Forbidden (19 page)

A
vra, is it?”
Saric’s gaze dropped down over her where she knelt.

“My lord.”

Only minutes ago she had been informed she must kneel, that Saric was now Sovereign in his father’s place. And though it had shaken her utterly, the tremor in her hands now was not from fear—at least, not fear of what might happen to her.

Only that she might fail.

They’d denied Triphon entrance, but there was nothing for him to do now. It was up to her, and Rom was all that mattered.

There were two men in the chamber, one of them more finely dressed than the other. It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on Saric, son of Vorrin. Dark and brooding, the man circling in front of her who had told her to rise looked nothing like his sister.

She had unfastened her cloak. It lay open down the front, revealing one of Neah’s finest dresses. Still, she felt plain compared with the dark splendor of this place, of the Sovereign himself.

“You say you come with information of some sort,” Saric said. He left his mouth slightly open, running the tip of his tongue against his teeth as he regarded her.

“I do. About the keepers. I have their secrets.”

Saric flicked a glance toward the other man, who stood silently by. His eyes were sharp in his skull.

“And what secrets are these?”

“I haven’t come to offer them for free,” she said.

“Ah, of course.” He inclined his head. “And what payment are you looking for?”

“I’ll share them in exchange for a man in your keeping.”

“Why would you think I have anyone in keeping?”

“I know you do.”

“Then please inform me—which man is this?”

“Rom Sebastian. He was captured here last evening.”

Saric tapped his lower lip. “Rom Sebastian. He’s…an artisan, I believe.”

Avra’s heart had been a slow hammer against her ribs. Now she felt the strike of it as though it were a pickax. “Yes.”

“Let’s say that I have this man. What’s he to you? Obviously you’ve risked a lot to come here.”

Her hands were cold.

“Does it matter? His freedom’s the only thing I ask in exchange for information. The keepers, I believe, are a group of interest to you.”

“And I have the last of them in my dungeons now. I’m not sure that you really can offer me anything more. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.”

She had to work to draw breath against the invisible band constricting her lungs.

“The man you killed in the alleyway,” she said quickly. “I can tell you what was in the parcel he was carrying. All of it.”

The Sovereign paused.

“I already know he carried the blood.” He turned and scrutinized her, his gaze resting on the simple amulet at her throat. “This artisan, Rom. He’s your brother?”

“No.”

“Your husband?”

She faltered. “No.”

“What fear motivates this request, then?”

“Not fear.”

“Then what?” he demanded. “Why would you offer me these great secrets—whatever they are? For what?”

“Love,” she whispered.

Saric’s pulse surged.

Love. The mystery. Adrenaline flooded his veins.

She was obviously common. Her pearl earrings were probably the most valuable thing she owned, if they were even hers. Her skin was too opaque, but still, she wasn’t homely. Her small nose and the lips that naturally pouted held a certain appeal. She was at least as fair as most of his concubines.

But most intriguing of all, she had just spoken of an emotion that she had no business feeling.

Unless…

He glanced at Corban, who studied her from where he stood. “What do you make of this?” Saric said, jerking his head in her direction.

“We know love existed in Chaos,” the alchemist said with some skepticism. “A heady emotion that moved people to reckless acts. In the time of Chaos, it was considered the highest emotion, though it was the least stable.”

Saric glanced from the alchemist to the girl. “Continue.”

“Its effect was a favorite topic of Chaos Age writers and song-makers,” Corban said. “We believe it actually changed the brain chemistry of those who experienced it.”

Saric had changed his chemistry in order to feel. What was this feeling that changed the brain?

He could hear the girl’s swift breathing, could smell her skin—the perspiration on it. He felt his blood pressure rise. There was something different about her. She was smaller than he might favor, possessing only a simple beauty, and yet…

She loved.

She had to have taken the blood. If the rumors were true, it meant that this creature was more alive than any woman he’d encountered. Perhaps even more than he was, rendering him an imposter by comparison.

“Why haven’t I experienced this?” he asked.

Corban faltered. “As I explained, the serum only brings out certain emotions.”

“You call love unstable, and yet she looks…” He was having some difficulty describing her. “Stable.”

Corban was silent.

Betraying the uncertainty nipping at Saric’s mind would be a mistake. A sudden and overwhelming desire to experience this girl filled his veins. To taste her, to couple with this woman of the blood.

