Mara woke to warmth and flickering light. She smiled and stretched, reaching for Davy. Something in her left shoulder pulled like a sore muscle, and she winced.
“It’s best not to move.”
Groggily, she peeled open her eyes. That wasn’t Davy’s voice.
“Eli?” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with her right hand. The lids felt glued together, her head filled with damp cotton.
“You’re safe.”
Well, of course she was safe. She was warm in her bed.
“Where’s Davy?” she asked. Maybe she’d been sick. Last time she woke to Eli’s voice instead of Davy’s it was after she’d given birth to Nick. But Davy had been right there too, swiping at her brow with a cold cloth. “Was I sick?”
“No. You were hurt. Try to remember, Mara.”
She didn’t want to remember, though she didn’t quite know why, only that it felt like he was telling her to slip into an ice bath or swallow some bitter tonic.
“No,” she breathed, rolling over so her back was to him, but her stubborn mind was already spinning, slowly but gaining speed. She curled into a fetal position, clutching the blankets around her as the trickle of memories–the knock on the door, packing her bag–cascaded into a deluge of darkness and fire and blood. “No.”
Davy was dead. Her house was gone. Her life as she knew it was over.
“No, no, no,” she wept into the pillow, the fine, soft fabric quickly turning warm and scratchy-damp with tears. No rush of calm came to claim her, no unnatural focus. Only the emptiness. She knew. To the Depths, she knew now, as she hadn’t before.
He was gone.
She could sense it as well as she could sense the pain in her shoulder, the ache in her feet. Her mind rejected the notion, but her soul felt his absence as keenly as she felt the sheets against her skin. She curled up tighter, her entire body shaking as she wept in heaving, silent screams.
He was gone.
Grief tumbled her about for several long, dreadful minutes before dropping, bruised and breathless and aching back into the soft, warm bed. Breathing in staggered hiccups, she shifted onto her back, cracking scratchy eyelids to take in a plain ceiling, crossbeams spaced out against a backdrop of wooden slats.
“I’m so sorry, Mara.”
Eli’s voice again. She rolled her head limply on the pillow and found him in a chair at her side. Nick was cradled sideways in his lap, still sleeping, and at the sight of her son, a new cold splash of memories smacked her in the face.
Eerie calm. Unnatural sleep. Persuasive magic.
Fear gave her strength, purpose, and she struggled up to sit against the headboard.
“What are you doing to him?”
Eli winced and shifted Nick’s weight. “Nothing that will harm him. Just keeping him asleep until you’re feeling better.”
“You don’t know that it won’t harm him,” she snapped. “There are no recorded, conclusive studies on the repercussions of persuasive magic on the developing mind. You had no right. You have no right.” Tears of agonized terror leapt into her eyes, and she ignored the pain in her shoulder as she reached for her son. “Give him to me. Wake him up.”
Eli’s face bore no expression, eyes scanning her own. She remembered too late to avert her gaze, but he didn’t exert any influence on her. Not that she could feel.
“Alright,” he finally said, standing and setting Nick carefully on the mattress at her side before resuming his seat. “He’ll come around naturally. We have ten minutes or so.”
“Ten minutes or so for what?”
“For whatever questions you have that I can’t answer in his presence.”
She calmed slightly, just having Nick beside her, and she knew there was no magic involved because her calm didn’t mean she trusted Eli in the slightest. It was merely an acknowledgment that there was nowhere for her to run just now, and he didn’t seem to have any interest in doing her immediate harm. Ignoring him for the first few seconds of their ten minutes, she looked around at the room.
It was small, plain, the mattress beneath her soft but narrow. A potbelly stove squatted in the far right corner, but otherwise there were no furnishings. Just her bed, the stove, and the chair Eli sat in. No windows, either, but that at least was unsurprising. The Hive was known for its lack of windows, the mystical opacity of its inner workings.
“Where are we?”
“The Hive. The tenth floor, specifically. They closed the gates after we passed through. We’re safe until tomorrow morning.”
“And why should I believe a Depthsbound word that comes out of your mouth?”
