by Kit Rocha
With his brow still furrowed, he opened his beer and took a sip. “I don’t date, Maricela.”
There was a tiny chip of wood caught in a fold of his shirt near his broad shoulder. She reached out and brushed it free as an excuse to touch him. “Could I persuade you to make an exception?”
“Are you asking for an escort?”
Anyone else, and she would have giggled at the absurdity of the situation. To hear her sister talk, Maricela only had to snap her fingers or wave her hand, and potential lovers would come running.
In reality, not so much.
But, somehow, she didn’t want to laugh. In fact, part of her positively wanted to cry. So she smiled and nodded. “Right, an escort. I couldn’t think of the word. Would you be so kind?”
“Of course.” He took a step towards her, looming into her space, so close she could smell the sharp pine scent of his aftershave. For a moment, she thought he might have understood her intentions, after all, but when he leaned down to her ear, his whisper was purely practical. “With the heightened security risk, you should always have a Rider or one of the royal guard with you. It’s important.”
“My hero.” She meant it as a tease, the kind he had probably come to expect from her, but it came out sounding solemn.
His blue, blue eyes were equally serious as he inclined his head, and it was more than agreement. It was almost a bow. “My princess.”
Princess. He offered her his arm. She took it, and let him lead her toward the refreshments table without argument.
At the end of the day, there were worse things to be.
Chapter Twelve
Ana was dropping her guard too early.
She and Hunter had been sparring for nearly an hour, and Deacon had been watching in between nods and murmured conversational encouragement to Reyes. He’d promised Ana he would talk to the rest of the Riders, but all Reyes seemed to be interested in chatting about was Davin, the baker’s son, and how imaginative he could be when properly, carnally motivated.
There were some things Deacon simply didn’t need to know.
So he watched Ana instead. She ducked swings that would have certainly taken her down, only to immediately leave herself open for more by dropping her blocks at the last moment. Hunter couldn’t match her for speed, but if he managed to land a blow, she’d be left reeling.
But the fight was taking its toll on him, and slowly Deacon realized that was her intention--keep him committed to those heavy, draining swings by luring him in with the hazy promise of a solid blow, then dance out of the way at the very last millisecond. Wear him down and wait him out.
He was so proud he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“So then he gets all nervous, right? And I’m thinking he’s about to suggest some sincerely kinky shit, but all he does is ask me if I’ve ever been to that brothel near the border with Eight, the Pink Pearl. I swear, Deacon, it was so goddamn cute. You wouldn’t believe--”
“Reyes,” he barked.
“Yeah, boss?”
Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Will you please just tell me what I need to do to make things right between us? What sort of penance do I have to pay?”
Reyes pressed his lips together, then burst out laughing. “This is your fucking penance. I was wondering how long you’d last. Zeke owes me fifty credits.”
Deacon glowered at him. “Reyes--”
He was already backing away, well out of arm’s reach. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish the story some other time. You should go have a drink.” He was still chuckling when he ducked around a hedge and out of sight.
“Want me to kick his ass?”
Bishop was standing behind him, holding two beers between the fingers of one hand. Deacon shook his head as he reached for one of them. “And miss the chance to do it myself? Never.”
Bishop snorted and twisted the top off his beer. “I wish you would. He gets unmanageable if someone doesn’t smack him down once in a while. And I don’t think Ashwin’s trying very hard. Those two like fighting way too much.”
“Eh, let ‘em have their fun.” He eyed Bishop over the rim of his bottle. “What’s up?”
“Figured we should talk. You know, about those things you wanted me to think on.”
“Right.” It was impossible to know just from looking at him how Bishop was dealing with the revelations about Deacon’s past. He’d seen the man jump into gory, screaming fights with a stony expression that looked more like boredom than bloodlust. “What’s the verdict?”
