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, Chpt 19, Chpt 20
Chapter Twenty-one
Daav
“Well, he’s smooth,” Isolde says, rising to bring the plate over to the garbage and scrape the leftovers into it before stacking it next to the containers of food on the table.
I make some sort of noncommittal noise and shift a bit to the side to get out of her way. She sorts through the box and removes a second bottle of the juice.
“I’d hate to disappoint him.” She screws off the cap and takes a sip.
“Then you can provide him with the in-depth report when he returns.”
“He’s adorable,” she says, scrunching her nose.
“That’s one word for him.”
She sighs and puts down her drink. “Let’s get on with his get to know you assignment, shall we? What do you know about me already? I’m your sister, I’m Carl Harkness’s heir. I have a younger brother. I studied physics. And I have enough connections to smuggle myself into this country. What you don’t know? I write poetry and perform it in this little dive bar in one of the less savory neighborhoods of Kleive.”
I’m unsure what to make of this, but I listen, watching this woman, my sister, with all of her bottled drive and passion and intelligence I’m coming to know.
“Poetry is what brought me to physics. They’re the same, actually.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the table next to me, resting parallel to me maybe a few finger widths apart.
“How?”
“Because like subatomic particles which can simultaneously exist in multiple states of spacetime, poetry also evokes alternative experiences in spacetime. It’s simultaneity.”
“Existing or occurring at the same time.”
“Yes. Poetry teaches that as much as physics.”
“So you write to experience this?”
“I write because neither science nor poetry would be complete without the other. Poetry is the essence of knowledge with its criticism of life. It offers people consolation and spiritual strength both. Tears and joy. Dark and light. The same words, but with infinite variations of meanings to serve the soul. Simultaneity. That’s the essence of knowledge.”
If she’s trying to reel me in, it’s working. Her belief burns out of her eyes.
“Who else is Isolde?” I ask. Suddenly, I want to know.
She chuckles at my willingness to continue this game.
“Isolde prefers sunrise to sunset, cocteau-trill music to bohemian, salty to carob sweetness. She used to organize playground jump rope contests with her friends in second year primary school. She was good, too. Picked out the skipping song for the group, the line up of the matches, and judged who was the winner. She named herself winner at least half the time. Thankfully, she grew out of the conceitedness enough to keep friendships.” She chuckles again. “And Sebastian is right, this feels like speed dating, although right now it’s pretty one sided.” She sways over to knock my shoulder in play with her own. “Your turn.”
“I apologize, I’m abysmal at referring to myself in the third person.”
She laughs. It’s an easy laugh and I think she’s used to doing it often. How does it fit into a life that has to be full of burden and weight?
“Sebastian’s trying to orchestrate an outcome between us. I wasn’t prepared,” I say.
“Maybe, but don’t undersell yourself. You’ve shared some intense stuff about the past few days with the daughter of a man who’s been trying to kill you for years.”
“Sebastian would say that shows masochistic tendencies, then he’d applaud.”
“Sebastian seems like a man who faces life with arms spread wide and leaning into the storm. It’s easier for him to put it all out there. He does it loudly. You’re quieter, but you’ve shown me you. It’s there even in your silence.”
“You’re very courageous,” I tell her. “And have great tenacity.” Because I’m impressed and humbled thinking of what Isolde has done to get here. What she’s risked.
She shrugs, and knocks into my shoulder once more. “I’m a bit like Sebastian that way. He’s like perma glue when he wants something. It touches your skin and whether you like it or not, you’ll never get free.”
I turn to look at her, eyes most likely betraying my surprise. “I’m impressed. That’s the best description of him I’ve ever heard, and after so little time knowing the man.”
She smiles and shrugs again. “What can I say, I’m gifted.”
It’s easy with her, or easier than I imagine it should be with a long lost sister I never thought to meet. With the funnel storm of my future about to touch down and destroy everything.
