Saven Disclosure (The Saven Series Book 2) (29 page)

An embarrassed cough startles us both. Dali’s eyes pop wide in fear. I look up, noticing Win and Logan standing in the doorway. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, or how much they heard, but judging from the shell-shocked look on Win’s face, I’m guessing he heard the most important part. Dali is frozen on the spot, totally rocking the “deer in the headlights” look. I press into her ear. “It’s in the hands of the Gods now. Be brave. Tell him exactly how you feel. Good luck!”

I traipse toward the boys, carefully watching Win. He stands ramrod straight, equally frozen, an awestruck look on his face. A faint pink hue tinges his skin, and I discreetly smile. I bet he hasn’t realized he’s showing his true colors. I’m glad. It should give Dali the courage she needs to open her heart and her mouth. I subtly nudge Win in Dali’s direction as I snatch a jacket off the hook by the door. Taking Logan’s hand, I haul him outside. I bounce up and down, squealing and clapping my hands together the minute Logan pulls the door shut behind us.

He gives me a lopsided grin as he rolls the sleeves up on my too-big jacket. “You’re awfully excited.”

“They love each other! It’s so sweet.” A soft breeze billows around us, and I tug my zipper up to the collar. I take his offered hand, and his heady warmth heats me up in a nanosecond.

“Don’t go jumping the gun.”

“I saw the emotion on his face, and I’m sure Dali did too, so he can’t get away with pretending he doesn’t share her feelings. I’m sure they can work through the rest.”

He stops abruptly. Curious eyes penetrate mine. “What do you mean you saw his emotion?”

“I see the colors swirling underneath their skin, and Dali explained it to me.”

He stares at me in amazement. “Is there no end to your talents?” I blush scarlet and he barks out a husky laugh. “Mind out of the gutter, Angel.” Embarrassed, I shove his arm, and he chuckles again. “How much time do you think they’ll need?” he asks, deliberately changing the subject.

“A lot.” I rise on tiptoe and plant a quick one on him. “Give me a tour?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Sure. I know just the place.”

We set out in the opposite direction. Logan flips on a torch-like gadget and competently leads the way through the woods. We talk quietly as we walk. I express concern over my sister and our friends in New York, and Logan assures me he’s been in regular contact with Haydn and everyone is okay. After a bit of pestering, he sends a telepathic message to Haydn to relay to Ella on my behalf. I sag in grateful relief. At least she won’t be as worried now.

After a couple of miles, Logan leads me out of the forest to the edge of a very steep mountain. We sit down, feet dangling over the ledge.

I emit a low whistle as I look down, absorbing the astonishing view. A large crystal-clear lake is spread out underneath us, stretching all the way to a heavily condensed city in the distance. “That’s the new district up ahead,” he confirms. Dazzling multi-colored lights sparkle radiantly as the city pulses with vibrant life. A multitude of slick high-rises of various sizes and shapes sprawl in all directions. Hovercrafts and small ships line the space over the city, weaving in and out of the dark night sky.

A huge, glistening structure to the far north of the district captures my attention. I strain my eyes, stretching my vision as far as it will go. The building is mounted on an elevated site overlooking the city below. Three peaked spikes coil majestically upward at a slanted angle, a large five-pronged star-like object occupying prime position on the highest center spike. The entire structure looks to be constructed of mirror or glass or some similar type material. I extend my hand, pointing a finger. “What’s that place?”

“That’s the palace. My home,” Logan says sheepishly.

I splutter. “Wow.” I’m at a loss for what else to say. Ostentatious and grandiose don’t even do it justice. Our upbringings could not have been more different. Despite the obvious distance, I tremble with barely contained fear. “You’re sure they can’t see us from here?” Tilting my head back, I drag my gaze over the empty calm skies above us.

“Relax, Angel.” He envelops me in his sturdy arms. “We’re safe.”

“It’s such a contrast. It’s so quiet up here and so manic looking down there.”

“That’s part of the reason why I like to escape here whenever I can. It’s soothing. And I like to feel close to my mom. Apart from a few trinkets, this place is my only remaining connection to her.”

