The Ophelia Prophecy (25 page)

The priest was right on his heels and drew up beside him. “Christ, what have you done to her?” he shouted at Beck.

Carrick and Beck exchanged a few short, sharp words, but Pax’s intention was narrowing to a very fine point. He neither heard them nor cared what they were discussing.

He lunged for his enemy with his blade.

Beck anticipated him and darted to one side, but Pax too had been ready, and he flung the knife. Beck gave a shout of pain as it lodged in his arm. Pax followed the knife, colliding with the man and yanking the blade free, and they splayed together onto the floor.

Peripherally he was aware of others trying to jump into the fray, but even together they were no match for the priest.

“Carrick!” Beck shouted. “Remember who you are!”

“You had no cause for torture,” Carrick fired back, hauling the others out of the building. “I’ll not interfere.”

Beck rose to his knees, swinging his knife as Pax lunged at him again. Pax ducked the blow and yanked him down by the arm. Beck’s knife skittered away, but he rolled free, shouting as his back came to rest over the warming pit. It wasn’t true fire, but was hot enough to burn at that distance. He bounded up, but Pax was ready, throwing a punch that felled him.

Beck rolled to his back with a groan, and Pax bent over him, throwing down his knife and grabbing Beck’s head between his hands.

“Don’t,” Carrick shouted from outside. “You’ll regret it.”

Beck squirmed in his grasp, but strong as he was, he was still human. Pax wrenched his head to one side. “I won’t.”

He released Beck with less regret than he’d feel for an animal killed for the table, and his eyes sought Asha.

*   *   *

She sat up, hugging her arms around her chest. She felt a cold, creeping nausea.

Pax knelt before her, and the sensation of his hands on her brought a sense of relief. She cared nothing for the fact he’d just killed her attacker with his bare hands. She cared nothing for the fact he’d once again demonstrated he was as much animal as human. So had Beck, and he had no excuse in his genetics. He had been torturing her, and Pax had stopped it.

“My father,” she forced between trembling lips.

“Your father?”

She could hear the surprise in his voice, but she had yet to meet his eyes. Her rescuer, the only one she
had
betrayed.

She glanced at her father’s limp form, and Pax followed her gaze. He crawled over and pressed his fingers to her father’s neck.

“Is he alive?”

“Yes. I think he’s just unconscious.”

Pax returned to her side. “Let me look at your back.”

She let him turn her and lift her tunic. She heard the breath hiss between his teeth.

She closed her eyes. “What is it?”

He hesitated, and she could hear the priest arguing with the others outside.

“A Manti ID spiral,” Pax said finally. “Like the one on my wrist.”

Beck had carved his accusation onto her body. Any man she was with would ask her about the scar. Any children she bore. She’d have to tell the story. It was part of her for life.

But she
was
alive, and so was her father.

“He thought you’d joined with us to escape his fate,” Pax speculated. “To avoid Al Campo.”

Finally she met his gaze. Those eyes were easier to look at in the low light. Less vividly green. Less penetrating.

Yet she trembled.

“Yes.”

As she sat breathing through the pain, trying to float free from it enough so she could think clearly, she realized the danger of the situation. Despite Micah’s clever planning, Pax had somehow managed to follow her. He must know everything now. What would it mean for her father? For Micah, and for Rebelión Sagrada?

“What happens now?” she asked him.

*   *   *

He was caught now; he knew he was. His duty was clear: Report to his father. Expose the alliance. But if he did … traitors were shown no mercy. The amir already had advisors urging him to remove the possibility of any future threat from the humans. He might order the deaths of all of them. Pax might be able to save Asha, but even so, was he ready to have the blood of hundreds on his hands?

He was exhausted. He needed a meal, sleep, and time to think.

She was still waiting for his answer. Perspiration slipped down the sides of her face. Her wound was deep. She must be in incredible pain.

“That’s up to you,” he replied.

She stared at him, brow furrowing in confusion. “Me?”

“Come back with me to the Alhambra. Answer my questions once we’re there. If you do that, you have my promise of silence for now.”

“For
now
.”

