Haelo Rising, page 17
“This way,” Dagger ordered, pulling me along and turning us down another ornate hall. “In here.” He opened the door to the private music room. I rushed inside and shut the door softly behind us. Dagger put a finger to his lips. I exhaled slowly through my mouth and instinctively closed my eyes. On the other side of the door, we heard two men approach.
They paused just outside the door, bickering in Portuguese. Had one of them heard us? Please don’t come in, please don’t come in.
My eyes flashed open when we heard the smack of one man slap the other across the face. Seconds later, the slapper slammed the other against the door, rattling us as we leaned against it on the other side. I jolted and covered my mouth. The man’s garbled words stung with the bite of a threat before he released the one he had up against the door.
I held my breath and gripped Dagger’s hand tighter. It took forever, but eventually, the two men rounded the corner at the far end of the hall. I let go of my mouth and sighed. Dagger once again put his finger to his lips, but opened the door. We stepped out softly and went the other direction from the patrolmen, and two doors down, Dagger opened another door.
Oh, for crying out loud. We were going to be caught. We couldn’t go thirty feet without having to duck out. But this time, Dagger didn’t keep us at the door; he pulled me to the back of the room where a large portrait of a Basilessa and Galano hung inches from the floor. Dagger pressed a lever on the underside of the frame and then pushed one side of the painting. The canvas swung open to reveal the space between the walls.
We both entered the wall space and Dagger shut the portrait door. He pulled out his flashlight, turned it on a dim setting, and clipped it to the front of his dive suit. Then he powered on the radio and turned the volume down. “This way,” he said, nodding to our right. The passage narrowed, and he had to turn sideways a bit, but we managed to run through the narrow space to where it opened to a hole in the ground, the top of an old iron ladder peeking up.
“How do we descend a ladder holding hands?” I asked.
“Good question.”
Dagger went first, and I followed, one hand reaching back to his. With one free hand, I had to let go of each rung and seize the next rung down. It was awkward and loud, but there wasn’t much choice. I was a few rungs from joining Dagger at the bottom when Zeta’s voice rang out on the radio. I slipped. Dagger caught me against his chest, then quickly fumbled for the not-quiet-enough radio.
He whispered some sort of Greek lingo I didn’t understand into the mic.
After a moment, Zeta’s voice crackled back in Greek, “Jake and Wood from Bravo Unit are with me. Thirty Forçadoro idiots are behind us. You’re welcome. Now get moving.”
Dagger scowled. “We’ve already moved.”
There was a long pause. “Oh.” Another pause. “Good luck then.” I could picture her pleasantly surprised face. “Out.”
“This way,” he whispered to me as he shut off the radio and slid it into a thigh pocket on his suit. He led us down another tight hallway while I tried really hard not to think about muskrats. At a T, we turned right, Dagger indicating that we needed to slow down and step softly.
The buzz of auras grew as we came to the middle of a longer stretch of the cramped inner wall. Dagger stopped us, put his finger to his lips, and then put that same gentle hand on the spider-webbed wooden framing of the wall in front of us. I stilled, closed my eyes, and melted out my senses.
It was both harder and easier without the buzz of my own aura. My senses seemed looser, harder to control and narrow down. They whipped around the room beyond like sloshing waves. But once they found an aura and latched on, I could sense others more clearly than I ever had before. Their emotions, their position, their strength, and even the tone of their thoughts.
It didn’t take me long to learn four things.
Number one: Massáude did not know we were here.
Number two: Hector’s aura was the darkest, most evil thing I’d ever felt.
Number three: Aaram was seconds from death.
And number four: Cora had a lot of explaining to do.
13
Paved With Good Intentions
Dagger squeezed my hand impatiently, but I didn’t have time to update him. My grandfather was dying. I was yards away from the man who had raised me with nothing but a wood-framed wall between us, and there was nothing I could do to save him. Even if I charged in there—blowing our strategic advantages for any further rescues and risking capture myself—I’d still be too late.