I wiggle out of his arms, sitting forward on my knees so I’m directly facing him. “What happened? How did she die?”

He clenches his jaw as he curls into me. Our knees brush sending a burst of lovely warmth skin-deep. “I’ve only ever spoken with one other person about that day.” His brows knit together. “I’ll tell you, but you might think differently of me afterwards.”

I take his hands in mine. “No way.” I shake my head. “I know you. I love you. No matter what.”

He takes a steadying breath. “Mom is dead because of me. I killed her.”

Okay. Definitely wasn’t anticipating that. I stare at him wordlessly, and he scrutinizes my reaction, his face slowly crumbling. He looks so vulnerable, and despite my shock at his statement, I hold solid to my promise. I squeeze his hands. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

He looks away, knotting his hands in his lap, transparent heartache marring his beautiful face. “I was seven, and my mother had escorted me to the Annual Heir’s Summit. It was the last day, and we were getting ready to go home. I was hanging out with Dali and a few of my other friends while Mom organized the return trip.” He bites down hard on his lip.

Gently, I grasp his chin and turn his head toward me. The tormented look in his eyes suffocates me, and I feel his emotions slithering over my skin. My heart throbs in shared anguish. I press a soft kiss to his lips. He holds my head in his strong hands, pressing his forehead to mine.

After a minute or two, he eases back, eyeballing me. “I got in a fight”—he snorts—“as if that was anything new, and I came back to our quarters early. The sound of laughter was coming from Mom’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, so I peeked in. She was in bed with a man, and they were kissing and fooling around, totally oblivious to my presence. I knew him. He was one of my friend’s fathers, another king.” His gaze darkens. “She never knew, Sadie. She didn’t know I’d seen them. Not until it was too late,” he whispers, his eyes full of regret and shame.

Extracting his hand, he claws it through his hair. “I was disgusted with her. Not for cheating per se. Hell, I don’t think I actually gave two shits about that. I was mad at her for messing around with someone who was a known opponent of my father, and of our way of life. I don’t think I spoke to her the entire trip home. I could barely look at her.”

He climbs to his feet, pacing the ground in front of me. I watch him with hawk eyes. “I went to my father the minute we arrived back and told him what I’d witnessed. He flew into a rage, worse than anything I’d ever seen. He vented to me, ranting, and scheming and I … I indulged him, encouraged him. But I swear, I didn’t know he was going to do what he did.”

I get slowly to my feet. “Your father killed your mother?” I ask softly.

His jaw clenches taut. “No,
I
killed my mother. He may have been the weapon that squashed the life force from her body, but I was the ammunition and the trigger. I gave him the incentive and did nothing to discourage him from his angry tirade. It’s my fault. Totally my fault.”

He ducks his head and shoves his hands in his pant pockets. His transparent self-blame knifes me straight through the heart. This is God-awful. “Were you there when he …?” My voice peters out, unable to articulate the horrific thought.

He eyeballs me as he shakes his head. Thank the Lord for small mercies. I step forward and drape myself around him like a koala. Gradually, his rigid body relaxes in my embrace. I lean back a little and look up at him, gently cupping one side of his face. “You aren’t responsible for your father’s actions, Logan. You were only a kid.”

“That’s no excuse,” he snaps, and I flinch at his stern timbre, withdrawing my hand from his face. “You know we mature more progressively. I was old enough to know better. To understand that my father wouldn’t react well to it. I wanted her punished; I wanted her to pay.” He gulps. “But not like that,” he whispers. His eyes scrunch up.

“You may have felt like that, but you didn’t act on those feelings. That’s what counts. Your father is at fault, Logan. Not you.” I rub my hands up and down his back in a soothing gesture.

“I can’t deny the part I played in Mom’s demise.”

