“Mother Light, Nyx.” Z recoiled like the smell of her had physically slapped them.
“Yeah,” she said, voice cracking. “Otherwise I’d offer a hug.”
Z stood framed by the front doorway of Quiet House, and Belle waited at the bottom of the porch steps, not wanting to further subject their sensitive monster’s nose to her stench. Belle looked over the brilliant white chiton that hung off one shoulder, a style generally worn by men, and clarified, “‘He’ today?”
“Yeah.” He clamped a hand over his nose, threw his other arm out and said, “Come here.”
“And dress you in my stink, too?”
“Come here, Nyx.”
It soothed her shattered heart that she had two friends who would put up with such a terrible stench for her. Belle wobbled away from Jac’s steady embrace to climb the steps and fall into Z’s steady embrace.
Jac clomped up the porch steps, which loudly protested the weight of her hammer, and strode past them, rolling her eyes. She called, “I’m going to take a bath.”
“Nyx and I claim the master bath,” Z said, his voice a little funny because his hand still covered his nose. “Unless you’d like to join us.”
“Not this time,” Jac said before she paused—and sent a glance at Belle, a question in her eyes.
Belle nodded over Z’s shoulder, not yet able to conjure up a smile. She was alright—well, no, she wasn’t. But she was still alive. And Jac deserved a moment to herself for the first time in days.
Jac returned her nod, then continued through the foyer, toward the bedroom where she’d left her things.
“I’ve got a number of questions, Nyx,” Z said, a serious edge in his tone. “All addressed to you. But first, let’s get you clean.”
Quiet House was Belle’s favorite of all the crown’s houses around Lushale—well, technically this house was Richard’s, not the crown’s. It was a simple two-story wooden house, small compared to all the others. Richard himself rarely came here, but Belle had convinced him one night to purchase the house without telling his mother, so that they could have somewhere to go where the queen couldn’t find them, hence the name Quiet House.
It was the modesty and the separateness that Belle liked so much about it, as well as the ample, wooded yard and high stone fence around it. Everything in Broken Earth’s inner circle was so stiff and cold, but this house was warm and welcoming.
The master bath had an enormous claw-foot tub in front of big bay windows that were shaded by the trees. Looking out those windows, Belle could almost imagine she was back in the camp, up in one of the houses, looking over the landing to the village beyond. It sent a knife of pain between her ribs.
Z turned on the bath for her, scalding, just the way she liked it. Belle stepped forward to shed her dress and get in … but paused. She looked down at herself.
This was it. The beginning of her transformation back into Lady Belle. She touched the black-stained fabric, stiff and scratchy. It felt awful. She felt awful. But she didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t want to wash the sweet, sickening, life-giving, ear-splitting magic of those few days in his camp off of her yet. She hadn’t decided yet which side she would let take her, Everything or Nothing, and it felt like this would make the choice for her.
“Sweet,” came Z’s voice behind her, normal now that he wasn’t talking through his hand, “do you want me to go?”
“No, please,” she said. “I just …”
She felt his hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Nyx?”
Belle didn’t know if she had cried at all since Clarix’s funeral. If she had to guess, she would say she hadn’t, based on how strange it felt now with a sudden stream of fresh, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
A dull, echoing ache seized her body. It was so profound she lost herself for a moment. And when she came crashing back, she knew she had to get all of this off her, or it would kill her.
Belle shrugged off the shoulders of her dress, finally let go of that rag that had once been her blindfold, then stepped out of her underwear and climbed into the bath, Z’s hand in hers to steady her. She sunk into the steaming water and began to sob.
Get it all out, get it all off.
While she cried, Z washed her. He poured water over her matted, bloody hair again and again and again until the mats of caked blood had gone blonde again, and then he ran a soapy cloth gently over her face, her neck, her shoulders, her torso—all the way to her toes. He drained and filled the bath twice before Belle could sit in the water for any length of time without turning it black. And once that whole trip was finally gone and she was clean, Z stepped out of his own clothes and climbed in behind her.
Belle rested back against him, finally silent and still. He kissed the top of her head, and she tipped her head back to look at him.
