Chapter 21 Zaria
ZARIA
Ihold the remote in my hand. Another documentary.
I've seen ten of them in the last few days.
Maybe more. I stopped counting after the one about Viking burial rites and how they'd burn the dead on ships, send them to Valhalla wrapped in smoke and flame.
Just like the Order. Just like what they did to Sister Anna.
It's been three or four days since I last saw Callum. I've lost track. The only way I mark time now is by the meals they bring.
When Tommy comes in, he sometimes says something to me. The other guy just comes in, sets the tray on the dresser, and leaves without a word.
Either way, I just eat, watch TV, pace, and sleep.
Sure, at the Order it was bad, but at least I had others to talk to.
The Sisters. Even when we weren't allowed to speak, we'd pass looks, share stolen smiles in the kitchen, whisper when the Brothers weren't watching.
Here, I'm alone with my thoughts, and that's scarier than anything Cormac ever did to me.
But I'm thankful for the food, and the clothes, and the room. I am.
I really, really am.
I have to tell myself over and over that it's okay to have things and I don’t need to give thanks in the way I was taught to.
I shift in the bed, nudging my head deeper into the pillow.
That's the thing about waiting. You learn to read time in the way the light changes, the way your own body starts to give up hope. My chest loosens, not because I'm relieved, but because the small, stupid part of me that keeps expecting him finally starts to quiet down.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
Maybe he's already decided what to do with me, and I'm just waiting for the axe to fall.
Then, the lock clicks.
I jolt upright as the door swings open.
Callum steps inside, dressed in a tailored black suit, the kind that costs more than anything I've ever owned. His tie is perfect, and he looks sharp. Like he hasn't spent the last few days dealing with whatever it is he's been doing.
I scoot to the edge of the bed, moving on instinct.
"Hi," I say, my voice too eager, too desperate.
He doesn't respond at first, so I fill the silence. "How are you?"
He tilts his head side to side, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake something off.
"Long days."
I nod, studying him. His jaw muscles flex and his lips part like he wants to speak but doesn't.
"It must be hard," I say. "Being in your position. Being the leader of a family."
He doesn't say anything.
I bite my lip, then try again. "Do you ever have days where you're nervous or scared?"
"Scared?" he repeats, and he walks further into the room. "Why?"
I shrug, glancing down at my hands. "I watched this show about Alexander the Great. It claimed he was scared before every battle, and he conquered most of the known world before his thirty-third birthday."
Callum tilts his head. "You think that's true?"
I shrug again. "It would make sense. I mean, risking your life in war has to be scary. But in the end, I guess it doesn't really matter. He won."
Callum slips his hands into his pockets, studying me. "You like watching stuff like that?"
"Oh yes," I say, and my voice softens. I look down at the floor, afraid to meet his eyes. "I'd like to think in another life I was studying our past. You know, becoming a professor or something. Teaching people about history. About what we can learn from it."
He nods, still watching me.
The silence stretches, and I feel heat crawl up my neck. I clear my throat.
"What about you?" I ask, forcing myself to look up at him. "If you could be doing anything other than what you've been given, what would you do?"
He rubs his chin, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
"Sorry if that's too personal," I add quickly. "You don't have to answer me."
"I checked the location you drew," he says, changing the subject.
My stomach tightens. "And?"
"It checked out. We found a shrine. Complete with a statue of the Morrígan, some relics, and a lot of blood."
I flinch. Hearing that word, blood, sends a sharp stab through my chest. My throat tightens.
"Oh," I whisper. "They performed a sacrifice."
"I take it that was human blood?" Callum asks, his tone flat.
"Yeah." I swallow hard, forcing the words out. "Now that my dad's plan is in motion, the Morrígan needs blood. When all that started, a lot of people, me included, questioned it. But they fell back in line." I pause. "Me, not so much."
Callum walks over and sits next to me on the bed.
My breath catches.
It's the closest he's ever been to me, save for when I was strapped to a chair in his basement. I can smell him. He smells like an expensive cologne and something deeper. No incense or smoke. Just him.
It's nice.
He rubs his forehead. I notice he does that a lot.
"You gave me good intel," he says, looking at me. "So you get a reward. Some fresh air. Come with me."
I blink, stunned. My heart pounds.
I stare at him, unsure if this is a test.
Fresh air.
I haven't been outside since arriving here.
I nod quickly, then stand too fast and almost stumble because my legs are suddenly weak.
Callum rises with me, and for a second we're standing too close, the air between us tight. Then he steps back, turning toward the door.
"Shoes," he says, like he's reminding himself I'm not an animal he can drag barefoot.
"I have them," I say, and move to slip my flats on. My hands tremble as I do it.
Callum opens the door. A guard is there, immediately alert. Callum gives him a look that sends him stepping aside without a word. Another guard appears at the end of the hallway.
I step out, and the hallway feels like a different world after so long trapped in one room.
Callum walks ahead, not touching me, but close enough that if I run, he'll catch me. I can feel it. The control is quiet and absolute.
I follow him down the stairs and through the house I've only seen pieces of. My heart pounds with every step, and my nerves make me cold.
Before I know it, we step outside.
The pool glows in the dark, lit from beneath by soft blue lights. The water ripples gently, reflecting the stars above.
I stop at the edge, staring.
