will of the gods."

  She half rose from her seat to frame his face in her hands. "You say that you wouldn't want me to be a fugitive—but I already am. I'm already afraid, and already panicked. I've already lost my brother, even if I had a chance of retaining him to begin with without losing who I am. The only thing I'm not in this version of the scenario is your wife."

  His stricken look began to fade and shift into a small smile. "Would it be a secret?"

  She shook her head. "Nolan, we're using this to get me into Beachhead. By sundown on the 15th every Court will know, including my brother. If we commit to this, there's no turning back."

  "I feel like I should shake your hand to seal the deal," he said after a moment. They stared at each other, and then began to laugh. They were unable to control it, until Pyrrhus gave up trying to eavesdrop and entered the house to blatantly stand a few feet from them, hands on his hips.

  “Really?” he said with as much scorn as he could muster. That only made it worse. Gia tumbled out of the chair onto the floor, and Nolan was laughing too hard to help her.

  “Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.” He took the seat recently vacated and waited them out. After a few minutes, they were gasping for breath and drying their eyes, but they were no longer laughing.

  “Done now? Have things been settled?”

  Nolan found himself looking at Gia. She’d never responded. Then again, he hadn’t really asked.

  “Marry me?” he asked with a small half smile.

  “Of course.” She slipped his grandmother’s ring off of her finger and handed back to him. Without skipping a beat, he took her hand in his and slid it back.

  “There. Now it’s settled.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Michael thrust himself back from his desk with a muttered curse. The reports coming in from Caer Anglia were getting more and more upsetting by the day. Despite Selocrim’s best efforts—and the removal of Clara Disanza—the graffiti was getting worse. The students were distracted. It couldn’t continue this way.

  A knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts enough to admit the person on the other side.

  “Father? Do you have a few moments?”

  “Of course.” His face froze as he realized that Isabella was trailing behind his son, looking around the office with unconcealed curiosity. He struggled to keep his voice even as he greeted his future daughter-in-law.

  “Good evening, Isabella.”

  “Good
evening… Father.” He heard the hesitation in her address and smiled inwardly. Despite his invitation to her to lower the barriers of formality between them, she either feared or respected him enough to make that difficult.

  Good.

  “I wanted to speak with you—we wanted to,” Manas amended, squeezing Isabella’s hand in his. “I told her the truth about my mother, and I want to take my future wife to meet her.”

  What?

  “Out of the question,” Michael said flatly.

  “Oh, but…” Isabella started.

  “Out of the question. Isabella, leave us, please.” It was not a request.

  She rose to her feet, giving Manas a look of deep regret.

  “Issy, no, wait…”

  She swept Michael the deepest of bows. “My Lord Artifex.” She left the room regal as a queen, and Michael was impressed by her self-assurance… even if he was so furious the walls of the room were beginning to shake.

  “Father, that was incredibly rude!”

  “Rude?” Michael’s voice dropped an octave. “Rude.” He rose to his feet and paced the floor in front of his unrepentant boy, attempting to marshal his thoughts. It was no use. With a wave of his hand, he trapped his son to the floor—gently, but restrained was still restrained.

  Manas’ wordless cry of shock was wasted on him. He strode forward and took his son’s chin in his hand. “You are a useless waste of space sometimes, my son.” He dug his fingers into his cheeks to stop him from retorting. “Shut up and listen. I have kept you from her for a reason. Your mother is ill.”

  “Ill? She’s immortal! How could she be—urk!” Michael readjusted his grip, silencing him once again.

  “Juno has withdrawn her favor because of us. Your mother is still physically immortal, but her mind is unhinging. I have tripled the hunt for Aeron. We must obtain possession of the Sword before her mind is lost to us forever. I cannot afford distractions, and neither can you. Nor can we afford for news of Alix’s ailment to reach the other Council members. Your decision was foolish, and I hope for your mother’s sake that you can control that fiancée of yours better than you can control your impulses.”

  Manas was frantically trying to work his jaw under his father’s iron fingers, so Michael finally let go. He did not, however, release him from the floor.

  “I am working on that, too! I have a plan!”

  “A plan.” Michael’s tone was blatantly skeptical. “You have a plan.”

  “Yes. I am working with Alan Aeron. He hates his brother. They are staging a “family” funeral service for Dr. Jenkins in just a few days! If Aeron shows, Alan is going to let me know so we can grab him!”

  “That will show our hand too soon.”

  Manas gave him a look of absolute exasperation. “I’m not going to go myself! I’ll send Selocrim’s crew—she’s been dying to get her hands on Aeron again.”

  Michael was quiet for a moment, turning the implications over in his mind. “Not Selocrim. As we’ve discussed, I can’t risk having her that far from the Sword.”

  “I know that! I already told Alan that Selocrim would remain behind.”

  “I want the transfer of the Sword to happen at Caer Anglia, in a Seat of Power, so you must take him alive. Rebecca is already in place, along with the Sword. I want to you at Caer Anglia with her. We can’t afford another mistake like Robert’s death—remember that.” He walked out of the room without another word, leaving his son pinned to the floor. Only once his father’s footsteps retreated beyond the upper floors did his numina release, dropping Manas on suddenly numb legs. Unable to support his own weight, he pitched backward into a chair and was forced to sit, massaging his legs until he could feel them again.

  Eventually, he left his father’s office, absolutely fuming. He passed Isabella without a word, leaving her to follow if she wished. She remained quiet but fell into place beside him, matching him step for step down the hall, out the front door, and to his car.

