CHAPTER FOURTEEN
J ules stared out the train window with unseeing eyes. His mind returned again and again to Kian. No matter how proficient he’d become at burying his pain, Kian’s death was an open wound. The exorcist, with her underwhelming reassurances, had changed nothing. His heart had given a small skip of hope and promptly shrivelled up once more. He propped his feet up on the seat opposite. Preliminary results, my ass . Whoever had concocted those hadn’t been inside the orphanage with them.
Nobody could have survived that.
Eliot stepped into the cabin. He knocked Jules’s boots off the seat and sat facing him, hands loosely linked between his knees as he locked their gazes.
Jules tipped a curious brow.
‘Eliot,’ Selene said in greeting, though she didn’t look up from the leather portfolio.
In spite of himself, Jules was beginning to feel a muted curiosity about what she was reading.
Eliot’s expression was set to careful neutral as he unhooked the twin blades at his hip, but a line between his brows betrayed him. Then he set a neat stack of clothes on the seat beside him. ‘Are you sure about this?’ Eliot asked without taking his eyes off Jules.
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ Selene said, setting aside her portfolio and capping her pen.
By way of answer, Eliot extended the twin blades to Jules. ‘For you.’
Raising both hands, Jules leaned away. ‘No. I can’t.’ He glanced down at his gloved fingers, curling them. The leather creaked. ‘I refuse.’
And he would refuse until he could confidently answer the question: Who is Jules Lacroix? He didn’t know. The man he’d been for four years had died on the battlefield beside Farah, with the Tsarina’s laughter ringing in his ears. And he’d died again in Nice when Kian did. A more brutal death still.
Selene’s eyes flickered with annoyance. ‘He won’t touch a blade. Not even if his life depends on it.’
Why were they arming him, for God’s sake? Half an hour earlier he’d been in chains. He looked between the swords and Eliot, as though they might bite. ‘What’s this about?’
Eliot made a soft sound of exasperation. ‘Would you wear them on your hip if I promise you don’t have to use them?’
He considered it, then gave a nod.
Selene scoffed as Eliot set the swords on the seat beside him. ‘I need some air before Nice.’ She stood suddenly. ‘Eliot, explain the rest, won’t you?’
Eliot’s dark eyes followed Selene as she stalked out the door.
‘She seems fun.’ Jules stood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stared out the window.
Outside, the mountains hurried by in a blur. The glass radiated cold.
‘My uniform. My ancestral blades.’ Eliot indicated the pile of clothing and then waved toward a small monogrammed travel case in the corner. ‘Given you cannot merely walk into the Vatican as a civilian—’ he pinched the bridge of his nose—‘ or as a member of our military, even if you hadn’t already deserted your post … you will impersonate me in Rome while I assist Caterina and Lucia in Nice.’
‘Impersonate you?’
‘Yes. You’ll be entering the Vatican as me.’
Jules barked a humourless laugh. ‘We look nothing alike.’
‘Luckily nobody in Rome has seen me in seven years. A lot can change in that time.’
‘I don’t think even seven years could do this.’
Eliot was slight and inches shorter than Jules. All they shared was their dark hair, and even that was marked by more differences than similarities. Where Eliot’s was slicked back, military style, and shaved close at the sides, Jules’s was a bird’s nest. But there was more to their differences than looks. Eliot held himself like a noble. Similar to Selene, but with a reticence Jules could sense but not quite put his finger on.
Eliot’s mouth twitched. He sat, leaning back in his seat. ‘I’ll teach you what I can before Nice.’ He extended the twin blades again.
Theirs was a compact written in steel.
Jules grimaced and pushed his hands into his pockets. They were beautiful weapons, but that wasn’t the problem.
He didn’t want to be a monster.
Eliot sighed. ‘I know this sounds risky, but I agree with Selene that this is the best way. I wouldn’t go along with it if I thought it was more dangerous than going in as yourself. Being me will give you a measure of protection you do not have as a deserter.’
Jules turned his face to the window, not answering.
‘If not for yourself, then for the people I need you to protect,’ Eliot said softly. His hand was still extended, gripping the blades.
