Lightning Rider (27 page)

Clarity comes swiftly. How wrongly I’ve judged her. Her light attitude isn’t because she’s never seen heartbreak. It’s because she’s had everything ripped away and she understands today holds its own sweet joy, no matter what yesterday dished out or what’s on tomorrow’s horizon. She’s far smarter—and deeper—than I’ve given her credit for.

I like her. 

“Are you happy?” I ask.

She pauses. “I get to do things I do well. I serve an important purpose, and I get to be close to the only family I have left. It’s fulfilling. I miss Rome sometimes, but not always.” She sets her cup on the ledge. “What about you?”

Am
I happy? “I—I don’t know. I guess I haven’t had time to ponder it. Constantine trains me hard, and the man who is supposed to be helping me back home . . .”

“Isn’t much help?”

I peel my thumbnail. “No. I find myself second-guessing everything he tells me and trying to stay out of his way.”

“Sounds like Constantine’s wife.”

“She had to stay out of his way?”

She laughs. “No. The other way around. She was a mean, hateful person. Her parents arranged the marriage, and there was someone else she preferred. It was an ugly time. And then she died.”

Shock rolls over me. I don’t know why I cared, but I wanted him to have found some happiness in this life.

“I don’t know how she ever got pregnant—they fought all the time.”

A vision of an angry, naked Constantine flashes in my mind. Only a dead wife could resist him, even then.

“But Aurelia, she was a different story.” Her voice lowers again. “Like a goddess, a tiny daughter of Jupiter. Constantine doted on her. She was his reason for living. When she died, well . . .” She smooths the fabric across her lap. “The rest of him died.”

I nod, understanding what Penya was trying to tell me. “Leaving only a warrior.”

“Yes.” Anna sips her tea and looks out the window. After a moment, she says softly, “He told me about the first time he saw you. He was quite . . . responsive . . . to you. I don’t think he’s ever forgotten that day.” She grins. “And now you’re here. Funny how things work.”

Whoa. Not sure I wanted to know that. It was going to be hard enough to leave him without her dropping bombs like that in my lap.

“Now he’s focused only on his work, and I barely ever see him.”

With a heavy heart, I sigh. It’s time to go, before I get any more wrapped up in these people’s lives. I need to rip this bandage off quickly, not keep adding new layers of glue. “Speaking of which . . .” I set my cup and plate on the table ledge. “I’d better be going. He expects me back when he returns.”

“Are you leaving again? With the lightning?”

I nod.

“Can I watch? Will you leave from here?”

“I need to grab a few things from Constantine’s house, but I can come back.”

“I really wish you’d teach me.”

“Maybe.”

She grins.

I pause at the door. “I really am sorry about your family . . . and your fiancé.”

“Life.” She shrugs a tiny shoulder and smiles.

I like her a lot.

I pull the door closed behind me and find my way back to Constantine’s before slipping off my tunic and setting it in a pile with my armor. I tug on my jeans and tee and swipe a long stick Constantine’s been using as a pointer on his map. I tap it once against the table and stroke its straight length, then my knuckles bend and flex, fitting the wood between my fingers until it twirls like a drumstick. As it spins, the soothing repetition relaxes me, and I breathe in everything about the room—the strength, the loneliness, the passion. So much contradiction.

While I’m grateful for Anna’s secrets, they’ve done more damage to the sensitive underside of my heart. I may not have much time left here. After Viriato dies, there won’t be a reason to stay, not unless Penya’s right about there being more to this alteration. But if it’s Aurelia who’s important, I won’t be coming back here to Spain, but to her home in Rome. And who knows when Penya will figure out if I can even save her or not. Maybe there will be two or twenty alterations between this one and Aurelia’s.

I breathe in the uniqueness of this place. I’ve grown quite fond of this Spain, and I want to see her flourish.

I suppose there’s always the chance we won’t succeed and Viriato will claim another win. A chance I haven’t done enough. A chance this will be Constantine’s last battle. 

The image of war-torn Spain comes unbidden to my mind. How many more battles before that becomes the future? How long before these people I’ve come to know are living it? 

