Chapter 19
Harvest [ hahr -vist ] verb
To capture wild Talents, typically en masse, reallocating them to the Source for processing.
– Excerpt from A Treatise on Talents , Third Edition
“The integrity of the Original Houses must be upheld to preserve our culture, the very fabric of which is threatened by twists and the insidious meddling of the Source. It’s every heir and scion’s patriotic duty to maintain an echelon of purity above the masses…”
– Lord Morris, Excerpt from an open letter to the Assembly
Cal tried not to roll his eyes as Miriam bustled into his study with a sniff of distaste, taking a perfunctory swipe at one of the shelves with her towel. She frowned like a bullfrog with indigestion at the smudge it left.
“What can I do for you, Miriam? I’m assuming you’ve got some business in here other than glaring at the dust.” He sighed, taking out his pouch of tobacco. Woman was relentless .
She planted her hands on her hips, fixing him with that look he knew meant trouble. “You want to explain to me exactly what I’ve got in that back bedroom?”
Cal licked the flap on his cigarette and smoothed it closed. “A newly bonded couple, Miriam. You know what that means, same as me. I’m surprised Flynn’s been able to put on pants.”
“Don’t you try and play this off, Caliban Alister Scot. I’ve felt more emotion leaking from that boy in the past few hours than I can credit. I don’t even know how to explain what I saw in the kitchen. The energy coming off the two of them’s enough to give me a migraine. That girl’s flat-out dangerous, and I wouldn’t have thought it, but Laughlin’s worse. She was bad with whatever she was putting out, but him… I’ve never seen anything like it.” She brought her towel up to her face, then pulled it back, scowling at the smear.
“Is that so,” Cal remarked, lighting his cigarette.
Miriam narrowed her eyes at him. “‘Is that so?’ That girl was ready to kill you, and all you’ve got to say’s ‘is that so’?”
Cal exhaled, and she batted the smoke away with her towel.
“What do you want me to say, Miriam? Kara had her bloodlust under control at the Source, but she’s been at loose ends for the past few weeks. I’m not surprised she slipped. Girl’s worldview’s been upended. Give her time, she’ll even out. Flynn’s got her well in hand until then.” Cal flipped through reports, hoping she’d take the hint.
Miriam crossed her arms over her bosom, her eyebrow arching well above her glasses. “Does he, now. And who exactly has him in hand? He scared me. I’ve never been afraid of that boy before, not even in the middle of those fits of temper he used to have.”
“He kept himself in check.” Cal took another drag, trying to play off the fact that he’d felt more than a sliver of fear himself.
“Barely. You didn’t see what was coming off him.” She blushed furiously, giving Cal a pretty good idea what it was. “I’m a decent, God-fearing woman and won’t stand for it.”
He sighed, inclining his head. “Okay, Miriam. I’ll speak to him.”
“See that you do. If it happens again, they can take rooms in town.” Her glare swept around his study, the cluck of her tongue telling him exactly what she thought of it and him as she left .
Cal sat back. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Their run-in with the Sons had kicked up a damn hornet’s nest. Between that and Ryfsbane… If his old enemy’s attention hadn’t been on them before, it sure as hell was now. Hamlin was rife with Sons. But Miriam hadn’t understated the problem, whatever Flynn and Kara were wrapped up in was strong enough for him to pick up on.
He sighed, tapping the ash from his cigarette.
Nothing about that boy had ever been easy. Sure as hell didn’t look like that was changing now.
Marcos stared at the redacted reports strewn across the Chippendale library table in front of him, gut burning. Holed up in his new suite, he’d been cherry-picking from the files moldering in long, black biometric lockboxes. He rubbed his temples, trying to digest the disturbing trail of breadcrumbs he’d been following. What would’ve possessed Titus to give him access to this? Confirmation of a sixth line, the brutality used in harvesting wild Talents…and the numbers. They didn’t add up. When cross-referenced with troop levels at the time, there hadn’t been enough Breakers globally to carry out the op.
Nor had all the Talents harvested arrived at the Source for processing.
Marcos reached for his antacids, the possibility of a blacksite making him ill. Titus had to have known that he’d spot the discrepancies. What did the man hope to gain from it? If the Corporation was guilty of a breach-of-contract?—
An orb chimed and he scrubbed his face. “Yes?”
