Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

“I can see that.”

  Finley held his gaze for a moment, then her shoulders slumped and she fell back on her chair. “I am a freak.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s easy for you to say. You’ve Morphed, and you’re the Regent’s nephew.”

  “Son.”

  “Nephew. Roanna’s the Regent. Not Danata.”

  “Fair enough. Though being anyone’s nephew doesn’t mean anything.”

  “That’s not true. Sometimes the people in our lives help define us.”

  Ashby thought for a moment. “You’re probably right,” Ashby said. “My mother feels like a permanent stain on my record. So in the end, I have more reasons than you to be considered a freak.”

  “Oh no, you will not steal my title.”

  “Your title?”

  “Yeah,” Finley thumbed the closed pages of her book, “for the last few years I’ve worn the badge proudly. No one alive can remember meeting a Casteless.” She said the word with disdain.

  “No one alive knows anyone who has been ripped AND whose companion chose someone else over them.”

  A knot formed in Ashby’s throat. He averted his gaze and focused on the dusty floor. His face went hot from shame.

  Surely, Finley and everyone in this place already knew what had happened to him, but he’d never said the words out loud to anyone.

  He didn’t know why he was telling her this—maybe to make her feel better about herself—though he’d never been the kind of person to do that. He had always been a self-centered bastard, born with a silver spoon up his ass, like Greg had once told him. At least until Sam changed things, rejecting him in spite of Fate’s will.

  “My own mother turned on me,” Ashby said, unsure of where this honesty, this desire to tell it all was coming from. “She tore me from my Companion, destroyed my life, my fate, and more. Now, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be. And from where I stand,” he looked into Finley’s bright green gaze, then quickly back down, “being Casteless sounds much better than this.”

  Ashby waited for Finley to say something, but she remained quiet. He peered in her direction, trying to decipher what she thought of him, but her expression was blank.

  For a moment, her gaze traveled across his face as if its peaks and valleys would help her decipher him. After a short inspection, an expression finally settled on her tan features, and it was not pity, horror, or disgust as he expected, but a sort of surprised realization.

  “You feel sorry for yourself?” she said in a half question.

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “It is. From the way people talk about you, and the way you carry yourself, I would have never suspected it.”

  “The way people talk about me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, but people think you’re an ass. I always like to form my own opinions, so I reserved judgment. But my first impression confirmed the gossip.”

  A biting retort rose to Ashby’s lips. He didn’t have to sit here and be insulted. He didn’t owe Finley or anyone else any sort of explanation. He was courteous to everyone. What else did they want from him?

  Ashby wanted to stand and walk away, but that would only prove her point. Instead, he looked down at his hands and interlaced his fingers, trying to look at himself from the outside in.

  Finley wasn’t the first one to point out his faults. Greg and Sam had made him aware of them, too.

  Was he really an ass?

  He shook his head, rejecting the idea. He’d been raised with manners, decency, dignity. His tutors had taught him etiquette, culture, discretion, and . . . and . . . everything, except how to be kind, humble, and all the things that, apparently, no amount of good manners could show.

  Pride and righteousness served against him. He had been the future Regent, but now he was nothing, so his behavior couldn’t be excused or tolerated.

  Maybe, it was time to change, time to grow up, and understand that no one got everything they wanted, that his childhood had been an awful lie, an exercise in entitlement. No one owed him anything, especially when he gave nothing of himself.

  Tears prickled in the back of his eyes. Would Sam have stayed by his side had he understood this earlier? Would there have been something for her to love?

  He lifted his eyes from his intertwined fingers and found Finley looking at him, intently. He had no idea how long he’d been lost in his self-pity, how long she had been quiet, patiently waiting.

  “Well, the reports are right,” Ashby said. “I am an ass.” He didn’t go as far as admitting that he’d just realized the extent of his callousness. Still, this had to count for something. “But I’m working on it and hope to prove your first impression wrong.”

