Victor (The Eden East Novels Book 2)

by Sacha Black

  My eyes bug wide, and I stifle a cough.

  “Everything okay, Fallon East?” Israel says, his serious expression boring into me. My gaze flicks up to the First Fallon. Her eyes narrow. Trey’s playing a dangerous game. As far as I can tell, the First Fallon is tolerating our Binding in public but only because she doesn’t want news of the prophecy getting out. She wants the masses controlled, suppressed, and brainwashed. Flirting with him under her nose is going to wind her up. There’s a muffled creak of wood as the entire Council Chamber shifts to look at me. Heat paints a layer of pink over my cheeks, “I... Umm. Yes, sorry. As you were saying.” I wave my hand at him dismissing the comment and glare at Trey, who isn’t even attempting to hide his grin. His sparkling blue eyes crease with laughter as he shrugs innocence at me and signals that it’s ‘one-all.’

  Right. I tap out a reply.

  * * *

  From: Eden.East@FallonCogMail.com

  Subject: RE: Urgent

  To: Trey.Luchelli@FallonCogMail.com

  Much as I’d love that, I’m slightly off-put by the green thing you’ve got hanging off your chin…

  He flicks open the CogMail, and his face falls. Sitting up straight, he wipes his chin. I lean back against the bench, my shoulders rocking silently. When he realizes I was joking, he blinks at me, and I give him a smug look as I gesture ‘two-one.’ He smiles a look at me that screams ‘game-on,’ and I know I’ve lost. He shuffles to the edge of his chair until his leg touches mine.

  Don’t you dare, Trey Luchelli, I think as I fire a filthy look at him. But it’s too late; where his thigh touches mine, Siren compulsion washes over me. My eyes close as warmth and golden waves of lust trickle into my system. I want him. I don’t care if we’re in the Council. Or if the First Fallon is watching. The sensation flows through my legs until it reaches my groin, and my eyes snap open.

  “That’s enough,” I gasp, and Trey removes his leg.

  Israel stops speaking and turns to me. “Fallon East?” he says, scratching his blond top knot.

  It takes me a moment to compose myself. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to recall what the Council was talking about.

  “Winner,” Trey mouths at me.

  I glare at him; this isn’t over.

  The air cools, making goosebumps pock my arms and neck. The First Fallon glides out of her throne, moving to the front of the raised platform, her eyes glinting.

  “No, Eden. I think you’re right. That is enough.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Israel says through gritted teeth.

  “Your Majesty, given yesterday’s broadcast…” I start. But the First Fallon raises her delicate hand to signal my silence.

  “That’s quite enough from you,” she says. “Yesterday’s broadcast is meaningless. CogTracker trickery. Council members, you can be assured of both yours and Trutinor’s safety,” her words are silky, filled with hypnotic Siren charm. My mind wobbles, wanting to fall under her spell, to accept her words. But I won’t. I know better now. I shake my head making the trance fall away and steal myself for whatever comes next.

  “My sister is banished to Obex. I personally ensured there was no possible way she could return. The Balance and your wellbeing is, as it always will be, my highest concern. Therefore, I must insist that we submit Fallon East and Luchelli to a truth trial once more. We must get to the bottom of these serious and disturbing accusations before they unsettle our Keepers and damage the Balance.” She smiles, soft, serene, full of hypnotic beauty.

  I glance at Trey. She can’t be serious. I scan the room; the Council Chamber is enthralled, doe eyes and slack expressions all nodding at her words. I can’t believe I ever fell for this. Arden and Israel exchange worried looks across the table, but Arden shakes his head. This is not a battle he wants to pick, and he grimaces an apology at me. My hand forms a fist under the table. This is not okay; the Libra Legion needs to step up. Sometimes I wonder why my parents were even part of it. How is this fighting a war?

  “Councillor Bertrum, if you please,” the First Fallon says, returning to her seat. She leans back and crosses her legs as if getting ready to watch a movie.