“I need to understand the situation better. I need to get back to the palace before my father starts looking for me. You’re the key to all this—you have information I need to make a decision.”
And I’m not letting you out of my sight again
.

“You’re letting me choose whether to go back with you?”

“No,” he admitted. “Come with me willingly, no fighting and no running. Tell me who you are and why you’re here, and I will delay discussion with my father of everything that’s happened tonight.”

“What’s the point of delay?”

“If I understand the situation, I may be able to prevent retaliation.”

“By the amir, you mean.”

“Yes.”

She stared at him, and even with the pain she must be suffering, she managed to guard her thoughts from him. Her whole body shook, probably from shock and loss of blood. He removed his cloak and drew it carefully around her.

When his face was close to hers she said, “I can’t agree unless we find some way to protect my father.” She swallowed, and dropped her gaze. He fought an impulse to draw her into his chest. “I bargained with the priestess to persuade her to bring me here. I promised her something in exchange—”

Outside the door there was a sudden shout, and Pax bolted to his feet.

Cleo smiled at them from the doorway. “And how prompt you are in delivering it, child.”

QUEEN AND PAWN

“Stay where you are,” ordered the priestess, the satisfied smile fading from her lips. “You’re quite outnumbered.”

She moved into the room, four armed disciples slipping in after her, shoving Carrick toward Pax and Asha. More of them ranged around the windows outside. Pax exchanged a glance with Carrick.
Trapped
. The house had only one entrance.

“It’s good to see you, Pax.” The triangular head swiveled as Cleo surveyed the room, her gaze resting a moment on the bodies on the floor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Pax challenged. “Collaborating with humans. Carrying firearms. You know my father will view it as treason.”

“The amir, yes. I haven’t seen him in ages.” She eyed him shrewdly. “And I don’t anticipate that I will today. Hard to imagine he’d send his only son into Al Campo to arrest me.”

She watched him with unblinking eyes as he rallied his nearly exhausted resources to address this new threat. Asha rose to her feet beside him, Pax’s cloak pulled close around her, and the priestess’s gaze shifted.

“You weren’t bluffing after all, were you, child? It looks as though the amir’s son has plunged alone into enemy territory to recover
you
. There was never any raid on the temple.”

The priestess fixed her eyes again on Pax, and a mocking smile twisted her lips. “This is about her. This woman who ran from you and betrayed you. Though probably you aren’t aware that she offered to deliver you to me in exchange for bringing her to Al Campo.”

Cleo was playing him, and he knew he had to resist it, but he glanced at Asha. Her guilt was plain enough from her expression. The puzzle was finally piecing itself together. He wondered how long since her memory had returned.

It was only natural she would use him,
and
the attachment to her he had foolishly allowed her to see. But he did wonder which woman’s idea it had been to make
him
part of their bargain. Either way, he’d played right into it—both women had what they wanted.

“Last time you tried to use me you failed,” Pax said coldly. “If you put me through that again, the amir will hear about all of it—both offenses, with all the ugly details. Appealing to me for Iris’s sake will get you nowhere.”

“Ah, no.” Cleo shook her head. “I’ll not waste time on a second attempt. And I no longer have any desire to be on good terms with your father. The man has a closed mind.”

There was no point reminding her what she’d lost. Pax had once had a strong interest in building a bridge between Rebelión Sagrada and his father’s regime. But Cleo was impatient. She had tried to use his bridge as a battering ram.

“The son takes after the father,” she continued. “We’re not human, Pax. Why should we be bound by their ideas of right and wrong?”

“I’m not going to debate morality with you. We both know that stunt was political. My father would have been forced to either reject his own grandchild, or lift the ban on unauthorized reproduction.”

Cleo smiled. “Fatherhood would have suited you, Pax. Now you’ve forced me to more extreme measures.”

“You must realize the amir will never negotiate with you.” Pax’s gaze shifted to the windows as he reassessed the possibility of escape. But there were too many disciples. “Even if he did negotiate,” he continued, “how would your tactics go over with your supporters? You’ll risk all the ground you’ve gained. Don’t forget my father has remained in his position as long as he has because he has popular support.”

