Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  Logan took a step forward, stopping beside Elizabeth, his stance vibrating with warning, his eyes cold. Unfeeling.

  Ready to carry out whatever sentence Archer passed on.

  I looked around the clearing, found every eye on me. There was speculation, anger, incredulity, pity. I could tell some believed what I was saying, I could tell some understood Archer would rather not believe.

  Archer looked down at Mwara for a second, then back up at me. Did he see, or was denial blinding him to the truth? His eyes were livid, and I wondered if he regretted making this meeting so public. “Do you mock me, daughter of Fosch? This is no child of ours.” He took a step forward, and I noticed so did Logan, the enforcer and executioner of the clan.

  Would he hesitate if Archer ordered him to kill me? The emptiness in his eyes told me he wouldn't. His devotion to Archer hurt more than it should have.

  I swallowed once, glancing down at Mwara to cover the motion. Her aura was no longer that silvery blue all the Unseelie Dhiultadh possessed, but glowed black as if polished, a side effect from dealing with Remo Drammen's energy. Something Zantry told me may happen to mine if I siphoned enough of Remo's energy.

  With calmness I didn't feel, I met Elizabeth's eyes, read the dread she couldn't hide so well. Beside her, Ruben covered his mouth with his hand, rubbed his face once. His eyes, black that shifted to yellow, met mine, and I could tell he believed. They knew.

  I glanced next at Diggy, and he dipped his head once in approval.

  I looked back at Archer and said, “This is the child I found with Remo Drammen, deep inside a cavern in the Low Lands, a place where time goes by much faster.” My words dropped like a bomb in their middle, and several people took back a step as if burned.

  Unable to hold herself any longer, Elizabeth threw herself on her knees with a loud cry, brushing the hair off Mwara's face with a trembling hand. Several people gasped, even Archer took a step back in denial.

  Elizabeth's hands shook as she brushed her daughter's hair, sobbing uncontrollably. Ruben knelt beside them, straightening his daughter's dress, covering her bare legs, his hands unsteady. He reached out and touched a knuckle over her cheek, tracing the path of a dry tear, then he recoiled as if bitten by a venomous snake and scrambled upright. He turned his back to the group and moved away, but not before I saw the anguish in his dark eyes. Elizabeth's hand paused mid stroke, then recoiled as well. Mwara chose that moment to wake. She groaned, sat, still swaying a little. She blinked a few times, her tear streaked face going from Elizabeth, to Ruben's back, to archer, then coming to rest on me. Hate took over confusion in a blink. “You thief!” she exclaimed. “How dare you take my place?”

  As if that was all the confirmation she needed, Elizabeth stood with an agile jump and whirled at me. “What did you do to my daughter?” she demanded to know. Logan motioned her to stand down and grabbed her roughly by the wrist when she took a step toward me. Elizabeth shrugged him off, but stayed put, her eyes never leaving mine. I could tell not being able to throttle me for what happened to her daughter cost her.

  “What happened?” Logan asked. “Are you alright?” he added, his eyes focused at the long puckered slash on my throat. My well being was secondary.

  I glanced at him, but it was Elizabeth I addressed. “Be grateful she's well and alive. Her presence here, today, cost me dearly.”

  “You reek of Drammen's corruption,” the other leader, Diggy's leader, observed. Really, they could sense that on me but not on Mwara? I raised my eyebrows at him in a nonchalant gesture, but my heart kicked off in a gallop.

  “Tammos. This is no fight of ours.” Boris said, reaching a hand and placing it over his leaders shoulder.

  Tammos. Son of Tammos, Remo Drammen had called Diggy. I glanced at him, his eyes focused on his leader, on his father.

  Vincent, standing beside Diggy, glanced at him once, saw no surprise in there and looked sharply at me, apparently sensing the same thing, but said nothing.

  It was Mwara who answered. “She is his familiar!” she shrieked.

