Chapter Thirteen
After Denne left the clearing down by the river, she traveled in a scatter of molecules and re-formed on the front porch of a log cabin that was just outside of the s’Hisbe Territory.
The wind was really gusting around, the energy required to shove the blizzard down and off of Caldwell lingering even after the storm had headed out of state to fuck up Allentown and Pittsburgh.
As a result, the fluffy snow was already contouring into drifts and she had a thought about how nice spring was going to feel and smell.
She lived for that breath you took where you caught the first scents of earth and growing things after the long winter.
What she didn’t like was the hum off in the distance, that incessant murmuring of the data centers that the humans had built up all around the s’Hisbe’s vast acreage.
It used to be silent out here, nothing but wildlife and forest. Now, she couldn’t escape the feeling that they were being closed in on.
Still, the cold felt good, and it did good things to her.
The sting on her face, the tingling of her hands and her feet, the loft at the loose ends of her hair, all worked to clear out the cognitive dissonance that had frozen her mind so badly, she’d barely managed to evac herself out of those woods.
That male.
No, not the dead one.
Her head had been so scrambled, she’d ended up only a mile away from the clearing before she’d lost her concentration and had to go corporeal and regroup.
She’d stayed there, hidden in the trees, for a little while, watching the helicopter and a string of cop-bot cars and real policemen race after the two bank robbers in her favorite truck.
Fuckers. God, she hated criminals.
Then again, she was riding the felony train, too, wasn’t she. She’d murdered someone tonight. For a good reason, it was true, but not like in self-defense.
And she had no regrets.
Taking out her phone, she reread the text that had come through when she’d been watching the police chase: All taken care of. Emilio drove her to her mother’s. Pls let me know you got home yourself.
“Oh, Marco. You’re the best,” she murmured as she typed out a suitable response.
Shutting the screen off, she put the phone back in her parka’s pocket.
Standing in the wind, she breathed through her nose and told herself it was done. The night, and everything that had happened—wannabe mobster guy, that poor young woman, the male she’d met down by the river—was over.
Especially what had happened with those fucking shooting stars.
She was just going to pretend none of it had—
As a creak sounded behind her, she outed her gun and whipped around, leading with the muzzle. When she recognized the robed male standing in the cabin’s open doorway, she cursed and lowered the weapon.
“Christ, t’On, do you want to get shot?”
Which would have made it two for two tonight.
The Tretary’s carved face and deeply set eyes captured the light thrown by the snow, his expression as grim as she had ever seen it.
“Did you see the stars?” he asked in that heavily accented voice of his.
Reholstering her gun, Denne stepped past him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
She took off her parka on her way across to a rack of different colored robes. “Hard to miss.”
t’On’s silence was something she was used to and unbothered by. She’d known her mother’s trusted advisor all her life, so there was nothing more to discover about him and nothing to hide from him, either. In this regard, the quiet wasn’t stressful, even though the situation they were both in was.
At the rack, she took the one empty hanger and put her parka on it. Then she grabbed the first robe her hand landed on. When she saw what color it was, she almost put it back. Royal purple was associated with matings.
“Do you believe in fate,” she asked roughly as she put it on.
When t’On didn’t reply, she glared over her shoulder—and had to remind herself that shooting the messenger was never the right strategy. Like he had any control over the constellations? Over what he had charted and read on the night she had survived her transition?
“Do you?” she pushed.
The somber male cleared his throat, his dark, elegant hands steepling in front of his chest. “I believe the stars have things to tell us.”
“You’re not answering the question.” She yanked the tie into a bow at the front of her throat. “Fate or free will. Which do you pick?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Both. I believe in both. The constellations are a road map. What we choose to do with their advice is up to us—and the consequences are our own.”
“So that’s why you showed me that chart. Even after my mother put it away.”
“I thought you should know.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll let the Queen in on our little secret?”
“I will accept my consequences.”
“I’m not in love with you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know it.”
“We have something important in common, however. You and I are both totally committed to the s’Hisbe, and we are worried about the same thing.”
“I’m not worried about anything.” When the Tretary slowly shook his head, she cursed. “You’re not in my mind.”
“I don’t have to be. You are a female of worth and your loyalty is to your people.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It is reality, just like what is in the stars.” t’On put up both his palms to cut off her defiance.
“You are the savior of the Territory. Not your mother. Without you, the throne is lost, the s’Hisbe is wiped out—and everything we have ever been is gone.
That is your destiny for the common good, but of course, you are free to choose. ”
What about her parents, she thought. What about her mother as the rightful Queen.
“Don’t you think all this is a conflict of interest for you,” she murmured. “The two of us get mated, you’re in power, too.”
“With all due respect, do you not consider there is something wrong that I was the one who showed you your chart.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.” t’On shrugged, clearly unwilling to waste time arguing with her.
“This is all up to you. I know how much you love your mother and sire, and my devotion unto the Queen has never been in question. That is why she has entrusted me with my position, and to her, I will always remain true. The s’Hisbe must be first in all our hearts, however. ”
“The stars could be wrong.”
“No, they cannot. But you can do the wrong thing. I am prepared to sacrifice what I must. What about you.”
As the Tretary opened the door, there was a blast of cold air, and after he shut things behind himself, she stayed where she was.
As the wind continued to howl, she glanced around the empty interior.
With just her collection of robes hanging on their lonely rack, she felt like the traditional drapes represented the s’Hisbe and its isolated way of life that had gone on for generations in this tract of a thousand acres north and east of Caldwell proper.
Defending the Territory’s privacy had mandated a very specific interface with the human world. As far as those rats without tails knew, the Shadows were a religious sect that fell under the rubric and protection of the tax-exempt status afforded by the government.
But as with everything lately, there was constant pressure from all kinds of quarters.
And her chart had been very clear.
The Territory was in grave danger of being dismantled—her parents dead, the throne lost, all the traditions and citizenry gone, gone, gone.
To keep this from happening, her destiny was to take the crown from her mother and mate the Tretary, producing the next heir immediately.
And it all was triggered by two falling stars appearing at 9:19 p.m. one winter’s night.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she hated where her mind went.
Why hadn’t her mother and father ever told her? Was it because Catra didn’t want to relinquish the throne? Maybe the Queen didn’t believe in the stars as much as she was supposed to, and didn’t want to give up power?
Except she loved her parents, and knew them only to be kind, moral, and very decent people.
So the mistrust she had long pushed aside, but suddenly couldn’t ignore, seemed like a curse all its own.