She reached up and brushed her finger over his nose. “You like this face, huh?” Slowly, her voice was starting to sound more like her.
“Don’t you?” he asked with a crooked smile.
“I like all your faces.”
“Quit that,” he said, the smile getting crookeder. “You’ll bring a blush to my cheeks.”
“As if I could.” Alright, so her voice still didn’t sound exactly right. Still a bit too flat. “Name a time, even one, that you ever blushed.”
“Hm.” He thought for a moment. “The first time my mother caught me … we’ll name it Loving Myself.”
She felt a smile tug at one corner of her mouth but didn’t have the energy to oblige it. “The first time?”
“Mm-hm. But it wasn’t the being caught that colored my cheeks. No, no—even at ten I knew no shame for Self-Love. Oh, but dear Mom taught me shame—when she started giving advice. Anecdotal advice.”
To Belle’s surprise, a tiny bubble of a laugh, really more of a weird gurgle, came up her throat at the idea of General Lona Vigore, enormous, severe, perpetually-armor-clad woman that she was, giving a mortified young Z tips on getting off.
Z’s chest swelled, pleased to have made her laugh. “Once you’ve been through that, not much else’ll give you pause.”
“I bet.”
Though Belle sobered again pretty quickly, it had been nice to laugh for a moment, and she sent Z a grateful smile.
The face he wore today was one he put on more and more often lately, a slight variation of the one he’d worn when they met. It had been some party at the castle and Belle had been so distracted by his magic that she hadn’t even really seen his face until they’d been talking for some time. She’d been so shocked by it that she recoiled slightly, which had shocked him. It was the definition of Pretty. High, prominent cheekbones, a strong jaw, slightly pouty lips, a gently upturned nose, olive skin and narrow, hazel eyes, all topped off with gentle, honey-colored curls.
He was perfectly proportioned and perfectly symmetrical. Unnaturally so. And it was unnerving. She had quickly apologized for her reaction; it was obvious he’d chosen this face. She’d known from his magic that he was a Vultian Inhuman and could therefore change his physical body—she’d met several in the South—but she hadn’t expected the perfection of him. It was even more extreme than those designer glamours that masters of Illusion magic sold to the obscenely wealthy. It made sense, of course, that a person who could look like anything would choose to look perfect, but Belle couldn’t help but be unsettled.
Eventually, he’d coaxed from her an explanation for her reaction, and ever since, whenever he saw her, he had added a blemish or a scar or adjusted his features just enough that he wasn’t so perfect, despite her insistence that he didn’t have to. So, here in this bathtub with her, he still wore those honey-colored curls and hazel eyes, but he had adjusted … something. It was slight enough that she couldn’t put her finger on it, but he looked like a person instead of a glamour.
He wrapped his arms around her, resting them across her belly. “I’m eager for the story, whenever you’re eager to tell it.”
Belle sighed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. That ache had faded, but it certainly wasn’t gone, and it flared at the prospect of reliving those days in Silvax Forest. “Not sure I ever will be.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Worry furrowed Z’s brow. “Usually it’s only stories starring our dear, unhinged prince that you’re stingy with, but since he’s the one who directed me here, I know he can’t be the star of this one.”
Wrong prince.
“He sent you?” Her mouth felt heavy, sloppy speaking the words.
“No, just named your location. I came to fetch you because I have a job that begs your expertise.”
Belle raised a brow. “And Richard approved? Your charm has reached new heights.”
Z smirked. “The queen approved, so the choice wasn’t his. If the darling prince could only see us now.”
“We’d both be worse than dead, and no amount of charm or position could act as your shield. I think you forget that sometimes.”
“Often,” he agreed.
Oh, to be Z. “Name the job.”
“I assume you, little Lady Eyes-and-Ears, have caught the whispers bouncing around the great stone halls of Broken Earth. Of a secret project, ordered by our Steelsmith Queen herself.”
“Not I,” Belle said, with a dead smile.
He just gave her an expectant look.
“Which one?” she admitted.