My knees buckled and I lowered myself to a crouch, forcing Dagger to do the same. I dropped my forehead against the wood. Tears streamed down my face as I felt my grandfather’s unconscious aura flicker and grow faint. My senses struggled to cling to him. He didn’t deserve to die this way. Alone. At the hands of someone like Hector. With everything I had in me, I projected my love for him toward his soul. I’m here, Grandpa. More tears. I’m right here.
At a sudden jolt of electric energy, I yelped and clamped my mouth shut. Dagger tensed. Something terrible had zapped through Aaram’s aura. But amazingly, he now seemed to be awake. Grandpa! But my elation quickly collapsed. Now aware and breathing, Aaram’s aura shook with an unbearable pain. Someone had brought him back from the brink of death for pain.
Muffled shouts sounded through the wall, a woman pleading. Dagger squeezed my hand again. “What’s going on?” He whispered.
“He was dead.” But I didn’t have it in me to keep explaining.
“Was? What happened?”
“They—they electrocuted him.” My throat tightened; my eyes cinched in painful tears. “It brought him back.”
Dagger ground his teeth and came closer to me. His hand squeezed mine once again, this time in support.
My face pinched and I shook as I held on to my grandfather’s aura and failed to shoulder his pain. “He’s suffering.”
Dagger gently took my forearm in his free right hand—keeping a connection between us—and then released his left hand from its grip on my hand to put an arm around me. “Let him go, Lo.”
I shook my head, holding back my sobs.
But he was right.
I inhaled a shaky breath, exhaled slowly, relaxed my tightly closed eyelids, and allowed my heart to flood with love for the grandfather I hadn’t truly known, truly appreciated, until now. I love you, Grandpa.
Then I let him go.
My senses released their hold on his writhing aura and whipped angrily around the room. The flashes and glimpses of the other auras around him overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to feel anything else: the terror of the hostages, the guilty sorrow I felt in Cora and Hyacinth, the evil in Massáude and Hector. All of it inflamed me with unstable energy.
Another shout. Another jolt of electrocution. And then the familiar, nostalgic aura of Aaram Leonidas Gevgenis disappeared.
My body slumped with relief. My grandfather’s pain was over.
Dagger pulled me in tighter to his chest, but his hug wasn’t what I wanted. Dagger’s callousness scraped like sandpaper against my heart. After all of this, it was Griffin’s support I wished for. Griffin had been here for me—a stable balm for the uncertainty of the last few months. I’d avoided him and any sort of intimacy that might make me grow closer to him as our wedding approached, and yet he still had remained ever-present and supportive.
Griffin carried with him peace.
Dagger carried vengeance.
Weakly, I pushed back from Dagger’s embrace, careful not to disturb the cold gun holstered at his ribcage. “Aaram’s dead.” I wasn’t sure if I’d whispered the words or just mouthed them.
“I’m sorry, Lo.”
I slid from Dagger’s side and situated our hands back into place. He obeyed, though with a stiff hesitancy. I sat down and leaned back against the stone wall behind us, knees up, feet against the wood base of the wall in front, trying not to resent the fact that I had to hold Dagger’s hand. With my free hand, I pushed back wisps of hair that clung to my wet cheeks. My fingers left grit on my skin.
Dagger sat beside me like a man unsure. He didn’t immediately jump at me for more information, but I could feel his need for it. He was a soldier on a mission; he had neither the luxury nor the capacity for grief.
I closed my eyes and pictured Neo. What would I tell him? This would only further the distance growing between us. My family was disappearing. My father, my grandfather, my brother. . . . I was alone. The sting in my eyes grew fierce.
Dagger’s fingers tugged my hand tighter. I tugged them back. After another moment, he jerked his wrist, the movement different. Urgent. Through the dust mites swirling in the rays of light from Dagger’s flashlight, I saw him look urgently to the wall in front of us. I sniffed and gathered my weary senses about me.
I didn’t have to concentrate very hard to sense that Cora was no longer with the other hostages. She stood in front of Massáude, Hector behind her. Dagger’s eyes pleaded for more information.