This admission puts a lot of things into perspective. Explains some of his actions. His constant worry and fear for my safety. The almost obsessive need to swaddle me in cotton wool. The overbearing responsibility for my welfare. “You can’t continue to blame yourself. You have to try to find forgiveness. How many more years will you harbor the guilt, letting it consume you until there’s nothing left of the person you are? And don’t deny that it’s killing you because I can see it, feel it. You need to let it go.”

He caresses my cheek as he looks profoundly into my eyes. I’m drowning in a vast ocean, and I don’t want to keep my head above water. “And that’s the other thing, Sadie. I didn’t feel guilty at first. Not at all. Sure, I missed my mom like crazy, and I never stopped loving her, but these guilty feelings didn’t surface for years. It was only after talking to Evana about it that I realized how everything I thought and felt and did that day was all the wrong way around.”

Most of the time, I forget that Logan doesn’t have the same moral compass as me because, in the main, he hasn’t tended to act as such. But of course, an absence of conscience wouldn’t allow a boy to wallow in self-remorse or guilt for the events that transpired that day. The more ethical he becomes, the more he suffers delayed reactions.

I wonder what else is hiding in the wings, waiting to derail him.

“I doubt your mom would want you to carry so much guilt, especially after all this time.” I stroke his face, and he melts into my hand.

“I know. But it’s not easy to let go of it.”

“I understand that. All you can do is try.” I rest my head on his chest and hold him close, willing the grief away.

“Sadie,” he says, a few minutes later, resting his chin atop my head. “Did the two Amaretti soldiers who broke into your cell hurt you beyond what I can see?” He is jarringly calm, but I sense the nuance of anxiety undercutting his tone.

My head jolts up fast. Scanning his troubled face, I understand exactly what he’s asking. “No, Logan. I fought them off until Win arrived on the scene.”

“I’m so sorry, Sadie. I—”

“Stop right there.” I place my hands firmly on his shoulders. “You are not responsible for me ending up on Amara or for anything that occurred while I was there. And I’m fine. Dali took real good care of me, so please, please, don’t feel guilty about that.”

“I was so scared. I knew something was wrong. I could feel your emotions skittering all over the place, and I was terrified that Win wouldn’t get to you in time.”

“But he did.”

“But you were injured! And you had to fight them off! That’s not okay with me.” He pouts in exasperation.

I poke his chest with my finger. “My injuries are gone, and I got to practice the skills Haydn taught me, so they were actually doing me a favor.”

He shoots me a “You’re being ridiculous” look.

“Logan, I know a lot of this is new to you, but trust me when I say you can’t go around bottling everything up, carrying around a bucket-load of guilt. I’m speaking from experience when I say it will destroy you if you persist in thinking like this. Accept the mistakes you’ve made, decide to learn from them, and put them in the past, move on.”

He swallows hard. “Okay, oh wise one,” he jokes, and I can tell how much of an effort it is to appear lighthearted.

I grin. “Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

There is no sign of Dali or Win when we return to the cabin. I smile to myself, trusting that means things went well. Logan ignites the fire and dims the lights, and we snuggle up on the couch with a bottle of some strange orange stuff. He assures me it’s non-alcoholic, and I accept a glass, taking a tentative sip. The liquid is spicy and strong, the flavor rich and intense, but not unpleasant. I kick off my shoes and swing my legs up onto the couch, resting my back against Logan’s warm inviting chest.

We sit there in amicable silence, his fingers sneaking through my hair. Though the environment is calm, my thoughts are fractured. Logan has been brutally, painfully honest with me today, and I’m still keeping a boatload of secrets. Now that we’re reunited and committed to staying as a team, I’m going to have to come clean. He won’t be pleased, but hopefully he’ll understand my motivations. I ponder telling him right now, but it’s been a testing day, and I don’t want to ruin the lovely atmosphere.

Logan’s earlier confession weighs on my mind, too. I hate that he blames himself for something that clearly wasn’t his fault. But I’m more intrigued by the timing of his guilty conscience. We’ve discussed his love for Evana before: how she’s acted like a surrogate mother to him, and how good her influence has been. But now I’m wondering if it’s more than that. If the assumptions being made about the human-Saven conscience transfer aren’t quite right.