Jules glanced at them, world narrowing to that beautiful steel. He could almost taste their power. Eliot was not asking him to kill, but to protect .
‘I only have to wear them?’
Eliot nodded.
Muscles heavy with reluctance, Jules reached out, grasping the leather straps that loosely held the blades crossed together. ‘Who do I need to protect, Eliot?’
The motion of the train made Selene’s fountain pen roll gently across the closed dossier and Eliot stilled it with one hand. He set his jaw, saying nothing.
‘If you can’t tell me that, who am I protecting them from ?’
Eliot ran a hand over his face. ‘Half my story isn’t mine to tell. The other half risks you more than it helps you. But I’ll tell you what I can of the pieces in between.’ His voice was muffled as he rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘I was exiled because, for whatever reason, somebody high up saw me as a threat.’
‘But seven years ago you would’ve been—’
‘Twelve, yes. A child. But I wasn’t a threat because of my raw power or my training. I didn’t have either of those back then. I was a threat for another reason, because power isn’t just about that. In Rome power is about influence and control.’
‘Influence and control?’ Jules echoed.
Eliot nodded. ‘Our system is one of strict hierarchy, with exorcists at the top. We have nobles whose families populate the Academy—but that is no guarantee, because you must also have innate ability. From the age of seven, we are taught to do what we do. Those who cannot are weeded out.’
Jules frowned. Eliot was barely scraping the surface of the truth.
‘And sometimes they die,’ Eliot murmured, glancing away.
Jules spread his arms across the seat back. ‘Who teaches you?’
‘Instructors. Older exorcists. It’s a system that reinforces our power structure. Ability primarily runs through blood. Old Roman families, for some reason, have the best chance of thriving. The Alleva family, for instance. Selene’s father was a powerful exorcist before he died. And her uncle is the Imperium Bellum.’
Jules racked his brain for the Latin. ‘ Bellum means war, yes?’
Eliot nodded. ‘Imperium Bellum. Lord of War. The Vatican’s military leader. As long as the Holy Vatican Empire is at war, he’ll be the most powerful man in the empire.’
‘Would that be raw power?’ Jules asked.
Eliot’s lips tipped slightly. ‘Now you’re getting it. The answer is yes and no. Cesare Alleva does have raw power, but he has even more influence. His brother was the prodigy when it came to raw power. He would’ve become Imperium Politikos in time.’
Jules nodded slowly. ‘You’re telling me that Cesare’s the most dangerous man in Rome.’
‘No.’ Eliot shook his head, his mouth curling into a strange smile. ‘I’m telling you he’s the most dangerous man in the empire and that you need to keep your head down. He knew me. He exiled me. Selene is playing a dangerous game by bringing me back to Rome. She’s gambling on the fact that it’s less dangerous than telling them who you really are—and taking you into the lion’s den.’
Jules rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. ‘So whether he fully believes I’m you or if he figures out I’m me, either way I’m—’
‘Fucked. Yes.’
Jules glanced toward the door. ‘You didn’t say this in front of the Macellaia di Roma , why? Shouldn’t she know this about her uncle?’
Eliot spread his hands. ‘She knows but she doesn’t care. He’s not dangerous to Rome.’
‘And?’
‘Selene will always put Rome first. She thinks Rome needs him, like she needs him.’
‘ Does Rome need him?’
Eliot grimaced. ‘Maybe.’
‘How did you graduate if you were exiled?’
‘I completed my training in Nice. The Academy is the pinnacle, but I had already completed six years there. For the last four I essentially did on-the-job training.’
Jules ran his thumb over the raised pattern on the hilt of one of the swords. Wrought in dark metal in contrast to its pale sister. ‘Your family are exorcists as well, right? Like the Alleva family.’
Eliot nodded, following the movement. ‘Yes. And these are our family blades. Each captures something of the sun and the moon because we will do what we must to fight, whether it be day or night.’
The platinum filigree on the gunmetal moon blade was so intricate, there was more decoration than steel. So much it seemed to be lit from within.
‘Then why don’t you come back? We can think of another way to get me in. You know Rome. You know Cesare. And … I’m just a liability.’