  Councillor Bertrum, a Siren elder, stands. Despite being ancient, he’s retained his Siren good looks. His hair is short and white against his tanned skin, which despite his age, is taut. The only wrinkles he’s developed are laughter lines around his mouth, which make him look permanently happy. But buried deep beneath the curve of his eyes, is another story; he carries a weariness that comes from always knowing the truth. I guess the truth is a prison as much as it sets you free.

  “Fallon East, do you willingly submit to compulsion?” he says, standing. I look at the First Fallon, her sneer mocking me, then at Arden, his expression furrowed, pleading, and I sigh.

  “I do,” I say. But I’m not doing it for the Libra Legion; I’m doing it for Arden because I can’t stand the guilty knot his face is creating in my chest.

  I get up and walk to a lectern booth on the right-hand side of the Council table. It’s made of woven branches that are sanded smooth. The tree knots speckling the lectern are like freckles sprawling across its skin.

  Bertrum enters the booth with me, clasps my hand, and my third truth-trial begins.

  Five

  ‘Do nothing secretly; for Time sees and hears all things, and discloses all.’

  Sophocles - Human philosopher

  Nivvy stops taking meeting minutes and carries a pair of brass goggles over to the lectern. She slips them over my head and onto my eyes making the room go dark. Cogs click and whirr in my ears like crickets. She adjusts the leather frames to my face, and a few seconds later the noise softens as it settles into the rhythm of my brain waves. Bertrum turns me around, so I’m facing the Keepers in the Council Chamber: my jurors. Behind me, a screen will be lowered from the ceiling to project the memories Bertrum’s about to make me re-live.

  His touch is warm against my hand as he starts to speak. “Fallon East,” he says, his words smooth and creamy with hypnotic compulsion. “I want to you go back to your first coronation. Begin recalling the events of the day as you climbed the stage stairs in Element Square. And, Eden… You must tell the truth.”

  I suck air through my teeth as the warmth from his hand disappears and is replaced with a cold slimy sensation that crawls through my veins, up my shoulder, and into my neck. The thick goo coagulates around my voice box, tightening, suffocating, until it chokes the secrets out of me.

  If I fight, it will hurt even more. But I don’t because I have nothing to hide; the First Fallon might be able to force me into taking a truth trial, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving her the satisfaction of watching me in pain.

  I let the words flow, and the images of my memories crystalize inside the goggles.

  “I’m standing on stage, Trey’s next to me,” I say, “Arden’s at the front with the CogMic in his hand, about to announce us. It’s bright, the desert sun is burning hot, and it makes me squint. Arden starts speaking, welcoming us all, but something passes over the sun and casts a shadow over the crowded square. I look up but see nothing. Arden can’t have seen it either because he continues with his welcome. A moment later the shadow drifts over the crowd again.”

  There’s an audible murmur in the Council Chamber; it breaks my concentration, and the memories in the goggles flicker.

  “Concentrate, please,” Bertrum says, pumping a pulse of ice so cold into my throat it burns. I swallow hard and force myself on, even though the pain from the icy strangle hold is making me sweat and my knees weak.

  “I can’t see at first,” I say, and my hand rises in front of my goggles, mimicking the movement I made on the day to block out the sun.

  “Huge scaly wings beat the air. They’re creating gusts of wind that wash over the crowd. I narrow my eyes and scan the sky to get a better view. But the sun is so hot I can’t look in the creature’s direction for long. I remember thinking it must be Maddison. Her Dragon Shifter wings
are black like that.”

  I falter. I don’t want to say the next words. If Israel is here, Maddison is probably in the Council Chamber somewhere too.

  Bertrum senses my hesitation and says, “The whole truth, Eden.”

  His grip on my voice tightens; sharp icicles that taste bitter dig into my throat making me gasp.

  “I… I decide it’s Maddison because I killed Victor. But as soon as I think it, the creature passes in front of the sun and stays there, blocking the rays out and coming into focus. I’m wrong, it’s not Maddison.”

  There’s louder murmuring in the chamber, and the air around me grows chilly as if the First Fallon has stepped closer. But I’m too deep into my memories for it to distract me.