“Clearly, you’re afraid,” he said. “And still, here you are.” Saric shifted his eyes from her, oddly unnerved by her steady gaze. “To be willing to go to such lengths for a man…It makes no sense. Unless of course”—he looked at her again—“you drank the keeper’s blood.”

Her eyes moved swiftly between him and Corban.

He let his gaze fall to her hands. Her short nails and unadorned, delicate fingers—how small and bird-like they seemed. And yet in this moment, she was perhaps the most potent woman in his world. Could she possibly know that?

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was soft, one for whispering words in the dark. “I drank it. Rom and I both. We drank it, and it has given us power. Together we have discovered things that you will never see or feel.”

He watched the movement of her cloak falling from her narrow shoulders, the way it swayed against her hips. The way her dress was tied at her neck, the fall of her dark hair. Utterly beautiful and yet totally unremarkable. Yet he would be hard-pressed to find Feyn as fascinating as this girl in this moment.

Feyn.

He resented the anxiety the mere thought of her name brought him. It was so close to the fear he had known all his life. Surely this Rom of hers had taken Feyn. But the woman before him would wager her own life because she believed Rom was in his dungeons.

What would it be like to take this woman; to feed on her life, to overwhelm her with his own? If he was so drawn to her blood, she was surely as desperate for him. He had seen the look of desire in the eyes of more women than any other man on this earth. Did she not have the same look in her eyes now? Newly awakened, she could not easily dismiss her own need to be desired.

He held her gaze. Invited it. “Rom received the blood from the old man in the alley,” he said. “I was told there was enough for five. I’m guessing that Neah took it as well.”

A flash in her eyes.

“Do you think we didn’t learn who let your boy into the Citadel the night my sister disappeared?”

She said nothing.

“And the fourth…this guard you came with?”

“I found him outside the Citadel, going in for training, and convinced him to escort me in,” she said.

“So there are two portions left.” He glanced past her at Corban. “Tell me, Corban, why can’t we simply use her blood?”

“It would be like taking the blood of someone on medication and expecting it to heal a sickness,” the man said. “It wouldn’t be sufficient. You will need the original blood.”

“You see?” Avra said. “I have the blood you’re looking for. Give me Rom, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“The blood, yes of course. Your boy didn’t have it on him when we took him.” He wondered if she could read his lies, being a creature now so like him. “But there’s more here than blood that interests me.”

She did not blink, did not falter, did not show a hint of dismay at his obvious insinuation. For a few moments, she returned his gaze in kind, either considering his suggestion or suppressing her own eagerness to accept it.

The tension between them thickened Saric’s pulse.

“Clearly,” she said. “But I would need my boy back.”

Something was wrong. Avra had come here ready to use any means necessary to gain Rom’s freedom. She’d known from the outset that her decisions were motivated by the newfound emotions coursing through her veins. Like a drug, they pushed her into behavior lacking in logic—or any regard for her personal safety.

She would save Rom or die trying. This she knew.

But she hadn’t known how that emotion would influence her in the company of another man capable of desiring her. Particularly a man as powerful as Saric. She’d counted on being unnerved by him. She had been, and more. She was drawn to him.

She hated the way he looked at her. The way his gaze raked over her. The dark blood beneath his thin skin, the smoothness of his hair. But she also found it powerfully alluring.

She, the small girl who’d hidden from the Order for so many years, was now holding sway over one of the most powerful Brahmins in the world. Saric wanted her, she could see it in his eyes. She hadn’t even lifted her hand and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

What would it feel like to have his arms around her? To hear him whisper of his affection?

The moment the thought came to her, she shoved it away.

“You shall have your boy back,” Saric replied. “As soon as I have what I want.” His gaze drifted down her body. “But first, tell me something about the keepers.”

“I’ve told you—”

“You’ve told me you have their secrets. And it appears you’ve ingested one of them. But I need more.”

“More?”

A knowing smile twisted his lips. “More.”

“I can tell you about their ways.”

“But you see, I know about the keepers’ ways. Probably more than you do. We’ve tracked them for centuries, since their formation. We killed the last of them just days ago, not counting this Book fellow in my dungeon. So that won’t do.”

If she let herself think too much, fear would overtake her. She couldn’t afford that.

