Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5, Chpt 6, Chpt 7, Chpt 8, Chpt 9, Chpt 10, Chpt 11, Chpt 12, Chpt 13, Chpt 14, Chpt 15, Chpt 16, Chpt 17, Chpt 18
Chapter Nineteen
Daav
Sebastian turns the engine off as we park the car in front of the warehouse much later than planned. Almost dinner hour. I’m exhausted, and thankfully Sebastian let me be once I’d found the strength to pull myself off the floor and limp back to my bedroom after….
He knows me too well, when to give me space, when to come in hot. Although right now I’m not sure what I need. More sleep, but that isn’t possible with what I have to do now.
He’d convinced Nueé to lend us her car and she’d insisted on running interference as we snuck out of headquarters to meet Isolde. Johan won’t be pleased when he discovers us gone, thinking to tuck me away to keep me safe. He’s delusional. There is no safety.
Green police tape cordons off the destroyed pier and docks. The air smells of sea salt and burned plastic, wood and metal, and even now debris laps against the rocky shore exposed beneath the remaining timbers of the pier. But the emergency crews and police are long gone and there’s little if no traffic on this end of the street.
The waves lap onto the pebbled beach. They fascinate me, their relentless steady motion, and I let them lull me into a trance of calm. Making me forget that at any moment the sea’s power can wake and become a force of destruction. The lesson from its depths is clear, that I’ve been a fool ever believing myself capable of controlling power I barely even understand.
“Daav,” my Angel’s voice breaks through this morbid focus. “Daav, you’re staring. You alright to go in?” A warm hand lands on my thigh, and I’m pathetically grateful for it.
Tangles whisper in my ear, purring with anticipation and eagerness at his touch. Growing more insistent each time they intrude.
Go away!
I shove them down, answering him instead.
“You should be pissed at me,” I say.
The fiery claws of anger are hard to imagine at this moment of my floating distance, even though they had such a recent grip on me. Still, it should be what he feels.
“What? Prince, you’re not making sense.” He leans over to take my chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb over my cheek, over the rasp of my stubble. “Stop beating yourself up.”
“Did you know the fishermen? Their boat was across from your building, so maybe you knew them.”
He sighs, drops his hand from my face. “You need to know?”
Yes, I do. Not for me. I’d prefer to keep the fuzzy distance that’s fogged over my mind. But if this has hurt my Angel? I owe it to him to know. I nod my answer.
He shrugs, sighs. “Not really. More a vague acquaintance. I’d pull in with supplies and the few times they were coming in or going out, we’d wave. Yeah, it’s sad, but Isolde is safe and you were trying to push the tangles over the water. You are not to blame.”
I had stammered out a few details in the studio to him, but not everything. Not close.
I give some noise at his attempt to make me feel better. He rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, removing a box from the backseat containing food for my sister. The kitchen of our Conclave suite is fully stocked for the holiday and no one will miss what we’ve taken.
“Come on,” he says. “We keep our plan, help your sister, see what we can learn.”
Sebastian knocks lightly on the warehouse slider. “It’s us,” he calls. The padlock is missing, but I’d seen an interior bolt the last time we were here. One we’d neglected to engage the other day after we’d entered. Foolish. Sebastian tugs on the door. It doesn’t move. She’s locked it.
Silence. No response to the knock. She’s cautious, good. My turn to try.
“We’ve brought food, and we’re ready for the journals.”
Hopefully that’s enough to confirm our identities.
There’s a click, the door slides open and my green eyes stare back at me. A small smile is there and gone.
“Took you long enough.”
Sebastian enters with his usual enthusiastic energy. “Plotting takes both layers, and patience. You must be starved.” He carries the box of food over to one of his long tables and rests it down, clearing tools away from the immediate area and taking out the wrapped cheeses, spiced marinated lamb cubes, breads, fruit and cider he’s packed.
“Yes, thanks.” She looks over the offerings, opening tops to sniff and examine.
The warehouse is like we left it, although she’s tidied up the cushions on the couch. We had left in a rush. If I was the blushing type, I’d be crimson remembering the moments leading up to our discovery by Johan. Although right now the color gray permeates everything in my life. A gray fog.
“An interesting place,” Isolde says. “You’re the artist?” she asks Sebastian, gesturing around to the materials and sculptures dotting the warehouse.
“Yeah. My little art home away from home.” He makes her a plate. “We brought what we could, I hope some of it appeals.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She’s way polite.
Isolde brings the food over to the chair by the couch and sits. “Your sculptures are amazing.”
“They keep my hands busy.”