  Finley lifted an eyebrow. He focused on it as a distraction from the storm that was growing inside of him. The arch her brow formed was perfect, so was its thickness and color—the exact shade of her blond hair. It was either perfectly plucked or a feat of nature.

  “You have pretty eyebrows,” he blurted out without thinking.

  Finley frowned, then said, “Thank you. I was beginning to think no one ever noticed.”

  Ashby smiled. “I won’t claim to always be this perceptive.”

  They smiled nervously at each other.

  “Um . . . so where are your cousins, Calisto and Joao?” Ashby asked to make conversation.

  “Mirante sent them away. She said they’d caused enough trouble already. They didn’t want to leave, but . . .” She shrugged. “My aunt thinks you lot are a bad influence on them.”

  “That we are,” Ashby admitted.

  “Um, if you were here to get something to eat . . .”

  She pointed at a few people who had just walked in carrying several plastic bags. The smell of greasy food wafted through the air as they began unpacking and setting Styrofoam containers on the counter along the far wall.

  “Looks like Chinese food,” Finley said, wrinkling her nose. “Again.”

  As if a dinner bell had rung, people filed in and, immediately, began filling plastic plates, dropping noodles and rice onto the counter and fighting over small packets of soy sauce.

  “I hope you like Chinese,” Finley said. “There are only three restaurants within reasonable driving distance, so we eat it a lot.”

  Ashby was about to say that he’d never had American Chinese food—something to subtly suggest nothing so cheap had ever crossed his lips—but managed to bite his tongue.

  Don’t be an ass. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I . . . I love it,” he said, getting up and offering a hand to Finley, inviting her to join him at the line.

  She stared at his fingers. Ashby anticipated a refusal, but then she smiled, took his hand, and assured him the egg rolls weren’t too bad.

  He smiled in return. Apparently, being nice every once in a while did pay off.

  Chapter 15

  Sam

  Simeon glanced at Sam and wrapped his big hand around Jacob’s throat, making him fight for breath and drowning his cries to mere gasps.

  His face was turning red, and his pupils began overtaking the blue of his widened eyes. Sam held his gaze from her perch, arms hooked to the bar overhead.

  “Let him go, you monsters,” she spat.

  Danata put on a regretful expression and turned to Jacob. “Whatever happens now, dear, it won’t be my fault. You’re in Samantha’s hands, not mine . . . or his.” She gave a dismissive flick of the eyes toward Simeon. “One word from your hero and everything will be all right.”

  She pressed a hand to the side of Jacob’s face and caressed his cheek. He did his best to turn away, but Simeon held him in place. Danata inclined her head to one side and smiled sweetly at Jacob, though her eyes brimmed with malice. Sam thought of Ashby then, and wondered how many times this witch had talked to him in the same manner. Had he been able to see through the mask?

  “Don’t touch me,” Jacob said in a hoarse voice.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, little boy
,” Danata said, “but there’s something Samantha needs to do for me. It is very important to the Regency, to Morphidkind. But she refuses to help. As the Regent, I can’t allow that.”

  Jacob croaked something in response.

  Danata gestured to the guard to ease his chokehold.

  Jacob took a deep, desperate breath, then said, “But you’re not the Regent.”

  Danata’s mouth twisted. “Whoever has been stuffing lies into that empty head of yours?”

  “I’m not stupid. I understand what’s going on,” Jacob said. “Your days are numbered. Fate doesn’t want you here and you know it or you wouldn’t be threatening me. I’m only ten and you don’t even know me.”

  Danata flicked a hand at Simeon, and he tightened the chokehold again.

  “I see he has been brainwashed.” Danata straightened, attempting to hide her anger behind a casual tone. She faced Sam again. “I was hoping we could avoid all this unpleasantness, but obviously I’m wasting my time. So let me speak plainly to avoid any misunderstandings. If you don’t weave Anima and her husband as many times as I tell you to, the boy will pay for it.”

  Tears slid out of the corner of Jacob’s eyes. Sam’s bottom lip trembled, impotence filling her heart.

