Blood Bond (The Stones of Terrene Chronicles Book 4), page 10
“Oh, excellent.” Finn turned and held out his hand.
Ben gave Raine a small smile as he walked in and dropped the two blink-code stones in Papa’s hand. Ben hesitated, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floorboards. “Can I ask you something, Finn?”
Papa nodded. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
Papa handed Raine one of the stones, and she examined the polished rock for a moment before slipping it into a pocket that she could button shut.
“What you shared earlier, about the Void and … how to open it.” Ben began, his words hesitant and laced with pain. “I think you’re right. I’ve been going over my memories. I-I got here, because my unit was killed back there.” Ben’s voice cracked. “I should have died with them, but because they died, I’m here now.”
The light in Papa’s eyes dimmed. “I had wanted to ask you, but wasn’t confident if you were prepared for such a discussion.”
Ben ran his hand through his hair, down to the base of his neck, his eyes closed as if in physical discomfort. “If that’s the only way back, then there’s no question in my mind that I can’t return.” He looked up at Papa, Ben’s expression the perfect epitome of determination and heartbreak. “Sara wouldn’t want me to return, riding on the blood of innocents.”
Raine’s shoulders sagged under the weight of the pain in Ben’s voice, even as her heart fluttered. She may not need to choose between leaving or staying. She bit the inside of her lip subtly. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t ease her mind any. She still owed it to Ben to give him an answer, no matter what the possibilities were.
Papa settled his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “The path is hard, either way. I’ll keep searching, in case there’s any other way to return.”
Ben nodded once, his throat bobbing. “Thank you.” He dipped his head in another short nod to Raine before spinning on his heel and hastily leaving the room.
Raine stared after him, hurting on his behalf, yet unable to deny the tiny trickle of relief that threaded through her ribcage. Maybe she could just consider having a future—a real future—with Ben. Here. In her own land.
Blood land or not, Terrene was home. And that’s where her heart was. Even if Ben had stolen his way into her heart as well.
Chapter Seventeen
Weston
War councils never sat well with Weston.
He could plan strategy decently enough. Knew where to move forces and when. But the knowledge that it was his people’s lives being used—not just a play piece on a board of wits––that always left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Everett never had such qualms and directed battle with the cold-blooded confidence a leader of his stature should have. He used troops as needed, with no obvious concerns over the loss of life, just as a ruler should.
At least, that’s what Weston used to think. Now … now he wasn’t so confident.
A leader needed to be calloused when making hard decisions. But a leader also needed compassion when directing his soldiers.
Where was the line in times like this? When lives were in danger through action or inaction alike.
General Titus slid four markers the color of dried blood across the map, making them stop just on Linden, where four orange markers already stood. “Vodan is fighting for their capital.” Titus pointed next at the overwhelming sea of deep red by Loore’s Landing and High Doldra. Only three crimson-and-gold markers rested there. “Doldra remains under siege, and the Elph armies appear to be moving south.”
Zebediah stirred to Brandon’s right. “All I’ve heard from my clan is that Esther and the Doldran army had to leave Loore’s Landing to defend High Doldra.” His grimace pulled at a scar on his jaw. “She’s not one to retreat, so that tells me the situation is dire.”
Weston pushed everyone’s voices to the back of his mind while he studied the map. If the current guess was accurate, and Victor had taken Jade to the north, where would that be? Would they take a route flush with Elph armies?
What if his armies could grease both gears with one swipe?
If he and Brandon were to lead the combined armies of the seven nations to High Doldra and take it back, then march for Loore’s Landing, would that distract the Elph armies enough to let Zak’s crew get past the borders and into the heart of the north? Would it disrupt Victor’s plans?
If nothing else, to have the King of Doldra return to his throne in a triumphant battle would be a morale boost. And if he, the Lord of Aerugo, stood at Brandon’s side, strengthening that ally bond, the people would be further reassured.
Weston cleared his throat. “I have a proposition.” He waited a moment for the room to quiet, then quickly sketched out his idea, finishing with, “General Titus can remain here in my stead.”
Titus leaned back in his chair and stroked his barely tamed beard, his brows knit together. “My lieutenant can co-command with Lady Mother Violet. If you’re going, I’m going with you, Your Highness.”
Weston frowned, considering that proposition before grudgingly nodding in agreement.
Titus continued. “It’s risky. The travel there in and of itself is a hazard during winter, let alone the fact that we’d be heading straight into blood-soaked territory.”
Brandon winced at the general’s description of his land and shook his head at Weston. “We can’t chance it.”
Irritation snaked through Weston’s spine, sparking like a live wire. “Oh? Why’s that? This is your nation.”
Brandon hit the table with his open palm. “I know they’re my nation, man!” His shoulders hunched and his voice deepened. He reached into his vest and pulled out a creased parchment that he set before Zebediah. “This was in my room—despite the extra security. If I try to do anything, Jade pays the price,” Brandon spat, his face flushed.
Zebediah unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning it quickly before he passed it to Andre. Zebediah’s hands curled into fists. “And you didn’t see fit to tell us you had this missive?”
