by Nyna Queen
Alex peeked through her fingers and found Darken looking at her, with too much understanding in his eyes. It gave her the impression that he knew exactly how it felt when those kids pulled the ground from under your feet. Well, he was certainly the last person she wanted understanding from.
“It seems they forgot to mention that little detail.”
She turned toward the kids, who stood there like two pictures of perfect innocence. At least they had the decency to cringe under her gaze. And better so! Valuable, my ass! Now things were starting to make a lot more sense.
Alex’s hands curled into fists. She needed to break something, or she would strangle them. Maybe she would just strangle them. True, she’d promised not to kill them but that had been before she’d known the scope of the catastrophe she’d maneuvered herself into.
Darken disengaged from the wall. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”
Worse? Alex glared at him. “How can it possibly get any worse?”
Reaching into his coat pocket, he retrieved a golf ball-sized, ornate metal ball with three evenly spaced crystals embedded in the surface. An Echeranion Sphere. Her sire had had several of those at the mansion. It had three slots for different replay purposes: one for each sound, pictures, and moving images. She and her half-brothers had called them memory-balls and had done quite some mischief with them.
Alex felt the spark as he gently channeled some of his magic energy into it. The sphere glowed, and energy threads shot out of it, quivering around it in radiant lines. When he stepped back, it floated in the air in front of him, rotating at the spot. At some point, it stopped, and a beam of white-blue light shot out of one of the crystals, snapping open into a hologram above it, forming the three-dimensional image of a woman. Dark curls framed a slim face that looked serene and elegant. She wore a formal dressing suit and a huge gemstone hung above her décolleté. It had to be a recording of a trueborn news channel for the silver pin of an honesty flower, the symbol of a trueborn news speaker, was attached to her neckline.
Then the woman spoke, and Alex was glad for the wall in her back. She stared at the ghostly image, hearing the words but unable to process them. Finally, the hologram flickered, signaling the end of the recording, just as the woman said in her gentle, husky voice, “If you have any further information please contact your law enforcement department on the emergency hotline. This was Sadie Chandler from South—”
Darken stepped forward and picked the sphere from the air. The magic died, and the image dissolved, as the glow was sucked back up into the crystal. Silence filled the room.
Alex stared at the metal ball, now dead and dull between Darken’s fingers, keenly aware that everybody was looking at her. Her ears were filled with a strange hum.
Apparently, she hadn’t just “abducted” the Dubois-Léclaire children, no, she had also “killed five highly decorated guardaí,” who had come to their aid.
Not bad enough that they wanted to frame her for a trueborn murder, but cops? Alex groaned. If people thought that she’d killed cops, she’d be at the very top of every wanted list. And since she was a shaper it would be shoot first, ask questions later.
This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t!
She sank down on something—a chair, the floor, she didn't care—and buried her face into her hands, as she swallowed the implications.
She was already as good as dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN the half-dark of the entrance hall Darken watched the shaper woman sitting on a covered chair, unconsciously rubbing the back of her neck. It was a typical reaction to the vicious touch of his magic and she probably wasn’t even aware of the movement—yet. That would change. It always did. And the question was, how would he deal with it when it happened?
Leaning back against the wall and crossing his feet at the ankles, he slightly tilted his head to the side and studied her, trying to make sense of what he saw. And quite as much of what he didn’t see.
Considering that he had just delivered her possible death warrant, she seemed considerably composed. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had lost control and turned violent, had even quietly prepared himself for that possibility—she was a shaper after all. But no. No rage. No tears or panic either. She just sat there, radiating sharp, cold waves of anger and hostility.
It didn’t make any sense. But then, nothing seemed to make sense with this woman. By virtue of the rule, she should be scared out of her wits by his mere presence. At least, that was how most people reacted to him, especially those with a strong magic sensitivity, let alone after getting a taste of the deadly curse that flowed through his veins.
Forfeit. Doomed. Soulhunter. Night Master. Jester Brother. Deathbringer. Enforcer’s Sword. The Ravens of Yst had many names and none of them boding well for those on the receiving end of their wrath. Yet they all had justification. Their reputation preceded them like a dark veil and their very mention was usually enough to make people shudder.
Fear, yes. Fear was a common presence in his life.
Fear. Panic. Desperation. He knew them all, knew all their different flavors, their refined distinctions, every luscious nuance. He knew them so well, in fact, that they were like old friends you had seen so often that you recognized them even from the tiniest hint: the sound of a word spoken in a crowd, a whiff of perfume, the gait of a person from behind …
He knew exactly how to feed them, how to spin them into a delicious feast and how to squeeze the last drop of despair out of the body while he fed on the sweet essence of their souls …
A stray ray of sunlight reflected on the tattoo on his bare hand and Darken moved his fingers with a tiny cold smile, watching the golden lines blur in front of his eyes.
Even among the trueborn, people hurried to get out of the way when one of them made their appearance, that alleged gesture of honor a flimsy excuse for the fear that was being masked by it. Nobody wanted to be near one of Death’s Servants.