His new valet’s nasal-drone pulsed out, curling Marcos’s lip. “Sir, you’ll need to start getting ready if you’re to collect Talent Jester for the performance on time.”
Was it that late already? He glanced at the mother-of-pearl wall clock and sighed. The man’s breathing rasped through the orb, his pinched nostrils better suited to parsing seating arrangements than awaiting orders. “Thank you, Stinson. Have you brushed out my dress blues? ”
A pause. “I’ve prepared what Patron Titus indicated, sir.”
Marcos crunched into two of his tablets. “Of course. I’ll be right in.”
His hands shook as he pushed back from the table. The thought of paying Nora court again… Would she allow him to? Accompanying him to the opera could mean anything. That odd mix of nausea and adrenaline he always got before battle went through him. He pulled a thread of ’lust to steady his nerves, trying not to dwell on the possibility that she might decline his suit.
For the love of—If she said no, she said no. He straightened his jacket and marched through the pretentious suite, frowning at its gaudery. Marble busts, gilded cabinets… A pang for a simple cot in the barracks shot through him as he passed a life-sized painting of a dour man done on velvet. His expression of distaste was the only thing in the place Macros could appreciate.
The spiral his well-ordered world had pitched into the last few days was burning a hole through his gut. His conscience was clear as far as Kara escaping north was concerned, but the potential ramifications of her doing so ate at him. Or should. Taken with his suspicions…
A blacksite. As if a second hierarchy in the North wasn’t bad enough, somewhere out there was a third, with none of the checks and balances the Source’s reams of legalese obligated the Corporation to abide by. Marcos had no illusions as to the temperament of troops Titus would actively cultivate. He’d just seen it in black and white, straight out of those damned lockboxes.
Stinson was waiting for him at the door to the dressing room. The cadaverous fop didn’t seem to think Marcos was capable of holding his own dick while he pissed. His temper spiked at the three-piece suit and tie that had been laid out. The last time he’d worn anything other than his uniform was at the contract signing formalizing his bond to Nora. He’d bet the tie was even the same shade of red. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to tamp down the surge of bloodlust at the blatant manipulation. There had to be a common thread through all of this he was missing. Kara, what was in those files…and Nora. A certainty washed over him with the calm of zero state.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t black and white .
Stinson came in with the set of ruby and onyx cufflinks Nora had gifted him with when Riegel was born, before they’d discovered how flawed he was. Marcos’s guts clenched again over the order he’d given. If only the boy wasn’t so damn unstable…
If only. His existence was punctuated with the phrase.
He batted Stinson’s limp wrists away from his cravat and glowered at the man. He was perfectly capable of tying his own Windsor knot—his fingers faltered at the grizzled image in the mirror as his valet retreated from the room.
The last time he’d worn a suit he’d been twenty-six with two decades in the hierarchy already under his belt. A contender for Alpha. Beritram snapping his back had cured him of those aspirations, but there was no shame in Beta, and he had found honor in service.
Except nothing in those damned boxes was honorable, and without honor, a Breaker was little more than a beast. How could he consider his service to be honorable when the man he served wasn’t? Marcos crunched on another antacid. The milky grit was as hard to swallow as his suspicions. Why had Titus given him those damned files?
A throbbing had begun in his temples, competing with the burn in his gut. Could Nora have been right? His entire military career, the indentured servitude of the Breaker line, of all Talents, predicated upon lies?
By the time a Fetch shifted him to Albanach’s tower he was flirting with a migraine. Nora glided into the entryway, resplendent in a gown of charcoal and pewter. A goddess of greys. He put out a hand to steady himself, almost believing in that higher power she espoused. Her steps faltered.
“Marcos, you’re ill—” She rushed to his side, her halos pulsing as she touched him. The throbbing in his temples dissipated and the ever-burning sores in his gut closed. Her eyes brimmed with sadness as they met his. “How much do you need to suffer?”
“I’ve been asking myself that very question.” He took her hand in his, spinning the signet on her finger. “You know I’m not much for words, so I’ll state it plainly. Titus has scheduled me for breaking. In anticipation, my rooms have been moved, and he’s encouraged me to pay you court.” He met her eyes, so much he wanted to ask, to say… “Sh all we?”
She paused for a breath, then took his arm. “Yes, I think we shall.”
His monochrome existence exploded into color.
