Underneath his son and piles of blankets, his chest was warm, so warm. And his belly and crotch were growing cold.
Jonas started, and so did Joelin, going straight into a full-blown wail. Oh, no! He’d woken his son! But he was wet. Something had to be done.
The room became chaos. Orin grizzled about the noise. Braph bellowed for assistance, and Orinia came to Jonas, arms wide to collect the wet child. She gathered him up, cooing and sympathizing, and Jonas remained sitting, not quite sure what to do with all his wetness.
Eventually, he worked his way from the rocking chair and stood, feeling useless, and awkward.
Nilv showed Jonas to the washroom and brought him a change of clothes. The whole house felt cold and metallic; in complete contrast to the comfort and warmth of the family setting the night before. The guilt of not getting to Llew in time after Braph kidnapped her settled deeper. So much had happened to her that he should have been able to stop.
After fighting free of his wet clothes and washing, he jiggled into and laced the leather trousers provided. If he were wearing them when he next saw Llew she’d come down with a panic. Or laugh. He stopped at a linen shirt over an undershirt. The leather coat would be too much.
Exiting the washroom, he paused, looking at the door at the end of the hall. Was that where it had happened? Or one of the rooms downstairs? Did it make a difference? It had happened, and he hadn’t got there in time to stop it. He wouldn’t be getting anywhere in a hurry now. He wouldn’t be stopping much. He sneered at himself. What good was he?
From the top of the stairs, he let his gaze settle on the door to the children’s room. He could be a father. That was all his son would ever need him to be.
He returned to the room and leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, watching Maura feeding Joelin porridge, the desire to do it himself strong, but he wasn’t sure how the child would respond to him in the cold light of day.
Braph approached and bumped Jonas’s shoulder with his own and nodded to the hallway. Jonas pushed off the door frame and turned from the room, Braph coming around, so Jonas’s back was to the wall.
“You still have a job to do,” Braph said. “Come.” Braph walked to the next door, to the right of the stairs, unlocked and swung the door open.
If Jonas thought the rest of the house was chilling, he was unprepared for that room. The chairs with straps at wrists and ankles, the cold stone floor, the machines he had no name for. Each piece spoke of torture. Together was a brutality he couldn’t imagine.
Llew had been brought here.
She hadn’t spoken of it. But then, he had never asked.
He wanted to pull his eyes from the chairs as much as he wanted to force himself to look upon them, study them, imagine what this room meant to Llew.
He looked at his brother, seeing Braph through her eyes. He felt sick looking at the man who could strap people to these chairs, never mind his reasons why.
Braph strode past him, to the far corner of the room, his boot clicks echoing on the slate floor.
“You may not be Syakaran anymore, but you are not so weak as to be entirely useless.” Braph turned to face him from a semi walled-off corner full of more strange contraptions. But when Jonas really looked, he recognized some. There were dumbbells and stepping machines and pulleyed weights. “And I need you to be fighting fit when you step into the ring at Kadesh’s request. The men of Turhmos believe they will be fighting Quaver’s champion, so a champion you must be. Speaking of which … Come here.” Braph curled a finger at Jonas.
Reluctant as he was to do Braph’s bidding like a little puppy, Jonas crossed the room to his brother.
Braph reached his hand out and Jonas flinched back.
“Hold still.”
As he’d been doing all his life, Jonas did as he was told, and stood like the good soldier he was.
Braph splayed his fingers over Jonas’s scalp. Jonas followed his brother’s gaze down to his stump with its metallic bracing and the vial of Orinia’s blood he had fitted. Then Braph locked his gaze with Jonas’s, concentration fixing a stern mask in place.
Jonas’s scalp tingled, not unlike when Llew healed him. He watched Braph closely. His brother wouldn’t return his Syakaran powers to him, would he?
The hair over his forehead began growing down in front of his eyes. The hair at the back of his neck tickled his shoulders.
“It’s a small thing,” Braph said. “But for some, it’s all they know you by. The hair and the tattoo.” He sneered slightly. The gryphon was a symbol for their Syakaran bloodline. Didn’t mean Braph couldn’t wear it. But he chose not to.