I hadn’t yet told him of the feelings I’d sensed in Cora’s aura.
I closed my eyes again and focused. Sure enough, the guilt weighing her conscious was just as strong as earlier, maybe worse. “She’s pleading with Massáude to stop. Hector is pushing to interrogate another hostage. Massáude is . . .” I recoiled at having to invade his aura. “Massáude is angry. I think he was hoping Aaram’s torture would give him more information or . . . satisfaction.”
“Is Cora next?”
I exhaled, firming my grasp on both Massáude’s and Cora’s auras. “No. He and Cora . . . have an understanding.”
“What?” Dagger’s head jerked back.
I released Massáude’s aura and focused all my attention on Cora. The noble strength in her was the only thing keeping her upright. Her heart was all but broken. I prodded deeper, trying to understand. Guilt. Pity? Regret. Then, in a mental flash of light, an image played in my mind. It was a memory through Cora’s eyes of her writing out a list. I pushed through the haze and focused, able to read some of the words.
The memory morphed into one of her and Alcaeus discussing Massáude. The more we can do to cut his resources, the faster this will all be over. Alcaeus’s Greek sounded foggy through the memory.
But his people. Cora’s voice this time. They will starve.
No, they’ll leave him. And his mercenaries will abandon him at the first sign of hardship. The best thing we can do for Massáude’s people is to let them see how dangerous his way really is. He has lured vulnerables into complete dependence and provides for them on the backs of victims. He’s evil, Cora. You’ve seen the reports, the things he’s done. We must break his people from their dependence or they—and many more—will suffer.
Though she didn’t say it aloud to her husband, I could feel Cora’s rejection of the thought. Her mind spun through possible ways to help, ways that she understood.
The memory morphed again, this time a scene of Cora directing a handful of underwater dock workers as they loaded crates into a candeon shipping container—the logo of her new War Charity freshly painted on the side. Clothes, food, lights, nets, dive suits, construction supplies, all things from her handwritten list.
“Cora has been sending supplies to Massáude’s cult.”
Dagger shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that.”
I put up a hand to silence him. On the other side of the wall, Cora was pleading with Massáude. I tried, but couldn’t exactly see, hear, or sense the conversation, but one thing was for sure: Cora’s guilt had reached an astounding high. Cora, what have you done?
“She tried to help his people. And the regret is killing her.” I thought back on her memories. “And she betrayed Alcaeus to do it.”
“You’re missing something. Alcaeus and Cora ordered the Krypteia to cut Massáude off from his resources. I’ve been out there for weeks tearing down his black markets and slave trade.” Slave trade? My stomach retched at the revelation. “Cora wouldn’t help him.”
I took a deep breath, swallowing back the sickness overwhelming me. I recalled a conversation I’d had with Cora only days ago in the palace library. “She is a Galana to all. That includes Massáude’s misguided people. She didn’t realize—”
“I know Cora.”
“Dagger, just listen.”
“Cora did not betray the empire—”
“I never said that.”
“—and she certainly did not betray Alcaeus.” He stood, pulling me up with him. “What of the others?” His whisper was harsh, impatient.
My hand hurt. He noticed and loosened his grip. I leaned my head once again on the dusty wooden rails of the framed wall in front of us. Hastily, I moved my tired senses from their focus on Cora to the other hostages in the back. I studied each one to the best of my ability, but I didn’t know them well. Two I didn’t even recognize. Next, I focused on the confident men standing closer to our wall—the Forçadores. My soul revolted against feeling Hector’s aura and instead I tried to understand the emotions of the one woman standing among the Forçadores.
“The Enforcers are getting anxious. They want Massáude to follow through with the plan he explained to them. Something about the island.”
“And the hostages?” he asked.
“Delegate Dragos is there. He’s terrified he’ll be tortured next.” I shook off a painful thought of Aaram. “I don’t know the others well enough to discern much, but they’re all scared.”