She moved closer, pushing aside her dread. “Life runs rampant in my veins. Right now. It’s vibrant. It hums. I feel
everything
.”

He said nothing. She imagined it was because he’d been caught in her spell.

“Have you ever been with a woman who’s consumed life and love?”

He closed the distance between them, ran his thumb along her cheek. “Tell me where to find them.”

His words rang in her mind like a bell. Find
them
? He just said he had killed all the keepers.

“Find who?” she asked.

His fingers toyed with the tie that drew her dress tight around her neck. He pulled it loose and slid the edge of her dress aside.

Not until he bared her shoulder did Avra remember her burns. His gaze twitched, and then he stood transfixed by her scarred skin.

For an unbearable breath, Saric remained frozen. His eyes lifted to hers. His face transformed into a mask of rage. His hand flashed up without warning as he slapped her with an open palm.

She reeled, gasping.

She’d been played.

Saric didn’t have Rom, did he? He was looking for
them
, and one of
them
was Rom.

“I don’t have your pathetic man,” Saric snapped. “He kidnapped my sister, the Sovereign-to-be.”

“You lied,” she gasped. It was all that came to her frantic mind. Shame flooded her, scalding and hot.

“You’re deformed,” he snapped. “Is your whole body like that?”

“No.”

He eyed her as if trying to decide whether his thirst for her had dried up. He turned on his heel and strode away.

“Put the word out to every radio, every paper, every outpost and city within a hundred miles. Let it say this:
Rom. Return what you’ve taken within twenty-four hours or Avra dies
.”

Corban nodded. “And what about her?”

“Have her sent to my private chamber.”

T
hey had
no more water. They had no food. But as she and Rom rode toward the closest outpost in the settling darkness, fatigue, thirst, and hunger were the last things on Feyn’s mind.

Rom was sitting behind her, his arms around her. She leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes. She could imagine, almost, that it was another day in another world. That this torn dress was the only one she owned. That she was no ruler-to-be, but the richest gypsy in the world, with scrub grass and anemones for her carpet and stars as her evening jewels.

Almost.

There was Byzantium, waiting for her. A dead capital for a dead world. She shuddered. Rom’s arms tightened around her.

And then there was the fact that the two thoughts together should have made her weep.

But they didn’t.

She had first felt her emotions start to wane three hours ago, when she and Rom decided they must return. She would not go to her estate, but return to the city, they decided. She had been prepared to release the keeper called the Book and to help shelter him and Rom’s friends outside the city, where they would be safe for the time being. Safe, but away from her. There had been such great hope in his eyes as she had said it, and though she had thought it beautiful just a few hours earlier, she was no longer able to re-create that sentiment.

Something was changing. Was she really willing to risk so much by releasing the keeper and bringing forth this boy, assuming such a boy even existed and could be found?

“Rom?”

His cheek brushed against hers as the horse moved beneath them.

“I’m losing this,” she said. “It’s leaving me.”

He said nothing. What could he say? He turned one of the hands around her upward and she laid her own against it, clasping his tightly.

“Does this mean I’m dying?”

“If what we read is accurate, we’re both destined to die again. It’s only a matter of time. The difference is that we know it.”

“I wonder what I’ll think about love, having known it.” She turned, as much as she could, and he clasped her against him. “Promise me. Never let me forget what it was like.”

“Which part?” he whispered.

“All of it. Love. Joy. Hope. Sadness. Don’t let me forget what it was to be alive, even if it was only for a day. Promise me.”

He didn’t respond immediately. “You’re afraid you’ll forget?”

She faced the horizon. Afraid. Soon it would be all she was capable of feeling. “It’s leaving me, but I don’t want the memory to leave me, too. I don’t want to forget. Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course not. I promise.” His hand tightened around hers.

She knew he said it to make her feel better. But the more the afternoon waned, the less she needed his assurances. She wasn’t quite as sure why it was important to remember.

Which only alarmed her—if less than before.

I am dying.

She closed her eyes and thought of the warmth of him behind her. The sun on her face, fainter now, through the clouds. Her skin was no doubt still flushed from more sun than it had seen in years. She thought of the anemones like drops of blood on the knoll.

Blood. Blood. So much talk of blood.