Stepping back from Jonas, Braph swung his arms out low, turning on the spot. “You will spend most of your days for the next week in here, while I arrange the fight. My kitchen will prepare meals to help you grow stronger, and you will have designated time to spend with your son. When all this is over, you’ll either be dead, somewhat happy in the knowledge that at least he got to meet you, or, if you’re lucky, maybe I will send him home with you.” Braph beamed liked he’d delivered the best possible news. The sad thing was, he probably had. Jonas would have a chance to fight for his and Joelin’s freedom. Not much of a chance, but a chance no less. “We’ll take care of this Aris problem and cement our family name in the history books.” Braph grinned. The smug bastard.
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Llew bided her time.
She watched, and she listened.
The guards talked, but Llew couldn’t hear them through the window. Thankfully, someone came by several times a day to provide her with a simple meal and clean chamber pot. These were quick visits but, as the week progressed, the ladies brought their building excitement into the cell with them and were often still finishing discussions with the guards on their way in and restarting them on their way out.
Llew had a lot of time to think, and she spent a lot of that time thinking about her heavily pregnant mother, Jonas, and the trees she’d planted on her way through Turhmos. She tried to figure how tall they might all be now. Not big enough yet. But one day. What about the one back in Quaver? The one that spoke in two voices. It had been about a month since they’d left Quaver. For all she knew that tree could be nearly full grown. That was, if the Quavens hadn’t attacked it. She had to hope that questions thrown up by Aris’s transition would be enough for others to query why the Ajnais had been destroyed. It would be too much to hope they would remain ignorant of what the tree was.
For Jonas’s sake, she hoped they at least hesitated. She didn’t know all the ins and outs like Braph may, but if she had any chance of returning Jonas’s powers to him, that tree was her best shot.
She listened when the chamber maids visited and watched when the guards walked by, slowing her breathing, and watching their lips, even as they walked on. Anticipation grew. Now and then they mentioned ‘the Syakaran’ which, was almost certainly Jonas, even if he wasn’t Syakaran anymore. Llew wasn’t sure how far word of his weakness would have spread, but either way could be exciting for these, his mortal enemies. Whether full-strength or weakened, the fact he was captured would be all that mattered to them.
But the stories she kept hearing snippets of weren’t about his capture. They spoke about some show. A display, a fight, an event they all wished to attend. And it sounded as if many of them expected to be able to go. What reason, after all, did they have to suspect that these locked up Aenuks could do anything while they were gone?
Unless they knew that the windows were a weakness.
But the windows weren’t the last defense against escape. There were two heavy doors leading down to the dungeon beneath the Presidential Palace itself.
Which was why Llew had pocketed the keys from one of the chamber maids when she had brought in breakfast. There was little point in having years of experience at pickpocketing if one was never going to use it, was there? Besides, it wasn’t like they made it hard.
The keys had been right there, hanging from her waistband. It had been all too easy to lift them without a sound. For Llew, anyway.
So far, there had been no outburst about a missing set of keys. Llew wondered if, and hoped, it meant the doors weren’t often locked. Possibly, they relied on their guards more than a need to lock the place up. But if all these guards and maids hoped to see the show Jonas was to star in, Llew had little doubt the doors would be locked then.
Now, the only question was how many other Aenuks she should release when she made her getaway. She hated to admit it, but the safest answer seemed to be none. She’d stuffed up when she took her pa with her when she’d escaped Braph’s. And, as when they’d crossed from Quaver to Turhmos, Llew sensed a greater chance of success if she made her escape alone compared to trying to get thirty or forty other Aenuks out with her. If she were sensible, she would get out of this place, find Jonas, return him to full strength, make sure Aris was taken care of, and return when it was safe. By then her trees would have grown, and there would be no reason for Turhmos to keep the Aenuks locked away.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Llew wanted to be sensible. Even if it went against her gut, which felt sick at the thought of running out on all these innocents. But it was for the sake of their longer-term wellbeing. If Llew failed now, they all failed.
With Jonas’s strength and possibly life, and the lives of all these Aenuks in her hands, she was about as determined as she ever had been about anything.
Wearing the keys against her skin, or in her mouth when she was bathed, she kept quiet, followed all instructions, and slept soundly, biding her time.
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Jonas did as he was told.
He lifted dumbbells, bench-pressed weights, and ran on Braph’s treadmill for hours every day. And every day Braph tested his progress in mock battles. Jonas’s military training didn’t go to waste. Although he’d never before been the underdog himself, he’d taught many of the few non-Karan Quaven soldiers in his years to know a few moves.
