The Ophelia Prophecy (33 page)

He took Asha’s hand, leading her toward the tunnel.

“How do you propose to get through the seals?” asked Cleo.

Pax muttered a curse, and reversed direction. “We’ll go in the open.”

“You won’t make good time that way.” Cleo raised her arm, and one of the armed guards stepped in their path.

“What do you suggest?” demanded Pax, exasperated.

“Take Cyrus,” Cleo replied, gesturing to her mate. “He’ll get you through the tunnels. Then he can slip back into Al Campo and warn my disciples.” She paused, her expression hardening. “It’s the only way I’m letting you go.”

Pax exchanged a scowl with the larger Manti. “Fine, let’s go.”

*   *   *

They progressed much faster through the underground without the weight of a dead man, and crossed quicker over the uneven ground in the full light of day. Pax had worried his father would be somewhere nearby, watching and waiting, and would simply send a detail to pick them up. So they’d brought the camouflage cloaks to better their chances.

When they reached Al Campo all was quiet, and Pax used the extra time to figure out what to do about Asha. They agreed it was best for her to go with Cyrus and find her father. Pax didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but more critical than that was keeping her out of the amir’s. As long as Pax managed to talk his way out of this without the Guard moving into the camp, she would be safe. And if he failed—well, she was far from helpless and no doubt could hold her own until he could get to her.

Asha headed south with Cyrus, and Pax continued toward the village’s main gate. Just outside the camp he let his cloak slip from his shoulders—and jumped as his father uncloaked just a few meters in front of him.

“Thank you for coming, Son,” said the amir.

“I don’t remember you giving me a choice.”

“You didn’t leave me one either.”

Behind the amir, a couple hundred of the palace guardsmen uncloaked. They pressed tight around the perimeter of Al Campo, like flies on rotting meat.

“You expecting a fight?”

His father smiled. “I need you to understand I’m serious.”

“You’ve made that clear enough.”

His father moved closer. Pax was strong and fit, but the older man was larger and bulkier. Part of that was the fault of his infamous sweet tooth. But he was also layered with rock-hard muscle, which he wasn’t afraid to display by going shirtless. The old man could thump his chest with the best of them.

“So what happens if I agree to come back to the palace?” asked Pax. “You’ll leave these people alone?”

The amir tilted his head slowly, focusing large eyes that were the same shape as Iris’s. Also like Iris he stood on human legs and had spiked forearms. Pax had always wondered why he’d been born with a middle set of appendages when none of the rest of his family had them. They hadn’t been functional—or at least that was the reason that had been given for their removal. But he remembered feeling sensation in them before his final surgery. For the first time in his life he wondered about that. His father clearly did not like to be challenged by anyone under his roof.

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that now, Augustus,” replied his father.

The hair at the back of Pax’s neck prickled. “How so?”

“You defied me, very publicly.”

Pax frowned. “
You’ve
made it public with this whipping you’ve decided to give me, instead of sitting down and hearing what I had to say.”

“It was your actions that set this in motion,” insisted the amir. “In response to this public insult, I’m challenging you to a public fight.”

Pax’s jaw clenched. “What?”

He’d heard his father just fine, and he knew very well the amir was serious. They’d been here before, though never off the palace grounds, or in front of so many others. But he’d never backed his father into a corner like this.

“Fight me here, now,” said the amir. “Whatever the outcome, we’ll call the matter closed between us. I’ll even allow you to bring your pet back to the palace.”

Pax seethed, the red haze enveloping him. It was the second time his father had disparaged Asha. And this time he’d done it in front of a huge assembly of guards.

“And if I refuse?”

“You seal the fate of the girl and everyone here.”

“And you feel that’s fair.” Fair did not play into the amir’s dealings with his family. Or anyone else for that matter.

More than punishment, or bargaining, Pax knew this was about drying up any whispers of weakness Pax’s defection might have loosed into the city. Someday the amir would pass the mantle of leadership to his son. Until then, Emile Paxton’s power must remain uncontested. There was no point in challenging his father on this. He would simply justify it as preserving the authority of the office for future generations.