All of it felt so distant now. Had she really danced with Rom through the grass in the rapture of the day? Had she kissed his lips and lost herself in their wonder?

When she was seventeen, an alchemist had treated her for a broken bone after a fall from her horse. To help with the pain, he’d given her medicine, and it had filled her head with a numbness that washed away the ache.

She felt that same vagueness now. Numb, after a distant dream.

The outpost they’d been riding toward came into sight, lamplight shining from its lone window. Soon Rom would leave the city, perhaps never to return.

“This boy,” she said. “What if he really is alive?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happens then. The keeper said to find him—”

She gave a short, mirthless laugh.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The keeper said to find him, and the vellum said he must come to power. You do realize that’s impossible, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was born within seconds of the seventh hour. It is almost statistically impossible that the boy, if he existed, would be born closer to the mark than I. In which case he would be, at best, next in line.”

Rom tilted his head, considering her words.

“
If
he really was born and
if
he’s still alive and close enough to the mark to be next in line…it would still be impossible for him to come to power.”

“Why?”

“Because I would need to die before my upcoming inauguration. Only then would rule pass to the next in line. But once I become Sovereign, succession will be recalculated according to the cycles of Rebirth within my reign. And only the new set of candidates will be eligible to succeed me. So I would need to physically die—”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m differentiating. Because I’m already dying in one sense.”

“You’re not dying.”

But I am. I feel life slipping away. And then I can feel it a little less…

“As Sovereign, you could change the law.”

She knew, though, what Rom did not: The senate would never allow it. But all she said was, “Maybe.” Then: “I can understand the appeal of Sirin’s Order better now than before, I think. With the burden of emotion, logic suffers.”

“So say the dead,” Rom said.

“Now you’re mocking me?”

“Of course not. You’ve known life.”

“Nevertheless, I’m dying, Rom. I took less of the blood than you did and it’s already leaving me. I no longer feel either the joy or the sorrow of this morning. Think of it, a whole world of the unwitting dead. Lost to love. Lost to beauty. Like walking corpses. But now it hardly even seems sad to me.”

She drew one of the ragged scarves down over her head as they neared the outpost. The world need not know—must not know—that their future Sovereign was missing. No doubt her father and brother had done their best to shield the world from news of her absence. It would not do to have the masses in a heightened state of fear.

The outpost was a small building offering only simple supplies: dry goods, water, some medicines.

Feyn realized she had no means of paying for anything as a commoner. “I don’t have any money,” she said. It was a strangely delightful thought that caused her to smile, even if she did not laugh as she might have earlier.

“Luckily, I’ve got a banknote.” He grinned.

In front of the outpost was a channel pumped with safe, treated water. The stallion dropped its head and drank thirstily.

“Can I trust you not to go anywhere?” Rom said after he dismounted.

“Yes. You can.”

It took him less than five minutes to find what he needed.

She was gazing in the direction of the city’s storm clouds—always circling like gray vultures—when he came running back out of the outpost. His face was ashen.

“What? What is it?” The old familiar fingers of fear reached into her mind. She felt it—welcomed it, nearly.

He held up a paper. It was a public notice, drawn up with the seal of the Citadel. It would have gone out to every government office, outpost, and transport station in the area for immediate posting.

Her skin prickled at the message:

No picture. Nothing but those words so stark on the page.

“Saric,” she whispered.

“Your brother? He’s got Avra? We have to go!” He reached for the saddle.

“Go and do what?”

He tore at his hair, paced away and back. In a way she pitied him for all of his angst, for this strange love that had ravaged both of their minds in the fields.

He looked at her with frantic eyes. “I don’t know. But I have to go,” he said, making to remount behind her.

“No, Rom.” She swung down.

“What are you doing?”

Yes, what was she doing? She was dying, she knew that now, and in a strange way she could not help but welcome that death. For all Rom’s refusal to speak plainly about the implications of the keeper’s words, she could not ignore them. The only way for any such boy to come to power would be for her to die before she became Sovereign.

In the throes of life, she would have leaped from a cliff for love. Now that passion felt like a vague and distant thing. Surely this idea of a boy—romantic as it seemed—was a fantastic notion as well.

And yet she had no desire to see any harm come to Rom. None at all.

“He’ll kill you. You took me. That was treason. You can’t return.”