His expression didn’t change, despite the acid she’d poured into every word. “If I was in your place, I wouldn’t. But you can ask whatever questions you have, and I’ll answer them as honestly as I’m able. When I take you to Beth, you can ask her as well, verify whichever of my answers inspire doubt.”
“And why should I trust Beth?”
“Beth is an ordained Keeper of Truth.”
“And you’re an oathbound Order officer. People aren’t always what they say.”
To her utter shock, the bitter words found a mark. His face fell, hard lines of apathy giving way to intense weariness. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. He spoke to the floorboards between his feet.
“I understand your distrust. Using persuasion on you was a violation. I should not have done so, and I’m not fool enough to ask for your forgiveness or your trust. But whether you trust me nor not, the Order is coming for both of us. If we work together, we stand a chance of survival. If we don’t…” He trailed off, not in a deliberate threat but in genuine thought, if the lines bracketing his mouth were any indication.
“I will try to earn back your trust,” he finally said, looking up and meeting her eye just long enough to convey his sincerity before dropping his gaze back to the floor. “I would ask that you give me the opportunity to do so.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Mara gnawed on the inside of her lip. She didn’t trust him. If she felt any way about him at this point, it was loathing. But what were her options? She and Nick were no longer safe in the city, and though his methods were dubious, Eli had gotten them this far. Farther than she’d have made it on her own. She didn’t even know where she ought to go next, let alone how to get there. What were her options? Limited.
“Is Davy really dead?” A wasted question. She already knew. But if she was going to extend a tender shoot of trust, she’d damn sure give it thorns.
Eli winced, visibly, but nodded and reached into the pocket of his shirt. Unconsciously, she reached out and he dropped what he held in her hand. A miniscule weight. She already knew, but she opened her fist and stared at the plain gold band resting on her palm. It was too big. It would slip off even her thumb if she tried to wear it. She used to lay in bed and press her hand to Davy’s, marveling at the way his fingers dwarfed hers. She was hardly a tiny woman, and she worked with her hands, her fingers knobby and thick with use, the skin marred with scars and calluses. But still, against his hand, her own appeared dainty. Safe. She closed her fist around the ring.
“I’ll find you a chain,” Eli said quietly.
“How did he die?”
“According to official record? A Feral attack.”
“And according to you?”
“The Ferals did attack, but they didn’t kill Davy. The hit was too precise.”
“It could have been a coincidence.”
He shook his head. “No. Ferals attack from the ground and their range weapons are crude. I know the arc of their arrows. The shot that–” he broke off, swallowing hard and lowering his gaze to his clasped hands, pulling in a deep breath before continuing. “The shot that killed Davy came from above. The arc was clean. No variance.” Another deep breath and when he looked up at her, his expression was pained. Sorrowful. “The arrow took him clean through the heart. I didn’t even have time to try to heal him.”
Mara’s hollow chest contracted painfully around the knowledge, but there was some solace in it as well.
“It was quick?” she whispered.
Eli nodded wordlessly, knuckles white as he clenched his hands tighter around each other. Mara nodded as well, to herself, comforted if only slightly.
“So…” She cleared her throat. “Where are we going, then?”
Eli expelled a shaky gust of relief. “I’ll take you to Elise and Rorick. If that’s what you want.”
Davy’s parents, Mara knew, ruled the rebellion from some hidden enclave, though he’d never told her where the enclave was. For her safety, he always said.
“Where?”
He closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and forced the answer through his teeth. “The Ripshaws.”
She gaped. The Ripshaw mountain range and the forest at its base were a known breeding ground for dark, chaotic magic. Monsters. Even the Order didn’t venture there. And monsters aside, the Ripshaws formed the northern boundary of the Domain, weeks’ travel from the city by the most direct route, and she doubted they’d be taking the most direct route.
“It’ll be a long journey,” Eli said, having opened his eyes and apparently read her expression. “But I’ll see you there safely, if you let me.”
They sat in silence for a moment as she rubbed her hand gently up and down Nick’s back, taking comfort in offering comfort. Her next question came to her as she studied her son’s sleeping face.