Who would want to be touched by the hand that delivered death so frequently? he thought bitterly. Their presence was too much of a reminder of people’s own mortality and they found enough ways to keep them at distance. A pretty weapon that was best admired through the bars of a gilded cage.
An invisible cage, he reflected as he felt the backs of his hands burn, that well-known urge to curl his fingers into fists, but a cage nonetheless.
He closed his eye for a second. He was what he was, but sometimes …
It was a tiring dance. He was so used to people tiptoeing around him, to that pungent wisp of submissiveness that grated along his nerves wherever he walked. He was so used to the sound of hushed voices, of mortal fear so plainly displayed in people’s eyes, that he usually neither cared nor minded.
And then there was this shaper woman, who simply refused to show any kind of appropriate reaction to him. Who had almost died by his hands a moment ago and then challenged him with her next breath, although she was barely able to stand on her own two feet.
Even now, there was no fear in her eyes, only wariness and anger. He didn’t know how to deal with such brazen behavior.
She caught him looking and gave him a glacial stare out of those large frosty eyes. They were extraordinary eyes, startling blue and radiant with the hue of pale morning light. There was something strangely arresting about them. Just like the rest of her human form: fair hair, fair skin, with an exotic hint that drew the eye. It reminded him of a winter wood covered in ice, mysterious, ethereal, and almost … delicate; beautiful to look at but beware the foolish wanderer who strayed too far from the path …
Such a pretty skin hiding such a dangerous core. Yet he had glimpsed part of that core and he knew better than to be fooled by a dazzling female body and big eyes. He had gotten a fair taste of the astonishing strength that lay beneath that silky skin—and without his magic siphoning off her life, he would hardly have been able to stop her from tearing his heart out.
No, there was nothing delicate about this woman. She was as
deadly as a poisoned blade and not to acknowledge that was to beg for a deadly cut.
When he refused to look away, she bared her teeth at him, and he had the strong feeling that, given the chance, she would very much like to sink them into his throat.
He almost shook his head. Crazy woman.
Was she just foolish? Or did she really think she could match one of Death’s Servants?
Well, she could try. Not that she would have any success. He’d drained her before and he would do it again. A forfeit’s gift was a life’s curse and it took quite formidable an enemy to be a match for the destructive power flowing inside the vessel of his body. Even now he could feel his magic churning inside him, a deadly river cresting against the edges of his self-control. Death was calling to him, a constant enticing whisper in the back of his mind, and part of him was inclined to give in to her seductive lures.
At the same time, he was painfully aware of his niece and nephew standing right beside him, their souls two radiating stars, pulsing with life and vibrancy in the darkness of his mind. Begging him for a sip from the dark cup. Just a tiny, tiny sip.
No! He curled his bare hand until his nails painfully dug into his palm. Never! They were his everything. His family, by blood, though not by name. And if he ever lost control around them …
Even the thought was too tormenting to bear. They were his reason to endure, to hold onto himself. The reason why he was still sane when so many others of his kind had lost themselves behind that veil which separated their minds from the domain of Death.
He clung to that thought, clutching the Echeranion Sphere in his bare hand, concentrating of the sharp edges of the metal ornaments cutting into his skin, letting the physical pain be his guide and compass needle out of the red haze.
With immense effort, he stepped away from the veil. The redness receded, and he closed that mental wall, sealing his emotions in a cave deep inside him, knowing his face turned into the cold, indifferent mask he wore around people—a protection for them as much as for him. The pressure inside him eased, just a little. Just enough.
Forcing his struggles into the background, Darken held up the Echeranion Sphere between his thumb and forefinger. “This was aired approximately eight hours ago on Southern News Today. By now, I believe it is a fair guess that it must have been shown on all relevant channels nationwide.” And on every other small and unimportant news station groping for attention, as well.
The spider raised her gaze to the ceiling and swore.
“But … that’s not what happened,” Josepha said, her voice incredulous. “They were not guardaí and they were trying to kill us. Alex saved us from them. She didn’t abduct us. It’s a lie!”
“I know, darling. But it doesn’t matter.” Darken pocketed the Echeranion Sphere and turned to her. “Somebody made sure that this is what everybody thinks has happened.”
Somebody with influence in both law enforcement and media. And since it allegedly involved five dead guardaí, every officer of law enforcement, whether half or trueborn would be on her track. And the hunt had already begun. It was a beautifully crafted scheme, he had to admit. Since she was a shaper it wouldn’t occur to anyone to question those allegations.
Does she know? he wondered, letting his eyes glide over the shaper. There was still anger in the bend of her spine and the hard line of her mouth, but the slump of her shoulders spoke of resignation and he realized that she did. Oh yes, she knew very well.
“You have to do something, Uncle Darken!” Max exclaimed. “Can’t you call Daddy? When he tells them that they got it wrong, they will have to believe him.”
Darken shook his head. “I’m afraid we cannot contact your father from here.”
“Why not?”
