The regent reclined on a platform of pillows, the blankets pulled to his chin. His face hung slack with sleep, slight snores emanating from his Roman nose.
Eli settled in the upholstered chair beside his mother and took a long look at her.
The Queen Regent’s ebony hair piled elegantly atop her head, exposing her long, swan-like neck and the beginning of gray at her temples. She still wore her nightclothes—cotton, plaid pants and an over-large sweatshirt with thick, wool socks on her tiny feet. His mother had always seemed so small in comparison to his father, but the man on the bed looked nothing like the man Eli knew.
The regent’s sallow skin looked more like thin paper spread over his cheekbones. His rapid weight loss of recent months made his exterior appear ill-fitted, as if he wore the hide of another man.
“How is he?” Eli asked softly.
“Stable. For now.” She reached out, her thin fingers brushing the shapeless lump of the regent’s hand beneath the cover. “Only time will tell.”
An irritated grunt passed the regent’s lips. “Stop talking as if I’m not in the room,” he mumbled. His words were half-formed, stunted by immobility in the right side of his face. The regent struggled to open his eyes. “Gods-sake, woman. What am I on?”
The Queen Regent hid a smile. “The doctor gave you pain medication, dear.”
“Damn arm won’t cooperate.” He shifted, his left arm emerging from the blankets. He massaged his eyes until he blinked and focused on Eli, right lid hovering half-drunken over a shrewd brown iris. “Leave us, Noelle.”
Eli’s mother stood, the lightest touch of her fingers on his shoulder before she padded from the room.
“Is it fixed?” The regent, however currently disabled, leveled a strong, sure gaze on his son.
Eli had spent twenty-eight years cowering beneath that gaze. The minor issue of facial paralysis did not weaken his fear, but it damn sure strengthened his level of disgust toward the sociopath who had raised him. “Yes, Father.”
“How did you do it? We both know you’re not strong enough. It’s a fucking miracle Sector 14 is still standing.”
Fury coursed through Eli, but he bit his tongue. “Apparently, I was strong enough.”
He thought of the wickedly strong pink magick now mingling with the regent’s. Something warned him off mentioning it to his father. The very idea an unregistered witch lived in Beat 3 among the humans would send his father on a hunt to destroy them.
Like it or not, that rogue witch had saved their lives.
How little faith does my father have in me? Eli thought angrily. Never mind that he’d proven himself not strong enough to fix the wall. His father could at least have given him the benefit of the doubt.
“Are there any survivors?” the regent asked, attempting to sit up straighter.
Eli watched the old man struggle with his useless right arm for a moment. Inwardly, he waged his own struggle over whether to help him or not. Finally, he sighed and stood, slipping an arm around his father’s waist. Compared to his previous bulk, this man felt light as a feather.
True to form, the regent offered no thanks.
“Are there any survivors?” the regent repeated.
“I don’t know. Coyle stayed behind to handle reconnaissance. He’ll bring news when he returns.”
“At least it was the human sector.” The regent laid his head back against the ornate headboard.
That’s a terrible thing to say, Eli thought. He opted for the more tactful response out loud. “You realize we rely on the humans to survive.”
“More humans are born every day. Regretfully less than a decade ago, but still.”
“So humans are expendable? Cattle to be bred?” Eli sneered at his father, angry that he’d been borne of such a callous, cold-hearted witch. “It seems to me the sectors were created to protect the humans.”
“Stop listening to old fairy tales.”
“You cannot erase history.”
The regent levelled a steely gaze on him. “I am the regent here.”
His words boomed with the full weight of his power. A fanatical glint in his inky eyes promised his son he’d do whatever he felt necessary to maintain his regime while he still lived. Even if it meant demolishing history, rewriting it to meet his means.
“You are the regent here,” Eli agreed, voice low. “Until death comes for you.”
