Island of Shipwrecks (26 page)

Liam's jaw dropped. “What?”

“He wants the mansion, you fool! Don't you see?”

Liam rose from his desk, where the sack of components rested. “High Priest, I'm afraid I don't see. What in Quill are you talking about?”

Aaron's eyes blazed. “I'm talking about the general's dismissive nature once I gave him the oil. Did you notice it? He wouldn't let me participate in the discussion, and he basically told me I'm to board up the palace and wait inside for him to win the battle. Didn't you hear that? Weren't you there?”

“Of course I was there,” Liam said. He was really getting irritated with the way Aaron spoke to him. He bit his tongue, remembering Eva, and said smoothly, “I think that General Blair is just trying to hold up his end of the bargain. You provided him with the oil, and now he will do his part by attacking Artimé and taking it over on behalf of Quill.”

Aaron shook his head. “No, Liam. You don't get it. I have made mistakes before, but I'm not going to make another one,
and General Blair is a mistake! He's trying to keep me out of the way so he can dethrone Alex and take over Artimé. He's trying to steal what is rightfully mine!”

Liam stared.

Aaron closed his lips. He held Liam's gaze, and then grew pale. “I mean . . .” He faltered.

It was like a waterfall of understanding pouring over Liam. He stood quietly as the pieces fell into place in his mind—things he'd failed to grasp all this time. His eyes darted to the bag of useless components that Meghan had given him to trick Aaron, and then he looked at the high priest once more, seeing him for what he was: a pathetic, regretful young man who couldn't seem to figure out for himself who he was and what he truly wanted.

“Rightfully yours?” Liam asked softly.

“That's not what I meant!” Aaron said.

“Do you wish you were an Unwanted?” Liam asked, just as softly as before.

“No!” cried Aaron. “That's not what I meant at all!”

“Well then, what did you mean?” Liam asked, raising his voice and forgetting himself.

The two stood facing each other in the tiny, stuffy room, Aaron's expression finally betraying years of agony, and Liam's face blanching with the fear of having gone too far. Accusing the high priest of wishing to be an Unwanted was probably the worst of all the infractions in Quill.

After an excruciating moment, Liam spoke to try to save the treacherous walls from crumbling further. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I believe I misspoke. Did you instead mean that as the high priest of Quill, you are the rightful ruler of the entire island and all of its parts?”

The blood in Aaron's body began to pump once more. A shadow passed over his face, and he dropped his gaze and let out a breath. “Yes, of course,” he said, his voice shaking and straining to find its usual patronizing tone. “How dare you assume anything else?”

Liam's chest tightened. “I-I'm so very sorry, High Priest.”

Aaron straightened up and stood tall, ignoring his trembling limbs and recovering his high-priestly air. He pointed to the sack of components on Liam's desk. “I'm ready for the components now. I assume I'll find the verbal incantations and all instructions inside?”

“Yes.” Liam dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing what had to be coming next. There was no way, with Aaron's temper, that Liam would spend another night in the palace. It was off to the Ancients Sector for him once more. Only this time, he wouldn't live past dawn to tell about it.

“Very well, then.” Aaron reached past Liam to pick up the sack.

Liam flinched, waiting for the command.

Aaron retreated to the doorway and then paused, looking back over his shoulder. “I'll let you know if I have any questions about these,” he said. He turned away once more and closed the door behind him.

When he heard the click of the door, Liam looked up.

He was still alive. For the moment, at least. And with life, a tiny ray of hope.

D
ownstairs in his office, Aaron dropped the sack of components on the floor, collapsed at his desk, and buried his face in his hands. He felt like his gut was being torn to shreds. He didn't even understand what had just happened. What was so wrong about Aaron wanting to rule over the entire island, including Artimé? And what was so wrong about wanting to do it from the nicest location in the land? Just because the mansion happened to be magical, and just because it happened to be created by Unwanted trash, and just because it was surrounded by wickedly awful creative people, did not make
Aaron sympathetic to the Unwanteds, or worse, some sort of jealous admirer.

Artimé
was
rightfully his, but not because Aaron deserved to be Unwanted—no one knew about his infractions but he and his brother, who had taken the blame when they were ten in order to save him. And no one knew what Aaron's life would be like now if he'd taken responsibility for his own creativity. Alex's sacrifice had been a gift that any intelligent person wouldn't think twice about accepting! For that was what Aaron was. Intelligent. Strong. Wanted. Period.

And none of this changed the fact that something sinister was happening with General Blair. Aaron didn't trust him—not now. Not after that meeting.

He lifted his head and stared across the bare, gray room, and his heart sank. He was on his own again. He didn't have the Quillitary after all. He was on his own, and undoubtedly about to fail once more. It was the story of his life.

At least he could let General Blair do the hard work of conquering Artimé. That was an easy enough decision—it was going to happen whether Aaron wanted it to or not. And of course he wanted it to happen. The impossible part would
come after that, when Aaron would have to take over the mansion from General Blair. And if General Blair really was just using Aaron, did that mean that the general was also planning to get rid of him when he was no longer needed?

Aaron groaned into his sleeve. The uncertainty and the anxiety were killing him, he was sure of that.