Bishop turned to where Isabela sat, surrounded by her spouses now, with a dozen children clambering over their parents, demanding immediate attention. His gaze took in the sweetly domestic scene, still utterly unmoved. “Not all of us who were born here belong here, you know. I came into this world...angry. The harder my family tried to press me into a peaceful, obedient little box, the more that rage grew. They couldn’t understand why I was dark and morbid and twisted. They told me I was broken, made me think I was evil.”
“You, evil?” He was a hard man, no one would argue with that. But Bishop would step in front of a bullet before he would use his power to harm an innocent. “That’s bullshit.”
“Maybe. But when all you know is peace and love, there’s not a lot of room in your world for people who see shadows.” Bishop gestured with his bottle, pointing to Ana and Hunter and then Gabe. “Some of them? They were born for this place. They see the hope in someone when it’s barely more than a flicker. They’ll nurse it into a blaze to light up the world. We need them to keep us honest. But they need us, too. Because the rest of the world isn’t Sector One. There are plenty of shadows out there.”
Once upon a time, there were shadows in One, as well. Gideon had nearly broken himself trying to stamp them out, and for the first time, Deacon realized that he’d been a part of that. Bishop could stand here and marvel at how pure and clean this place was, because those battles had already been fought and won.
Now they just needed to keep Sector One that way.
He drew in a deep breath. “So you understand, then.”
“Well enough.” Bishop held up his beer. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I care that you’re here, bleeding every day to make shit better. I’ll follow you as long as you keep doing that.”
It meant a lot, because Bishop wasn’t just reassuring him or trying to make him feel better. He was telling the flat, unvarnished truth. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Bishop drained half his beer and nodded. “I promised Lucio I’d fight him next.”
“He thinks too much,” Deacon advised. “Don’t be afraid to use that against him.”
“I never am.” He gave Deacon a rare grin and strode off to where Lucio had just finished a bout with Gabe by knocking him into the dirt.
Ana and Hunter had finished sparring, as well. They stood by the station where the acolytes were serving snacks and drinks, downing water and laughing like beating the shit out of each other was the most fun either of them had had in forever. Deacon watched as Ana draped a towel around her neck and used the ends to wipe her face.
“She kicked his ass,” Zeke said from behind him, his tone light and cheerful. “Maybe you shoulda made her boss, boss.”
“It’s about temperament.” Deacon turned to face him and almost--almost--cracked a smile at the dozens of tiny footprints smudging Zeke’s clothes. “Hunter can make decisions when he needs to, and then stand behind them. That’s the most important thing.”
“I dunno, Ana’s pretty stone cold when she wants to be.” Zeke tilted his head and studied Deacon. He had that look in his eyes, the one that meant no one was going to like what came out of his mouth next. “Councilman Chadwick.”
“What about him?”
Zeke waved his hand in a go on gesture. “I have an actual fucking Suicide King--well, former King--standing in front of me. Obviously, I’m going to ask about the biggest conspiracy theory Eden’s ever h
ad.”
This was one assassination Deacon had no trouble owning up to. “The Kings pulled the hit on Chadwick,” he confirmed. “Paid for by one of his fellow councilmen, if I’m not mistaken. I wasn’t part of the planning on it, but I heard it went off without a hitch.”
“That was without a hitch?” Zeke snorted. “He walked into the most expensive restaurant in Eden and shot the bastard in front of three dozen witnesses. Then he just...stood there, waiting to get arrested.”
“Of course he did. He wasn’t a very good marksman, so he had to be close to take the shot. There was one thing he was really good at, though.”
Zeke’s eyebrows went up. “The disappearing act?”
Deacon finished his beer. “Never saw a cell that could hold the guy. The old man called him Houdini.”
“Goddammit,” Zeke breathed, eyes wide with delight and honest glee. “Abel was right. Eden told everyone they’d executed him, but a crime like that? They would have given him the firing squad in the town square at high noon as a warning to the rest of us. Abel swore he hacked the records and found out the guy vanished.”