If Viriato wins and Spain defeats the Romans again, which of the men I’ve trained with will die? Will it be the archer who fired at me? Or one of the other men who helped me hone my skill?

Will it be Constantine?

Will we all stand around looking at each other and wonder what comes next? Will there be some awkward good-bye while I step away from the battle and send myself home? Will I have to see their lifeless bodies before I go?

Constantine promised Viriato much that day in the glen as they postured. Viriato returned the promise. Watching them face off made one thing very clear—one of them will not come away from the battle alive. There’s just too much at stake for both of them. And their men.

And for me.

Somewhere along the way, I picked up Constantine’s cause. Now I will give my everything to see it through. Even though I’m not sure when I gave my commitment, it’s a tangible piece of my core. Viriato will not win. My men will give their last breath, and now I understand, because I will give mine, too. I stand aligned with Constantine, this man who’s trained me, who’s forced me to find my purpose.

I will not waver now, even for a love for my home country.

Constantine’s armor stands in the corner by the door, and as I step closer, my fingers slow until the makeshift drumstick stops spinning. I slide it into my back pocket and raise my hands to run my fingers across the breastplate, tracing the gashes and nicks. Who am I kidding? Love of country will always be eclipsed by another love—my love for Constantine. And I’d take him anywhen I could get him—here, Rome, wherever he spends his last days.

He makes me be the best me. He draws it out by fair means or foul. He shows me the woman I’m meant to be. He did it for Anna, and she’s found peace and happiness in her life. He did it for me.

I wander back to the map table and trace his handwriting with my fingertip. I don’t want to go back to my ordinary lifestyle. Everything is so different here, where actions are all that matter. Words mean nothing on a battlefield, and a win is not whether you live or die but how well you fought. It is simple.

His belief in me propels me on to my next task, as distasteful as it may be.

I turn to head back to Anna’s and gasp.

Ilif stands in the doorway, a chilly demeanor shaping his posture. He’s wearing an ominous dark gray suit and shirt, and his perfect coif is ruffled at the temples and crown, like he’s been running frazzled hands through it.

“I was just coming home,” I say, feeling the need to explain.

His chin dips, but otherwise he’s eerily still. “You’ve been here a long time.”

“I’ve been . . . exploring.”

“For what?”

Though it seems like a simple question, the way he asks makes me think he knows exactly what I’ve been doing. I step away from Constantine’s table of maps. 

“Why are you here?” And how did you find me? Penya must have missed some of my residue. I don’t like that he’s been searching that hard.

“Your father wanted me to come check on you.”

Right. “How is he?”

He pauses. “There are a few kinks to work out.”

“Is he figuring out his lightning?”

“Yes and no.” He steps inside, leaving the doorway open.

Clearly he’s in no mood to give me the answers I need. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me anything then you can go. Tell Papi I’m good. Or better yet, why don’t you go grab him and he can see for himself.”

I groan inwardly that I didn’t leave when I was supposed to, and now I’ve blown it. Maybe if I keep him busy here, Penya will be satisfied that I’ve “occupied” him as she asked.

“Your father’s alterations don’t work like yours. He’s limited where you are not.”

“Was that a compliment?” Almost sounded like one.

“Hardly. I only meant that your father follows instruction.”

I roll my eyes. He stiffens.

“What are you hoping to find with your explorations?” he asks again.

“Actually, I’ve been training, not exploring. Constantine says there are dangerous men here I need to protect myself from.” I silently goad him into another one of our pissing contests so he’ll get mad and leave. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Most definitely.” He closes the door and crosses the room.

I sweep the area for a weapon, but there’s nothing nearby but a paring knife and a wooden bowl.

And me. Good hell, I always forget the big things. I’m the best weapon in the room.

“If you would have stayed home as I instructed, I could have warned you about such men before you got tangled up with them.”

“I’m headed home now. Love to hear about them.”

He stops on the other side of the table. “Too late.”

I spread my feet, balance on the balls, and soften my knees like Constantine taught me. I didn’t expect I’d need it here. Like this.

Ilif leans forward and picks up a plum from the dish, twisting it between his fingers. “You think you’re something special, don’t you?”