  “I’m certain the creature is a Shifter. But Shifters can’t shoot enormous balls of fire and green magic across the square. No one can do that except the First and Last Fallon. But he is. Even though it’s impossible, he’s wielding magic from more than one State. I stumble back, my legs weak as I realize who the creature is. While its body remains in dragon form, its head shifts in an out of its Keeper form as if to taunt me. His greasy blond hair and dark eyes give him away.”

  As my memory crystallizes on his face, there are shouts and jeers in the audience. They don’t believe me. They didn’t believe me the last two times I did the truth trial either. Yet he’s on screen for them to see with their own eyes.

  “Eden, you must tell the truth,” Bertrum says.

  “I am.”

  “Liar,” the First Fallon spits.

  There’s a hiss from the chamber, and then someone yells from the audience, “Force the truth, Bertrum.”

  “She is under compulsion,” Bertrum says, and raises our clasped hands as if to prove it.

  It’s a smattering at first, then the chorus of voices crescendo into a rhythm. I can imagine the First Fallon waving her fingers at the audience like a musical conductor, brainwashing them into their chant.

  “Truth. Truth. Truth.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bertrum whispers under his breath.

  I cry out as the icy compulsion tightens like a noose around my throat. Sharp splinters dig into my shoulders and up the back of my skull making black and white spots fill my vision.

  “I swear it’s the truth,” I plead, “it was Victor Dark.”

  “Continue,” Bertrum says, his voice straining with the exertion of controlling a Fallon so much stronger than him.

  I stop speaking. They don’t believe me anyway so the rest of the memory can play out on screen minus my narration.

  Victor dips and swoops then pauses to hover above the crowd. Thousands of Keepers stand like soldiers in Element Square, each one wearing an identical expression: slack jaw, wide eyes, and ghost-gray skin.

  A piercing scream rings out through the crowd. There’s a pause, long enough for a single heartbeat. Then an explosion of screams, frantic running, and panic erupting through the square. Keepers flee, scrabbling and climbing over each other. People are pushed and shoved out of the way. There’s a crush by the two main exits. Balls of fire and electricity are launched into the air toward Victor. He rolls and flaps out of the way. The acrid scent of ash fills the air, and a plume of smoke rises in the far corner of the square.

  “Trey. Control them. Now,” I shout, pulling him to the front of the stage. I push out a wave of air and hold it in place like a barrier. It blocks the path of a large group of Keepers running to join the crush at the exit.

  Trey’s head shakes as if to wipe away the shock, then he launches into action, throwing his arms out wide and pushing a pulse of Siren compulsion into the crowd. It’s so strong I swear I see the air wobble. Deep red flashes across his eyes. My shoulders tense. But he blinks, and the red is gone. Thank Balance, I think.

  When the crowd is motionless, frozen in place by compulsion, everything quietens. There’s only the crackle of a few stray pieces of rubbish burning in the square and the flap, flap of Victor’s wings beating above us.

  He descends towards the stage. My breath roars loud in my ears compared to the now silent crowd. I don’t understand how this is happening. I stabbed him in the heart. He died in front of me.

  When he was alive, Victor was a Fallon Shifter, which meant he could shift into any creature he liked. But what’s hovering in front of me is something different. When he used to shift into dragon form, his wings were skin colored. Now they’re midnight black, stretching out twice the length of his body with spiny bones hooked out of the joints. He looks like a demon.

  Where the crowd panicked and ran, a gap has formed in the center of Element Square, and there’s a clear path to us on stage. Victor’s wings crumple and fold into an arrow shape as he plunges into the space like a hawk diving for its prey. And like the mouse it’s hunting, I’m paralyzed by fear.

  Trey steps closer to me, his fingers slipping into mine, "How is this possible?"

  Words won’t form, so I shake my head because I have no idea. I grip his hand so hard my knuckles turn white.

  I killed Victor. I broke our Binding by putting a blade tipped with the same poison that killed my parents through his heart. There is no way he can be alive.

  Victor pulls up several feet short of the ground; he opens his enormous wings, flapping them in slow, steady beats. Sand and dust whip up with every flap, and the breeze he creates washes over me. Time seems to stall as I’m mesmerized by this demon creature in front of me.

