Fearless (24 page)

‘You're quiet this morning, dear.' The endearment comfortably slipping off his tongue has the same effect as if he took a knife and carved my heart up like a
turyep
.

But it gives me an interesting idea to ponder.

‘When I'm queen, if I stabbed you in your sleep would you die?'

His stare burns my face as I keep gazing out the window.

‘You would have to slice my head off and make sure no one stitches it back on.'

‘So I would have to burn it. Then you'd be gone?'

‘You would have to burn my body too in case my head grew back, but there's one problem with that.'

I glance at him. ‘What?'

‘I rarely sleep, and when my eyes close my other senses strengthen. You should remember that when you're breathing over me with a knife in your trembling hands.'

‘And if I were holding my breath and my hands were not trembling?'

A knock at the dining-room door interrupts our insightful conversation. A guard announces that General Ithran requests an urgent interview. ‘He is waiting in your study, sire.'

As if he's enjoying our conversation more than a visit from the head of his war department, Luca grinds out through his teeth, ‘Fine, but not my study. Send him in here.'

The general strides in, only to stop suddenly
when he s
ees me sitting at the dining table in my dressing gown. He clears his throat. ‘Sire. Morning.' He angles his sharp face marginally towards me. ‘My lady.'

‘What could possibly be amiss in the world today, General, that you would interrupt my breakfast?'

The general forges a private mind-link with his king. Abruptly, Luca's entire demeanour changes. The message has put him on alert and on edge. He flicks his eyes at me more than once, his lips pressing together, his fingers thrumming an obscure tattoo on the tabletop. By the time their silent conversation ends, Luca is up and pacing, stabbing the floor with each pounding, jerking step. I follow his movements, interested to note how his hands repeatedly clench
and unclench into fists by his sides.

Frowning, he returns to the table, pulls a chair round to face me and sits. ‘Ebony, I apologise for this …' he struggles to find words, settling on, ‘
untimely disturbance
. A matter of some urgency requires my attention.'

‘What's happening, Luca?'

‘It's nothing you need to worry about.'

He leans in and kisses my forehead, cupping my cheek with his hand. I think he's going to leave with the general now, but he slides his fingers round my neck and up into my hair, where he grips my head and brings his mouth down on mine in a hard, open, urgent kiss. It's sudden, unexpected, like a spur-of-the moment decision. I try to pull away but his fingers hold me still. He takes the kiss to a feverish level before he slowly withdraws. And even then he lingers, kissing my lips softly, clearly reluctant to let me go. When he finally lifts his head, his breath is coming in short gasps.

What was that?

Luca has just revealed a vulnerability I would never have believed.

Even the general is stunned. I catch him staring at me as if I'm a witch whose claws are too long and lodged too deeply inside his hero's heart.

Luca dabs at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are glowing as if he's burning up inside, flickering between his own bright green and the golden yellow of the beast. He gives me a lingering look like he wants to say more before he turns and walks out the door. General Ithran follows like a good dog on his master's heels.

What news could have brought on such a frenetic reaction?

My heart does a little clenching flip at the possibility that this could be Nathaneal … but the instant the front door shuts behind the general I stop thinking, I run to the bathroom, vomit, wash my face, brush my teeth and rinse and rinse and rinse.

But I still feel dirty. The truth is, I'm not sure if I'll ever feel clean again.

And if this is Nathaneal …

I take a shower and scrub my skin raw under the ­scalding-hot water. Eventually I get out. Wrapping a towel around me, I pass a mirror, glad it's too steamed up to catch my reflection. I'm pretty sure I've scrubbed his scent off me, but no amount of scrubbing will remove my shame.

I hear the front door open and close and I groan. Either Luca is back already, or a guard is checking up on me.

‘My lady?' By now I know this to be the voice of Captain Elijah. ‘I need to speak with you. Are you decent?'

Slipping on black jeans and a red lace-up top, I walk out to the living area, surprised to find Captain Lhiam standing there too, both looking intimidating in their black armour. ‘Guards, what's going on?'

