FOURTEEN
Gideon
You’ll enjoy this,”
said his father over his shoulder.
He led Gideon down a long hall that opened into a massive testing chamber.
Gideon often accompanied his father on these excursions to the industrial block.
He’d looked forward to them ever since he was a child.
The crackle of sparks and the acrid smell of the machinery were a thrilling backdrop to his father’s explanations, and even now they filled him with nostalgia.
There were times when his father would be so occupied with travel or work that Gideon would scarcely see him for weeks at a time.
But upon his return, he would always make time to take Gideon along on his visits to the testing spaces.
On these outings he had his father all to himself, and their shared interest in engineering was almost as warming as an embrace.
In the tall central space of the room, workers rumbled past pushing giant metal crates, researchers consulted their notes, and welders blasted fire from the tips of their fire-spurts on the seams of a gigantic tank.
It appeared to be full of deep-green water.
His father led him past it towards a long table scattered with equipment and a metal box.
When they were several paces away, his father stopped.
“Put these on,”
he said, passing Gideon a long coat, gloves, and respirator that a worker produced for them.
“What is all this for?”
asked Gideon, donning the protective clothing. They were thick and deceptively heavy, as though the fabric contained a layer of liquid.
“To protect us from that,”
said his father, pointing a gloved hand towards the metal box on the table.
They approached, and a researcher who was similarly dressed bowed once before stepping aside.
His father lifted the lid on the heavy box and removed what looked like several lumps of glass.
He passed one to Gideon, and Gideon gasped as he felt warmth seep through his thick gloves.
If he had been holding it against bare skin, he feared it would burn right through his hand.
“Urasmus,”
said his father.
“A new material discovered in the northeast mines several months ago. The miners who found it were burned on contact, but we observed certain interesting properties with those who survived.”
“Such as?”
asked Gideon, almost afraid to hear the answer. He set his piece back into the box, feeling wary.
“Several days after exposure, we observed an illness taking hold of the workers. Vomiting, bleeding, loss of hair. Some even died,”
his father said, his voice coming alive.
“The only material we have found that shields against it is lead.”
That explained the unusually heavy protective gear.
“What do you have planned for this?”
“Come look,”
said his father, showing him to a small flask of green water on the table. Distilled from the river, no doubt.
The researcher standing by began to heat a rod of the material over a blue flame, and it began to melt like wax almost instantly.
A glob of it fell, sizzling, into the water, forming a shape like a teardrop.
The researcher removed it from the water with metal prongs.
The rounded bulb and delicate tail shone and winked in the light.
“Let’s take it outside, Willis. Show him what you showed me,”
said his father, and they all moved toward the door at the far end of the chamber.
There was a sparse field of sand and rock outside of the facility, with small glassy craters peppering the ground in the distance. Willis took up a hot air lantern, set the teardrop carefully inside the paper basket, then lit the fuel ring inside.
The air was calm, and the lantern slowly drifted off into the middle of the field.
“Now watch,”
said his father as he pulled Gideon down to crouch behind a pile of sand bags.
When the lantern was almost a speck in the distance, Willis took up a small gunpowder pistol, and fired one shot. The lantern seemed to take an eternity to fall.
Gideon’s breaths shuddered through the respirator, echoing loudly in his ears, and his hands were clammy within the lead-lined gloves. Some instinct told him that he did not want to see what would happen when the lantern reached the ground.
As soon as the basket jostled against the sand, a silent spark of light cut across the empty field, almost blinding in its intensity.
Gideon crouched behind the sandbags as a wave of heat washed over them for the briefest moment.
Then an earth-shattering roar filled his mind and vibrated through his very bones.
The lead suit seemed to anchor him to the earth, otherwise he feared he would be lifted and tossed back from the explosion like a rag doll.
The initial roar disappeared, replaced with a deafening whoosh, the unmistakable sound of a fireball incinerating the air.
Gideon peered over the edge of the sandbags.
A surging mass of smoke rose into the early summer sky.