  There was just a fraction of a second of shock before everyone prepared to attack me at her words. They would have if Zantry hadn't thrown an invisible field of energy around me. Elizabeth, the first one to attack, bounced off of it and fell butt down beside her daughter, her face contorting. The others also lunged, but paused at the edge of the field, their faces angry, filled with hatred. Everyone spoke at once. Even Xandra looked angry.

  Zantry appeared beside me, not saying a word. The shouts quieted to angry words, then murmurs when they realized who was protecting me.

  “You dare invade this private meeting?” archer spoke up, his face red with rage.

  “From where I stood this private meeting was an attack on mine. Therefore, not an invasion.”

  There was a heavy pause as his words were processed. “Are you claiming this traitor as one of yours?” the other leader spoke up. Diggy stepped forward, placed a hand over his father's shoulder, and when Tammos looked at him, shook his head once.

  “Yes, indeed.” Zantry dipped his hands in his trouser's pocket. “As I remember correctly, Gerome, her reward for bringing back this child was to be abjured from this clan, correct?”

  “No,” Logan spoke up. “She was going to think about it.”

  “There's nothing to think about,” I replied. I had seen the horror in his eyes when Mwara had announced my familiar status. It was to him I had glanced first. “This clan has brought me nothing but pain and suffering. I told you abjuration would be a reward, not a punishment before, and I meant it.”

  “A traitor!” someone shouted from behind Logan. “Get rid of the cursed!”

  Some of the rejected murmured their agreement. Some took a step forward, but when neither leader moved to strike, they quieted down.

  Archer took a step forward, pausing inches away from the energy field and studied me with cold, pitiless eyes.

  I raised my chin at him. The crowd went deathly quiet, not a murmur of sound to be heard. They all wanted to hear what I said to their leader. “You make the decisions you see fit, uncaring for the consequences or who will suffer because of it. If I am Remo's familiar today, it is because it was either me or her,” I pointed a finger down at Mwara, making several people gasp. “It is my right to sever any ties to this clan, and you have already agreed to it. I brought her back, now I want out.”

  Someone chuckled from the other line, enjoying the show, but Archer's face remained impassive, his eyes flashing with hot rage. Beside him, Logan's face had hardened, but he didn't speak again.

  “very well, Roxanne Fosch, daughter of Fosch, familiar to Remo Drammen” – this part was said with disgust, “I, Gerome Archer, leader of the first Dhiultadh clan, son of Bran, fourth ruler of the rejected, bearer of the sword of Tisha, here forth sever all of your ties with this clan, to protect or judge, to nourish or defend, to claim or kin, of you or any of you, from today and forth on.” With a long talon he cut a line on his palm, letting the blood bind the oath. “You are no longer honored to be a Dhiultadh from this line. I announce you rogue, in front of everyone as witness.”

  A murmur went up in the crowd from both sides, and I heard a few name calling aimed at me.

  “She's game!” someone shouted, but I couldn't tell from which line.

  “Very well,” Zantry called above the insults, “Roxanne Fosch is now of mine, and any who shall harm her will deal with me. If anything of foul comes upon her,” Zantry looked around at the both crowds, “you will bear my wrath like no other before.” I felt a light veil fall over me, the touch feathery light, as if spun from gossamer. I glanced sideways at Zantry, but he hadn't moved, hadn't taken his hands off his pockets.

  “Traitors, both of them.” A woman called from our right, from the other line of rejected. I searched, found Diggy's eyes on me, clear of expressions, standing beside Xandra and Boris. The woman who spoke took a step forward, not afraid to speak up.

  “Maybe you'll just k
ill her like you did your other woman kin.” Another woman sneered from behind Archer.

  Zantry inclined his head and said, “That will be my problem, Bebbette, not yours.” He searched the crowd twice, his stance relaxed, hands still deep in his pockets. “Anyone else have anything to say?”

  “Have you joined your kin, after all?” Logan spat at him.

  “I never did, no. But I'm not afraid to face him.” with that jab he flashed us out of there, without having to touch me.

  We arrived at my living room, and I sagged on the floor, drained beyond belief, too exhausted to even move to the couch. I hadn't slept or eaten for so long, I lost track of time. Three days? Four? I lay down on the carpet and closed my eyes. Zantry lay down and stretched beside me.

