Allegiance of Honor (24 page)

Fear still knotted her gut. “You’re getting so strong.” He did things like turn on household computronics without even thinking about it.

The dark of his hair sliding forward, Dev bent so his forehead touched hers. “And I love you more each day. I’m in no danger of losing myself.”

His skin was warm now and whatever he’d done this morning, their psychic connection had never once flickered. She had to remember that, believe in that. Dev might be changing, becoming something new, but he was still the man who loved her.

He was also the leader of the Forgotten, a people who’d had far more dealings with Zie Zen than the rest of the world ever guessed. “I have sad news,” she said, her throat thick again. “We’ve lost Zie Zen.”

Dev’s grief was a rough, harsh thing, and it was painfully, rawly human.

•   •   •

ADEN
didn’t want to deal with Trinity or Ming LeBon right now. He wanted to be there for his friend, to take care of details so Vasic didn’t have to. But Zie Zen had believed in Trinity, had spoken to Aden at length about it the last time they had a conversation.

It is a construct of raw hope, this Trinity Accord of yours. A bold, audacious, defiant thing that challenges the world to be better and demands that people be
the very best they can be. Never let this construct fail, Aden, for so long as it stands, it broadcasts that challenge. Sooner or later, even the consciously deaf will have to listen.

For that reason and that reason alone, Aden forced himself to stare at the proposal that had arrived in the hour directly after Zie Zen’s passing, at a time when Vasic and Ivy had told no one but Aden and Zaira, and Ivy’s parents. At least Ming LeBon could be acquitted of the crime of trying to use Zie Zen’s death to his own advantage. That was the only good thing Aden could say about the letter that had gone out to every signatory of the accord.

Proposal for a European Alliance

The Trinity Accord presents a hopeful view of the future, but in the short time since its inception, it has already proven lacking in the basics and is a group clearly dominated by certain parties to the detriment of others. It is for this reason, and because Europe has needs Trinity simply will not be able to fulfill, that I am proposing a European Alliance.

The proposed alliance would encompass members from across the continent as well as the British Isles, and will provide a vehicle for better growth for all parties.

Membership in the EA will not preclude being a signatory to the Trinity Accord. The two organizations can coexist, though the EA is apt to be the far more useful tool for those who intend to do business in this part of the world.

—Ming LeBon

Aden knew the core of Trinity needed to respond to this, but he also knew that he refused to disrespect Zie Zen by playing politics today. So he’d have faith in his “bold, audacious, defiant” construct and in the people who’d helped him take it from idea to fruition.

He input a call.

Lucas was more than willing to handle the situation. “Anything Trinity or Ming related that manages to make its way to you, forward it to me.” The panther held Aden’s gaze, his own eyes solemn. “I heard. The world lost a hell of a man yesterday.”

That was when Aden realized that, of course, Lucas would know of Zie Zen’s passing. A child whose birth certificate listed Zie Zen as his father lived within DarkRiver. “Yes, it did. Thank you for handling the fallout from Ming’s EA proposal.” He knew the alpha had to still be dealing with tracking down those behind the abduction attempt on his child.

“None necessary.”

Signing off, Aden turned to find Zaira waiting for him.

She slipped into his arms, her own locking around him. “I’ve spoken to Ivy.” He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew they remained shell-shocked from a loss no one had seen coming.

Zie Zen had always been there, until it seemed even the most Silent, most pragmatic Arrows had subconsciously believed it would always be thus, that he was a force of nature immune from time and age.

“I know what they need,” Zaira finished, her voice husky.

Aden nodded, then together, the two of them started to do what they could to help bear the load.

HELPED BY FRIENDS
who’d been there every step of the way, Vasic and Ivy held Zie Zen’s memorial service at the orchard, on a small rise awash in the sunshine his grandfather had loved. Once, when they’d spoken about it, Zie Zen had asked to be cremated and scattered on the winds as he’d done for his Sunny. But first, they would have this ceremony for the living who grieved for him.

Zie Zen had an honor guard of Arrows and empaths—and one gifted scientist.

Ashaya Aleine’s grief was as deep as Vasic’s, but she walked with pride for the man who had been far more to her than Vasic had ever known.

Another woman, her hair golden brown and her hands covered by black, stood waiting for the procession to reach the rise. Vasic had first met her in a different context, hadn’t understood how deeply she’d been entwined in Zie Zen’s quiet and far-reaching rebellion until she’d shown him the golden coin carried by only ten people in the entire world: people who’d been Zie Zen’s most trusted.

Vasic had one of those coins, too.

Clara Alvarez managed Haven, a place where fragmented F-Psy could live in peace—and where Samuel Rain currently made his home. She was holding herself in fierce check, but her features were strained and she stayed close to her husband, a respected prosecutor.