They were shifted to the vestibule of the opera house. Breakers on duty saluted sharply, their brows twitching at his unfamiliar grin. Glory, he couldn’t wipe the damned thing off his face. Marcos glanced down at the blush of pink tinting Nora’s cheeks, and it redoubled. He didn’t care and it felt good—right with her on his arm.
She leaned into him as they strolled through the massive edifice of white marble, whispers eddying behind them. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. She’d never been fond of crowds.
He bent his head toward her. “Just like old times.”
Nora’s laughter pealed through the room, and he drank it in, his posture becoming more erect, the crinkles deepening around his eyes. More Talents turned to stare. Go on then, get your fill. He was used to it…or had been. They must be dying to know what a duality showing up so brazenly in public meant.
He sure as hell was.
Fluted columns rose to a ceiling of recently exposed I-beams, the frescos he remembered, gone. Scaffolding had replaced the tapestries that’d once adorned the western walls. One of the Patrons must’ve gotten a hair across their ass about the tasteful decor. Looked like some kind of acoustical paneling was going up.
Nora’s eyes followed his. “Kasham’s gutting it. This is the final week of performances here. She plans on turning it into a burlesque theater. Those frescos, the tapestries, they were all pre-Surge. We had them moved to a smaller hall where they’ll be reinstalled. No one appreciates the arts anymore.”
Marcos didn’t ask her to clarify the ‘we’. Reality reasserted itself and his grin faded. She’d agreed to let him court her, but he wouldn’t be the one sleeping beside her tonight. There was an agenda behind her acceptance as much as there was one behind his invitation…he’d just be damned if he knew what either of them were. What he did know, was that he trusted Nora’s motives a hell of a lot more than Titus’s, and that knowledge was power.
He steered her toward the kiosk at the base of the sweeping staircase leading up into the theater proper. Around them, the milling crowd was very loud. They got in line, the other Talents giving them a wide berth. He bent to speak low in her ear.
“You’ll be relieved to hear that Titus has sent someone up to retrieve Kara from the North.” Her face remained expressionless, but her pulse quickened beneath his fingertips. A sub at the kiosk scanned his barcode, and they moved past him, ascending the steps, and then to the balcony where the private boxes were.
“I can imagine how much you miss her, but I’ve no doubt she’ll be home soon.”
“I do, and I’m sure you’re right.” Nora smiled, and his heart leaped to his throat.
Marcos held the door of Titus’s box for her, and she went ahead of him into the opulent space. Low couches upholstered in crushed crimson velvet overlooked the stage, past heavy draperies and the gilded fretwork of the balustrade. As they sat, a sub came over, offering a tray of kir and a selection of truffles. Nora declined both, and he passed as well.
“After that surge, Titus expects she’ll be bred. If not, I’m to stud instead of Riegel. He’s being tested for a latent flaw. His level of talent has decreased in recent days, which you’ll agree is cause for concern.”
She shrugged, her fingers worrying at the back of an earring, disputing her nonchalance. The jewelry was a match to his cufflinks, and his heart leaped again. Perhaps…
“It is, but I’ve never cared for the idea of Riegel bonding her. His ability is too far below Kara’s in my opinion, though we both know how little that matters. I’m confident that you’ll take good care of her, Marcos.” Her eyes riveted his, and he took her hand, tentatively kissing her knuckles. Laurellai’s rage buffeted through their bond. A gnat battering itself against his pleasure at seeing Nora’s cheeks pink again.
“You’ve my word that I’ll do what I can.”
The house lights dimmed. She kept her hand in his, and he smiled, not having to pretend he was enjoying himself.
Flynn woke to murmurs in the hall. He untangled himself from Kara and pulled the quilt over her, then stealthily exited the room. She’d had a lot to deal with today. Shit, so had he, and tonight was gonna be a hell of a lot worse.
Leo, Graham, and Shelby were standing by the front door talking. He suppressed a groan seeing them in their jackets and cravats. Goddamn, he hated those fucking things. Shelby swept over to him in a cloud of silk and lace, her raven hair piled intricately atop her head. Flynn had missed his willowy cousin more than anything else up here, except maybe Miriam’s cooking. She gave him a big hug, and they all went into the kitchen. He sat at the table, helping himself to a handful of raw carrots.