But Braph was a fast learner and Jonas usually only got to use a trick once before his brother anticipated it and gave him another hiding. Braph never beat him quite as he had at the farm, but it was enough to bolster Jonas’s confidence for the coming fight. If he could survive a few rounds with Braph, with his Karan speed and strength, even land some of his own punches, then he could survive a few skirmishes with Turhmosian soldiers.
What he didn’t know was if his resilience to the Aenuk touch had gone with his strength and speed. If so, without his Syakaran knife to strike a deathblow, he was a dead man almost as soon as he stood against an Aenuk. Then again, with a Syakaran knife, he would be a dead man if he got the strike wrong. He wasn’t fast enough to correct mistakes.
Didn’t matter much if he was good enough or not, though, did it? Braph had it all worked out.
Up before dawn to exercise and build muscle, Jonas helped feed Joelin breakfast and played with him until his morning sleep, at which time Jonas and Braph sparred until lunch. Joelin’s afternoon sleep gave Jonas the chance to shadowbox his way through the growing throbs from Braph’s beating.
He lifted spoonfuls of soup or stew to his son’s lips with a hand shaking from the pain in his shoulder or peered at him through an eye swollen half-shut after a brutal bout. And yet, sometimes he thought he was the happiest he’d ever been.
Only one thing could make it better.
When his injuries were especially severe, he sat back in the rocking chair and watched Orinia with her son while Joelin slept. She engaged herself fully in Orin’s care, asking him about his life in the house, or showing great interest in his lessons. Braph hadn’t neglected the boy’s needs, that much was evident. He knew his lessons and seemed like an open, happy child.
It was difficult to align the attentive father with the rapist and murderer, and as tricky to tease apart the layers of Braph’s relationship with Llew’s heavily pregnant ma. Braph treated her gently and was alert to all her needs, helping her from chairs and bringing her food and drink, despite having staff to do it. Sneaking in caresses and kisses, Braph seemed a man in love.
Jonas watched Orinia for signs of the same, or opposite. Which would be better?
She smiled when Braph came close. She thanked him when he helped her, and not in a way limited to politeness. She looked on Braph with genuine appreciation, maybe even love. She never looked fearful, and she allowed her touch to linger on Braph’s arm when he left to return to his studies and political intrigue. If Jonas didn’t know better, he would think her happy.
Did he know better?
“No beating today.” Braph smirked over the rim of his morning tea. “Aris has been sniffing around the palace again. I’ve made certain he knows you’re here. In Duffirk. Wouldn’t want him showing up here here. The fight is scheduled for three days hence. And we wouldn’t want you going in bruised and battered to begin with, would we?”
They sat at the two-seater table in Braph’s kitchen. Llew had once sat in the chair Jonas now occupied to drink his coffee.
Orinia rested in a cushioned chair in the corner, eyes closed; by all appearances sleeping, while Maura led Orin in his lessons. They had all vacated the nursery for Joelin’s morning sleep.
“Just Aris?” Jonas stirred his coffee in slow circles. He took neither milk nor sugar, but it gave his hand something to do.
Braph nodded. “The body of an unidentified female was found at the Eton Aenuk massacre last week.”
Jonas lifted his brows and took a sip of coffee. So Karlani was dead. A Syakaran in a hive of Aenuks: dead. What chance did Jonas have?
“How many Aenuk camps are there?” he asked.
“After your rampage last year and these two by Aris? The palace is all that’s left. Hence the heavy military presence.”
“Don’t let him near Llew.” Jonas stopped stirring. “Other Aenuks have the power to take Aris’s. She’s the only one knows how, if she gets the chance. You got to get them to an Ajnai, somehow.”
“There is another way.” Braph sipped his tea, glancing sideways at Jonas, from an eye crinkled at the corner. “And I’ll be taking my opportunity with me.” His gaze shifted to where Orin sat at a wooden desk, his back to them as he pored over his lessons.
Jonas didn’t hide his surprise from Braph.
The son of a Syaenuk and a Karan.
“Is he …?”
Braph shrugged. “He heals without draining,” he said. “But, like the Kara, his strength and speed have yet to manifest.”
Healing without draining. Orin sure sounded Immortal to Jonas. What would Braph do with an Immortal son? All that fatherly doting became colored by something else now. Braph had a plan in mind, and it went beyond ridding the world of one Immortal.
“Aris would kill him.”
Braph smiled the smile Jonas hated most. That one that made him feel like a slow child.
“Orin won’t face him. He just needs to touch the piece of Ajnai sticking out of Aris as he dies.”