Next to that prosecutor stood another unexpected holder of a coin: Anthony Kyriakus, former Psy Councilor, current member of the Ruling
Coalition, Vasic’s occasional ally, and a man who’d publicly opposed Zie Zen a number of times over the decades. Vasic had known the two were allies beneath it all, but until this instant, he hadn’t known how deep ran the trust between them.

Grandfather, I have a feeling I will never know all your secrets.

Ashaya’s son, Keenan, stood with Tavish. He cried, old enough to understand that the man he, too, had called grandfather wasn’t ever going to wake up. Tavish held the younger boy’s hand and told him what Ivy had said to him, while Ashaya’s mate, Dorian, stood behind both children, his hands on their shoulders.

Ivy walked with the honor guard, and she was Vasic’s strength, the gentle force that held everyone together that day.

And there were a lot of people.

Zie Zen hadn’t only been a man who loved a girl called Sunny and a boy called Vasic, he’d been one of the greatest statesmen of their race. Vasic had known his grandfather wouldn’t mind being farewelled without fanfare, but he’d also understood that there were others who needed to know of the passing of this great man. He’d asked Aden to release a single bulletin out into the world.

It had gone viral within five minutes.

Had they permitted it, thousands of people would’ve come here today, thousands of people whose lives Zie Zen had touched, made better. Even his enemies respected him, had sent words to acknowledge the loss of a man unlike any who had come before. The Net had gone silent in respect . . . then filled with stories of Zie Zen’s impact on people around the globe.

Vasic had seen nothing like it in his entire lifetime. Neither had the rest of the squad.

In the end, he and Ivy had made the decision to limit the funeral and memorial service to those closest to Zie Zen, the ones with whom Zie Zen had had the most intimate contact. The others had been invited to contribute their memories and thoughts about Zie Zen to an archive being curated by two librarians who were alive because of Vasic’s great-grandfather.

A hundred people stood here today.

Though Vasic’s heart was heavy, his voice raw, he spoke when it was time. Zie Zen would expect nothing less. “My grandfather lived in Silence when he was a man of passionate conviction not meant for cold emotionlessness, and he worked from within to change that which was broken.”

Vasic wouldn’t speak of Zie Zen’s Sunny, for those memories had been his grandfather’s alone to share. But he could acknowledge that Zie Zen had carried on for near to a century, even though his heart had shattered at twenty-three when his Sunny died. Even though he had missed her every moment of every day. “He never gave up and he never believed anything impossible. His courage was endless.”

Once, Vasic wouldn’t have comprehended the depth of his grandfather’s searing grief, or understood his infinite valor. Before Ivy. Before he knew what it was to be entwined heart and soul with another.

He reached for her with his mind, found her waiting even as her hand squeezed his tight, giving him the strength to continue. “But more than a great statesman,” he said, “Zie Zen was a great man. I am honored to bear his name. I hope I will do you proud, Grandfather.” It was too short an epitaph but it came from his soul.

A powerful silence fell, a hundred heads bowed in respect.

•   •   •

VASIC
scattered his grandfather’s ashes the next dawn, Ivy by his side. “Good-bye, Grandfather,” he whispered. “I hope you find your Sunny.”

As Zie Zen’s ashes flew on the wind, so did the time of those who had been born in freedom, caged in Silence, only to see it fall. Now . . . now it was the time of those who had been born in Silence, fought for freedom.

It’s time for the mantle to pass.
Zie Zen’s voice from a night when they’d walked the orchard together.
The old must give way to the new.

Wisdom is never old.

Yes, but the young cherish what they’ve built. So build, Vasic. This is your time, Son. Gather your trusted allies, your gentle, fierce empath, and build your future.

“We will build,” Vasic promised. “Today and tomorrow and every day to come.”

THE ARCHITECT OF
the Consortium stared out a window, giving Zie Zen a silent moment of respect. Over the years, the man had been a thorn in the Architect’s side in countless ways, but he’d been an intelligent, brilliant thorn.

Had the Architect thought it possible the invitation would be accepted, Zie Zen would’ve been offered entry into the highest level of the Consortium. As it was, the Architect had sought to learn how to be a leader in the shadows by watching Zie Zen, who’d had decades more experience at being a power very few ever truly saw.

Zie Zen had fought for freedom, while the Architect fought for power, but only those without vision ignored the greatness in their midst.

“Good-bye, old enemy,” the Architect said as night fell beyond the window. “Let us see who attempts to fill your shoes.” Because the Architect needed to kill that person, as the Architect needed to kill Anthony Kyriakus. The PsyNet could have no more great statesmen respected by enemies and allies alike. Not if it was to fragment and unknowingly hand power over to the Consortium.