“If you’re gonna graze, you’re gonna help, Laughlin.” Miriam handed him a large colander of peas to shell. He sighed and got to work, straddling the bench with them in front of him.
Shelby sat with him, knee to knee. She tugged on a lock of his hair, smiling. “You look different all shaggy,” she teased softly, by far the most reserved of the triplets.
He ignored Miriam’s sniff. “So I hear.”
Shelby hadn’t changed a bit, and by the looks of it neither had Glynfyls’s fashion. He took in her corseted day gown with all the little ties and ruffles, trying to imagine Kara in anything but jeans. Somehow, he didn’t think she was going to be particularly thrilled with the alternative. Leo tossed his purple tailcoat over the end of the table and ran a finger under his cravat. Shit. She won’t be the only one.
“I hear Lot kept Meddleton up better than you’d think, the skinflint.” Leo grabbed a handful of shelled peas and popped them into his mouth.
Flynn grunted, unsurprised. His mother had loved the estate, and Lot had always been a different person wherever she was concerned. Less of an asshole, at any rate. Most of the time.
“Where is he, anyway?” Flynn asked, struggling to keep his voice neutral, his hackles already starting to rise.
“Cal’s study. Door’s closed.” Graham nudged Miriam out of the way to inspect the roast. She clucked her tongue, protesting him fiddling with her oven .
“You know, Mom, you should have Kara check the binds on your gear. She re-did a lot of them on mine, it really makes a difference.”
Miriam’s eyebrow rose. “You had her binding your kitchen gear?”
“She offered.” Graham grabbed a pinch of salt and made to pull out the side of beef.
She drew him up short by his ear and he yelped. “You touch this stove again, or my roast, and I’ll put you over my knee Grantham Arliss Scot.”
Flynn snickered. “Arliss.”
“Laughlin,” Graham shot back, rubbing his ear.
Flynn laughed. Having a terrible family name was a prerequisite to be a Scot. He’d have to think of something awful to name their kid. God help them if it was triplets like his cousins.
Leo slapped him on the shoulder. “So, I hear my mother confirmed my suspicions. Congratulations. Now where’s my cigar? It better not be a cheap one, either. I know you can afford the good stuff.” He popped more peas into his mouth, lips smacking.
“I'm pretty sure that’s after the baby’s born.” Graham pointed out.
“Then I’ll take that plaz-converter in the meantime.”
“You’re shi—uh, out of luck.” Flynn cheerfully replied. “I told Kara to throw it out the window.”
“Are you fuc—” Leo cut off at Miriam’s glare. “Seriously? Where?”
“I dunno, we were somewhere on the south side of the mountain. No way I was getting pinched for it going through Ryfsbane.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed, unfocusing, and Flynn pulled up that blanket of calm. Try to read me now, asshole.
“I hope it’s a girl,” Shelby murmured.
“Amen to that!” Miriam shouted, throwing her hands in the air like she was at a revival. “I’ve had my fill of stubborn, pigheaded Scot men. We need more females in this house!”
Flynn smiled and kept shelling peas. He was gonna have a kid.
“I need to set up the dining room. Grantham, I’ve warded this stove. You touch it, and so help me…” Miriam met his eye and he backed away, looking guilty. She glared at the rest of them for good measure before bustling out of the kitchen. The two brothers sat at the other side of the farm table. Graham made short work of the remaining ca rrots and potatoes with the vegetable peeler.
Leo drummed his fingers, watching them work. “Probably a good thing you ditched it. Heard you ran into some trouble at the border. South side of the mountain, huh?” Flynn grunted, not in the mood to elaborate on either. Leo’s mouth soured. “Cal’s narrowed down which Fixer’s gone missing to two possibilities; both are running with Julia’s faction.”
Flynn hissed in air between his teeth. How could she have changed that much?
“She’s different, Flynn. She stayed at her estate after,” Shelby murmured, her voice thick. “We saw her almost every day. Then out of the blue, her butler said we weren’t welcome. She hasn’t spoken to any of us in years. She’s awfully mean now. I don’t think you’d like her very much.”
He flinched at the hurt in Shelby’s grey eyes, peas forgotten at the truth of it written across Graham and Leo’s faces. It broke his heart; she and Julia had been best friends. Christ, he was an asshole. She deserved better. Shit, Julia had, too.