“Your choice, Augustus,” replied his father.

Laughing dryly, Pax yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

*   *   *

Asha followed Cyrus through the hidden entrance, and they moved cautiously through the alley that ran along the back boundary of the camp. No sign of the amir’s men outside the camp, and no sign of
anyone
inside.

“It’s quiet,” she said.

“We should be too,” cautioned Cyrus.

“Let’s split up and see what we can find. I want to look for my father.” She also had not developed any particular fondness for her companion during the trek back to Bone Town. He said so little it was hard to get a read on him.

“Your father is accounted for.” Asha spun at the sound of the familiar voice behind them. “We’ve made other arrangements for
you
.”

“Iris! What are you doing here?”

“Helping my brother.”

Asha was relieved to hear it, but she was confused by the lack of warmth in Iris’s tone.

“Let’s get out of here, Cyrus,” said Iris.

The big Manti suddenly grabbed Asha from behind.

“Hey!” she shouted.

He wrestled her close, hooking an arm around her neck, and she fumbled for the fruit knife Pax had given her. Grasping the hilt she snatched it from her pocket, but Cyrus caught hold of her, his enormous hand squeezing her wrist so hard the small bones ground together. The knife struck the stones at her feet and bounced away.

“Don’t damage her, Cyrus,” Iris warned sharply. Asha could feel blood trickling where a spike had grazed across her chest.

“No,” agreed Cleo’s mate, a sneer in his voice, “my lady will want her intact.”

Asha stared at Iris in horror. She had clearly chosen sides in this family battle. “Don’t do this, Iris! He trusts you.”

Ignoring Asha’s pleas, Iris led the way as Cyrus dragged Asha back down the alley. She’d barely gotten her feet under her when they pushed her through the fence.

They continued east along the hillside beyond the village, and Iris suddenly called, “Drop ramp, Troya.”

Asha stared as an opening materialized in thin air, like a window to another dimension. The window grew until she could see the inside of the Scarab. The ship was camouflaged against the hillside. She shouted Pax’s name as they dragged her on board, until Iris’s hand clamped down over her mouth.

*   *   *

The amir grinned in anticipation, and Pax willed his body to loosen and relax. He fought the red veil with everything he had. He needed his brain for this fight. The amir wouldn’t kill him, nor did he want to kill the amir. It wasn’t what this was about. Each of them had very different goals. Both had little to do with the fight itself.

Luckily for Pax, both his goal and his father’s required the same outcome: Pax had to lose the fight so his father wouldn’t need to save face by attacking the camp. He’d
always
lost to his father in these contests—but he’d never gone into a fight so angry.

With a loud roar the amir ran at him. Suddenly Pax was twelve again, when his father had first made it clear his authority was not to be questioned. There was a line Pax had learned very early there were consequences for crossing—debate was tolerated, defiance was not. And even debate would eventually weary the amir, as it had with Cleo, until that too was subject to forceful correction.

Pax sidestepped his father, as his father must have known he would. The lunge was just a signal the fight had started, and an attempt at intimidation.

Despite the fact his father did not intend to kill him, there wasn’t much either of them could do to prevent injury by the spiked arms. Pax had fought spiked Manti before—it was a trait of his race, the males especially, to challenge power—and he’d lost count of the times he’d been called out in the street. Spikes required distance. No wrestling grips. Get in, jab, get out.

His father lunged again, and as Pax shifted out of the path of his bulk, he punched his father in the ribs.

The amir grunted and stepped out of range, still grinning.

The host of guardsmen had loosened up at the inception of the fight, re-forming around the pair and shouting words of encouragement.

The amir was in his element. He loved a spectacle, and any opportunity to display his strength. He drew up again to his full height, and motioned to Pax.

Pax preferred defensive fighting, but he knew his father wouldn’t be satisfied if he didn’t attack. Not only that, offense required more energy, and energy was the main advantage he had over the amir. His father wanted to drain as much of it as possible.