Black and billowing, taller than the highest building in Perule, it continued to grow into a monstrous plume. Through the fire that still flickered over the sand, Gideon saw another glassy crater had formed on the surface of the plain.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
said his father from beside him, though his voice seemed far away.
“When treated with the distillation, a simple snap off the tail of the teardrop causes the material to explode with a million times more force than dynamite.”
“It’s extraordinary,”
said Gideon, hoping his voice was not shaking as they walked back into the testing facility.
His father and his researchers had always used the water from the river to develop their weapons, but this was unlike anything Gideon had ever seen before. Of all the great and terrible inventions their laboratories had produced, this was the crown jewel.
He gazed up at the enormous tank of green water as they passed it, and his heart sank. The very idea was monstrous, but he knew his father all too well.
“For the quantities you need, wouldn’t it be difficult to mine?”
said Gideon. He did not want to imagine how much of this dangerous material they were planning on collecting to warrant such an enormous tank.
“That has never stopped us before,”
said his father with a chuckle, removing his gloves and respirator as they stepped into his office. Gideon began to strip away the heavy protective gear, leaving it outside the door before he took the seat across from his father’s desk.
“How are you planning to sell it?”
he asked, desperately trying to find something that would halt the production of such a weapon.
“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. How should we go about pricing peace? A weapon such as this would be the end of all wars,”
said his father, placing his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.
“Or at least, that is how we will pitch it.”
“It would be the end of a country, if not more,”
said Gideon heavily.
“Exactly. What do you think someone would pay to have such power? I have half a mind to keep it for ourselves,”
his father ended with a chuckle.
“When does it end?”
Gideon murmured. His father’s relaxed expression hardened at Gideon’s tone.
“What?”
“How much power is enough?”
asked Gideon. His fear made him reckless, and he looked up from his hands, staring into his father’s aged eyes.
“A drop of this material could wreak more destruction than our most sophisticated incendiary shells, but now I see you’re planning on creating—that,”
he said, gesturing towards the large water tank.
“No one has enough money in the world to purchase such a weapon, so what is the point?”
The deep lines on his father’s face softened to an expression that verged on understanding.
“It is shocking, I know. But a weapon like this has never been seen before. This was the goal, our reward for so many tireless years of work,”
As he spoke, he stabbed two fingers onto the desktop before him.
“I myself was shocked when the researchers first gave me the demonstration—shocked that it was so elegant. But this is only the beginning. We must continue to push the limits of what nature can yield.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
said his father.
“Violence and money are the roots of all power. If you can make money from violence, it is the most pure form of power.”
“But why do we need such power?”
asked Gideon, almost desperately.
“Why must there be this relentless pursuit of power for power’s sake? It is madness, a sickness.”
His father bridged his fingers in thought.
“You have never wanted for anything, my son, so I imagine it is difficult to understand.”
“Please, educate me.”
The Commander leaned back in his chair, the wood and leather creaking.
“When you are poor, you are small. You are unable to afford peace. Each day, you must fight for your bread and your safety. For mercy. But when you have wealth . . . you can choose who you make peace with and when. You can buy peace, you can buy destruction. You can buy whole kingdoms. It is complete freedom.”
“At what cost?”
asked Gideon.
“Whatever the market decides is fair,”
said his father.
“I meant the human cost.”
“There are few things in this world more precious than human life. Pursuit of peace is worth the price, wouldn’t you say? What luck that it will be on our terms.”
Gideon stared at his father, speechless. It shouldn’t shock him. He had been raised to believe in everything his father was saying, and his mind had been melded by his teachings. But the words rang cold and deep in Gideon’s mind now, inspiring horror as they never had before. His father truly believed himself to be benevolent while forging the keys of hell.
Had Gideon been this way, once? Would he ever say the things his father was saying?
“You know that one would never be enough. We will make another, and another, until a new weapon is invented that makes these pale in comparison,”
said Gideon.
“So I ask you, when does it end?”
“Our weapons are only as dangerous as the people who wield them,”
snapped his father impatiently.
“Fortunately I have the foresight to make such decisions. It sounds as though you doubt my judgment.”
Gideon stared at the man who was once his hero. Then he recalled himself and gradually schooled his features, slowly turning his gaze to the floor. It would not do to rile his father. “No, sir.”