  “I'm so tired,” I murmured.

  “I know,” He said, tracing a finger over my cheek. “Sleep, Roxanne, I'll be here when you wake.” He brushed his lips over my cheek once, and I snuggled close to him. I could sense his urge to protect me, and despite everything, I knew that as long as he lived, he'd do anything to keep me safe.

  Chapter Fifty

  I stood in front of the blue-and-yellow townhouse, unsure if I should knock or turn and return home. Zantry stood a few feet away, leaning on a light pole, waiting for me to decide what I wanted, not pressuring either way.

  I glanced at him, his hair tied back in a stubby tail, his handsome face bearing a hint of stubble, hands tucked in the pockets of his black jeans. There was a bond between us, formed almost two weeks ago in the stone circle, a connection that grew with every passing day. I was so aware of his presence, it was like he was a part of me – in a comforting, soothing way.

  Zantry tilted his head and I thought he was going to say something, but then the front door opened and Matilda appeared in the doorway, dressed in black loose fitted trousers and brown button-down shirt, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun. She glanced from me to Zantry, her posture stiff. There was an air of animosity about her that hadn't been present that night during the charity ball.

  “Hmm-mm. Hi,” I said, uncertain. “You once said you had something to tell me. You gave me a note with your number and this address.”

  Matilda pointed her chin at Zantry. “You alone, not him.”

  Zantry straightened, his brow furrowed. “I didn't know we had a problem, Mattie.”

  “We do. You're not welcome in my home,” she spat with so much venom, I retreated a step.

  Maybe coming here hadn't been a good idea. “Ok,” I said, taking a step toward Zantry. “We'll leave now.”

  “No,” Matilda barked. “You and I need to talk. He needs to go.”

  I sensed Zantry's surprise, as well as confusion and hurt. He really had no idea what Matilda's problem was.

  I shook my head. “Look, I don't know what your problem is, but if Zantry isn't welcome, then neither am I.” I went to stand beside Zantry, looking from me to Matilda, brows furrowed in confusion. “It's ok,” He said after a small hesitation, “Go on, see what she has to tell you. I'll meet you later.” He squeezed my hand, took back a step.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but the reassuring look in his eyes had me closing them again and looking at Matilda, still standing at the door, blocking the way.

  “Ok,” I said, unsure.

  Matilda stepped aside for me to pass, and with a last look at Zantry's retreating back, I stepped inside, into an average-sized living room.

  I glanced around, taking in the oil paintings, the gleaming crystal figurines, the embroidered framed mirror anyone coming in or going out had to pass. There was a thick, fancy looking rug between two sofas the color of bleached sand facing each other. To my left sheer curtains blocked a view of the street, to my right, wooden stairs lead up to the second level.

  “Would you like to sit?” Matilda asked politely.

  I sat at the edge of the sofa and looked back at her. “Here I am,” I spread my hands to the sides. “Let's hear what you have to tell me.”

  Matilda came closer, her dark eyes studying me. “There's something different about you. What happened to you?”

  I gave her a thin smile. “You first.”

  She sat across from me, clasped her hands together and said, “Ok. I suppose it's only fair I go first.” She nodded, frowned, fell quiet for a few seconds. “Ok, I'm going to be blunt because I don't know any other way to go about this.” She waited a beat then asked, “What do you know about your parents?”

  Surprised, I sat back, taken aback by her question. “You said once I looked like my father. Why don't you tell me what you know?”

  She nodded again with a frown, and I sensed her anxiety, a soft, scratching sensation. “I didn't really know him,” She began, and was interrupted when the elder man she'd been with during the charity ball entered through a side door. Unlike Matilda, he still wore all those beads around his neck, though the formal suit had been replaced by sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He gave me a polite smile, the crinkles around his eyes deepening, placed a small box on the low table between us and with a nod, disappeared into the same door.

  “I didn't know your father,” Matilda said again, not reaching for the box. “But I knew your mother. We were, in fact, very close friends.”