“And Massáude?”
“I don’t know.”
“He is the reason you’re here.”
My jaw clenched. My chest jerked with irregular breaths. “I don’t know.”
His voice dropped into the alpha-male depths. “Feel him, Lo.” An order from a man past his patience. “Now.”
My last breath left me, and I held it. For the past half hour, I’d only given Massáude a cursory perusal. Vague emotions. I didn’t want to be anywhere near his thoughts. Months ago, he’d used pola magic to get in my head, manipulating my own thoughts just enough to scare the daylights out of me. It had forged a connection between us, and I despised it. Something about him—about his soul—terrified me. He knew me too well. I didn’t want to know him, because I feared that if I did, if I truly tried to understand why he was the way he was, I’d feel pity for him. And if I felt pity for him, I’d ignore what he actually did and how he got his way. I’d filter my view. I’d do something stupid. Like Cora. Because I’d sympathize.
Out of air, I took a breath. With eyes shut, my timid senses—feeling more and more like an actual, physical force—ebbed back through the room to where Massáude stood in front of Cora. They enveloped him, telling me of his frustration. As if his arm were my own, I felt his hand whip through the air to strike Cora across the face. My throat tightened. Two men moved to her and pulled her back to the other hostages. With one more held breath, I melted my senses deep into his aura and crossed into his thoughts.
His voice crawled like poisoned sap in my mind. Gevgenis was a filthy waste. He paced before the throne dais. That queen is playing with fire. Her death I will enjoy. Damn the incompetent trash that allowed the rest of the royals to flee. And the liar Karchardeus. He knew more about this island than he let on. Betrayed by the Judas again.
“Maria!” Massáude called. I heard it as if it were me calling out.
In my head, I watched the woman I’d once seen behind Karchardeus’s protective arm move toward her master. “Yes?”
“Your husband failed me.”
Her mouth opened, but she struggled to speak. “Karch loved you.”
“No, Karchardeus loved you.” The vision tilted, as if Massáude had tipped his head to the side. “Tell me his secrets. How could Alcaeus, Griffin, and Miriam escape this palace? Tell me where that coward of an emperor is hiding.” He stepped closer. “Everything Karchardeus told you about this palace.”
“I’ve told you everything.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t know how they escaped.”
Massáude let the silence stretch. “Where is your child, Maria?” The words dripped with danger.
“He is with the rest of our clan’s children, like you ordered.”
“Raul!”
From the periphery of the vague vision, I watched as a young man stepped forward from where he was guarding the hostages. He had a black eye and walked with a slight limp. “Sir.”
“Tell me again what you discovered when I sent you for the son of Karchardeus.”
Raul hesitated, glancing at Maria. “I didn’t find him.”
Massáude’s aura flared with a sinister frustration. His focus shifted back to the woman; I could have sworn he smiled. “He couldn’t find your son, Maria.”
“I . . . I’m as shocked as you are.”
“No, you are not.” Massáude approached her, stepping into her personal space. My sight was getting so acute I could see her heartbeat in the strained blood vessel on her temple. “You aren’t surprised at all.” He put a finger under her chin. It felt as if I were the one touching her. “Tell me where Karchardeus took your son.”
She shivered. “It was me. I left him with the other La Família children.”
“Tell me where your son is, and I promise he will not be the one that meets my anger.”
“Master, I vow to you, I do not know where he is.”
He dropped her chin and took a step back. “I think I just might believe you. It appears you have lost your babe forever. Too bad his father is dead and can’t tell you where the child is. But do not worry. I will find where your traitor of a husband hid him.” He moved back to the dais. “When I do, I will give you two options. Tell me what other secrets Karchardeus shared with you, and I will let you raise your son. Keep your secrets”—he stepped to the end of the dais and put a hand on the shoulder of his interrogator—“and Hector will raise your son in your absence. An apprenticeship, you might say.”
Maria’s chest was unmoving, her eyes wide, her hands imperceptibly twitching. “Karchardeus told you everything.”