Jonas held Braph’s gaze a long time. Aris had killed his babies using a Syakaran blade and regained his Immortal powers through it. If Orin was already Immortal and absorbed Aris’s powers as well, he would be the most powerful person the world had known for a thousand years.
It seemed like everything was falling into Braph’s lap.
“How long have you been plannin’ all this?”
“Not every detail.” Braph leaned his elbows on the table. “I didn’t know Turhmos would play with all my toys. Although, I suppose I should have guessed.”
“I was a happy accident?”
“Not entirely happy. I would always have preferred to have you in my team.”
Skepticism twisted Jonas’s mouth. “You got a funny way of showin’ it.” He turned in his seat, leaned against the wall, stretched his legs, and knitted his fingers over his stomach, ready to take advantage of this chance to rest in full.
“What can I say?” Braph splayed his hand and stump. “Accidents have a way of humbling a man.” He stood, letting his chair legs scrape the floor. “Speaking of which, this new hand won’t design itself.”
He bent to kiss Orinia on his way out. She opened her eyes to meet him with a smile and watched his exit. Door closed, she wriggled deeper in her chair, linked her fingers across her shifting belly and turned back, meeting Jonas’s gaze with an expectant one of her own.
He almost looked away, as he’d been growing accustomed to doing since being weakened. But she and he were in the same boat, here in this house. Would probably be best if they were paddling in the same direction.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
She hesitated, watching him with an unreadable expression long enough for him to start thinking he was about to hear a plea for help. “What choice do I have?”
Her voice was so like Llew’s, he was thrown right back to that afternoon they’d shared, and he almost laughed. Almost. But he felt as shit as he had when Llew had said those words to him.
“It’s better than the alternative, put it that way,” Orinia said. She closed her eyes and she settled right back into the chair.
Jonas watched her hands rise and fall as her unborn child kicked and rolled. Part of him ached at the thought that he had missed out on sharing that experience with Llew. Another part ached because Orinia was in this condition through no desire of her own, as Llew would be one day, and he was in no position to prevent it from happening.
“I learnt to love him once before.” Orinia’s eyes were still closed.
As he and Kierra had learnt to love. Was it any different?
He wanted to tell her, wanted to say, “He raped Llew.” But he was looking at a woman who needed Braph right then, the way Llew had needed Jonas when he was strong. Besides, was it his place to tell her? Or was it for Llew to decide who knew? He hated that Braph had done it, but Llew hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t even think she’d told Anya.
Before he could decide if he had anything to add to the conversation, Orinia’s breathing changed, indicating she had drifted off to sleep. No doubt she needed it.
Orin peered over his shoulder at him. None too friendly. Of course, the boy had heard everything. Braph’s plans for him. Orinia’s feelings towards Braph. Jonas’s questioning. For a boy yet to become the most powerful man in recent history, he’d sure perfected his flat glare.
Unsettled, Jonas pushed himself from his chair and left the room. He eased the door to the boys’ room open and stood over Joelin who, thankfully, slept soundly in this house of schemes and untold truths.
One thing was true. Jonas loved this boy. Whatever he did, or was made to do, this child would be at the forefront of his heart and mind.
----------------------------------------
Braph might not have wanted to send Jonas out bloodied and bruised, but the pair of men he’d left to escort him to the fight had no such qualms. They pushed and shoved him along the narrow corridor. Weak as he was, and chained at wrists and ankles – for appearances, Braph had said – he could do nothing but stumble along as best he could.
He’d taken his time saying goodbye to Joelin that morning. Not yet walking or talking, the boy had fought against the prolonged hug Jonas attempted to give. Jonas wanted to believe his son would have a father at the end of this day, but it was a belief with little evidence to back it. And all his son had known was that someone was smothering him. It didn’t matter by whom, and it didn’t matter if he was never smothered by him again.
Maybe that was for the best. If Jonas didn’t return, Joelin would know his father through stories. That would be less painful, wouldn’t it?
The corridor was long, and barely wide enough for two slim men to stand side-by-side. Accessed from a separate building that had acted as a staging area, and carved out under the ground itself, it had a feeling of extended history, and could have been there since the time of Immortals.
Jonas stumbled through the darkness, while one of his escorts carried a burning torch behind him, and the other rattled his chain leash.
Harsh winter sun sliced through the darkness at the cave opening.
Momentarily blinded, Jonas climbed the steps into the sandy pit, and a roar went up from those gathered to see his demise.