Tread carefully, a soft voice whispered in the back of his mind. Bitterness welled up and dissolved like unrolling waves on a shore. A forfeit’s life was a life of lies—even among the family.
“I was sent here on a secret mission for the Order. If my presence in this area would become public, the consequences would be most … inconvenient.” It was as close to the truth as he dared. “But what is even more important is that we don’t have any means of safe communication. The vís-a I’m carrying doesn’t have a secure connection.” Because it was not one of the Order’s high-end screened communication devices.
“Every kind of magic communication in this area will be easy to trace for somebody who knows what he is doing, and we don’t know who might be listening in. It is actually how I got on your trace in the first place,” he added quietly. “I hacked the law enforcement radio and that is supposed to be a protected line.”
And it had taken him less than ten minutes to break into their system. He only knew one person who might be able to do it faster, but then, that didn’t mean others couldn’t do it at all.
Max’s eyes got big. “But … well, you are … you.”
Darken almost smiled. “Unfortunately, I am not the only one with skills in that department. The risk is simply too high. Whoever is behind all this has means and connections and he seems to have people inside the local investigation as well. If we try to contact your Dad, we might accidentally send them directly on our tack.” And he would not risk the children’s lives in such a blunt way when he had not yet any way to assess who and what they were dealing with.
Maxwell hung his head, looking disappointed that his grown up thinking hadn’t led on to something.
The spider lifted her chin, speaking for the first time since he’d broken the bad news to her. “Well, the way I see it, all of this actually speaks for me making a quick disappearance.”
Darken slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and gave her a bland look. “You can go if you like. I certainly won’t stop you.”
She blinked, having clearly expected something else.
He didn’t give her any time to collect her thoughts. “But let me put things into perspective for you: I was at the crime scene. You bit at least one of the victims and they have extracted your genetic material. They also discovered the apartment in the former craft district of the city.”
The sudden tension in her body told him all he needed to know.
“Oh, and before I forget to mention it, there are several dark hounds included in the search.” He leaned forward. “Do the math. You are supposed to have killed several cops and abducted the children of one of the most important public figures in the entire Republic. The whole country is looking for you, so how long do you think it will take exactly until they will find you?”
Her eyes widened as she realized just how much in a fix she was. She cursed again, with shocking vulgarity. Darken grimaced and hoped the children wouldn’t remember too many of the words she used. Especially Max.
“So, you see,” he said quietly, when she had finally run out of swear words, “you can run now—it might even take a while if you are good”—and wouldn’t it be interesting to see just how good she really was?—“but they will hunt you down eventually. Your chances of survival are slim at best.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes blazed at him as if this was all his personal fault. “And you’re telling me all of this, because …?”
She certainly was no fool, this shaper. He decided to be very careful about this.
“Maxwell is right in one point,” he said, not quite answering her question. “If anyone has the authority to correct this … misunderstanding and set your record straight it is my brother. So, as much as it pains me to say this, at the moment your best hope to survive is to come with us.”
Her eyes turned into small, suspicious slits. “And why on earth would you offer to help shaper scum like me?”
Oh no, definitely not a fool.
Darken let an expression of contemptuous indignation slip onto his face. “Dubois-Léclaires pay their debts. After you saved Maxwell and Josepha, the least my family can do is help you smooth out the ramifications of your actions.”
And, more importantly, it would allow h
im to keep a close eye on her. If she really thought he’d bought her sweet little “it seemed like the right thing to do” act, she was a fool after all. He’d dealt with enough shapers to know that “the right thing to do” usually involved their own benefit from a situation. He understood why they acted that way—they had to look out for themselves since law and society didn’t—yet that didn’t make them any more trustworthy. He didn’t see why this one should be any different.
So, whatever game she was playing, he had no intention to let her slip away before he knew exactly what it was. And if she planned any funny business … Well, he was here now to make sure she wouldn’t be able to see it through.
Alex’s posture was still soaked with weariness, the look of an animal in a trap. But he could see that she knew she was backed into a corner. And right now, he was that one door that led out of it. Only she didn’t trust what lay behind that door. And she shouldn’t, if she was smart. Ah, what a delightful gamble.
Finally, she blew out a slow breath. “Your brother … you really think he can help me?”
Darken crossed his arms. “Obviously, I cannot make any concessions on my brother’s behalf, but I can promise you this: if you come with us, I’ll do anything in my power to keep you safe until you get a chance to present your case to him.”
Of course, this was just a bone instead of the meat she’d hoped for, but then it was still better than the loaded gun that was waiting on the other end of that road.
Ah, the look she gave him. He’d just offered her his protections—a forfeit’s protection, something that was usually reserved for the highest state officials—and she looked like he had just tried to force himself upon her.
She hooked a strand of pale blond hair back into her messed up braid and crossed her arms in front of her chest, mirroring his position.
“Fine—say for the sake of the argument, I came along with you—how are we gonna get to your dear brother without your mission compromised and with the rest of us staying in one piece?”