Elijah says, ‘We need you to come with us.'

‘Where?'

He flicks a worried look at Lhiam. ‘We'd rather not say.'

‘Is your king aware of this?'

‘No, my lady.'

Luca has so many enemies I'm not sure what to make of this. Could these soldiers be part of a rebel faction planning to hold me ransom to further their cause? ‘Tell me why
you're doing this.'

Elijah steps closer and looks straight down at me with his silver eyes open wide. ‘I need you to trust me, my lady,' he says softly.

Accepting his offer to search for the truth, I look inside Elijah's eyes and see kindness, dignity and honour, but also bitterness. He detests his life. But there's loyalty too, which his soul holds in higher regard than anything else. I just can't see who his loyalties is for.

‘Give me
something
, Elijah.'

‘Mela needs you.'

‘
What?
Is she in trouble?'

They both nod, and Lhiam flicks a furtive look at the entrance doors.

‘Are you taking me to her?'

‘Yes, my lady,' Elijah says, disappearing into Luca's bedroom and returning with a floor-length black velvet cloak. He places it around my shoulders and pulls up the fur-lined hood carefully so not to touch me. ‘My lady, please keep your head down and avoid eye contact even if someone stops us. The palace is filling up with soldiers.'

‘Do you know why that is, Elijah?'

‘No, my lady, but they're everywhere and we need to hurry.'

We pass the first pair of soldiers at the top of the stairs, two more on the platform outside the lift. Elijah wasn't kidding about soldiers being everywhere. They're on every floor in double the numbers I recall from my first day. In the massive entrance foyer we walk past too many to count, but we keep a steady pace, and with the king's own
high-ranking Throne guards looking brisk and efficient on either side of me, no one stops us.

As we turn down the long corridor of busy offices, where angels and souls work at their various duties, Lhiam forges a link with me.
Not far now, my lady.

I nod to let him know I ‘heard', but don't risk a private reply. Though I'm working on this, I'm just not sure I'm accurate enough yet at directing where my links go.

The blue door at the end of the corridor is the same one Mela took me through to enter the palace on my first day. It leads to Luca's private courtyard. She'd said Luca lets no one see it, but Elijah has a key on the chain he wears around his neck that unlocks it. In a palace this size, with all the secret passageways now destroyed, we need to use every shortcut Lhiam and Elijah know, even if it's risky. Lhiam hangs back to ensure no one is following until Elijah has the door open. The three of us hurry through and Elijah locks up behind us.

The courtyard is still beautiful beneath the dome ceiling, but I don't get time to sight-see, or to work out where the dome's opening might be, we just keep running along th
e pa
ved area beneath the arched columns to another door that opens with the same key. This one leads to a spiral staircase. By now it's afternoon and we move as quickly as we can. I grip the central pole and my palm stings with cold. I peer downward but can only make out the next two levels.

Lhiam leans over my shoulder, but he too is careful not to touch me. ‘We should hurry, my lady, if we're going to get you back before the king returns.'

We descend five or six flights of stairs. By now I'm losing
track of where we are, and even where we've been. But we're definitely deep underground. It's dark and damp and icy cold, and I'm thankful Elijah thought to bring my cloak.

We enter a tunnel so pitch dark the soldiers' glow has no more effect than candlelight. But they've been here before; their movements are quick and purposeful.

Elijah leads us to an iron door where he knocks in a rhythm that resonates like a code.

The angel who answers the door is female, over two metres tall and thin, with straight enamel-white hair and pale mauve eyes. ‘Come, she's asking for you,' the angel says, her voice racked with emotion.

The moment I see Mela lying on a low bed and curled in the foetal position, I know that it's remarkable she's not dead yet. I also know it won't be long before she is.

Mela's eyes are twin slits in a face covered in red bruises and gashes recently stitched up. Her right cheek has swollen to twice its normal size, her jaw crushed inwards with black pus-filled holes above her brow and again below what's left of her mouth. There are more stitches for a gash in her throat. She's struggling to breathe, and her heart is beating too slowly for her to survive for long.