“The hunt for Lushale’s most infamous Inhuman.”
And the smile slipped right off her lips. She tried to focus on keeping her breathing even, hoping it would steady her pulse so Z wouldn’t catch on to the way those words had gripped her heart and squeezed. “Ah. It’s possible Richard mentioned it.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, disbelieving but lighthearted. “Well, the hunter that the queen recruited for the task, he’s a bit … ah, we’ll name him Unruly. His orders were to sit patient in some house in the outer circle, ready to jump the moment Aran names a height, but—,” Z sighed, “instead, he’s on his way to Luvatha, and I’ve been tasked with his retrieval.”
Belle considered this for a moment, toying with a lock of her hair floating in the bathwater. Shrewdly, she asked, “What did you do?”
His voice took on an indignant pitch. “You immediately blame me?”
“The queen obviously does,” Belle said. “Why else would she send her best friend’s child, Lord Z Vigore, to fetch a stray dog?”
His chuckle had a rumbling edge to it. “You are far too smart, Nyx. And more right than you know in naming him a stray dog. Stray, rabid, and ravenous. I did my best to feed him entertainment so he would stay in one spot, but even I was no match for his appetite. He begged to be let loose in Broken Earth’s Arena, but Aran wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t want any eyes on him. She forbade it—”
“So he headed for Luvatha’s Arena instead.”
“Like I named you,” Z said. “Too smart.”
“Exactly what expertise of mine does this job beg?”
“I thought you’d have figured that out too, by now. The taming of beasts.”
Immediately, Belle corrected, “I don’t tame beasts—”
“You befriend them, I know.” He dropped another kiss onto her head. “And that’s exactly what I need, because the man is certainly a beast.”
Belle took a breath, deeper than she had in Mother only knew how long. She didn’t have to go back to Richard. She didn’t have to become Lady Belle yet. Not yet.
“Name him,” Belle said.
“Richard didn’t already?”
“No. I think the queen’s keeping close any details about this ‘project,’ especially from Richard, afraid if he knows too much he’ll try to join the hunt.”
“And he would. He wanted to come with me.”
“Thank the Mothers he didn’t,” Belle whispered.
“Mm. Imagine my surprise to arrive here and find only your scent, more than a week old. And then to find you stumbling back covered in monster blood.”
Belle said nothing. Z wouldn’t tell, she knew. Even if he wanted to get her killed, she had more than enough information on him to repay the favor. But still, she couldn’t tell him the story. So she just waited, until he finally said,
“Kure Ubika.”
Her stomach flipped yet again. “Ubika?”
Z shrugged. “Guess nearly a decade of following Daivad’s trail of burning camps finally convinced Queen Arantxa that the only one who could catch an Inhuman disgrace to the crown is another Inhuman disgrace to the crown.”
“But Thorne the Third wiped the Ubika Clan out.”
“Oh, sweet,” he said. “You bought the propaganda.”
“He let them go?”
“Mother, no. He did his best to kill them all. Sent half the Mother-damn navy to Monster Island, all but ready to sink the whole fucking thing into the ocean.”
He let the anticipation sizzle, smirking down at her.
Impatient, Belle asked, “That tiny little island fought off half Lushale’s Royal Navy?”
“They didn’t lift a single spear. They didn’t have to.”
She looked up at him, but he only smirked. “Z.”
“Imagine it, Nyx. The Inhumans of Monster Island gathered upon their shore, waiting. They’ve got these enormous bonfires burning and boars sizzling on spits; they’re passing Selachian Whiskey around, dancing and laughing, painting each others bodies like this is all a party—and it is. A party in honor of their guests—the thousand ships not far off now, with billowing sails of Earthbreaker blue-and-gray hiding the whole horizon line. Each ship is as laden with soldiers, cannons, spears and swords as the Inhumans are laden with drink and joy, and they’re bearing down upon a little green island of people who fight with nothing more than the jagged fins on their arms, the saw-blade teeth in their jaws, and the curved claws on their fingers. Why aren’t they scared, Nyx? They know they can’t win a battle against Lushale—but they’re celebrating. Why?”