“Up until now, I wasn’t specifically involved.” Brandon rubbed the back of his neck and glowered at the table. “This idea hinges on my involvement and title. This would get to Victor, wherever he is.” He looked up, his eyes pleading for understanding that Weston didn’t want to give. “If I try to do something that ends up hurting my daughter –– the last of my family –– I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
Weston turned his face and tried to breathe out the anger burning in his lungs. For Brandon to hide such a thing right now, during all this time spent trying to save Jade… For all they knew, Victor had already harmed Jade, just because Brandon hadn’t tried to stop them from searching!
Andre caught Weston’s eye and flicked his fingers in a motion that flowed from his chin down to the surface of the table. Weston twitched his head in a slight nod and closed his eyes, reaching for calm he didn’t feel.
What would be the best course of action?
What would Everett have said?
Acid burned Weston’s throat. He knew what his father would do. And … he agreed.
“If Jade were here to speak for herself,” Weston began, every word threatening to rip him from the inside out. “She would have us do what she’s already done. She gave herself on behalf of her friend. Her friend, who currently lives here, amongst these free people.” Weston straightened, hating himself even as he looked Brandon in the eye. “Jade would give her life for the sake of our people.”
“How dare you.” Brandon seethed. “How dare you speak on her behalf? How dare you throw her away so callously.” Tremors shook Brandon as he glared at Weston.
Weston buried his flash of concern for his well-being under the calm mask his mother had taught him to wear. He’d been struck by his own father enough times that Jade’s father didn’t scare him––even so, there was a glimmer of comfort as Weston felt Niles step closer to him.
Brandon pounded his fist into the table. “She is my daughter, and I am not going to act rashly and risk her life.”
“We have no way of knowing that Victor hasn’t already done something to her!” Weston exclaimed. “For all we know, she’s already dead and Victor is leading you on.” His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes, desperate to keep his sudden tears hidden. “She’s my friend. And because she’s my friend, I will honor her the best way I know how. By doing all I can to ensure she has a people, a home, to return to. I’m not going to wait a moment longer.”
If Victor’s interpretation of Brandon’s involvement in rescuing Jade was loose, there was a chance she was already dead.
And in the chance that she was alive, and Zak could rescue her, Weston wasn’t going to fail her by letting everything burn.
Weston stood and surveyed the room, meeting each eye. “We’ve waited long enough. I’m not going to let Jade return to nothing but ashes and memories. We’re going to Doldra. And we’re going to take back her city. We’re going to fight the Elph. And we’re going to win this war.”
Pride shone in Andre’s face, even as a tear trickled down his cheek. Weston faltered for a moment before looking at Brandon, his gaze as steady as his voice. “We have to win,” he said softly. “For the sake of all the families we still hold dear.”
Brandon clenched his jaw, but nodded. “Then when do you propose we leave?”
Weston considered all the supplies that would need to be gathered, the distance they’d travel, the soldiers they’d need to inform. “In two days.” Even as the words left his mouth, his knees threatened to give out from under him, but he locked them and touched his fingertips to the table, drawing on memory to mirror his posture like Everett’s. Weston, unlike his father, wasn’t a leader meant for war. But Weston would learn. Quickly. “We will leave at dawn the second day.”
Chapter Eighteen
Christopher
Christopher gently ran a brush down the mare’s flank. She nickered softly, and he patted her haunch, soothing her as much as himself. He’d done all he could to wring anything helpful out of his mind, and now he had nothing incredibly useful to do until they reached Tastow. He’d sketched out the building layout, marked sentry points, discussed the security measures he’d been trained for there –– given all he could.
Whether or not Victor and Jade would be there was still unknown.
But waiting with the others while they flew closer wasn’t something high on Christopher’s list of things to do. He’d gotten used to the relative solitude of his room, and while the group didn’t seem to begrudge his presence any, he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue new friendships. So he made his way downstairs to the drop zone and cargo hold, where they transported eight horses for traveling through the northern wilderness.
Horses were peaceful. They didn’t have expectations for him, and they didn’t remind him of how different his upbringing had been, compared to the other Void Born upstairs. Down here, where the air was a touch more humid from the engine room and the scent a bit more earthy from the horses, he could be himself. Re-learning who he was.
Granted, he wasn’t completely alone, but Geist and Serena let him be, which suited him fine. Laughter rippled over the rumble of the turbines and gentle whooshing of vented steam. Christopher glanced over the mare’s back to see across the drop zone to where Geist perched on the windowless door of one of the skiffs, his feet braced on the driver’s seat. Serena lounged across the entire back bench, her boots more visible to Christopher than her face. Geist shrugged and said something to Serena. She squealed and used her boot to push against him. He grabbed her ankle, and with exaggerated slowness, drove the flat of his hand toward her abdomen. She blocked with a fist.
Christopher returned his attention to brushing down the bay mare, giving the two friends privacy in their relaxed play. The horse shook her head, black mane sliding over his fingers. He stroked her muscled jaw, sudden melancholy weighing on his limbs.
He and Pamela had had a friendship like that once.
He hesitated. More than a friendship, actually. How had he forgotten?