  “What do you say, Weaver?” Danata asked. “Do you follow your instincts? Or do you become the reason a little boy dies today?”

  “Don’t listen to her, Sam,” Jacob rasped.

  He tried to deepen his voice, but the fear was painted on his face as clearly as his innocence. In spite of that, his words made Sam realize he was the bravest person in the cell.

  “I’m losing patience,” Danata snapped, grabbing a handful of Jacob’s hair and wrenching his head back.

  A whimper escaped through the boy’s half-opened mouth. Danata put a long fingernail under his eye and pushed down, revealing the pink part of his lower eyelid.

  “Such beautiful blue eyes,” she said. “It would be a shame if something happened to them. I wonder, do they remind you of somebody?”

  Jacob cried out. Blood seeped from under the half-moon of the Regents nail. She pressed harder.

  “Stop!” Sam said. “I’ll do it. But you have to let Jacob go.”

  Anima and her husband had at least been happy for a time, but Jacob was an innocent child who had already been through so much. Sam didn’t want him to suffer anymore.

  “You’re in no position to make demands, dear. The boy isn’t going anywhere. He will stay right here, in case you decide to change your wise decision.”

  ◆◆◆

  A moment later, Sam stumbled into Anima’s cell as Simeon shoved her in. The Seer was sitting on her cot as despondent and wretched as before. Her eyes were lost and vacant, no life shining from within. She was still like a picture inside a frame, a snippet of film from a movie, cut out and left to slowly rot away.

  Simeon moved closer, yanked Sam’s hands up, and undid the manacles. Again, she was tempted to reach for her own vinculum, but she managed to stay in control.

  Danata stepped next to Sam and looked at her expectantly.

  Sam peered around the room. “Where is her husband?”

  “He doesn’t need to be in here,” Danata answer. “Go ahead. Or do we need to bring the boy in?”

  Jacob had stayed in the other cell, crying quietly. Sam hated to think of him alone in that bleak space, but that was a thousand times preferable to having him witness this.

  Sam stepped closer to Anima. The woman’s empty gaze remained fixed on some spot on the wall. Tears stood in Sam’s eyes as she reached for Anima’s twice-broken vinculum.

  Her fingers played over the ribbon of light, moving dexterously over its ethereal surface. For a moment, she imagined herself a pianist and almost heard beautiful music as each torn strand weaved itself back together. The brightness of the pale link slowly increased, creating a breathtaking display of shimmering color, like the wings of a firefly or the surface of a lake kissed by the sun. The tears spilled down Sam’s cheeks at the beauty and horror of it, a newly-made bond already doomed to the ripping.

  Anima came to her senses with a gasp. She blinked and panted, a hand pressed to her chest. It took her a few agonizing minutes to recover and recall the wicked game she was being forced to play. Eyes wavering, she looked from Danata to Sam and back again.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said in a weak breath.

  Anima let out a shuddering inhale, then gave Sam a simple nod of understanding.

  Without a word, Danata stepped forward and, unceremoniously, stuck her hand in front of the Seer. “Show me,” she demanded.

  Anima stared at the Regent’s hand with indifference, then turned her face aside, saying nothing—though her refusal was clear.

  Hand twisted into a claw, Danata grabbed the woman’s face, and turned it in her direction. “Show me!” she shouted.

  Anima held the Regent’s gaze without blinking.

  “I will rip you again,” Danata threatened.

  Even as the Regent dug polished fingernails into Anima’s face, the old woman lifted her chin in defiance.

  “You should hear your husband scream,” Danata said. “You might think yourself brave, but he suffers like a helpless child.”

  Tears filled the Seer’s eyes.

  “The next time I rip you might be his last.”

  Anima swallowed thickly and jerked her face out of Danata’s grip. The Regent allowed it and stepped back, wiping her hand on her gown.

  “What makes you think that more suffering will make me change my mind?” Anima quietly asked. “Your cruelty can’t change anything.”