  "Where are you going?" she asked finally as he pulled out his keys to unlock the car. "Can I come with you?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "But Manas—!"

  "Listen, Issy. I have things I have to take care of. You hear me? My father... my mother..."

  She put her hand on his arm, silencing him with a kiss. "I understand. Just tell me where you’re going?"

  "To Caer Anglia. I have business to attend to there."

  "When will you be back?"

  "As soon as I can, I will send for you."

  She pouted a bit, but accepted his kiss with good grace. "Good."

  "Deal." He stuck his hand out with a smile, and she shook it before pulling him into a hug. "Be safe, damn you," she said with a slight tremble to her voice. He tried to ignore it, but he gave her one more lingering kiss before disappearing down the road, leaving her behind... again.

  He arrived at Caer Anglia in an even fouler mood than he'd left Grappenhall. Two of the guards met him at the gate and, recognizing him, let him through with only a cursory glance. "Where is Captain Selocrim?"

  "She is doing a round, Lord Younger Artifex," the older guard offered.

  "Send her to my father's office as soon as possible," he ordered.

  "Yes, sir."

  He was in there for less than five minutes before Selocrim let herself in without even knocking first.

  "You rang?" she drawled, not even bothering to modulate the sarcasm in her voice.

  "I did. I need you to be on call when I summon you."

  "I don't work for you."

  "I am well aware of that. You work for my father."

  "Does he know you're here throwing your…weight around in his office?"

  "He does. I am giving you a chance at Nolan Aeron. If you'd like to pass that up, I am sure I can find someone else..."

  A yellow spark lit in her eyes. "Aeron? How?"

  “My father has forbidden you from straying too far from the Sword… why? We’re able to tote it around as long as our skin never touches the metal. So why the restriction?”

  Rebecca tapped a fingertip against her upper lip. “Aeron will come back for it. He already has once, and we had him beat. Next time, we won’t let him escape.”

  “My father wants this to end here… where it began. So, we must draw him to us again. I need to send one of your commando teams down to North Carolina—my source tells me that Aeron will be there for his uncle’s interment. We have to flush him out into the open. Do you have an officer you can trust explicitly?”

  “Carlos.” At Manas’ blank look, she specified, “Officer Charles Lamesa.”

  “Promote him and make him your right hand. That way, your officers have a leader, and you can be here, laying the trap that will destroy the House of Aeron once and for all.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  March 15th dawned with a difficulty no one anticipated. Gia awoke to find the bed cold and empty. A frantic glance around the room revealed Nolan standing frozen at the entrance to his closet.

  “Nolan?”

  "I don't have anything to wear."

  “What?” She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. "Nothing?"

  "No."

  He looked at her, clearly perplexed. Gia sighed and shooed him in the direction of the bathroom. "Go shower, I'll figure something out."

  He kissed her forehead. "You're the best."

  "I know," she teased. "Go!"

  He went.

  She headed for his closet and began to paw through it. All the way in the back was the box of things Nolan had left behind at Caer Anglia, hurriedly smuggled out when no one was looking. She pulled it out, hoping—yes! There was the garment bag holding Nolan's Drawing of the Names suit. It would have to do.

  She grabbed a black dress from her own things and a pair of flats, changing into them quickly and heading to the mirror to make sure everything was in place. As she re-pinned her hair, Nolan came into the bedroom, a towel around his waist.

  "So what's the verdict?" he asked, a bit
self-conscious.

  "That," she said, pointing to the bed.

  Nolan froze when he saw the garment bag. "It has to be that?"

  "You don't own anything else but jeans and t-shirts, nothing Pyrrhus owns will fit you, and I doubt you want to have to ask your brother for something suitable to wear." Gia pulled her hair through the last loop of her elastic and headed for the door. "I'll go kick Pyrrhus and start the car—it's still a bit frosty from last night. Get dressed."

  She pulled on her shawl and went upstairs, sending a gust of icy wind under Pyrrhus’s tightly shut door and into his room.

  “Gia!”

  “Get dressed!” she shouted through the door, smirking. “I’m going to go start the car.”

  “Don’t touch anything but the defrost!” Pyrrhus hollered back.

  “Ugh—fine!”

  She grabbed the keys on her way out the door and trudged through the frost-laden grass to the car hidden in the back brush. She started it up and cranked up the defrost. She thought for a moment about tweaking the mirror slightly, but thought twice. The overreaction wasn’t worth the momentary amusement—not on a day like today. She double-checked that she left the doors unlocked and climbed out. She made her way back to the house, assuming Nolan would be waiting for her.

  He wasn't.

  "Nolan?" she called. She heard a strange noise from the bedroom, then Nolan's voice choking out, "Just a minute."

  She went back into the bedroom and stopped, startled. Nolan was sitting on the bed, a dress shoe cradled in his hand, his foot crossed up over his thigh as if he was ready to put the shoe on. Instead, however, he was just staring at it... and he was crying.

  "Nolan? What is it?"

  "These shoes are his," he said, gulping down tears to get the words out. "My feet were too big for my father's shoes, so he gave me a pair of his—perfectly shined, of course."

  She took the shoe from him and placed it on the bedspread. "We don't have to do this," she said, reversing her earlier statement. "I know I said he would want you there, but really, if it's too difficult..."

  Nolan was shaking his head. "No, we're going." He took up the shoe again and resolutely jammed it on his foot, tying it sloppily. He pushed his foot into the other one and stood. "Let's go. Pyrrhus!”