“You can’t even get close,” Pamela taunted. Her eyes sparkled, dark wisps of hair plastered to her sweaty face. “I thought you were good at this.”
Christopher held his sword in a ready stance between them, his blood singing with exhilaration. He had every intention to soundly beat her, but he wanted to also savor the attention she was giving him, now, as they sparred. She actually looked at him, spoke to him. She wasn’t just the number one cadet in the front row anymore. He wanted to get to know her better.
A soft, velvety nose nuzzled Christopher’s hair, and he gently pushed the mare’s face away from his and headed across the room for some oats. He tried to hold onto the memory, replace the moist airship air for the crisp cool of the training rooms. It had taken Pammy some time to warm up to him. He’d never forgotten that. But her laughter seeped into his bones now, the echo of it haunting him.
“What would you do, if you could be anywhere but here?” Her words came soft in the night, hidden beneath the layer of stars they walked under.
Christopher considered her question even as he peered into the darkness, not relaxing his guard as they walked their rounds. “I don’t know.”
He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, not wanting her to catch him staring. The moonlight cast her skin with a milky glow and made her cheekbones look sharper than usual. The few times he’d let himself daydream of their freedom were always tinted with bitterness. Void Born didn’t have rights to own land, to marry, to work anything aside from what their Elph overseers commanded.
He sighed. “If I was anywhere but here, I’d just hope I’m not alone.”
She angled a soft smile at him. “You wouldn’t be.”
This vulnerable side of her drew him in. Rarely did she lower her guard and reveal more than her well-deserved pride in her skill. And she opened up to him, no less.
“And how would you know?” he asked, her confidence a light in the dark.
She giggled quietly. “Because I’ll be with you, of course, blimp-for-brains.”
Christopher set the feed bags for the horses on the floor and leaned against the wall for a long moment. Blimp-for-brains. She used to call him that. Why was that something he’d been made to forget?
Coven leader Pham’s widow had the same ruthless, calculating streak as her former husband, and Lord Sephirn wanted her dead. He’d sent Pamela and Christopher, and after they’d finished their mission, they were ambushed by guards on their way out.
Blood oozed from between Pammy’s fingers as she ran, holding her arm. Christopher limped after her, shooting arrow after arrow behind them at the pursuing guards. Beyond, the Pham estate flickered with flames licking up every bit of cruelly earned wealth.
Christopher looked ahead, keeping an eye on Pammy. He’d danced around his feelings for too long. Tonight they could’ve died, leaving all the things between them unsaid. He had to fix that.
The memories assaulted Christopher like an endless storm, buffeting him, leaving him breathless. His lungs shuddered for want of air, and he threaded his fingers through the coarse mane of the bay mare, trying to ground himself before the next vision assailed him.
The morning alarm blared, and Christopher woke with a start. His heart sank even as adrenaline zinged through his nerves. He’d overslept. He wasn’t in his bed. Pamela flailed next to him as she struggled to free herself of the sheets that bound them together.
In the Master of Enforcement’s office. Fulton paced in front of them, his stride choppy with anger. “You are not here for the purpose of coupling. You are here to do as I demand of you because you are mine.” He stopped in front of Christopher and turned to face him, nostrils flaring. “I will not tolerate this insubordination. You are an embarrassment to me. Lord Sephirn will not be pleased.”
“My deepest apologies, sir.” Pamela dropped to a knee, head inclined with respect. “It won’t happen again.”
“No. No, it won’t.” Fulton turned on his heel. “I will personally see to it that you will never do this again.” He motioned. “Follow.”
Christopher and Pamela turned as one unit and trailed after their irate commander. Pamela’s hand slipped into Christopher’s, and she grimaced, keeping her voice low, barely audible above the clicking of Fulton’s boots on the tile. “Do you think he’s going to split up our team?”
Whales, Christopher hoped not. He shook his head. “He’d be foolish to. All the years working together, training together, wasted? I don’t know.”
She nodded as if that was what she’d expected him to say.
Fulton stopped outside the research room that Christopher knew Lord Sephirn frequented and turned before Christopher could drop Pammy’s hand. Fulton’s eyes narrowed, and he opened the door, pointing for them to enter. Pammy and Christopher silently filed in.
Christopher’s gaze roved over the books, the beakers, the shelves of strange science experiments he didn’t understand. What did research have to do with soldier punishment?
Fulton spoke with one of the researchers. The white-coated man nodded and opened one of the cupboards. He pulled out a small beaker and stone that he handed to Fulton, who carried both to Christopher and Pammy.
“Take a sip, Commando Vulpin.” Fulton held the liquid out to her first. His cold stare flicked over to Christopher. “And then you, Commando Saroot.”
Christopher swallowed convulsively as Pammy lifted the vial to her lips. What was that? What would it do to them? Fulton certainly didn’t intend to kill them over sex, did he? That would be a waste of resources, and the war to the south was coming soon, wasn’t it?
She made a face as she downed her sip and shuddered as she held out the vial to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, and he studied her expression, looking for any changes, any difference, any clues as to what the concoction in his hand would do.