  Danata kept a composed expression, but the reddening of her face betrayed her anger.

  “My death, and even my husband’s, would be a relief.” Anima looked at her hands and turned them over. “I don’t even recognize myself. These hands don’t belong to me. You stole my youth, stole my happiness. Years gone. What is a little more pain before death comes?”

  Danata laughed. “A little? You won’t say that next time, if there is a next time.”

  The Regent lifted her hands in the air and, in one jerk, ripped the vinculum Sam had so carefully woven together.

  Anima shrieked in agony and, in the other cell, so did her husband.

  Sam shrank away, her shoulders caving in, her head going down in shame until Simeon grabbed her from behind and pushed her toward Anima once more.

  “Do it again,” he growled in her ear, “or I’ll get the boy and all this screaming will be nothing compared to what you’ll hear from him.”

  “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” Sam shook her head, pushing against the guard.

  She couldn’t be responsible for this horror. She couldn’t let Danata get away with this. This was worse than torture. It was hell. She knew it well. She’d endured it twice.

  “Get the boy,” Danata ordered.

  The man hurried away and came back with Jacob in tow. He pushed him into the room and forced him to his knees. The boy looked up, eyes red from crying, face disfigured by terror.

  He had been safe and, now, he was back into the middle of this nightmare because she couldn’t be strong.

  Before Sam could think twice about what was happening, the guard kicked Jacob in the ribs and sent him sliding across the floor. Jacob cried out and curled up into a ball, holding his side. He moaned and twisted, struggling to breathe.

  “No, stop!” Sam jumped between the guard and the boy. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m sorry.” She made as if to kneel by his side, but Simeon pulled her by the hair and yanked her down to the floor, while Danata watched with detachment.

  “Get out of the way,” he growled, as he prepared to kick Jacob a second time.

  Quickly, Sam scrambled back to her feet, tackled him low, and pushed him off balance. The guard staggered back, but managed to stay on his feet. With a grunt, he righted himself and went from Sam, murder on his face.

  “Stop! I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” she pleaded desperately. />
  Hands up in the air, she stepped closer to Anima and got a hold of her vinculum. Danata held a hand up, ordering Simeon to stand down.

  Tears overflowing her eyes, Sam began to weave, all the while aware of the battered boy at her feet. Her indecision had caused this. She couldn’t afford to be weak, not if this was the price to pay. For all his impulsiveness, Greg never hesitated. He made a decision and pushed full steam ahead. How she wished he was here!

  Anima’s closed eyes sprang open and filled with the panic that had abandoned her the moment Danata ripped her. She gasped for air as if she’d been drowning, legs and arms thrashing.

  “What did you do?” Danata demanded.

  “Nothing,” Sam said.

  After a drawn out moment, Anima went still and stared up at the ceiling, panting. Finally, she blinked and turned to look at them, her suffering almost palpable.

  Shame washed over Sam. She was responsible for this pain: Anima’s and Jacob’s alike. But she had to focus on the boy. She could only travel one path, and Sam had chosen him.

  “Sit her up,” Danata order the guard. The tall man stepped forward, grabbed Anima by her dirty top and pulled her to a sitting position.

  As soon as he let her go, Anima began to slide sideways along the wall, but she managed to brace herself with a limp arm. Her chest rose and fell. Her watery eyes drifted toward Danata with a mixture of hatred and pity—two things that had no business lingering together.

  “How about now?” Danata asked Anima. “Ready to do as I say? Or will you continue to refuse me?”

  The Seer swallowed thickly, then opened her mouth as if to speak. Her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t say anything. Instead her attention turned to Sam, scrutinizing her features for a moment. Sam held her gaze, though she wanted to hide from the judgment Anima had every right to pass on her.

  Except no judgment came. No harsh words. No recriminations. Instead, she noted Jacob on the floor as if to let Sam know she understood.

  Anima licked her lips. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I know.”

  “Quiet!” Danata yelled.

  Anima ignored the command. “Do what you must to make sure she doesn’t win.”