“Then the sector will collapse, and death will turn on you, as well. We both know you will not be powerful enough to stand against them.” The regent closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “I specifically chose Noelle for her phenomenal power. How did we give birth to a child so lacking?”
Eli fought an intense urge to punch the man. He had lived in the shadow of his father’s derision for years. But one thing seemed very clear to him now: this time, his father had failed. The regent didn’t wear failure well.
Eli spoke softly. “How did they know, Father?”
The regent smoothed his good hand across the blanket as he avoided Eli’s eye. “That I do not know. The ravagers aren’t magickal creatures. They do not sense magick the way we witches can. How they could have known I’d fallen ill…” His voice carried into silence.
“The interior wall had been blasted. As if by explosives.”
The regent started. “That’s impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Eli corrected. “Coyle will bring photos.”
Both men fell silent for a moment, before Eli spoke again. “I’m afraid of what it means.”
“They’re evolving,” the regent murmured.
It didn’t surprise Eli to know his father was on the same page. Regardless of his lack of faith in his son, the regent had taught Eli everything he knew. Their minds were far more alike than Eli cared to admit.
“When monsters become like man, fortresses will fall.” The regent sighed. “I’m dying, Elliott.”
“I know.”
“I’ve lived long past my natural expiration date. I blame your mother.” A smile flitted over his lined visage. Despite his tendency to be a brute, he loved Noelle with a single-minded adoration. “Love is a sentient being, son. It will capture you one day, and you will know what it means to live entirely for someone else.”
Eli inwardly scoffed. Pretty words, but a pretty untruth. The regent lived only for himself, adoration be damned.
“If Sector 14 survives long enough for you to find her.”
“Her?” Eli asked, startled. Did his father know about the feminine energy he’d grasped in Beat 3 to save them all?
“The woman you will love one day.” The regent lifted an arrogant brow. “Really, Elliott, where is your head?”
“With death and destruction,” Eli replied stiffly.
“You’ve lived a charmed life. Safe up here in our castle. Safe in the sector. I’m frightened for you when I am gone.”
“I’ll be strong enough.” Eli leaned forward, pressing his palms to the satin bed covers beside his father. If he didn’t give his fingers something to do, they would have reached for the man’s throat.
The regent gripped Eli’s arm with a shaky hand. “We both know you won’t.”
6
Eli
The earlier chaos inside the palace had calmed. For now.
Eli was in no hurry to return to his room. Twelve hours ago, he’d had little care in the world beyond drinking aged whiskey and finding a woman to fuck when the night was over. Both things gave him a reprieve from the life he led, from the responsibility he faced as Heir Regent.
The man who’d stumbled half-inebriated from his bedroom in the hours before dawn felt a lifetime away from the boy who trudged through the castle halls, blood-stained katana resting on one shoulder. Training as a regulator had not given him real-life experience in bloodletting. He felt unclean.
“Eli!” a familiar voice called from behind him, heavy boots thumping on marble floors. Sergeant Toby Turner had risen in the ranks beyond Eli—stronger, faster, smarter even. That
hadn’t affected their relationship, however. Their friendship was rooted in mud deeper than law enforcement or skill.
Eli swiveled on his heel, happy to see his best mate still alive after the morning’s events, but not in the mood for small talk.
Turner clapped him on the shoulder with a grubby hand. “Well done, man.”
“Concealing the hole in the dome? Or committing half a dozen of our men and women to death beyond the wall?”
Turner shook him lightly. “Hey. You did what you had to do to save the sector. Sacrificed a few for the whole.”
“Somehow that sentiment doesn’t make it easier.” Eli motioned to the barely seeping wound on his friend’s arm, changing the subject. “You all right?”
“Flesh wound,” Turner said with a shrug. Blood caked in his shaggy auburn hair, too, but Eli chose not to acknowledge it. Pointing out a man’s injuries after battle felt wrong, somehow, like acknowledging a man’s flaws in character.