I pause, breathe in and make a decision. Then nod over at Sebastian’s statue of me dancing. “When I was a boy, I found ballet. It was amazing. Precise. Something to dedicate myself to outside of the Verse work and training. There were few pleasures in my daily life, but for some unholy reason, I was allowed to study dance. Regular classes and eventually I was placed in a troupe. My Cohort mate, she….” I take another breath. “Her name was Trina. She studied ballet at the same school. I hadn’t realized she did that until I came to my first class. She was the quietest of us, even more so than me. I never saw her smile or laugh, or even talk much when our Cohort met.”
I shift in place, but force myself to settle, focus on the dig of the table edge at my back. “After our first class together, when we were collecting our gear and packing up to leave, she came over. She asked if I wanted to hear a joke. I said yes. Then she says, what’s a ballerina’s favorite number? I just stared at her with no answer.”
Isolde raises her eyes in question, also waiting for the punchline.
“Trina looked at me like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world and I was the stupidest boy alive. Two-two, she finally said, and then she gave me the most beautiful smile. To this day I’ve never seen one so full of miracles and life. We became friends, and I learned that it wasn’t just her smile that was so beautiful, it was her entire soul. Trina was the kindest person I’ve ever met and she gave that sweetness freely with no expectations. And we danced, craving as much studio and performance time we could together as we got good enough.”
“You loved her?”
“Yes, but not the way I love Sebastian. Not romantic. She was….”
“Like a sister,” Isolde says.
I blow out, because as much as I’ve tried to keep breathing, the air still gets caught. I risk another look at Isolde, and there’s the hint of sadness I hear in her words.
“Aside from her, Sebastian has been the only other family I’ve had.”
She nods. “You’re lucky. To have a family, even if the number is small.”
The lump in my throat is solid and I force myself to speak around it. “You have Gil.” Because what she implies is how her parents are not that for her, not family. I know this is her meaning.
“I have Gil. And I have hope that maybe the number in my family will grow.” She’s looking me pointedly in the face.
She offers me her hope, her message a tentative question, but it’s as courageous as the rest of what I see in her.
“Possible,” I answer.
Silence rests between us. Finally I say, “Trina died. I miss her. Now when I dance, I imagine I’m chasing her across the stage and with my next leap I’ll reach her.”
She’s shaking her head with disbelief. “You seem like you’re guarded, with high walls built all around, but really the walls have these deep etchings carved into them. Showing yourself with pictures there of what’s most meaningful and important to you, and a message that says I’m behind here if you take the risk to scale the walls.”
“You make me sound like some prize.”
“Not what I meant. It’s more a genuineness you give off. And you have this understated sense of humor. You’re intense, but you’re offering a lot as you do it.”
“Maybe I’m better at this speed dating than I thought.” I wink at her.
“Yeah, it’s like we’re talking like real people.”
More silence.
“I have a question,” I say, breaking its easy stretch.
“Go ahead.”
“Is there a safe way for you to get a message to your father without him knowing it’s from you or where you are?”
“You want to send him a message?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided. But can you? Safely?”
Isolde’s rubbing her lips together as she considers. Then rubbing absentmindedly between her forehead. “Yes, I think so.” Her brow wrinkles. “Although I don’t think I want you to.”
“You’ll refuse me?”
“No, no.” She’s shaking her head. “You’re helping me, I’ll help you. You’re my brother. But I’d want to understand more, understand the why.” She’s staring at me closely, examining.
She claims me as her brother. My heart skips a beat and settles.
“Fair. Thank you. Sister.”
The word feels comfortable on my tongue, traveling up my throat, rumbling in my chest. “And you’ll also share your conclusions about what happens if the Verse realities separate given my new information?”
“I promise. I’ll need some focused time to think through scenarios,” she says, with a smile on her face. She hasn’t missed my familial label for her.
I feel strangely lighter after our conversation, which makes no sense because I’m just as certain that the near future means pain and loss.
“Of course,” I begin to say. “When Sebastian returns we’ll—”
The warehouse door slides open with a loud bang.
