Fate's Edge (40 page)

Kaldar pushed himself back from the rail. Unfortunately, their cooperation would end after they retrieved the diffuser bracelets. That was, after all, the goal of the whole exercise. Where would she go after this was over? Her old job and identity in the Broken were burned. She’d have to start fresh. And do it quietly, too. If they pulled this off, Helena d’Amry would make it her mission in life to hunt them down . . .

Kaldar froze.

His mind painted an image of Audrey, funny, beautiful Audrey, dead, hanging off a tree limb. Or worse, sliced to pieces. Or skinned alive. The anxiety punched him right in the gut with an icy fist. The Hand would kill Audrey. They would murder her. She was hellishly smart and slick, but the Hand simply had too many resources, and Audrey knew next to nothing about them.

Kaldar paced along the balcony. She would die. No more bright smiles. No more laughter. No more sly winks and wide-open eyes.

He lived in a bitter cold place, a deep darkness where he plotted revenge on the Hand for all their wrongs, past and future. Audrey was like a ray of sunshine in the middle of his night. She had lifted him out of the dark hole he had dug for himself into a place where he laughed, and his mirth and humor were genuine as long as she stayed around.

The Hand would crush that light.

He could live in a world where Audrey existed, even if it was far away from him. He was never fond of the idea of suffering nobly; still, he could resign himself to living without her if he knew that she was happy somewhere. The Hand would not take her from him. They had taken two-thirds of his family, they had killed Murid, and he would be damned if he let them butcher Audrey while he cowered in the shadows like a frightened dog with his tail between his legs.

He loved Audrey. The realization came to him, plain and simple. He would give anything to keep her safe. The only way to do that would be to know where she was at all times. If he had to marry her to keep her safe, he would marry her. He would be respectful and responsible and all the other things that turned his stomach. If he knew she would wake up next to him, safe and happy, it would be worth it.

Kaldar stopped pacing. It was decided, then. He would marry Audrey.

He just had to convince her to see things from his point of view.

 

THE church sat abandoned, its doors flung wide open. Helena marched through them, the rest of her team moving quietly behind her, afraid to make a sound. Inside, overturned benches and shattered wood greeted her. The sickening, cloying stench of decomposition hit her nostrils. A stage and a pulpit at the far end of the structure still smoked weakly, their wood charred to blackness. A twisted thing of jagged metal and melted rubber lay on its side on the right—one of the Broken’s vehicles, destroyed beyond recognition. The acrid, bitter reek of Cotier’s explosive darts emanated from it, and from another spot, farther to the left.

Her eyes picked out a dart lying on the floor. Another. Another. At least a dozen darts lay in a circle around a wet spot on the floor. A single dart packed enough charge to explode an average-size carriage.

Helena’s gaze slid up. Cotier’s body hung from the rafters, upside down. A large hole gaped in the crown of his head. A matching smaller hole pierced the back of his head near the neck. He must’ve seen the shot coming and curled up to avoid it. The bullet caught him in the back of the skull, scrambled his brain, and exploded out of his forehead. In the next hours, the brain matter and blood had dripped out of him onto the floor.

Helena looked down on the floor. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen darts. Any physical barrier would’ve been demolished. Only magic could withstand an assault of such magnitude. Someone in Kaldar Mar’s party could create a blisteringly potent flash shield.

Helena turned. A leg with telltale orange skin stuck out from behind a clump of benches. She approached. An orange body lay in two pieces, cleanly severed at a diagonal and peppered with dead flies, poisoned by the Mura’s toxic blood. The sword stroke—if that’s what this was—cleaved her from left shoulder, through the ribs, through the heart, through the stomach, and through the right side of her ribs. The cut was perfectly clean, the severed bones flat. Karmash had mentioned that the Mars possessed an ancient art of sword fighting, but this was beyond her experience. Swords didn’t do this.

Behind her, a foot scraped on the ground. She turned. Sebastian bowed his head. “You should see this, my lady.”

She followed him to a break between the benches. A shapeless mass of flesh sat in the stretch of open floor, hidden from her view by the demolished vehicle. It resembled a pile of meat that had been shredded and dumped in a heap. Emily, her tracker, knelt by it, sampling the air.

