CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I should head straight back to the safehouse, but I don’t.
I can’t bring myself to stand there as Alaric tells me how foolish I was to go to Marcus, hoping he would give me a satisfactory answer.
I don’t want to see the look of triumph on his face as he realizes Marcus is no longer a rival for my affections.
Because he isn’t, he can’t be. Not after this.
Not after he’s betrayed me so many times.
Marcus wants to be with me, and I still feel a wave of attraction when I think of him, but I’ll never know if anything is real with him.
He might want to be with me because he loves me, or it might just be because I’m a source of political advancement to him.
Marcus' choice of sides seems to shift in the breeze.
He's stood with the Republic, but he worked with Domitian, and now he's siding with Selene.
He helped me to control the supposedly safer, renewed games, even while he was running death matches beneath the city's streets.
Marcus has said again and again that he only delves into the corruption of the city so he can uncover it later, but past a certain point, I must believe he's only doing it so he can have power.
That seems to be at Marcus' heart, that need for power and control, the endless desire for advancement and self-promotion.
He sits at the head of a faction in the Senate, using it to advance himself steadily towards the role of First Senator.
He trades favors with the most dangerous people of the city so they'll do what he wants.
He announced me as his fiancé as a way of promoting the two of us in the eyes of the public, setting up a couple the people would rally behind.
Even Marcus' support for the games has more to do with politics than an inherent love for the violence.
He sees that, by giving the people what they want, he increases his popularity.
He creates a venue for his shady deals in the receiving rooms of the colosseum.
He demonstrates his power as he organizes the games, and in doing so, people come to believe in his power even more.
I have no doubt he's working to make the grand tournament into something perfect, even as I walk around the city with tears staining my cheeks beneath the hood of my robes.
When it comes down to it, Marcus Larius’ greatest loyalty is always going to be to himself.
“Is everything well, sister?” a priest asks me, perhaps sensing how ill at ease I am.
I nod, keeping my face covered, quickly turning to hurry away from him.
I head through the city’s streets, and it feels to me as if everything around me is filled with anger and grief.
My eyes pick out the people who have their own sorrows, crying here and there for reasons I can’t delve into.
I hear arguments and confrontations. I feel one such building in a back street and go to investigate it, seeing half a dozen thugs wearing flashes of Selene’s purple and gold surrounding a young woman.
“Your father didn’t pay his protection money, so now we’re going to figure out another way for you to pay us,” one says.
Another curls his lip. “And when we’re done, there are people who’ll buy a pretty thing like you.”
Normally, I would give them a warning, but with so many opponents, surprise is the best advantage I have.
In any case, I don’t want to waste time on words.
I hurt too much for that. I want to scream my pain and anger to the world, so I do, and turn that scream into a battle cry as I rush the men, reaching out for whatever power I can grasp as I go.
I take some speed from an alley cat, and my fingers twist into claws as I go, but I mix it with the ferocity of a couple of street dogs, the grace of the birds above…
I slam into the first man to turn towards me, raking my clawed hand across his chest. He falls back, looking at me in terror.
Another of them thrusts a dagger my way, and I weave aside from it, slashing his arm, then kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground.
I hear myself growling like an animal as I slash and move, dodging attacks and attacking with a level of ferocity that quickly sends another of the gang members stumbling from me.
Two of them close in on me at once, moving in from either side.
I let them get close, wait for them to attack, and then leap straight up, over their blows, letting them stumble into one another.
I land on them, knocking them to the ground and tearing at them so they scramble to try to get away from me.
I hear a sound behind me, and, too late, I remember the sixth gang member.
He's already thrusting a short sword at me, and I know it's too late to dodge, even with the speed and strength I've borrowed.
I stare at the advancing blade, and a part of me welcomes the prospect of death if only it will stop the pain I feel, even as the rest of me roars my defiance.
But the blow doesn’t land. Another blade is there, knocking it aside. Alaric is suddenly beside me, slashing the last attacker with his sword, forcing him to fall back. The six men are all fleeing now, running to get as far away from me as possible.
I’m breathing hard, my clawed hands wet with blood. The young woman the gang members were attacking is on the ground, sobbing, and I can feel her fear, her sorrow.
"You need to let it go, Lyra," Alaric says. He's breathing hard, and I can feel both fear and anger spreading within him, but he's pushing them down, submerged beneath everything he feels for me.
I snarl at him without thinking.
“You’re not in control, so you’ve taken too much,” Alaric says. His voice is calm, but I can feel that’s only because of his iron willpower. “And you’re spilling out what you feel, Lyra. You need to stop.”
His words cut through everything I’m feeling, and for an instant, I see myself from the outside. Maybe it’s through the eyes of some passing animal. I see myself as a wild thing, only a step away from the kind of bestial thing I’ve seen beast whisperers become before.
I have to fight to let go of my powers, fight to let my hands return to something normal and human. I give back the grace, the ferocity, the strength I’ve stolen, watching as the animals I’ve influenced flee the area.
The emotions I’ve been spilling around me are more difficult. It hurts to take back the pain and anger I’ve been pouring out into those around me. I start to build walls around those emotions, and Alaric holds me tightly against him while my tears fall.
“You followed me,” I say.
“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” Alaric replies. “And I wanted to be here for you when he hurt you.”
When, not if. For Alaric, it was always about whether Marcus would hurt me physically or just emotionally.
And he was determined to be there for me.
He must have followed me in disguise, tracking my steps even as I did something he disapproved of.
I cling to him, slowly piecing myself back together as I regain the control over my powers that I lost after I fled my meeting with Marcus.
I feel weak now, shaking with both emotion and all the power I've used.
I must have spilled my emotions over half the city thanks to my powers.
I wonder how many fights there have been because of me, how many people have been hurt.
“Come on,” Alaric says. “Let’s head back.”
Back to the safehouse, back to the resistance. It's where I belong now, and it's the place from which I swear I'll stop Selene, whatever it takes, even if it means going up against Marcus.