“Feyn…” The look on his face was purest anguish.

He loves her.

“Take the horse,” she said.

“What about—”

“I know my brother. He wants you, but more than that, he wants me back safely. I’ll get Avra.”

His eyes were filled with uncertainty. She understood. Earlier today, he could never have trusted her with his own life.

“How do I know?” he asked.

“You doubt me already?”

“Please tell me that you still believe all of this,” he said.

“All of what?”

“You see?” He motioned at her with an accusing hand. “You’re losing it! Not only your emotions, but the reason that goes with it! This isn’t just about feeling. Emotion brings with it a new kind of thinking. You no longer believe?”

Something about his fear rang true.

“In what?” she asked, scrambling for reason.

“In the boy!”

“I don’t know. He may exist. If so, you may be the one to find him.”

“I mean that he’s destined to be Sovereign!” Rom blurted.

“Based on an ancient vellum? It defies everything, Rom.” Her sudden doubt surprised even her, and she immediately restated the matter so as not to alarm him. “I’m not saying I don’t believe that the virus somehow altered humanity, Rom. Clearly something changed in me when I took the blood. But I can’t say that I believe you will find this boy. Or that I am meant to die so that he can take his rightful place.”

“No one said you would die.”

“How else would he succeed my father?”

To this he said nothing.

Feyn looked away. “It doesn’t matter. What does is that you and I shared something I won’t forget. For that I will help you and your friends. I will save Avra for you. I will see that the keeper is safe.”

“And what if I do find the boy?”

She shrugged. “Then fate will take its course.”

He stared at her, brow wrinkled. There was more playing across his face, a veritable riot of emotion. Desperation. Fear. Frustration.

“Rom? I promise you. I’ll help Avra.”

“And then what? What am I supposed to do?”

“Stay away. They’ll be looking for you and I can’t immediately put an end to that. Get out of the city. Find a hiding place.”

“I’m meant to find the boy! I can’t just hide in fear.”

“Then go find the boy!” she said. “But you must understand that my brother won’t easily forget what you’ve done. The city will be a dangerous place for you.”

He threw his arms wide. “Find him where? Feyn!”

She’d considered the question of the boy as they rode, and each mile had only solidified her certainty that he could not exist. Really, what was the vellum but legend and myth? Wishful thinking…false hope? The blood was more likely an intoxicant than true life. Religion had once been full of such claims. Perhaps it was what had gotten under her brother’s skin.

And yet just an hour ago she’d half believed in it, herself.

“The family who had the deformed infant…,” she said. “I think you might be able to find them.”

“How? Where?”

“Not the boy, mind you. But I could direct you to the family my servant spoke of. Go on your quest, just stay clear of the city.”

He paced, one hand in his hair. “And Avra?”

“I’ll be sure that she knows you’re alive.”

“Tell her to wait for me. She’ll know where.”

“Of course.” He did not appear fully convinced. “I won’t betray you, Rom. I owe you that much.”

“For what? What have I done but kidnap you? You’ll soon forget all of this.”

She reached for his face and offered him a gentle smile. “For showing me love, however fleeting, however distant it may seem.”

Why did saying that fill her with such misgiving?

He took her hand in both of his. “Then don’t forget. Please, I’m begging you. What we shared was real.”

“How could I?”

But they both knew how. And that it was she who now spoke the words to comfort.

By the time she had directed him and given her stallion one last kiss on the neck, fear was all that remained behind, settling over her like a gray cloud.

So this is what it is to die.

She could still see the sadness in Rom’s eyes as clearly as if he had voiced it.

A beautiful day. A day for another life.

“Thank you, Rom, son of Elias. We’ll soon meet again.”

He turned in the saddle. “Remember, tell Avra I’m alive and well. Tell her to wait for me.”

“I will. Now go.” She slapped the hindquarter of the horse.

She watched him gallop east, wondering if she would ever see him again. It was amazing how quickly her thoughts had shifted. The green hills and their bright flowers seemed so far away.

Feyn turned her gaze to Byzantium where the world awaited its Sovereign. Her name was Feyn and she would rule as none had yet ruled, with wisdom and kindness as commanded by the Order.

And what if Rom does find this boy, Feyn?

A slight shiver ran down her back. But Rom would find no boy, because there neither was nor would be another Sovereign.