Leofrick Falk studied him for several long, tense seconds, then he opened his desk drawer to remove a ledger and some papers.
“Think on this, Gideon. I can see that the notion of this new invention unnerves you. In a way, I am proud. Only an idiot would accept it blithely.”
He began to scribble in his notes.
“I am sure, given a few days, you will come around and see what a rare opportunity this presents. We are making history, my son, and I need your help.”
Gideon stood, gave a short nod to his father, and left the room. He took long strides across the testing chamber floor, wanting to put as much space as he could between himself and the green water tank that loomed at his back.
Tobin awaited him, and they climbed into the waiting autocar to journey back to the city. As the buildings grew taller outside the windows, Gideon considered the notion of peace beget from war, and if it was even possible. His father had rebuilt this country with violence, creating a perfect cycle of money, labor, and destruction. A cycle that would not be easily broken, even with the looming threat of annihilation.
He closed his eyes, but he could not block the spark of light from playing behind his eyelids, over and over again. Gideon worried that peace was no longer compatible with the world his father had built.
They stopped before the Norwen embassy, and Gideon put his dark musings aside as he stepped down from the vehicle and entered the double doors. There was at least one evil he could undo. One family who he could rescue from the cycle his father had created.
Angharad
When Hara entered her rooms, she found Gideon there, resting his arm against the fireplace mantle and staring fixedly into the flames. He wore a sleek black coat and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. His hair was rumpled, as though he had repeatedly run his fingers through it.
“What is wrong?”
Hara said, setting her books on the table and going to stand by his side.
The long lines of his back and the set of his shoulders were tense. He did not look up from the fire as he spoke.
“My father showed me something today. A new weapon.”
Only a few short weeks ago, he’d been proud of the weaponry his factories had created. What sort of weapon could have possibly shaken him so, to be acting this way? Hara felt a chill deep in her gut. It must be fearsome, indeed.
“What was it like?”
she asked softly.
“It was monstrous,”
whispered Gideon, his voice cracking slightly.
“They are made from a newly discovered substance that we do not fully understand, treated with a distillate from the river. It’s some sort of magically enhanced bomb, more powerful than dynamite and able to sicken and burn those who come near it.”
Revulsion crawled over Hara’s skin to imagine such an invention. It sounded like evil incarnate.
“They are working on creating one on a massive scale. I saw the holding tank, and if they are successful, I’m afraid it would vaporize cities.”
It was then she noticed the redness that rimmed his eyes. Hearing of this horrific invention was unsettling enough, but Gideon had seen it, and was tortured by what he had witnessed.
“I’m . . . afraid, Hara. I’m afraid of what my father is capable of. He will not be swayed. I confronted him, and he said it was a means to peace. A threat that no one would dare trigger.”
Gideon let out a humorless huff of laughter. Finally, he turned away from the fire, but he did not meet her eyes.
“I’m afraid of what it could do, but I’m also afraid at how close I came to becoming like him.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a time not so long ago when I would have been . . . excited by such a weapon. I would have nodded along with my father’s reasoning for why it should exist. I would have—”
His words broke off, and he turned away from her in shame.
Without thinking, she reached out and tugged him into her arms. She could imagine him as a little boy, excited by the gunfire and explosions his father showed him. It was a connection to his father, the violence. To find disgust in it now was to find disgust with their entire relationship.
Gideon was stiff for a moment, his long form unyielding against her body. Then he wrapped his arms around her and gentled under her touch. They stood that way for some time, and Hara breathed in the scent of his clean shirt and listened to the warm thrum of his heartbeat under her cheek. She remembered the way he had found her a few days ago, so desolate at what she’d seen in the mines. He had come to her side without hesitation, laid with her, held her, and listened.
This was not the first time Hara had embraced him this way. She’d held him in her cottage when she learned how his men died, but that was when he was practically a stranger. Now, he was something else entirely. Someone who had nursed her in return, fought for her, and seen her at her most vulnerable. He was no longer the coldhearted scoundrel that she found in the woods. The fear and regret etched in his face showed a side of his humanity that she had not yet witnessed.