“Good thing you’re not human, or I’d have to put you down like a rabid dog,” Eli joked. He meant it to be light-hearted, but in the wake of extermination, it was too soon. He regretted the words immediately.
Thankfully, Turner didn’t comment. “I saw something I thought you should know.” Turner’s expression shifted. The man was usually jovial and quick with a smile, so the worry in his eyes seemed alien. He cast a look around them. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“ ’Course,” Eli replied, searching his friend’s face for a reason for the subterfuge. He led Turner down two silent halls and into his silent quarters, thankful to find his most recent sexual conquest gone. He closed the door and looked at his friend expectantly.
Turner’s mouth opened and closed twice. He looked away, searching the corners of the room with pale green eyes, like he was having trouble finding the right words. He didn’t look at Eli as he said, “I saw an unlicensed witch casting a protection spell.”
Eli stared at him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. She was protecting herself from a ravager attack.” Turner’s low tone turned vehement. “Coyle had me search houses for bodies. That’s why I found her. I dispatched the creature and left. I couldn’t… She was strong, Eli. Really fucking strong. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Eli sat in an armchair before the cold fireplace, slouching against the armrest wearily. He had a gut feeling this girl was the source of power he’d drawn from to fix the dome. He started to tell Turner, to come clean about siphoning her power—he trusted Turner, always had—but he didn’t bring it up.
“Should I make a report?” Turner asked quietly. “Go back and take her into custody?”
Eli shook his head. Taking her into custody meant execution. “No. Forget you saw anything. Write down the address for me.”
“You’re going to tell the regent?”
Eli shook his head. “I’m not going to tell anybody. Not yet.”
ONE LONG, HOT SHOWER AND several cups of black coffee later, Eli sat at his desk, staring at the address in Turner’s strong penmanship. 233 M Street. Based on the map of Beat 3 he had spread across the surface of his desk, she lived only a couple houses down from the breach.
Who was she? Eli wondered. How did she survive the purge?
He’d been thirteen when the regent decided to assassinate the most powerful witches, the men and women he feared would rise against him. Eli hadn’t seen the insanity in his father’s eyes then—he’d been too young. But he saw it now. And every day since.
Late morning sunshine poured through the window above him, distorted into hazy rainbows by the wavy glass. Eli lifted his most recent cup of coffee and grimaced at the tepid temperature. He had considered going back to bed, but his sheets smelled of sickly floral perfume and monsters plagued his thoughts.
A knock on his door—three light taps in a distinctive rhythm—indicated a visit from his mother.
Eli smiled, shoving the unknown witch girl’s address beneath the map of Beat 3, and swiveled in his chair. “Come in.”
Noelle Pierce had showered and changed into her usual uniform of a pressed skirt suit and low heels. Her dark curls fell in shiny waves around her strong shoulders, and a string of pearls dotted her neck. Make-up accentuated her green eyes and high cheekbones, flattering her beauty. Eli loved his mother in any guise, but he missed the sweats and fluffy house-shoes when they were gone.
“Do you have a moment, sweetheart?”
“For you, always.”
“Deadly charming. Just like your father.” She leaned to kiss his hairline, so she missed his grimace at being compared to his father. Noelle sat on the edge of his desk and folded her hands in her lap. “We need to talk about Founding Day.”
“What is there to talk about? Surely we’re postponing.”
Founding Day came once a year on May Day. It was a celebration of Sector 14’s incorporation, and the founding of the new Othala. Eli took part every year, particularly in the partying aspect, but the sector had just fallen against the ravagers. He couldn’t imagine parades and parties and the Grand Ball right now.
Noelle sighed, her brow pinching. “I think—and your father agrees—that we should go forward with the festivities as planned. Everything is already in place, and the sector needs something normal to hold onto.”
“And how does Father intend to participate in the parade while half-paralyzed on his death bed?”
Noelle winced. “He isn’t on his death bed, Elliott.”