I jolt, stand straight from the table and move in front of Isolde before my mind can make sense of the moment. Gold flecks pop in my eyes. No! Not now. I shove them away, but they’re floating there, resisting, with their whispers clawing at me.
“Sebastian,” comes the loud call. Nuée races in with another woman right behind her. Hanna?
I can’t hurt them. The song of the tangles call. No!
“Daav, where’s Sebastian?” Nuée sounds agitated as she strides to us. “You’ve got to go. Johan’s on the warpath with you missing again. You two are shit for knowing how to hide.” She looks behind me to Isolde and her brows scrunch. “Who’s that? Never mind. Where’s Sebastian? Johan’s right behind us.”
Hanna stops short, noticing my eyes. Her own flare for a moment, a hint of gold there, too? She shakes her head.
Finally, I succeed in quieting the tangles and my vision clears, thank twist.
I glance at Hanna, her eyes also clear, and she reads the question on my face.
“I drove,” Hanna says. “You borrowed Nuée’s car and she needed a ride. Her driving sucks, and I won’t let her behind my wheel.”
She’s willing to pretend nothing happened with our Verse just now.
“You suck,” Nuée throws over her shoulder to Hanna. “She really came because she’s worried about you both.”
“You clearly need help,” Hanna says to me.
My surprise at the turn about of her attitude is obvious.
“Sebastian isn’t here,” I answer, trying to make sense of the conversation and what it means that Hanna’s here. “He’s running an errand.”
“Really? You’re hiding out but he’s running an errand?” Nuée’s hands are at her hips.
“Explain,” I say. “Johan’s on his way?”
“Yes,” Hanna says. “And now that you’ve left a second time after his order to stay, and after the stunt with the power grid, he’s suspicious of your motives and your plan.” She examines Isolde. “And why is Carl Harkness’s heir standing behind you?”
Nuée blinks. “Verse chaos, you’re right, that’s her. I recognize her from the news. It’s like you’re twins.”
I ignore the topic for now.
“We can’t leave until Sebastian returns,” I say. “And we’re not hiding. We needed to take care of a few things, then we were coming back.”
“Great.” Nuée rolls her eyes. “But Johan doesn’t know that and he’s on his way.”
My mind spins over options. Johan can’t find Isolde. Nuée and Hanna will have to help.
“Okay, you two take Isolde, drop her where she asks.” I turn to my sister. “Get lost in the city. I’ll get a message to you. Check in at the information desk at the train depot, but give me until tomorrow morning.”
“Daav–” she starts.
The sound of car brakes screech on the pavement outside the warehouse, and it’s too late. Car doors slam.
Bodies, over a dozen, are streaming through the entrance, their semi-automatics out.
And the gold is back and sheening my eyes. But if I let it in?
I can’t.
“Detain them!” Johan is bellowing as he follows in his security.
The men with guns out are surrounding us as we stand backed to the table.
“What do you want, Johan?”
I’m fighting it. Keep fighting. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my cheek from my hairline.
He steps back a pace, noticing my gold, but clears his throat when nothing else happens from it. He won’t be intimidated, he never lets himself be.
“To figure out what Verse damned goal you hope to accomplish by slipping out again when you’ve been ordered to stay put. I’m here to haul you back and keep you there, even if we need to sit on you. Where’s your companion in mischief?” the Conclave head demands. “I’m not surprised to see Nuée, but why are you here, Hanna? I thought better of you.”
“Visiting my Cohort mate. Is there a problem with that?”
And it’s then Johan sees my sister. He stiffens and ignores his other questions. Then speaks to me with crisp, calm words although he keeps his eyes trained on Isolde.
“Daav, I’ve been trying to convince myself that you aren’t involved in anything treasonous after you resisted coming into headquarters following the bombing, blew the grid, and then took off a second time. And now you’re here with the heir to the Staltzian line. You’re aiding and abetting our enemy?”
“No.”
“Are you planning to attack me?” he asks, gaze returning to mine and facing the golden evidence of my balance at the edge of my Verse.