  He floats down to the ground shifting to his normal self, landing one foot then the other. He’s elegant like a swan, but when he smiles at me, it makes my mouth go dry. He takes controlled, purposeful steps forward. His smart maroon-red brogue shoes clap against the concrete stones. As he gets closer, each clap echoes around the square or maybe it’s my heart ringing in my ears. He’s wearing a black suit with a shirt the same red as his shoes. His blond hair is scooped back into a top knot, and the sides look freshly shaved. On one side of his face, starting at his temple, and spider webbing down his cheek, neck, and disappearing into his shirt collar, is a scar, or a mark, or something. It, too, is maroon-red, and I wonder how he got it in Obex after he died. The mark pulses, like it’s alive, and it makes me shift on the spot.

  When he reaches the front of the stage, his feet slide together against the stone as he draws to a stop. Victor looks at Trey, then to me. I open my mouth to speak, but he draws a finger up to his lips and with a shake of his head, silences me.

  His dark eyes drill into mine creating a shudder of goose flesh that slithers down my back. Now he’s closer, I examine the red scar. But it’s not a scar so much as a vein, pulsing like a heartbeat. “Where there is Balance, there must be Imbalance," he says.

  My brows knit together as I turn to Trey, who’s wearing the same expression. That’s what the Last Fallon said to us when we found her in Obex a few weeks ago.

  Victor steps closer and leans into me, whispering so quietly the Council Chamber can’t hear his words. But I remember the chill it filled me with.

  “I am not your enemy,” he breathes into my ear, and just like in the changing rooms before our Binding Ceremony, he sucks my ear lobe. Then he retreats and smiles, displaying yellowed teeth, “And, Eden…?”

  I glance at him.

  “The Imbalance is coming,” he says, then his wings spread wide before wrapping around his body and collapsing in on himself, making him vanish from sight.

  The goggles go black; the memory is over.

  Bertrum releases my hand, and I pull off the goggles. He’s pale, sweaty, and unsteady on his feet. He must have exhausted all his energy trying to force the truth out of me. It makes my blood boil. The Council have seen this bloody memory three times. I can handle the First Fallon berating me, but why put Bertrum through this? He’ll have to do the same to Trey in a minute, and he can’t even hold his own weight up. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and glance across the room. Though her face is blank, the First Fallon’s eyes are smiling. Something snaps inside me. I grit
my teeth and guide Bertrum back to his seat. I reach for a glass of water on the table and help him sip it. When he’s done, I turn to the silent Council Chamber.

  “Do you see?” I say, my voice hard, raised. I scan the seats, making sure I lock eyes with the First Fallon. I don’t care how dangerous it is to be this defiant in public.

  “Do you see what you’re doing?” I shout at the crowd. “This is over. I will not submit me, or Trey, OR BERTRUM, TO THIS AGAIN.”

  I pause, take a deep breath and lower my tone, suddenly aware of how hard the First Fallon’s face has become. “You’ve seen the same memory repeatedly from both myself and Fallon Luchelli. And each time, it’s identical. The evidence is clear. A judgment will be made today. So I ask her Majesty and the Council, do you accept these memories as a true account of the events in Element Square?”

  At first, there is only silence in the chamber. I glance over my shoulder at the head Council members and Fallons, and even they are quiet. Trey’s face is pale, his eyes wide, skirting between me and the First Fallon. My heart pumps harder; I shouldn’t have overreacted. I’ve pushed too far. I’m going to get thrown into Datch Prison for this. The chair behind me scrapes along the floor, slicing through the silence. Bertrum is trying, haphazardly, to stand. I reach to grab him, but he holds his hand up and continues by himself.

  When he’s stable, he extends his palm out flat. A silvery-white infinity symbol appears – his essence: the ability to extract the truth. It’s dim; it must be the exhaustion. I’ve seen his essence once before, and it’s so bright it’s almost blinding. He nudges it, coaxing it until it floats upward.

  “I accept,” he says.

  “I accept,” says another voice from the Council Chamber: Arden’s. Then several more ‘I accept’s ring through the room. I face the Council. Each member is standing, displaying their essence, a sworn oath. A declaration; a judgment. Relief makes my shoulders sag, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.