Changeling, Psy, and human alike believed Trinity protected them from the Consortium’s machinations, but the Consortium’s attempts to sow discord between various groups and promote general chaos had been just the first salvo. At their next meeting, the Architect intended to suggest the group move strongly and purposefully into phase two within the
next six months, once the world was even more mired in the politics of Trinity.

That phase wouldn’t be scattershot. It had already been planned with clinical precision, its intent to purge the world of those who provided a foundation on which others could stand. Anthony Kyriakus was on the list for his charismatic ability to command attention from not just Psy but from humans and changelings as well.

In the Architect’s eyes, Anthony was more dangerous to the Consortium’s goals than Kaleb Krychek, because while Kaleb engendered fear in people that could be twisted if worked carefully, Anthony Kyriakus engendered heavily more positive emotions and responses.

He had become the trusted face of the Ruling Coalition.

Also on the Architect’s phase two list was Silver Mercant. No one much talked about Silver, because she didn’t seek the spotlight, but her quietly efficient management of the worldwide Emergency Response Network, or what the media had started referring to as EmNet, had gained her the trust of parties worldwide. There was also the little known fact that Silver Mercant was the scion of the Mercant family, Ena Mercant having skipped a generation when choosing her protégée.

The Architect had only recently realized the latter fact, after a passing comment by a Mercant who thought the Architect was an ally in a certain limited sense. And why not? After all, Ena Mercant herself considered the Architect a valuable connection and had maintained an open line of communication even when the Architect’s fortunes fluctuated over their decade-long relationship.

Some would say such a gesture of trust was a thing to be treasured. The Architect had other priorities. Do this right and the Mercants would never know the Consortium had gutted their next generation. Then, once the Consortium gained control and began to flex its shadow power, all it had to do was wait. Sooner or later, it would be offered access to the Mercant intelligence network in exchange for a percentage of that power.

That network would be worth the price.

As long as the Architect gave Ena Mercant no reason to believe her granddaughter’s death had been a political assassination, that death would soon be forgotten. A freak vehicular crash perhaps. For while the Mercants’ vaunted loyalty to one another was a clever bit of manipulation that made the family appear an impregnable unit, when it came down to it, Ena Mercant had always been a pragmatic woman.

The Architect didn’t foresee any problems if the plan was carefully executed.

Silver’s death would crash EmNet long enough for the Consortium to create emergencies where confusion reigned and promised help never arrived. The resulting cracks would be difficult to fix when the Consortium would be throwing chaotic event after chaotic event into the mix.

On the changeling side, Lucas Hunter was a problem. His Psy-Changeling child remained a symbolic threat, but the leopard alpha himself was an actual one. It was regrettable that the attempt to abduct the child had failed because had the Consortium had control of Nadiya Hunter, the Architect would’ve used her to control her father.

Because the most recent reports from the Consortium’s spies in Trinity showed that Hunter was steadily gaining the support of not just a dangerous number of changeling groups, but that he had the ear of many powerful Psy families as well.

Bowen Knight and Devraj Santos were also irritants to the Consortium’s goals, the reason the same in both cases. Humans had always been easy prey, partly because they weren’t united under any one banner. Bowen Knight was changing that far faster than even the Architect had predicted. With his passionate belief that humans deserved to stand alongside Psy and changelings on the world stage, the so-called security chief of the Alliance had a magnetism it had taken the Architect too long to understand.

As for the Forgotten, Devraj Santos was the vital force that kept them united. Without him, and given their geographic spread and disparate bloodlines, the Forgotten would dissipate into small, powerless cells. The Architect knew that because the Architect was no fool. There was a
Forgotten in the Consortium’s inner circle, a cold-blooded individual who cared nothing for the Forgotten as a people.

Aden Kai and the Arrows would always be a threat, but the Architect had decided to cut the Consortium’s losses there for now. Eventually, when the Consortium held enough power behind the scenes, the Arrow Squad would either be made to see reason, or wiped out in a single, ruthless action.

In the meantime, assassinating Ivy Jane Zen would suffice. Aden Kai’s second in command was bonded with her, the bond apparently one of love and devotion. So, he would hurt. In the best-case scenario, he’d fall apart, leaving Aden with no deputy. The attack on Ivy Jane would also strike a secondary blow: The Architect accepted that empaths were necessary, but they needed to be kept in their place. Ivy Jane was too well known and too much a hero after the people she’d saved during the outbreaks.

Those six weren’t the only ones on the Architect’s list, but they were at the top. The assassinations would have to be spread out, made to look like accidents or illnesses. The Architect didn’t want credit. The Architect just wanted these problematic individuals erased from the playing board. As demonstrated by Zie Zen, a single strong-minded individual could change the course of the world itself.

When this was over, the Architect intended to be the only one standing.

All it required was patience and precision.