Sebastian fills up the next plate and holds it out to me.
“Not really hungry.”
“Did I ask you? Eat.”
His caretaking may well kill me on its own, but it’s as soothing as his warm hand on my thigh from before.
I take the plate and he shoos me over to Isolde. It’s not worth the argument. I sit down on the couch on the side nearest her chair. She looks both more comfortable in jeans and a moss green flannel than in the server uniform, and less comfortable now that she’s stopped hiding behind a pretend role at the Conclave.
“Apparently we’re eating, and then I’d like to see the journals,” I say. I assume they’re in the fairly large leather satchel she’s placed on the side of what passes for Sebastian’s living area. It’s not hope I look for in their pages, more confirmation of what I’ve begun to expect.
She’s taking small bites, although quick enough; I guess she’s starving. Sebastian joins us with his own food.
“No one disturbed you during the commotion this morning across the street?” I ask, forcing a slice of apple between my lips after my question. Forcing the question in general, although if I don’t bring it up, she probably will, an alternative I like less.
She swallows and pauses eating. “No, although I was close to bolting when I heard the explosion. For a moment I thought I’d been discovered.”
Did she imagine we’d turned her in? Reasonable assumption maybe, she doesn’t really know us. She continues.
“The emergency personnel were just outside the door, debating whether they needed access to this property. I guess in the end they decided they didn’t. Do you know what happened? Everything on the news sites is decidedly vague.”
Sebastian answers, and Verse thank him, he sidesteps her question.
“We’re just glad the warehouse didn’t get caught up in the explosion. I noticed a few marks probably from flying debris, but not bad.”
“Did you make any progress?” she asks. “With plans for Gil?”
“Some leads,” I answer vaguely. “I arranged a few appointments.”
Outside of the planned meeting with Senator Chelton, my Angel informs me he’d spoken with Frederick while I was passed out post dance studio meltdown. Our Cohort mate agreed to ask Colleen to speak with us about any knowledge of Victor’s contacts. That idea feels like acid splashing through my insides, but Sebastian’s correct. She may know something. In fact, we should meet with all the Mentors. They all had relationships with Victor.
Isolde puts her plate to the side, wipes her mouth and hands with a napkin, and grabs her phone. She drags in a breath, and only now I realize she’s holding her shoulders too tight, a manic edge to her energy, a flavor of deep need. “I want to show you something.” She touches the screen, clearly with a goal in mind, then holds it out to me. “Here. A picture of Gil. Swipe and you’ll find more. It’s only fair for you to see him to decide if you can help me.”
Like I hadn’t already decided. But I understand. She wants to give me as much motivation as possible to save her brother.
I take the phone and look down. Sebastian, sitting close, looks at the device over my shoulder.
A little boy with a wide grin and our same green eyes is staring back at me. His hair is my mother Talia’s chestnut color instead of the raven both Isolde and I share. He has more of Talia’s look about him, but our relationship is clear. In the picture his tongue is out and his eyes crossed.
Gil.
I swipe the screen to see another. He’s in Isolde’s arms and she’s rubbing her nose against his cheek with his head tossed back, clearly in the middle of laughing at her action. Then another, more formal this time like he’s been dressed for an event. But his hair is mussed as if he couldn’t keep himself in order with all of his little boy energy bursting out. Has he been running down hallways before the photographer forces him to behave for the shot?
A happy child. One full of life, not plagued by demons. My brother. My. Brother.
Pain throbs muted in my chest, a stirring that the weight and gray has kept at a distance after I destroyed the shelving in the studio.
I hand her back the device, and ignore the prickles over my skin.
“He’s beautiful,” Sebastian says.
She nods, looking down at the screen again. Almost tears sheen her eyes before she drags them away from the pictures and puts the phone back in her pocket. She blows out a shaky breath.
“You didn’t have to show me. I’ll do my best to save him, “ I say. “No more convincing necessary.”
“It’s only…I sit here and have no idea if he’s safe, if he’s been discovered.”
A jittery need to pace, to move is slamming into me alongside the exhaustion.
“What about you? Where do your parents think you are now?” Sebastian asks.
“On a tour of the Eastern plains countries. My friend from Delat is sending prewritten messages and pictures from my account every few days to them. My primary bodyguard knows what I’m doing and is traveling with her. She also has a security detail because of her own family’s status and Father thinks they’re watching me along with my own guard as I tour.”
“And if I can save Gil, what are your plans? Do you want sanctuary here?” How big is this impossible task?
Isolde pauses, her jaw ticks and she scowls at me.