“No.” I need the time to get this under control.
“Then cut this crap and explain what you’re doing,” Johan insists with a frustrated crack of demand.
Haaaaaannnnnnnaaaaaaa. Nuuuuuuuuu. Siiiisssssssss.
The slide of sounds from the reaching tangles echo in my head, insistent as they pull, pull, pull.
I shove against the glowing crystals harder as they try to lure me all the way into the Verse. Finally, they stop. The gold flecks fade.
Safe.
“Better,” Johan barks. “I don’t have time for this.”
Isolde nods her assent to let me say whatever I need to salvage the situation.
“She’s not acting as Harkness’s envoy or representative,” I begin. “She came for our help, her father doesn’t even know she’s here. We’ll sit down with you and explain.”
Johan’s eyes narrow, and a look of calculation settles over his features. Whatever idea he’s thought of, I won’t like it. But he’s not about to share in front of his guards, or maybe even share with me. Although it’s not hard to guess the value to Orreance of Isolde as a hostage.
I refuse to let that happen. “It’s to our benefit, Johan. I have a plan.”
Or will soon enough.
“You can’t play me, Daav. And from this vantage point, all evidence points to your attempt.”
Another car door slams in the background. Dammit! Sebastian’s back.
Guns swing from us to the door because it’s clear the fool is about to storm into the room.
“Daav,” he yells, voice full of fear and fury. “Daav.”
He barrels through the open slider and stops suddenly as he sees the visitors, the guns. His gray eyes flare, his fists clench.
And faster than my inbreath, his eyes are swarming with golden pricks, nothing gradual about the build. His legs are planted and his chin lifts. His chest is rising and falling in a rapid pattern.
Verse cursed!
“Stop! Angel, don’t do it!” I bark.
But my own gold is back, hissing.
Seeeeeebbaaaaaaasssssstttttttt!
“He won’t hurt us, we’re okay,” I call with desperation to him, fighting the beautiful wail of my own tangles. “I can’t let it happen again. Please. Please, Angel.” The words are now edged with a ragged sob as much as I try to dress them up with a crisp insistence because we walk the border of disaster.
They’re like scent hounds, both our Verse, about to run at each other and crash together finding their quarry.
I grab onto the table edge at my back and my nails dig into the wood. I don’t want to lose him, lose everything.
Both Nuée and Hanna break from our side and push through the guards who seem frozen since Johan has yet to give them direction. But to their credit, they’re trained enough not to drop their aim, despite knowing enough to know the threat of a mage in full gold.
The two women run to Sebastian, bold and stupid and ignoring the threat. Nuée barges into him and wraps her arms around him. Hanna follows to do the same at his other side. Their squeeze grips his torso and shoulders.
“No threat, Seb. Daav’s okay, we’re okay.” Nuée’s lilt is a quick, insistent half lullaby, half firm loving chastisement.
Then one of my hands is pried from its grip on the table, a firm grasp of a palm replacing it. Isolde’s.
I’m shaking. I can’t stop shaking. The tangles’ whispers weep need and promise.
“Daav, come back to me. We can do this,” she’s saying. Not a mage herself, but she knows that I’m close, that the situation is close to unraveling and I need touch that’s real and true and connected to our world.
Her hand is warm and viselike, and she leans over and presses her forehead into the side of my head. “Brother. Calm.”
The whispers and hissing beauty dim. The gold disappears again.
“Okay,” I say, voice low and hoarse, like I’ve been screaming and it’s not been only a few time-lapse moments since Sebastian ran through the door.
“Get off me, Nuée, Hanna,” I hear my Angel growl. “And tell me what in sweet agony is going on.”
I look up and thank Verse Sebastian’s eyes are clear gray and he’s standing free again. The clench of his fists and a scowl at the guards and Johan still linger on him.
Johan’s glaring at me in turn as he spits out commands to his men.
“Sweep the warehouse for Staltzian tech and collect what you find. Cuff them, then get the five of them into the transport. We’re going back to the Conclave.”