His mind turned to Secretary. The old woman grew more dear to him the longer she was gone, and he wished her back in this room again. She'd know what to do. But there was no bringing her back from the panther's jaws.

The panther—just one of his many failures. There had been so much promise there. It was such a shame that all the jungle and its creatures were useless to Aaron now. He couldn't trust them to obey him, even though they seemed like they wanted to.

Aaron massaged his temples. Maybe he had moved too fast with the jungle animals. Maybe he hadn't spent enough time teaching the panther what he wanted her to do. Could that have saved Eva? He was always so impatient. And now he would never know.

Three days left until General Blair attacked Artimé, and
here Aaron sat, helplessly awaiting the general's takeover, and not really sure he had a place in the angry man's future plans. Perhaps a takeover of the palace was next. Maybe that was why General Blair wanted him to lock himself inside—to make his own capture that much easier.

“I'm such an idiot,” Aaron muttered, flopping down on the desk in despair.

“Yes, you really are,” came a woman's voice from the hall.

It was the elusive Gondoleery Rattrapp.

Aaron lifted his head and frowned. “What do you want?”

Gondoleery stepped into the room. “I was just nosing about to see how you were coming along in your quest to take over Artimé,” she said. “Care to fill your favorite governor in on the plan?”

“Not really.”

“What's that you say?”

Aaron shot her a pointed look. “Things are coming along fine,” he said. “I'm working with the Quillitary and we're going to attack soon.”

“Soon? When?”

“Soon enough,” Aaron said. “That's my private information.”

Gondoleery laughed. “I'll go ask Blair myself if you like.”

Aaron recoiled. “How did you—how do you—?”

“How did I know he was still alive?” Gondoleery purred, obviously delighted to see the surprise on Aaron's face. “Maybe because I've been working with him too.”

Aaron stood up, feeling the heat rise to his face. “I knew it! I knew he was—! You traitor!” He whipped around the desk and lunged at Gondoleery.

She pointed at him, and a skewer of ice coupled with an arctic blast shot from her fingers and flew toward Aaron. It struck him, the point burying itself into his arm. He yelped and fell back against the desk. The spear of ice hung from him, and then crumbled and dropped to the floor.

“Next time I won't stop it from going straight through you,” Gondoleery said with a sickly sweet smile. “Don't touch me, Aaron Stowe. Don't ever, ever, touch me.”

Aaron's mouth hung open. He righted himself and rubbed his arm where the icy spear had jabbed him. Without taking his eyes off her, he slowly walked around to the other side of the desk, putting it between them for his protection. He glanced at the sack of spell components, out of reach on the
floor, and useless until he knew the proper things to say with them. He looked down at the drawer that had once contained heart attack spell components, but he'd used them up on the panther.

He was out of luck.

“I'm sure you didn't mean to threaten me,” Gondoleery said cheerily. She picked at her teeth with a fingernail. “Did you?”

“No,” Aaron said through gritted teeth.

“Good.” She stopped picking. “Now when did you say the Quillitary attack will be?”

Aaron worked his jaw. “Three days,” he said.

“Very good. I look forward to the festivities and the rewards. I'll tell General Blair you said hello next time I see him.” She turned and sauntered to the door. And then she turned back and added, “You know, everyone in the palace can hear everything you say when you and Liam are shouting together up there in that echo chamber.”

Aaron's eyes widened. What did she mean?

Gondoleery laughed again as she walked away, talking loudly to herself. “General Blair, still alive. Amazing. What a cunning little mastermind. I didn't expect it of him!”

As Aaron's breath grew hot in his nostrils and he began to seethe, he looked at the puddle on the floor, a small hunk of ice remaining. It reminded him of the day he'd gone to Gunnar Haluki's house and found water dripping from all surfaces, and a single puck of ice on the table—the only other time he'd seen or felt ice in his life.

And that's when Aaron Stowe really got scared.

A
aron had two options if he wanted to protect himself from General Blair, and now from Gondoleery, who had quickly vaulted to being the number one person on his list of people to fear. The first option: the bag of spells. And the second? Another visit to the jungle. It probably wouldn't do any good, but he could try.

Aaron spent the rest of the evening sorting through the spell components and reading the instructions for their use. A small, hard, green component would turn a person into a frog if he yelled “Hey-o froggy face!” while casting. A wispy piece of grass would give the receiver terrible allergies and render
them incapacitated if Aaron yelled “Aaah-CHOO!” A squiggly forked stick would poke somebody in both eyes when accompanied by a rousing chant of “Neener neener neener!”

Aaron pored over the incantations earnestly, memorizing them and remembering the components that went along with each. This particular batch seemed ridiculously silly, and he knew he'd be rather embarrassed to yell out some of the strange things, yet he pressed on. He had no choice. It only reinforced in his mind—not that he doubted, of course—that Unwanteds were silly and stupid, and he was most definitely not one of them.

» » « «

The next morning, Aaron loaded up his pockets, wishing for one of those handy vests that his brother wore to carry all of the components in, and slipped out of the palace. He strode quickly to Haluki's house, made his way inside to the office, and took the tube to the mansion.