“Verse help me, you look just like Daav right now,” Sebastian says to her, his voice full of surprise. “I’m sorry, don’t pay attention to me.” He waves her on. “What do you plan for yourself?”
“Staltz is my home. I love my people. My father…he’s grown increasingly obsessed with you and with removing all traces of magic. He’s convinced you’re the one named in Crane’s prophecy. He’s killed too many children and our people are angry. He won’t listen to me. I don’t know what you’ll do with the information, but there’s increasing civil unrest. He’s destabilizing the country with the rigidity of his walls and there’s no room for any truth but his own.”
“There’s nothing about that in the news,” I say.
“I know. Who do you think controls the media?” She shakes her head. “I can’t leave my people to him. It’s not just Gil who needs protection. I want him safe first and foremost, but I have to do more. If I know my father, with that video of you going viral, he’ll only get more autocratic, more dangerous.”
Harkness is desperate. And a desperate man might consider agreeing to the outrageous to get what he wants, namely, me. I tuck away the kernel of a newborn idea.
“Sweet agony,” Sebastian says. “What can we do?”
“You asked for my plans after you help Gil? I can’t expect more from you than that, but I will be returning home once he’s safe. I’ve trained my entire life to inherit my father’s rule. It’s what I plan to do, just not sure of the storyline to that transition.”
“And if he discovers your involvement trying to help our brother and your trip to Orreance?” I ask. “Do you have support to back you?”
Maybe she has someone else she loves there. A partner? Allies? I hope she does. I’ve only known her a day, but I don’t want her carrying the same weight I’ve carried forever all on her own.
Isolde places her palms on her thighs and pushes to a stand, going to the satchel and moving it to the table in front of the couch. “A problem for later, I won’t borrow trouble that may never exist.”
Does her refusal to comment mean she doesn’t have the support, can’t face thinking about it, or that she won’t divulge more than she has to about the situation? Orreance is still Staltz’s enemy whether or not she was desperate enough to come to me for help. Harkness’s power structure is strong and her climb to topple it is steep and not close to guaranteed.
Time to switch topics since she’s clearly done with this one.
“The picture you brought, of our dead spy? Can you tell me anything about how he got himself inside your father’s circle?” His way in may give me clues to Victor’s networks.
She latches onto the new topic. “He allegedly came from across the sea from the New World Coalition. They’ve been doing amazing things with technology but because of their isolationist policies it’s hard to access. Father drooled over the opportunity and because of the man’s lack of ties to our continent, he assumed him safe enough even if he spied for the Coalition. He enjoyed the man. I don’t know how he was found out, father wouldn’t tell me anything about the death other than he came from Orreance. I had access to the picture and took it when packing the journals in case your people wanted to know what happened to him. A goodwill offer.”
She opens the flap of the bag, and begins to remove leather bound books.
“The journals. They cover a span of Crane’s life from about twenty until right before his death at sixty.”
“He was that young?” Sebastian asks. “The Conclave describes him as an old man when he died.” He reaches for one of the books. “His letter gave that impression, too.”
I grab another.
“I don’t believe in prophecies, but these journals might help you with working the Verse, minimizing the loss of power. If that’s Gil’s path, then it helps him, too. The volumes are numbered on the inside covers,” she mentions. “I’m going to take a quick break to use the powder room and send some messages.” Or maybe she needs an excuse for time away from us? I understand the feeling.
She walks through the warehouse to the toilet door and we begin the process of reading. The entries are full of details about Crane’s life, from social events to descriptions of favorite meals to information about current elections, although I force myself to skim the words only. There’s too much here to read if we need to find anything helpful.
Prickles at the back of my neck have me looking up. My Angel is staring at me with a strange expression on his face.
“What?”
“Isolde makes a lot of the same faces you do, has some of the same mannerisms. It’s eerie.” He grins. “I like it.”
“Only you would find that entertaining.”
His warm hands settle on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I consider lying for a brief moment, but he already knows the answer.
“Not really. And this,” I gesture to the book, “is probably a waste. If I can’t control my Verse, it’s too dangerous to play around with. And if the effect is even stronger at my quarter century, I’ve no business trying to harness it.”
His fingers squeeze around my shoulder and he moves closer and rests his forehead against the side of my skull. “Daav, love, you’re scared, and I know what happened to the fishermen hurts. But slow down, Prince. Don’t jump so quickly to hating yourself, cause I know that’s what you’re doing.”