“You knew nothing else,”
she said gently.
“But you can change, I’ve seen it. You can grow and be a better man than your father.”
“A low bar to meet, and yet I’ve only just tripped over it,”
Gideon said sardonically.
“Would you have created the witch hunter group?”
asked Hara, pulling away to look him in the eyes.
“Before you met me, could you imagine doing something like that?”
She appreciated that he did not answer immediately, and took time to reflect. Then he shook his head.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then you are fundamentally different. Everything else you believed was only learned. That means it could be unlearned.”
Gideon gave her a humorless smile.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It isn’t. But it’s easier than you would think. People tend to forget that it takes a lot of energy to be hateful, too. Do you think your father is content and rests well at night?”
Gideon gave her a half smile, a spark of amusement entering his eyes for the first time.
“No, I wouldn’t wager so.”
Hara smiled, and his grin widened. Then Hara noticed the faint wash of pink over his sharp cheekbones. He cleared his throat.
“Do you think . . . could I spend the night in here with you?” he said.
Surely he wasn’t feeling aroused at a time like this. At her raised eyebrows, he continued in a rush.
“I don’t mean to swive you. It was just . . . nice, the other day. Lying in bed together.”
Her heart melted slightly. How much platonic human touch did a man like Gideon receive?
“Of course,”
she said.
“But I warn you, Seraphine shares the bed with me, and she is fond of kneading in the middle of the night.”
“I remember,”
said Gideon, removing his coat.
They each undressed and readied themselves for bed. When they had settled under the thick covers, the heated bed began to pull at her eyelids immediately. Gideon wrapped an arm securely under her ribs, pulling her against his chest, and the tip of his nose rested against her neck. The last thing she remembered was the feel of his breaths, long and deep, as he fell asleep almost instantly.
When the gray morning light slowly illuminated the room, Hara woke and realized that she was thoroughly tangled up in Gideon. Her face was pressed against the column of his neck, and her legs straddled his thigh.
A warm flit of pleasure leapt through her as he shifted harder between her legs. She stifled the moan that almost broke free, and found that he had opened his eyes to fix them on her face.
He moved again, and again, and Hara bit her lip when she realized that he was doing it on purpose. He watched her face as she tried to suppress the sounds that threatened to tumble from her lips.
His hand drifted down her body until it landed on her hip, and he grasped it, holding her firmly over his thigh as he continued to press it up between her legs. Her lips parted and she allowed herself to pant softly, unable to tear her eyes from his. His expression mirrored hers, and he licked his lips once before his breaths turned short and panting as well.
He rocked up Into her faster now, and she reached out a hand to grasp his tensed bicep. With every tilting motion of his hips she could feel his hardness pressing into her stomach. It was a torturous tease as she remembered how the thick ridge contained behind his clothing had stretched her jaw and filled her mouth.
She was close to begging for it to ease the emptiness that consumed her now. Sweet liquid fire spread from between her legs to her belly, and she clutched at him as the first tendrils of release ensnared her. She rose higher, unable to stop the tiny gasps that escaped her throat, and as she came, he pressed his mouth to her neck, muffling his own satisfied groan.
His movements slowed, and Hara’s breaths became steady once more. He slowly pulled away, looking down at the wetness on his leg with appreciation. Then he looked up at her with a wicked spark in his eyes.
“Good gods, Hara,”
he said roughly, moving to press his lips against hers. Hara raised her hips, inviting him to settle between her legs, to take him into her at last, when there was a quick rap at her door. She sighed in frustration.
“That will be Clementine,”
she whispered. Then she called out.
“Just a moment! I’m not decent.”
“Very well, Mistress Hara! Your ballgown was delivered this morning, so I thought you’d want to try it on for last minute adjustments,”
came Clementine’s muffled voice.
“I should go,”
whispered Gideon, pressing his mouth briefly to hers before rolling out of bed. He gathered his coat from the chair before the fire, and climbed up into the tapestry.
“I’ll see you tonight at the ball,”
he said, flashing her a grin.