Chapter 15 #2
I took it from his outstretched hand as he explained.
“The Fifth Trials. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it?
About twenty-five years ago, the Academy gathered a bunch of Cursed children for an experiment.
They were stolen, donated, or created, locked in rooms, and tested on without restrictions to study the anatomy of magic.
It was a way to understand how genetics affected bloodlines.
They came from the fifth generation of the Cursed, hence the name. ”
“How?” I asked, outrage leaking into my voice. “How did this happen without anyone knowing?”
“People knew; they just didn’t care. We were Cursed, after all.
” He flinched. “I wasn’t born, Nina—I was created inside the Academy.
” His gaze fell to a spot on the floor. “I was on medications and received infusions from an early age, turning my hair silver and my eyes this hideous shade. I don’t even remember what color they were originally. ”
Something in his tone made me want to reach for him, but I fisted my hands in denial. “And the others?” I asked. “You said there were more of you.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “There were lots of us, at least back then.” He cleared his throat. “The engineer in charge of the experiments liked to push us beyond medical limits. Some broke.”
I asked him, “What happened in there, Max?”
He looked away, jaw tightening. “I survived. That’s all you need to know.”
The subject felt too fragile, and I knew if I pushed further, I would break the trust we’d worked so hard to build. There was one question burning in my mind, however. “How old were you when you got out?”
He shrugged. “About twelve, I’d guess. I don’t remember my true birthday. Why?”
He didn’t look much older than me. It was a small chance but… I wondered. “Did you ever meet a man called Lucien Veyr?”
“Veyr?” he repeated, followed by a considerable pause. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
I was relieved that my father didn’t seem to have been involved in this atrocity.
He dragged his stare from the floor to meet my gaze, like he was hesitant, afraid of what he might find on my face. Did he think I would be revolted by him? That his origins would matter to me? He was terrifying without the backstory, infuriating too, perplexing and enthralling and mysterious.
And somehow, I felt safe with him.
“Just so you know,” I blurted, “I wasn’t trying to get alone with Dante to… mess around with him. I just wanted to peg him…” Heat shot up my face. “For information, obviously!”
His brows lifted, skeptical. “Uh-huh.”
I stuttered, “I just… well, I didn’t want you to think I wanted him like that.”
He smirked. “We all have our needs. I wouldn’t have judged you if you did.”
“You seemed very angry.”
“Angry? No.” He tilted forward, lowering his voice. “I was furious. That bastard didn’t even deserve to be used by you.”
I gripped the mug in my hands tightly, the hot ceramic searing my palms. “You say that like you know someone who does.”
His grin faded, and he took a careful step back. “I don’t know anyone who deserves you, Nina.”
Then he left, practically sprinting up the stairs. I cursed myself for being so flustered, forcing a few sips of coffee down my throat before tossing the rest down the sink—too flushed, too warm all over to continue.
“What will you do now?” I asked Maurice as we neared the River Split, where the Main Canal connected to the River Renard.
Valveron was almost entirely surrounded by water, with ports on all sides to connect the rest of the Continent in trade and travel.
Though the New City and the Academy weren’t accessible on my side of the canal.
A ship traveling to that side of the city, where there were paved roads and sparkling buildings, had to make its way to the northern ports.
The only name we had left to follow was Damien’s.
With no contact at the River Split and merely a vague scent to follow to the New City, it was important to find the financier and figure out who he was paying and what for.
We could take a ship to the North Docks, following the path my mother might have taken when she was sold to the buyer.
Maurice smoked a fat cigar as he steered the ship, balancing it between his lips as he spoke. “My father was a fisherman. His father was a fisherman, and so on, as far as anyone remembers their legacies. I will continue to do what’s in my blood, Nina. As should you.”
I leaned against his shoulder, watching the clouds float over the morning tide. “I hope I see you again, Maurice.”
“You know where to find me. Just stay out of trouble, since I won’t be around to be your getaway anymore.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he gave me a brief hug, and I blinked until the burn in my eyes faded. “Are you sure about that Cursed? I can still arrange for him to disappear.”
His offer was serious, but I laughed anyway. “I’m sure. There’s no way I could do this on my own.”