Gritting his teeth, he bounded forward. A massive fist came down, and he dropped to the ground, sweeping his legs against his father’s. The older man stumbled but quickly righted himself.

“You’re even faster than when you were a boy,” his father observed. He could be generous with approval when he felt it had been earned.

They continued the dance, taking turns attacking and defending, and soon Pax could hear his father’s labored breathing. He sensed his father’s frustration that he hadn’t been able to land a solid blow.

Too caught up in analysis, Pax failed to sense the fist headed for his back, and it knocked him to his knees. The shouts of the men quieted for a moment, and Pax thought he heard another kind of shout—a feminine one.

His head jerked toward the sound on instinct, and another blow, this time to his jaw, knocked him to the ground.

Asha
. Suddenly he was acutely aware that wherever she was, she was afraid. Time to bring this to a close.

He rose to his feet slower than necessary. The next blow that came, he made a good show of barely escaping.

“Shall we finish it now?” asked the amir, satisfaction curling his lips. “Leave you a little energy to play with your new toy?”

A shout of rage ripped from Pax’s throat as he ran at the amir, colliding with him, oblivious to the spike that pierced the back of his left leg. The flash of surprise in his father’s eyes was worth it.

And it also brought him back to himself.

The amir clasped a hand over Pax’s throat. Pax allowed himself to be shoved backward, and finally onto the ground, by the force of his father’s grip. The amir leaned close, and Pax released his grip on the larger man’s rib cage, allowing his body to go slack.

I can win this
. For the first time in his life, he knew he had it in him to beat his father. Here before all his men. The whole city would know.

“Enough, Son?” asked the amir.

“Enough,” Pax choked out.

His father released him and stood up. He extended a hand and pulled Pax up, clapping a hand against his back. The guardsmen cheered their leader.

As the clapping died down, the amir said, “Good fight, Augustus. All is forgiven. Bring your mistress to the palace and set her up as you please.”

The amir motioned to his men and they formed lines, but instead of marching away, they turned to face Al Campo’s gate.

Pax glanced at his father, confused. “What’s going on?”

“It’s time to end this, Son. Remove this point of contention between us.”

Pax gaped, his gut roiling. “What are you talking about?”

“These survivors no longer serve a purpose. They’ve become like a virus among us, causing division. Inspiring rebellion.”

“We had an agreement,” protested Pax, loud enough for the Guard to hear. “I fought you, just like you wanted. You’re going back on your word?”

“I’m rewarding your cooperation by letting you keep your mistress. But I came out here to close this camp, and that’s what I intend to do. Go back to the Alhambra if you don’t have the stomach for it.”

“These people have done nothing! Don’t punish them because you’re angry with
me
.”

The amir’s gold-green eyes flashed fury. “These people joined in an alliance with Rebelión!” His father stepped forward, his raised fist shaking with anger. “Don’t make me remind you of the part you’ve played in all this. Get out of my sight, Augustus.”

*   *   *

Inside the Scarab Asha gave up fighting them. There were too many foes—including the ship itself—to make it worth the energy expenditure. And it kept her from paying attention to details that might be important.

Iris and Cyrus escorted her to the bridge. They found Cleo waiting. At this point it came as no surprise.

“Excellent work, child,” said Cleo. Only this time the term of endearment was directed at the priestess’s daughter.

Iris crossed to her mother, boot heels thudding against the deck. The two women embraced.

“Hello, Mother,” murmured Iris.

The oddly warm reunion sent a whole pack of chills racing down Asha’s spine. Everyone in Pax’s family had turned against him.

“Everything’s gone like we’ve planned?” asked Cleo.

Iris shook her head gravely. “The amir’s letting you go, and he doesn’t care what happens to Pax’s pet, as long as she never comes back.” Iris’s gaze brushed Asha, and Asha’s stomach knotted with fear. “But the disciples you had inside the camp—they decided to stay and fight. There was nothing I could do.”

Cleo’s face fell. “The fools.” The anger in her voice was tinged with regret. She cared about her people at least, if no one else. “Today was not the day for this.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” said Iris. “And your enemies have all been punished.”