And as if to prove my point, my head begins to spin and the tangles, the source of my magic, are back, swarming at me, like little hands pushing my body closer to his, crossing over to the real world to control me. I slam my eyes closed as gold begins to break through. Yet I do inch closer to him, a marionette to their puppeteering. The whispers are biting now, almost cruel. What’s happening? They’ve never been like this, able to intrude this way, to force me. My jaw aches as I fight the effect and the gold finally retreats behind my lids.
I draw in a breath, and separate from him.
“I’m being realistic. It’s time to give up this wasted effort. Orreance needs to accept their weakened place in the world and find another way forward. You said as much yourself.”
He leans back and takes another too long look at me. “Whose judgment do you fear most? Our country’s, Harkness’s, or your own?”
The anger flares, waking from underneath the gray and erupting with a punch. I want to yell, rampage like Sebastian had forced on me earlier. “This isn’t about judgment, it’s about destroying everything with my tangles. It’s about killing people. I’m not going to do that and you can’t believe I’ll keep going blindly forward and fuck the consequences.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that. I don’t even know what the hell happened, but whatever it was screwed with your mind. If you’re doing a full 180 on the plan you need to tell me.”
My Angel looks a little angry himself, so I know he’s serious. His finger flicks on his thigh and he pushes out a whistling breath.
“I’ve been trying to give you space because you’re bouncing between being freaked out or stumbling along like a sleepwalker,” he says. “We’re about to go through a fuckton of journals for clues to help you do the thing you’ve been preparing to do for twenty years. If the plan’s changed, I need to know. I can’t support you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
I drop my head in my hands and scrub my face with them. “I don’t know. But what happened to me, in my Verse, was way outside my control.” I lift the journal I’d chosen to read. “Even in Crane’s letter he thought something wasn’t right about depending on the Verse and our magic.”
The pressure keeps bearing down on me, grinding away, and just as I think I understand it, new boulders pile on. Why fight all the time? Why do I do this?
Sebastian’s face goes gentle again and the light of this man, the preciousness of him laps through me, a reminder of what he gives. Everything, even when I make it difficult for him.
“Then tell me. Just tell me, asshole. I can’t help if you don’t explain.” The vulgar name is delivered with such soft love that I slump against the couch with the tender attack of it. I’m tired again.
So I tell him, with as much detail as I can drag up from early this morning. “It was like the tangles were hungry, searching.” I watch Sebastian absorb my words, wanting nothing more than to curl up against him, hold him. Or maybe let him hold me. He’s gravity and I’m being sucked into orbit around him, pulled into this man I’ve never been able to resist no matter how I try. Verse knows I have tried. The memory of the tangles’ strange sounds flit back as I recall the painful experience, like they were calling, searching, all pulled to him.
Were they looking for Sebastian at the warehouse? As much as I don’t want to share this, he wants my story, my thoughts. I share this newest idea.
“If your Verse was searching for me, then let’s see what happens when we let the two Verse touch.”
I shake my head. “No, absolutely not. We did that at the party and you were almost hurt again. They’re hungry and I had no control of them. They hurt me when I fell out of the Verse this morning. My contusions weren’t just from being slammed across the floor in the lab, but happened while inside. It’s too dangerous.”
Sebastian hesitates. “It’s not about ... .this isn’t because of what you saw in my Verse? It’s ugly, I get it.” He looks worried that he’s the cause of my concern.
“No, of course not.”
A door opens, closes, and Isolde comes back from the toilet and interrupts. “Is there a problem?”
Sebastian raises an eyebrow my way. “I don’t know, is there?” he asks.
“We’ll read the damn journals,” I say. It’s the most I can give.
He turns to her. “Just a lovers’ spat. He lost a bet and has to blow me. He’s a sore loser, but really it’s the principle of the thing. In actuality, he can’t get enough of the taste of my cum.”
I choke at his words and shake my head at him. I adore this man, but he drives me crazy.
Isolde gives a sly smile. “I can tell you love my brother. Your sculpture of him screams it. I didn’t realize you were together when we met, it wasn’t in Father’s files. You weren’t in his files.”
“Yeah, we grew up together in the same household, but then lived separately.” Sebastian says.
She points toward the life sized metal figure of me caught in the dance. “That piece proves your talent,” she tells him.
Sebastian’s face softens again, the lunatic. “Thanks, but mostly it was easy to sculpt it because when Daav dances he’s living, moving beauty.”
Heat flushes my cheeks.
“We’re not here to discuss me. We’re here to look for information. More delay means delay getting back to the Conclave and meeting our connections to plan for Gil.”
“Fine, Prince. Let’s get back to it then.” He smirks as if he’s won some battle.
Finding anything in the journals is doubtful.
But if I can’t save my country, maybe I can save one little boy.