“You have persuasive magic.” Not a question, per se, but he treated it as such.
“Yes.”
“Did Davy know?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was bound by oath. Blood oath,” he said, before she could leap in and remind him that Davy’s marital oath was meant to supersede all others. “The information was need-to-know.”
“Why didn’t his shields protect me?”
He bowed his head, a portrait of shame painted in earth tones and blood. “I am sorry, Mara. Deeply sorry. But that’s not something I can explain.”
She glared at the crown of his head, noting that though his hands were scrubbed clean, the strands of his hair had clumped together, matted by blood. Hers now, as well as Davy’s. And with that realization came its more alarming twin–her clothes weren’t bloody at all. They also weren’t hers.
Alarm tore through her as she shuffled her legs beneath the blankets–the sensation of soft sheets against bare skin a discordant pleasure. Nick stirred but subsided when she stroked his hair.
“Who changed my clothes?” she whispered, hugging her son against her chest and closing her eyes against the curdled mixture of wrath and shame that rose up in her throat.
“One of the Caretakers.”
A Caretaker. One of the Keepers’ minders, who made sure they never got too lost in their visions to look after themselves. More importantly–Not Eli.
The breath she’d been holding burst out of her on a gust of relief, leaving behind a vacuum into which more questions rushed. “What happened at the gate?”
“You were shot.”
“How long was I out?”
“About three hours.”
“It felt bad.” Worse than three hours’ worth of rest would fix. And yet, she was fine. A little achy, but fine.
“It was bad.”
“Who healed me?” Whoever it was, she owed them her gratitude.
“I did,” he said. “Somewhat. I stopped the bleeding, cleaned out the debris, and closed the wound. You’re no longer in immediate danger, but I wouldn’t call you healed. One, maybe two more sessions and you’ll be able to move it without pain.”
“But you’re a level two.” A level two healer couldn’t have done so much at all, let alone in three hours.
At that, he smiled, though the expression held more pain than amusement. “Oaths of secrecy aside, you really thought they’d have sent Davy into the Order’s maw with just a level two healer to watch over him?”
She hadn’t thought about it, really. Never even considered that Eli might have a true role, let alone that his role might be to watch over Davy. He was so… plain. So unremarkable in the shadow of Davy’s immense power. She’d rarely had occasion to think of him at all, and when she had she’d imagined that he was simply tagging along in Davy’s wake, loyal but inconsequential. Or had that all been an act of persuasion itself? An illusion, turning her eyes away from what was right in front of her? An illusion her husband had condoned, perpetuated?
“Perhaps not,” she mumbled, fiddling with the down comforter. “Why are we here? Why the Hive?”
“That’s tougher to explain.”
“Try.”
His face screwed up and he rocked his head from side to side on his neck as if trying to dispel tension. “The Keepers of Truth are outside the Order’s dominion,” he began.
“I know that. But they’re allowed to stay that way because they don’t choose sides. They never have, not in a thousand years.”
“Correct.”
“But you knew they’d offer us sanctuary.”
“Yes.”
“And, I can only assume, safe passage out of the city.”
“Yes.”
“How could that be if they’re truly neutral? How could you have known they’d help us?”
“They’re bound by their neutrality to open the gates at dawn each day and to admit entrance to anyone who approaches.”
“They’re bound to open the gates, not to help whoever comes through,” Mara prodded, frustration growing. “I’m not asking why they let us in, I’m asking how you knew they would help us. We’re rebels. Our mission is inherently one-sided. To help us is to pick a side.”
Eli’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. “Not necessarily.”
“We’re rebels, Eli.”
“Yes.”
“To help us is to help the rebellion.”
Eli pulled in a deep breath and let it out long, slow, and steady. “Not necessarily.”
“I… what?”
Before he could answer, Nick stirred and mumbled his way into a sprawling, spine-bending, yawning stretch. She knew from experience, there would be no more rest after that stretch.
Eli stood and dragged his chair to the wall, freeing up what little floor space the room offered. “Your bag and clothing are by the foot of the bed. I’ll wait outside.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” he said with a weary smile, “I’ll take you to meet Beth.”