"Can I swim?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"No," Callum says. "Just sit for now."
I don't argue. I've learned better than to push.
I sit on the edge of the pool, rolling up my jeans to my knees. I dip my feet into the water, and warmth rushes over my skin. I close my eyes, breathing in the chlorine, the cool night air, the faint scent of grass and earth.
Callum stays back in the shadows, leaning against a pillar. I can feel him watching me. His gun is visible on his hip, the black leather holster catching the light.
A reminder that he is the warden and I'm the prisoner.
I swing my legs slowly through the water, watching the ripples spread outward.
"The water feels like bathwater," I say.
"I had it heated," he says from the shadows.
I look up at him and then turn away to hide my smile, watching the water shimmer.
"I'd be in here every day if this was mine," I say.
“That's funny because I haven't been in this pool in,” he says and pauses, “over a year.”
I glance over at him again, and he's still staring at me.
I look away quickly and lift my legs up, watching the water drip off them and back into the pool. "So," I say, "now what?"
"What do you mean?"
I swallow. My throat feels thick. "I know you can't keep me locked up forever. I know you'll have to get rid of me eventually. And my father. So I want to know my fate."
Callum's posture shifts, subtle. He pushes off the pillar and takes a step closer, stopping several feet away. Close enough that I can see the pool lights reflecting off his green eyes.
"Who says I have to get rid of you?" he asks.
I shrug. "I don't know. I thought I wasn't worth saving."
"Do you really feel that way?" he asks, stepping forward slightly. "That you're not worth it?"
"Yeah." I stare down at the water. "I've been told since I was thirteen that I'm only worthy to serve the Order and my dad's bidding. So..."
I trail off and welcome the silence.
"That night my father was killed," Callum says in a low tone. "You said you waited in the hall. Why did you even go? What changed?"
I swallow hard. My hand moves to my left arm. I push up the sleeve, revealing the thin, precise burn running along my forearm. A single line, barely healed.
"This," I say quietly.
He steps closer and crouches beside me, his hand reaching out. His fingers wrap around my wrist, gentle but firm, tilting my arm toward the pool light.
"What is that?" he asks, his voice deep.
I look at his fingers on my skin. They're warm.
"A feather burn," I say. "Or the start of one."
"What?"
"When you disobey, you're marked with the Morrígan's calling. A feather. It's basically a thin wire they heat over fire and press into your skin. They make the shape of a feather."
"God," he breathes.
"It fucking hurts," I say with a humorless laugh, pulling my arm away and tugging my sleeve back down. "So I went."
He looks at me, and I say what I've been thinking the past few days because I need him to know.
"You know, Callum," I say softly, looking up at him, "I am truly sorry about your dad."
"Yeah," he says, standing. "We buried him yesterday."
"Oh."
I don't say anything else. What could I say? I'm sorry the Order killed him? I'm sorry my father orchestrated it? I'm sorry I didn't stop it?
None of it would matter. And even though we're so close we're worlds apart.
I sit in silence, staring down at the water. The ripples fade. The pool grows still.
"You know," I say finally, "we have something in common."
"What's that?"
"We're both carrying the burdens of our family. Me with my deranged father, and you with your grandfather." I stretch out my legs again, lifting them above the water and watching it drip off my skin. "Both bound to a cause we had no part in, and now we've got to deal with it. It sucks."
Callum looks at me. I can feel his eyes on me, sharp and assessing.
"Yeah," he says. "Well, in either case, you know I'm going to have to kill your father. And the man responsible for making a nurse kill mine."
I nod. "Brother George."
"Do you know how I can get to him?" he asks. "Can you tell me where he lives?"
"He lives in the same compound I did. It's heavily guarded."
I think for a moment, turning the idea over in my mind.
Then it hits me.
"Actually," I say, looking up at him, "I can do you one better. You want to go to a ceremony?"
"What? Seriously?" he says.
I nod. "I've brought people before. We do it all the time. We're supposed to, for cash or to recruit."
"Won't they recognize me the moment I walk in?" he asks sternly.
"No. We wear masks. No one will know it's you."
"And how do I know you won't just lead me to my death?" he asks, his tone sharp.
I stare at him and smile. "Well, one, you don't. And two, if you're caught, we both die. And by that, I mean tortured. Even I don't want to go like that."
"I'll pass," he says without hesitation.
I nod, "it's the only way to get to Brother George without an army."
He studies me for a moment, then looks away. "Okay. Time to head back to your room."
I don't want to leave the pool. I want to stay here, under the stars, with the water warm against my skin and the smell of chlorine in my lungs, but I’m sensing that if I test too much, I won't get it again.
I pass him, and I feel his gaze on me. I don't look up, afraid of what I'll see if I do.
We make our way back up the stairs in silence. He walks me back into the room, something he's never done before. He usually just unlocks the door and I walk in alone.
He turns to leave, then stops and looks at me.
"Baseball," he says.
"Baseball?"
"Yeah. Earlier, when you asked what I'd be doing in a different life. Baseball. I played it growing up and loved it." He tilts his head, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I was pretty good at it, too."
Then he steps out and locks the door behind him.
I stand there, staring at the closed door, my heart racing.
Baseball.
I sink onto the bed, pulling my knees to my chest, and for the first time in days, I smile.