“Yep. He erased a human stain from existence and made a shit ton of money doing it. Those were the jobs no one minded doing--the ones you might have taken for free.” He shrugged and held out both hands. “Okay, here it is. Free shot, just this once. If you’re curious about any other Council assassinations, ask away.”
Zeke’s eyes went even wider. “Wait, there were more?”
There were always more. “The best hits don’t look like hits. They look like heart attacks, strokes, accidents. Drug overdoses. No one asking questions means no loose ends.”
“Jesus. How often did those assholes kill each other?”
“How many active Council members died?”
“Fuck.” Zeke slid his hand through his spiky blond hair, his eyes barely focused. Deacon could see the wheels turning, and he knew Zeke was already antsy to get back to his tablet and start pulling up death records.
But when he spoke again, it was with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Chadwick killed my parents, you know.”
It was the absolute fucking last thing Deacon expected to hear. “He what?”
“Killed my parents.” Zeke’s gaze snapped back to Deacon’s. “They were part of a resistance cell working to destabilize the Council. My mom was a hacker. My dad did black-market shit. They got snatched up when I was thirteen. I didn’t know why for years, but the first time I breached the Council mainframe, that’s what I was looking for. The name on the order. It was Chadwick. They were marked as killed while resisting arrest.”
Holy shit. “Then I’m especially glad he’s dead. But the Kings didn’t kill him because he deserved it, Zeke. They killed him because the price was right. Don’t forget that.”
“I know.” Zeke shrugged and looked away. “Trust me, when I went digging for information on jobs the Kings have pulled, I found a whole lot of ugly. You did some fucked-up shit, boss. But a lot of people in this world have been doing fucked-up shit for years. At least you know it.”
Always, even when precious few other people knew or remembered or gave a shit. “Want to hug it out?”
“Think it’ll make everyone else jealous?”
“Of course it will. I mean, you’ve seen me.”
Zeke recoiled in dramatically overdone shock. “Deacon, I think you just made a joke. Are you feeling okay?”
Deacon punched him on the arm. “Get lost before I make another one.”
“Perish the thought.” Zeke put two fingers to his forehead in a cheerful salute. “Boss.”
Ana had moved on to the cluster of blankets and benches where Isabela sat with her family. She was talking animatedly with two of the older girls, who were mimicking punches and grabs while she patiently corrected their form.
A moment later, her shoulders stiffened slightly. She didn’t look over at him, but he knew she felt the weight of his gaze.
Soon.
Movement at the corner of his eye drew his gaze. Gideon was seated on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, a bucket of beer at his feet. He raised one eyebrow and crooked a finger in summons.
He had a beer open and on offer as soon as Deacon sank down beside him. “You’ve been making good use of the afternoon.”
So he’d been watching. “Someone told me that my plan to give the men three days of space before I approached them again wasn’t such a great idea, after all.”
“I’m glad you listened. I know you meant well...” Gideon smiled gently. “This will change how they think and feel about you. How they see you. But that’s not always bad, is it?”
Embracing change wasn’t something that came easily to him. “It is what it is.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Gideon returned his gaze to the festivities spread out before them. “The royal guard has stepped up patrols and is prepared for trouble. Ashwin even identified a few points of vulnerability he noticed during his initial surveillance of the sector. We should be in good shape.”
“What about the midsummer festival?” It wasn’t particularly dangerous, no more than business as usual at the marketplace, but he had to ask.
“It will go forward as usual.”
“Sir?”
“We can’t let life in Sector One grind to a halt every time someone wants to kill us, Deacon.” Gideon’s smile was wry. “Maybe we’ve all been living too soft for too long. Before war with Eden, we got used to weeks and months going by without any real danger at all. But even during the worst of our civil wars in the past, we got up every day and we laughed and we loved and we lived. We’re going to do it now, too.”
The best of what Sector One had to offer, just like Bishop had said. “Understood. I’ll help Hunter coordinate with the guard.”