“Don’t delude yourself, Mother. He isn’t coming back from this.” He rushed on despite the darkening in her expression. “It feels disrespectful to throw a sector-wide party in the wake of a tragedy and a massacre. Half the sector is grieving right now.”
“All the more reason to give them something to celebrate.”
“And the parade?”
Noelle leveled a hard gaze on Eli. She rarely disciplined him, or did anything but coddle him, so it was a rare gesture. More an example of the lioness beneath, normally hidden from the world. “I’ll glamour you to look like your father, and you will ride the carriage.”
Eli scoffed. “You have to be kidding me.”
“You might as well do it now, before…” She swallowed. “It will be your responsibility in coming years.”
“I’ll do away with the whole damned thing when it becomes my responsibility.”
“Would you do the same for Sector 14 as a whole?” Noelle’s tone was quiet. Deadly.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door, louder than his mother’s. A muffled voice called, “Sir, you’re needed for debriefing.”
“Thanks. One moment,” Eli responded. Footsteps faded down the hall.
“Elliott.” Noelle took both of his hands in hers. “People need rituals. Ritual is what keeps us together during the hard times. It helps us navigate life and maintain the bonds that strengthen us. Please. If you can’t find it within you to do this for the sector, then do it for me.”
“This is asinine.”
Noelle grinned, almost girlishly. “Sweetheart, you might as well get used to saying that. Much of what you will do as regent will seem asinine.”
“But it’s for the good of the people, right?”
His mother cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes. “You look so much like your grandfather. Sometimes I think there is more of him in you than your own father.”
“I miss him.”
“Me, too, sweetheart.” She stood to leave.
Eli grabbed her wrist. “Mom. Could anyone have survived the purge?”
Noelle’s lip curled. It had never been a secret how much she hated the purge. Her husband’s actions almost severed their marriage. “I would love to think there were survivors, but it isn’t possible. Your father’s curse was too powerful.” Pain flashed over her face, and tears rose in her eyes. “I think of Vanele every day. There isn’t a moment that passes I don’t feel her death as strongly as if I’d done it with my own hands.”
Eli remember
ed Vanele Bray, his mother’s best friend and confidante. She’d been one of the most powerful members of his father’s council, which had been her death sentence.
“Why did you stay with him?”
Noelle straightened, her gaze shifting to the window. Clouds gathered in a sunny but cold sky, promising more snow. “Where could I go? Sector 14 is our entire world.”
7
Dajia
We’re going to die.
Dajia didn’t have the training to hold her circle against the ravager’s unnatural strength. The door splintered, razor-sharp claws ripping slats away until the creature stood before them. Its mouth opened, exposing teeth already stained with blood. Dajia wondered which of her neighbors had fallen beneath those sharp points. Whose skin still hung in its incisors. She stared at the monstrous thing, horrified that they existed in a world she’d considered so beautiful.
Then the monster pounded on the rose-tint of her circle.
Dajia cried out, falling against her mother. The thing ravaged claws against magick, and Dajia felt it in her core, as if the creature stood inside her, clawing to get out.
“Dajia!” Myra’s frantic cry barely burst through the pain. “What is it?”
“I can’t hold i—” Dajia cut off and screamed at another vicious rake of claws. She was bleeding on the inside. The ravager would win.
She couldn’t save her mother. Again.
Through a haze of pain and terror, Dajia felt Ghost’s soft paws tiptoe onto her lap. The cat purred, nuzzling against her breastbone. Suddenly, the world cleared, became sharper, more intense. Dajia straightened, locking onto the ravager in front of her as the cat kneaded her thighs. She held her wand high and snarled, “Crepitus!”
She’d never heard the word before—she had no idea where it’d come from. But a blast barreled from the wand, blowing through her circle as if it didn’t exist. The ball of white-hot light slammed into the ravager, throwing it into the wall opposite.
The Shadows and Sorcery Collection Page 43