Eliot glanced up. ‘I don’t believe that.’ His expression grew more serious and he drew a notebook from his pocket, but held it clamped between his palms as though to keep it sealed. He looked as though he were at war with himself.
Jules sighed. ‘Eliot, if you hold that any tighter, it’ll combust. Tell me or don’t.’
Eliot’s liquid dark eyes were rather lovely as he shot him a dirty look. But Jules’s words had the intended effect and he opened the notebook. ‘This is everything I know from Nice and Saint-Jeannet. Study it. In Rome Selene will take lead but you must have the answers if they ask. They’ll be interested in you because—’
‘Because they think I’m you?’
‘In a manner, but it isn’t necessarily about me. Matteo, my mentor, was Selene’s father.’ Was . Jules made a mental note to look into that later. ‘He was a good man. He saw something in me.’ Eliot smiled slightly, voice drifting into memory. ‘When I was at the Academy, he would check on my progress when he visited Selene and Niccolò.’ Seeing Jules’s expression, he hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Selene’s brother. We were all close. Grew up together. Matteo wasn’t allowed to administer their tests, but he did mine.’
‘What kind of tests? Tests to see who can look prettiest in black and gold? Who can wear the biggest, fanciest buttons?’
Eliot levelled him with a look and dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.
Another secret. Of course.
Jules thought of the Tsarina’s words on the battlefield. The Holy Vatican Empire, and all those beneath their aegis, have forgotten much . Was it any wonder? With so many secrets, the truth was bound to get lost somewhere along the way.
‘All you need to know is that the most important test decides if we’ll be an exorcist or an artificer. I’m sure Matteo would’ve administered that test for me too, but …’ Eliot shook his head.
Because of his exile? Jules wondered. Or because Matteo was already dead?
Jules leafed through the pages, glancing over Eliot’s notes. ‘The demon went to the church?’ he asked, remembering the spark in Selene’s eyes. église Saint-Pierre? she’d murmured. And, like a fool, he’d given her even more reason to think he was somehow connected to this … Baliel. This Duke of Briars .
The name sent a shiver down his spine.
Until his last day in Ostrava, Jules had seen demons as monstrous things. Twisted creatures, borrowed corpses. They rarely even resembled humans. But the weather demon had been something else entirely. And so had Baliel.
Their beauty. Their power. It was far more terrifying. No wonder the Vatican didn’t want them to know.
Giving Eliot a lingering, dubious look, Jules smoothed open the pages and began to read in earnest.
When the train eased to a stop in Nice-Ville, Jules tossed the notebook back to Eliot who snatched it from the air and tucked it into his pocket. He stood, nodding his thanks. As he passed through the cabin door, his coat flared out behind him and a folded piece of paper fluttered to the polished floorboards.
The train whistle sounded.
Jules glanced at the door to the corridor. Eliot was far too trusting, leaving him alone. No sooner had he considered the possibility of escape than he heard Selene on the platform. Standing, he looked out. Selene and Eliot stood close, their dark forms shrouded by billowing steam.
Bending, Jules picked up the fallen paper.
‘If you change your mind, we can think of another way to get him in.’
‘How?’
‘A body bag. Oh, don’t give me that look, Eliot.’
Eliot chuckled.
Jules glanced down at the fallen paper in his hand and stilled upon seeing the newspaper clipping. Eliot had folded the torn edges neatly as though to frame a black-and-white photograph of Selene that had made the news. Her hand was raised against a paparazzi flashbulb and, caught unawares, she was utterly compelling. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that he had not seen during their interactions.
A final whistle sounded, warning late travellers to hurry, and the thunk of steel on steel announced the train’s departure.
Au revoir, Nice .
‘I hope I can do this,’ he heard Selene say, her hair flashing past the window as she leapt onto the steps.
Eliot walked alongside the train. His eyes never once left Selene, so he didn’t notice Jules watching. ‘I know you can. You’re something special, Selene.’ A grin flashed across his face. ‘ Captain .’ He infused the word with deep affection.
Clipped footsteps announced Selene’s return and Jules fumbled the photograph, tucking it into his inside breast pocket. He sat back when the door opened, donning his most innocent of course I wasn’t eavesdropping smile.
She did not appear convinced.