“What is this?”

“I believe it’s Soma, my lady.” Sebastian bowed his head.

“Did they put him through a meat grinder?”

“This was done by one person,” Emily said. “A boy.”

Helena knelt by her. “What makes you think this?”

“Only one scent with the body. Young scent. Male. And also this.” Emily pointed at the floor. Two bloody shoe prints clearly visible. Sebastian put his foot next to them. The shoe print was an inch and a half shorter than his foot.

Helena rose and saw a giant headless body slumped against the far wall. A wrought-iron inch-wide beam protruded from his chest. It took her a moment to recognize it as one of the church’s candelabras.

Her magic whipped around her in a furious frenzy. Sebastian and Emily backed away. Helena whirled, her cloak flaring around her, and strode out of the church.

Sebastian trailed her.

“One man, a woman, and a boy against four operatives.” Helena bit off words with diamond-cut precision. “Why are they still alive? Why don’t I have Kaldar’s head?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

Four operatives. Each a veteran, each an expert in death. Taken out by an Edge rat. Shame gripped her. When Spider had spoken of the Mars, his face was ice, and his eyes boiled with fury. Now she understood why.

A vehicle climbed up the narrow road and entered the camp.

Sebastian growled under his breath.

The doors opened. Three men stepped out, two older, one young and bruised, followed by an older blond woman.

The larger of the older men clamped his hand on the younger male and half led, half dragged, him forward.

The blond woman and the smaller of the older men walked up to them. The man spoke. “We represent the local Edge families.”

“I’m Helena d’Amry.”

“You are the Hand,” the woman said.

“Yes.” Helena didn’t feel the need to correct her. The Edgers knew the Hand and feared it.

“You are looking for a man and a red-haired woman,” the woman said.

“Yes.”

“We don’t like problems,” the smaller of the older men said. “We want the violence to end. There has been too much upheaval lately. Things must go back to normal.”

Ah.
“Help me, and I swear on the throne of Gaul, I will leave in peace.”

The larger of the men pulled the younger closer. “This is Adam. He will tell you everything you want to know.”

THIRTEEN

THE continental breakfast buffet ran from six until eight thirty. When Audrey finally awoke, the clock by the bed said 8:09, and so she dragged herself downstairs to find the trays of bagels and doughnuts mostly picked over. She loaded her paper plate with fruit, snagged a yogurt and a cup of orange juice, and went upstairs to check on the boys.

She paused by the door. Kaldar would be inside. Her throat constricted. Audrey stepped away from the door and walked down the hallway, trying to calm herself. Last night she’d lain in bed, thinking of Kaldar. He’d gotten deep under her skin. She’d thought about the wicked look in his eyes. She’d thought about his smile. She had imagined him touching her. She’d entertained improbable scenarios, where Kaldar decided to fall madly in love with her, and they went off on wild adventures. In her fantasies, they made love in the house where they lived together. It had gone on and on. All attempts of not thinking about Kaldar had led back to Kaldar.

Audrey reached the end of the hallway and leaned with her back against the wall, holding her plate and her drink.

One moment, she wished she hadn’t told him no; the next moment, she’d reasoned that it was the right thing to do, the best thing for them both. Would it be awkward now? Would he be angry, hurt? Would he act like nothing happened? The only way to find out would be to open that door.

Knowing Kaldar, it could only go two ways from here. Either he cut his losses, or he would try even harder.

She couldn’t stand here forever.

Audrey made her way back to the suite. Her hands full, she banged her toes against the door. The door swung open, and Audrey almost dropped her plate.

A trim man stood in the doorway. He was clean-shaven, meticulously groomed, but still distinctly masculine. His short hair, the color of dark brown sugar, was brushed back from his face. His long sideburns, shaped with surgical precision, made his face appear more narrow. He wore black leather pants of complex construction, with ornate Weird stitching and a wide-sleeved white shirt, with an embroidered high-necked collar. A vest clasped his narrow waist and wide chest, swirls and elaborate flourishes of pale gray leather over black. His hands, with perfectly clean, trimmed nails, were bare. He wore no jewelry except for a single silver earring.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said. His smooth, cultured voice exuded quiet competence.