  My mother. That illusive part of my past that didn't make sense.

  I leaned forward, feeling a sudden knot of emotions balling inside my stomach. “Who was she?” I asked, unable to contain the excited vibrations from my voice.

  Instead of replying, Matilda stood up “Come with me.” She motioned and started up the stairs. I followed, surprised at how nervous I was. “What was her name?” I asked. “Where was she from? Did she have any siblings?” The possibility of relatives gave me a delicious thrill, and I realized how much I wanted it to be true.

  Matilda paused at the landing and I stopped. There were two doors up here, opposite each other, with a closet-size space in between where I could just make out a washing machine and drier, side by side.

  She met my eyes, hers dark and serious, mine excited, maybe a little anxious. “Know that what you'll discover today, only a selected few are aware of.” She waited for my nod before continuing, “It's powerful knowledge that can, in the hands of the wrong person, be harmful not only to you, but many, many others.”

  The ball of excitement turned into dread. I'd known somewhere deep inside that my mother's anonymity didn't happen by chance. “Who was she?” I asked again, uneasy.

  She placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezed once, her dark eyes worried, earnest. “You have many enemies, Roxanne, some you're aware of, others who dress in the disguise of a friend. I don't know who they all are, but I'd advise you not to trust anyone who smiles and tells you what you want to hear.”

  I stiffened, hearing the meaning underneath her words. “I trust Zantry with my life.”

  Matilda nodded. “So did your mother once.”

  The ball of nerves in my stomach suddenly took a led like quality and made my legs weak. “Did he….” I clutched my hands together. “Did he kill her?” And even as I said it, I felt ashamed of myself for saying it.

  “No, but he's the reason she's dead today.”

  “How? Why?” My voice was breathy, my nerves rattled “Wait, I was told she died giving birth to me.”

  Instead of replying, Matilda turned and opened the first door to our right. “When your mother came to visit, this was the room she stayed in.”

  Heart pounding, I stepped in after Matilda, taking in the simplicity of the room. A single bed sat on the corner beside a closed window, a honey-colored nightstand beside it. There was an armoire to my left, a bathroom across the bed. I moved into the room, circled around. It was clean, but it had the feel of abandonment, as if it hadn't been used in years.

  Either no one had been here after my mother, or… or I was projecting. The room was simple, clean and sparsely furnished, and that didn't mean that no one had slept here in years.

  I glanced at Matilda, s
till standing by the door.

  She pointed her chin at the nightstand. “She left something here for you.”

  My heart beat a frantic beat, and with an anxious knot, I looked down at the nightstand, the honey polish of the wood. But I didn't reach for it.

  “Who was she?” I asked again.

  “I'll answer your questions once you've seen what she left for you. I'll be downstairs once you're done.” She didn't wait for my next question, but turned and closed the door after herself. I listened for the sound of a lock, felt for any kind of magic. But all I heard was Matilda's light footsteps down the stairs, all I felt was a lump in my stomach, in my throat.

  I moved to the bed, sat down and stared at the drawers.

  Zantry nudged at the bond, no doubt sensing my turmoil. I nudged back, wishing he was here with me.

  “…He's the reason she's dead today…”

  Slowly, hands shaking, I reached for the first drawer.

  My eyes zeroed on the envelope at once, at the words handwritten in a sprawling scroll.

  “To the child of mine” it said in thick black marker.

  I picked it up and rummaged through the other paraphernalia inside, knowing I was procrastinating. Beaded bracelets and necklaces lay inside, and with a frown I wondered if those belonged to her. Was she a charmer as well? There was also a tube of chapstick, a small deodorant bottle – empty – a notebook, and a stubby pencil. I found a shirts button, put it atop the nightstand. The second drawer was empty, save for a small lock of black hair, carefully braded together and tied on each end with an elastic rubber. I placed it beside the button, closed the drawer and looked at the envelope again.

  “To the child of mine”

  The seal had never been broken, I noted, flipping the envelope. I sniffed the paper, roses, very faint but unmistakable. Was that how she smelled?