“Good. The people need this celebration. We were still grieving and struggling through winter and spring. But I think we’re ready to look forward now.” Gideon clapped a hand to Deacon’s shoulder. “And I like the shape of the future we’re building.”
The answer came as easy as breathing this time, easier than he ever thought it would. “So do I.”
Chapter Thirteen
As much as Ana usually valued the peaceful quiet of the Riders’ common room, she also loved the parties.
The doors had been thrown open to the rapidly cooling night. Music throbbed from the unobtrusive speakers Zeke had installed in strategic corners. Dimmed lights left plenty of shadowed alcoves for stealing kisses--or more, if you dared--and the crackle of the hearth and dozens of candles cast romantic shadows and filled the air with spice and the clean, earthy smell of burning wood.
Grace was a new addition to the parties. Ana had gotten to know her as the sister of a fellow Rider--a sister Jaden had brought around more than some people thought was wise. The siblings from Sector Seven hadn’t been raised to understand the emotional distance necessary between a Rider and the loved ones who one day would, inevitably, be left alone to mourn.
Sadness still shadowed Grace’s eyes, even two months after her brother’s death, and her reddish-blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Its color, combined with her hazel eyes and the shape of her chin, reminded Ana forcefully of Jaden. Like Nita, she’d abandoned the robes common to Del’s students. Instead, she wore khaki shorts and a flowing blouse as she curled up on the couch closest to the hearth, a sketchpad balanced on her bare legs.
Ana sank into the spot next to her with a smile. “Hey, what are you working on?”
Grace started, then covered the paper with her hand. “Nothing, it’s--” She stopped, smiled, and sighed. “Sorry. Maricela asked me to make her something.”
“Like a dress or something?”
“For special occasions.” She moved her hand and tilted the pad toward Ana.
The sketch was still rough, with the figure’s arms and legs fading away and an oval representing the head. But the dress was a masterwork--long flowing skirts split up past the knee and flaring out
, as if caught in a wind. No sleeves. A neckline that plunged in a deep vee.
It gave the impression of somehow being tremendously formal and utterly sweet at the same time--like Maricela. “It looks perfect.”
“Thank you.” Grace lowered her voice. “I know she’s just trying to help me out by giving me something to do, but I’m going to do it well.”
Ana scanned the room again, but Maricela hadn’t appeared yet. Deacon had--he was over in the corner with Zeke, nodding every so often at the torrent of words. But his gaze was on Ana, like it had been damn near all afternoon, and her skin prickled.
Forcing her gaze back to Grace, she told herself to ignore the tingle at the base of her neck. “How are you settling in at the temple? You’ve been there a couple of weeks now, right?”
“It’s different,” she confessed. “I’m not used to being around so many people all the time.”
“And they’re not exactly quiet, are they?” Ana enjoyed dropping in for an evening of socialization, but she also valued her ability to leave. “If you ever need hints about all the places you can hide on this compound, I’m your girl.”
“I might take you up on that.” Grace twirled her pencil idly between her fingers. “Deacon is staring at you.”
Deacon needed to be more subtle. Ana was saved from trying to come up with an excuse for why by Nita’s abrupt arrival in a swirl of multicolored skirts. She beamed at Grace and dropped a kiss to Ana’s cheek before claiming the spare spot on the couch.
Then she leaned in closer to Ana. “Why’s Deacon staring at you?”
Ana dug her nails into her palm and promised herself she would murder Deacon. Slowly. “Beats me. Why’d that new guardsman trail in here behind you like a puppy?”
Nita dismissed him with a wave of her hand that set her dozens of gold bracelets clattering. “He has a crush. He’ll get over it, especially once he realizes the head cook’s daughter’s been watching him like he’s the only man in the world.” Nita glanced at Grace. “You have to watch out for the baby guardsmen. Protecting temple initiates is very romantic. I bet half a dozen of them are in love with you by autumn.”