He asked me that once before, but this time it’s layered with a threat. Oh, how I want to answer in the affirmative, tell him what a badass I’ve become while he’s been off plotting to take over the world. But I don’t. Crazy people don’t always signal before they T-bone you, and Ilif’s headed my way in a full-on collision. I give him the answer he wants to hear. “No.”

He cocks his head. “No? Really. All your bravado and hot-headedness gone, just like that?” He squeezes the plum, splitting the skin, and a stream of juice squirts across the table. A line of red pulp runs between his fingers.

My eyes widen but I force my face to stay impassive. “I’m not that girl anymore.” 

He shrieks with maniacal laughter. “Read any history books lately?”

I wish I knew where he was headed with this chat.

“Not really,” I answer, opting for vague.

“You’ve meddled one time too many.” The plum lands with a
thud
on the table. He snatches a cloth from the edge, wipes his fingers, and inclines his head. “I had high hopes for your father. After all, I spent sixty years waiting for him, waiting for the line to be picked up again, for the rider I needed.” He makes me wait while he finishes cleaning his hands. “Unfortunately, it appears our time away has left him too far behind. His struggles and ineptitude as a rider are proving too difficult to overcome. He may not be the rider I’m looking for. You, on the other hand . . . you’ve become
quite
the little rider while I haven’t been looking, haven’t you?”

I swallow. This conversation just plunged off a five-hundred-foot cliff. Now he’s contradicting all his earlier statements, and I’m having a hard time following him. The invisible dangers in his thought process are crocodiles in the disease-infested river at the bottom of this gorge. No way I’m getting out of this without a few broken bones.

“Let’s see if I can bring you up to speed since you’ve ignored the impact of your little sight-seeing trip,” he says. “Viriato, a goat-herder who became a legend, who was to prevent Spain’s fall to Rome, whose sons were to become legendary in their own right as they plunged Spain further into collapse, has died decades too early, not as an old man, but on the battlefield.”

We did it. What I read online didn’t actually happen. My heart swells. We saved the future. Well, not yet . . . but soon.

“Do you know the way in which he died?” He dabs his mouth with the napkin, then folds it, perfectly aligning the corners. 

I shake my head.

“Not during the battle where he’d have had men protect him on every side, but on the eve before. When everyone thought he was safe and asleep. Instead, they found him dead, his throat cut by his most trusted advisors.”

I stand immobile even though I’m jumping up and down inside. Constantine’s bribe worked. Or
works . . .

“Since I’m intimate with the details of Viriato’s life, I’m very aware of the multiple close calls throughout his lifetime. A handful I’ve helped alter. At first, I didn’t understand how someone like Viriato could be killed in his sleep, surrounded by soldiers. It seemed almost . . .
supernatural
. That’s when I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise, finding you here.” He sweeps his upturned, open palm across his body.

I force myself not to move, not to flinch.

“Viriato’s early death ruins, in one moment, a series of events I spent decades creating. His death was a mistake, an oversight on the part of everyone he’d put in place to protect him.” He leans closer. “People
I
put in place!”

“Why?” I ask, jamming my foot down on the accelerator as we head over the cliff. If I’m going to die today, I at least want to know his insane reasoning.

“Viriato’s death—and Spain’s subsequent fall to Rome—paves the way for certain scientists to rise. Scientists unfit to ever work in the field. Unfit even to exist.” His voice cracks, vehemence coloring each word.

“I don’t understand.” I was wrong. Ilif never wanted to
save
someone in Spain, he wanted to
kill
someone.

“Of course you don’t. Which is why you were never supposed to be here. You are just as unfit!”

His outburst startles him, and he straightens. “The surest way to prevent a scientific misfit from happening was to destroy her entire family—wipe out her entire ancestry.” His face contorts.

“For a woman?” I take a step back. “The decimated Spain I’ve seen was for a woman?”

He laughs again, but it’s a saner Dr. Jekyll than evil Mr. Hyde. “Women. Two, specifically.”

“And the reason you hate me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, then freezes, as if waking and realizing what he’d done to his perfect coif. “An oversight.”