“You’re strong, Nina. And smart. You could do anything, I’m sure of it.”
I slipped from his embrace, pulling the coat tighter around my middle. There was a chill in the spring morning breeze that found its way into my bones. “I thought you finally took a liking to him.”
He frowned. “I tolerate him.”
That was the most I could ask. “I appreciate it.”
The River Split was little more than an old rural town that once prospered from the railway. But the creation of the canal had allowed companies to bypass their railway, leading many to move away in search of more prosperous work on the rivers.
Where the river met the canal, the water churned.
Rusted barges and flat-bottomed steamships were moored along the banks by thick rope, and the air was heavy with oil and salt and the shouts of dockworkers.
Behind the cranes and the mercantile buildings, the small town crouched in the shadow of the dockyard.
From my perspective on Maurice’s trawler, I could glimpse the narrow streets winding through brick buildings with sagging rooflines and windows fogged from years of damp.
An old rail line cut through the main road, leading nowhere now.
“There’s your ship.” Maurice pointed out a canal steamer. Its decks were busy, and it seemed we had arrived just in time to board. “Told you I know all the routes on this canal.”
“You sure it’s headed to the New City?” I asked.
“Definitely. It’s a well-known steamer that goes back and forth from the Split to the North Docks. Travelers from all over the Continent board it here to make the journey to Valveron. Of course, if you’d rather go back to the Fissures—”
“Not possible anymore,” I said, watching the ship. “If they came from Valveron, then I’m sure they know my face. How am I going to get on that ship without them knowing?”
“I have an idea.” Max appeared behind us, lingering in the doorway. “Come down to the deck with me.”
I glanced at Maurice, shrugging at his critical eye, before following Max to the lower deck.
“What is it?”
His hand grabbed mine in a hard caress. Roughened fingertips grazed the soft skin of my palm. I pulled away instinctively, but he yanked me close, refusing to let go. I realized then he was passing something into the palm of my hand.
Another of his dice.
“You need this to disguise yourself before we get to the next ship. Do you know how to use it?”
The Glamour die was more complex than the Forge, even with the same number of bloodlines reflected on its faces. I wasn’t as familiar with the runes, but my Siphon flipped through them in a quick study.
“I’ve never used Glamour, if that’s what you’re asking.”
To anyone who might see us, we were simply holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes.
Max said, “It’s simple enough. Wielding Glamour is only different from Forge because the medium is inside you.
Each bloodline is also very specific. Clear boundaries are important when dealing with perceptions.
“You have illusion to change your appearance, charm to convince, manipulation to bend someone’s will, aura to shift the energy you give off.
Threading allows you to read thoughts and speak into them.
And then there’s impression… though, I apparently haven’t gotten the hang of that one yet, considering my first impressions on you. ” He winked for emphasis.
My brow arched in interest. “Have you ever used one of them on me?”
“No,” he clipped. “Though things might have gone a little smoother if I had.”
I doubted that.
All six were meant to be manipulative, messing with the mind. I skimmed my thumb over one of the runes.
“Careful with that one,” he warned. “Threading is simple, connecting two minds, but it can be dangerous if you get tangled or linger too long in another person’s head. It’s important to keep your boundaries up, so you don’t blur the line between you and your target.”
Curious, I siphoned the bloodline. The die went warm between our fingers, and the quiet dock was suddenly alive with a hundred thoughts—a hundred threads. Noise came out of nowhere and everywhere at once. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on just one at a time.
“Nina?” Max’s voice mixed with the thoughts of the crowd. My skull was almost splitting from the ache of all their daydreams filling my head at once.
“Think something!”
“Nina! Can you hear me? Focus on me. Focus on my voice in your head.”
I let his voice drown away all the others, until the connection between our minds was firm. I opened one eye at a time, staring up at him.
His mouth was pinched in a tight line. “I should have warned you, it can be overwhelming your first time. Practice makes it easier to focus.”
“Your lips didn’t move.” A slow smile crept across my cheeks. “I’m in your head!”
“A terrible place for anyone. Can we move on now?” He rolled his eyes as a muscle ticked in his jaw. Though his thoughts proved he wasn’t as annoyed as his face and tone were communicating.
He was afraid.