The angel peels the blanket back, revealing more bruises, a three-pronged claw mark from shoulder to mid-waist and several more open wounds. Blood seeps from Mela's i
njuri
es, and alarmingly from her right ear and mouth.

How is this woman still alive?
‘Oh, Mela.'

I drop to my knees, swiping tears from my cheeks. Afraid to hurt her, I hover my hand above hers, lowering it only enough to give her the warmth from my palm. And
suddenly my mind fills with images of her wounds, like her three broken ribs, two of which have punctured her right lung, which explains her trouble breathing.

‘Mela?'

Her eyes flutter and struggle to open.

‘Who did this?
What
did this?'

Her fingers crawl up my arm to pull on my cloak. I lean in as close as I can without touching. ‘
Beast
,' she whimpers.

I look up at the pale angel and the Throne Guards who brought me here.
They
know.
‘A beast did this? How? Did she fall into a cage at feeding time?'

The angels glance at each other, and while they make their minds up on how much they should tell me, I grit my teeth and demand the answer. ‘What kind of animal did this to her?'

Elijah reports: ‘The beast was panther aspect with pre
histori
c bear upper torso and head.'

‘What?'
What is he talking about?

Lhiam explains. ‘The king called it a “win-win” result.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘He punished Mela for breaking his trust, rewarding his favourite chimera-beast for learning a new killing technique.'

‘
He did what!
' Outrage brings the red haze to the edges of my vision, along with a gust of wind so strong it knocks th
e p
ale angel off her feet and turns every loose item in the room into a projectile.

I take a deep breath and force my power to calm down, ridding myself of the haze at the same time. Luca lied to my face when he promised to reinstate Mela as my handmaiden.
He had no plans to do so.

None whatsoever.

Which means he has no plans to let me return to my room. Ever.

Why did I believe him? He's a manipulative compulsive liar and I know that. He doesn't care about anyone or anything except himself. He has no capacity to love. He can only lust. For power. And apparently for me.

I stare up at the pale angel. ‘Who
are
you?'

‘My name is Rachana and I am of the Order of Archangels.' Her voice is soft and low and sad.

‘Rachana, where are the healers? Can you bring one down here right away, please?'

Rachana hunkers down beside me. ‘All the healers in Skade are owned by the palace. I have pleaded with each one, but it appears they are banned from healing
this
human being.'

Can Luca really be that cruel?

‘Are you saying that even though Mela somehow survived the attack of a beast, she's not allowed to be healed?'

It's in their silence, their lowered eyes, their
shame
that they live in a world that allows such a disgraceful thing to happen, that I hear the answer even though it remains unspoken.

Elijah moves to the door. ‘I'll go check on the king's whereabouts.'

Just as he leaves, Mela gasps and starts spluttering up blood. Without help, these will be her last breaths. Rachana helps me hold her up so she doesn't choke on her own blood. It's then she notices my hands, glowing brighter now
than they ever have. ‘My lady, you have the gift of healing.'

Lhiam comes round to see for himself. But I don't need to look; I can feel my hands throbbing and growing hotter by the second. He takes over holding Mela up while Rachana turns my hands over and lifts her eyes to mine. ‘Did you know?'

I shake my head. ‘But … it's not the first time my hands have glowed.'

I recall the night I met Jordan and how Adam Skinner stabbed him out the back of the nightclub. Covered in blood, Jordan lay on the gurney with paramedics rushing to get him to the hospital. I didn't know how or why my hands were glowing, only that I felt a compulsion to help him.

I lock eyes with the Archangel. ‘Can you show me how to heal Mela?'

She explains the approach a healer might take. My subconscious reaches inside Mela's body, guiding me. Just like with my powers, acceptance is essential, so I stretch my glowing hands towards Mela's chest and start with her ribs, seeing in my mind the way their sharp angles pierce the pink flesh of her lung.