“Support that is flagging,” Cleo argued. “People don’t like to be controlled. Your father has fallen into the absolute-power trap. But the discussion is pointless. I have no intention of ransoming you for concessions.”

She watched him in silence, waiting for him to ask. The priestess loved cat-and-mouse games. She was one to talk about the absolute-power trap. But he refused to play with her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to contain herself for long.

“If you disappear,” she said finally, “your father will mobilize resources to recover you. The effort will weaken him, much as desire for this woman has weakened
you
. When he discovers your body, he’ll be at his most vulnerable, and we’ll be ready. The people will see his weakness. I doubt it will even come to conflict.”

“No!” protested Asha, drawing the sharp point of the priestess’s attention. “You never said anything about killing him.”

He stared at her. Her face had opened completely. Everything she’d been hiding from him since he’d found her—conflict, anger, fear … regret?

“You didn’t
ask
, child,” said Cleo.

“It won’t work,” Pax said, unconcerned with the threat. “I disappeared at the same time you did. My father will make the connection. Everyone in the city will make the connection.”

He recoiled at the smile that spread over her extreme Manti features. “Your presence alone here is evidence enough your father knows nothing of our ‘disappearance.’ We’ll simply return to the temple. There will be nothing to connect us. You’re right that it won’t do for your father or anyone else to suspect we’re involved. So we’re not going to be.” Her gaze came to rest on Asha.

Pax’s heart thundered as he saw where this was going. Asha took a slow step closer to him. Where was her loyalty? He didn’t think she’d pieced it together yet. But Cleo would make it all clear very soon. He wondered if the priestess realized how perfect a trap it was. Both the Guard and his sister were witnesses to the fact he’d gone into the city with Asha. Even Iris would suspect her.

“We can’t afford to be seen with you,” said the priestess, “so I’m afraid we need to take care of the ugly part of the business now.”

*   *   *

“Bring the girl,” said Cleo.

Asha eyed Pax’s knife, glittering on the ground near the fire pit, but the disciples were on her too fast. As Pax went for the knife a disciple kicked him in the stomach and stuck a gun in his face.

Pain seared across Asha’s low back as they dragged her to Cleo.

“Don’t do this,” she begged. “There has to be another way.”

“I’m not going to do it.” Cleo waved to a man behind her, and he stepped forward.

Using the edge of his cloak, the disciple lifted a knife from his belt. He held it out to Asha.

She stared at it, aghast.

“Bring him,” called Cleo, and two more men dragged Asha’s father to his feet. He was awake now, but groggy and confused.

“Asha?” he croaked.

“Pax or your father,” said the priestess. “You choose.”

She gaped at the bugwoman. “I’m not killing
anyone
.”

“I need your prints on the knife, so you are.”

Asha shook her head slowly, pain and horror sickening her. “I won’t.”

“Kill him,” Cleo ordered the man holding her father.

“Wait!” Asha cried.
Oh God, what now
?

The disciple thrust the knife at her again, and she took it. She turned to Pax. Cleo’s men had his arms spread wide, forcing his midsection forward.

“What’s going on?” her father demanded. “Cleo?”

The only question is which side you’re going to choose
. But choosing between her father and the man who’d just rescued her from Beck was not any kind of choice at all. There was only one person in the room she’d stab right now given the chance.

“Your time for thinking about this is up,” warned Cleo. “On three. One—”

“My lady? What’s happened?”

Asha spun around. Micah had appeared in the doorway, and he studied the scene in confusion. His brow furrowed as his eyes met Asha’s.

“Micah, please!” she cried. “She’s ordered me to kill Pax! She’s got my father!”

Micah located the two men she’d mentioned, his gaze lingering on the second. “You’re ‘Hark’?”

Her father stood on his own feet now, shaky and short of breath from the effort. He nodded.

Micah turned to Cleo, frowning. “I don’t understand all this. What’s the point of using her this way?”

She expected the priestess to assert her authority. As she launched into an explanation of her plan instead, Asha began to see their relationship was not exactly what she’d thought it was. He had been deferent and respectful, yes. But Cleo had relied on him heavily in her scheming. He was clearly concerned about the turn of events, and he had the power to expose them all.