It was Kaldar. Somehow, it was Kaldar.

“Would you care to come in, my lady?” The new Kaldar stepped aside, holding the door with a slight bow.

She stepped inside on autopilot. He shut the door behind her.

“Your hair,” she said.

“It was too dark before,” he said, his brown eyes solemn. “People tend to notice the extremes: hair color that’s too dark or too light stands out. By the nature of my role, I shouldn’t draw attention to myself.”

He’d cut at least three inches off too, trimming his wild mess into a structured, functional haircut.

She landed in a chair. Gaston was packing their bags. He wore dark brown leather, from his head to the toes of his tall boots. His hair had been brushed until it shone and braided away from his face. He put a wide-brimmed leather hat on his head and grinned.

“You look like a highwayman.”

“He’s our groom,” Kaldar said. “He’s meant to look menacing.”

Gaston raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth. “Grrr.”

Audrey laughed and picked at her fruit.

The boys emerged from the back room, both scrubbed clean. George wore a white shirt, pants of a deep green color, tucked into gray boots, and a gray jacket, which was almost leather armor, with accents of matching green. His blond hair all but glowed, framing his face like a curtain. A blueblood prince from head to toe.

Jack wore darker brown pants and a reinforced leather vest with brass-colored accents over a beige shirt. The vest sported a raised leather collar shielding his neck. Jack’s reddish brown mop of hair had somehow been coaxed into a perfectly slick bowl shape over his eyebrows that was completely wrong for his face. He looked about as happy as a boy who had just gotten himself a mouthful of overcooked spinach. Audrey choked on a piece of honeydew melon. “Jack, who did this to your hair?”

George drew himself up. “It’s a very popular hairstyle right now.”

“I’m sure. Do you like it?”

Jack shook his head.

“Go wet your head and bring me some hair gel. I’m going to play with your hair.”

A moment later, she had a bottle of hair gel and a brush and a wet-haired Jack, who sat cross-legged in front of her chair. She worked the gel into Jack’s hair and began to spike it, shaping it into a calculated mess.

“The trick is to own it,” she told Jack. “If you’re confident, everyone else will buy it.”

“So what’s the plan?” Gaston asked.

“George and Jack are themselves. I’m their tutor.” Kaldar turned to the boys. “My name is Olivier Brossard. I’ve been your tutor for two years. Declan hired me, and your sister Rose has the utmost confidence in me. Gaston, you’re Magnus, our groom.”

“And Audrey?” Jack asked.

Kaldar grimaced. “Unfortunately, there is no appropriate way to include Audrey in our party. Adolescent male bluebloods don’t typically travel in the company of a woman, unless she’s a blood relative. Audrey, you don’t have the knowledge necessary to pull off the guise of a blueblood.”

“We could dress her up as a man,” Jack said.

Audrey smiled. “You’re so sweet, Jack. Thank you for thinking of me. But even if we somehow managed to hide my chest, there is no way to disguise my face.”

“I concur,” Kaldar said. “You are too pretty and too feminine. Even if I glue a false beard on you, you would look like a woman with a false beard and not a man.”

That one casual word, “pretty,” made her heart speed up a bit. The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, just made the impact stronger. She’d fallen harder for Kaldar than she had thought.
Well, what’s done is done.

He was talking to her. “Would you mind staying in the cabin when we land? Magnus will stay with you to keep an eye on things, and we’ll sneak you into our rooms at night.”

“That will be fine.” Audrey critically examined Jack’s head. His hair stood on end, not completely spiky but not completely curling, either. He looked like he could kick some butt. “I don’t mind hiding in the cabin.”

She glanced at Kaldar, trying to gauge his emotions. But Kaldar was gone. Only Olivier Brossard looked back at her, with a calm, sardonic expression.

 

THE wyvern circled the mountain, obeying the gentle suggestions of Kaldar’s long fingers touching the console levers. The huge beast turned and swept into the open. Next to Kaldar, Audrey leaned to the windshield. The California of the Broken was a desert in some parts, she reflected. The California of the Weird was all mountains, lakes, and lush greenery.