Belle could imagine it. Of course. When she’d heard that Thorne III had wiped out the Ubika Clan, she’d assumed it had been a small, targeted operation. That maybe they had sailed out to Xatei, Monster Island, under the guise of diplomacy and struck the Ubika down quickly. But subtle was not the Earthbreaker way. Of course Thorne III would send a whole fleet—or ten.
And of course, that would be the worst thing they could have done.
“The Serpent,” she said, breathless.
She could hear the grin in Z’s voice. “It was a perfect day—clear sky, smooth sailing, and just enough wind in their sails to take them right to their deaths. There’s a reason the Selachians never sail more than one ship at a time across the Xatein Trench. Because the Serpent doesn’t like his waters too busy.
“And like I said—smooth sailing. Only gentle waves, nothing to betray that the Serpent’s enormous body writhed beneath the surface until it was far, far too late.”
Despite the hot water, goosebumps prickled up and down Belle’s arms. She felt that swoop in her stomach, that holy, horrified feeling of pure Chaos magic. She imagined being on one of those ships, peering over the edge and down into the crystal-green waters of the Xatein Trench, and seeing what looked like enormous, flat, shining rocks bigger than her whole body—only to realize they weren’t rocks, but scales. And they were moving, shifting, slithering.
Mother Dark, Belle would give almost anything to see the Serpent. Even if it was the last thing she did see.
“It burst from the water, its mouth flaring wide, and swallowed half a dozen ships whole. Its spiked tail lashed others to pieces, its fins cutting bodies into bloody red ribbons—while Monster Island laughed and danced and watched the show.”
There was a moment of silence. And then Belle dissolved into a fit giggles, like a layer of bubbles atop her bathwater. She couldn’t help it. It was half-delirious laughter, but Mother Dark did she love a good story about humans trying to misuse Order for their own power and profit, only to get fucking wrecked by Chaos. Shipwrecked by Chaos.
“I thought that might heal your heart a bit,” Z gave an amused purr, squeezing her close. “You can see plain, now, why Thorne lied.”
“It did,” Belle said, her words wrapped in the last of her laughter. “And I can.”
“And that, my sweet, is why Lushale doesn’t fuck with Monster Island anymore.”
“Still,” Belle said, “For Aran to hire an Ubika. Present company excluded,” she reached up to tap the tip of his perfect nose with one finger, “she swore off Inhumans completely after—”
Belle caught herself. She had promised, after all, that she wouldn’t speak his name again.
Z didn’t seem to notice. “Mm,” he agreed. “It speaks to her desperation. And on the note of desperation, we need to leave soon, Nyx. We have to cut a path to Luvatha, find and fetch Ubika, tame—sorry—befriend him, and then coax him to Duxon, all before the trail goes cold.”
Belle went still, watching those last few words fall from his mouth in slow motion, processing them one by one. Duxon. Trail.
Breathless, she asked, “Duxon?”
This time, she couldn’t help the way her heart pounded.
“Mm. Apparently, he took the camp single-handed, if you believe the witness he left.”
She was so stunned she could only stare up at Z’s beautiful face. Her brain buzzed dully. Duxon.
He must have left right after they did, unless Belle had been out of it much longer than she’d thought.
“The strangest part? He left her a message this time. If he’s actually taunting her now, either his numbers are greater than we thought or his brain cells are fewer. Though, if he does have numbers, why take the camp alone? Just to prove he could? I thought I knew how that man’s mind worked, but—”
“Message?” Belle asked.
Z nodded, but only smirked down at her. He was going to make her ask.
Her chest squeezed. She had fallen so far from a hope so high, and had sworn she was done with that. Done with him. She couldn’t survive another fall like that. Mama B couldn’t.
But she couldn’t survive just lying here either.
Asking this question, hearing this message—she had a feeling it was a decision. To begin climbing again. The fear and pain of Everything ran her blood cold, made her breath catch.
She whispered, “What message?”
For a few moments longer, Z let the anticipation sizzle, until finally he said, “Haven was the last straw.”