“You honestly think she sent that Fixer?” Their silence was telling. Fuck. “Even if she wanted me dead, she’s not First. How?—”
“A lot’s changed since you’ve been gone,” Leo said, fiddling with a carrot. “She’s not First, but her father is. Peters died a couple years after you left. Klein flat out refused. Jacobs was nominated, then got in a really bad accident. After that, Cree just stepped into it, but he’s never in session. She’s the acting representative for their line.”
How could things be that fucked up? Numb, Flynn finished shelling peas, throwing the last of them into the colander. Shelby rose and put them by the stove, pointedly not touching it. Christ, he needed to do something to take his mind off all this. He grabbed his coat and headed out to the barn.
Riegel snapped his lapels square, stepping out of the transport and into the hall leading to Ielle’s rooms. His visit to the geneticists had been humiliating. There wasn’t a bodily fluid they didn’t sample or an orifice that hadn’t been gleefully probed. Between that and the Commandant’s ax hanging over his neck, he needed to regain his equilibrium. Ielle’s unexpected dinner invitation was most welcome.
Her chambers were much smaller than his, but then Kasham owned far less stock in the Source than other Patrons. Still, they were well, if sparsely decorated, with low couches and tables. Every surface gleamed white, free of the knick-knacks other women seemed to delight in.
Ielle met him as he closed the door, wearing the latest fashion, a holographic vapor that just hugged the body, leaking tantalizing glimpses of flesh before becoming opaque again. He found it incredibly erotic.
She smiled, well aware of his tastes. “I’m so happy you’re here, Rie. Please, come in. I’ve a special night planned.”
He followed her into the next room, also done in white on white. She didn’t rate a balcony, but the large windows slid open, allowing a temperate breeze to circulate. He had to admit, her view of the sun setting over the city was admirable. A cozy table for two was set, and on a raised platform at the far side of the room was a pair of cuffed subs, straining toward each other. His eyebrow rose.
“I’ve dosed them with Zanthium. I know how much you enjoy dinner theater.”
Riegel grinned. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.”
She’d gone out of her way to make this a special night. His trousers tightened in anticipation. He reached for her, and she spun away, the holo rippling around her hourglass figure. It must’ve been quite expensive. A client’s largesse, no doubt. She wouldn’t have been able to afford it on her stipend. Riegel’s mood curdled. His recent preoccupation with funds was galling.
Ielle smiled teasingly at him. “Have a seat, Rie. Enjoy yourself. There’s more to come.”
Pleased by her attentions, he sat. He really should do something nice for her. Perhaps a case of those chocolates… He scowled, remembering he was unable to afford them.
Ielle sat at his right hand and clapped, creating tantalizing ripples through the hologram. The subs were released and, as expected, began to tear at each other. Riegel watched, impressed at the ferocity of their sexual frenzy. She must’ve given them quite a high dose. The meal was served, and he ate whatever was put in front of him, wholly distracted by the entertainment.
Ielle’s eyes lingered on him, eating very little as was her wont. The couple finished with a particularly violent flourish and were collected. Subs began to clear the table. Dinner had been some kind of bird, judging by the bones. The performance had totally distracted him from the meal.
Whatever it was, it’d been heavy. Riegel yawned at the dense piece of chocolate cake set before him. He turned to Ielle. She was running her finger around the rim of her glass, pensive.
“That was marvelous, darling. You do know how to entertain.”
“Mmm.” She smiled lazily at him. “You know, Rie, I’ve been spending a great deal of time thinking, and I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before.”
He took a sip of wine, blinking to clear his vision. His hand spasmed as he set the glass down, a burgundy puddle sloshing onto the snowy tablecloth.
“You’ve never seen what’s in front of you. Certainly not me. It’s always been that bitch, and I’ve come to the conclusion that isn’t going to change.” The coldness from the bathroom glimmered in her eyes.
Riegel tried to form a reply, but his tongue was leaden. He pitched forward, slumping onto the table and upsetting the dishes. What had she fed him? Thoughts scurried about his skull like rats.
Ielle calmly smoothed his hair with her alabaster fingers.
“Everything I’ve done for you, all I’ve let you do to me. It’s never going to be enough. I enjoy pain, but object to losing parts. What’s a girl without her smile?” She ran her tongue over her uninterrupted line of pearly whites. Taking up a fork, she flaked off dainty bites of his cake. Riegel could only rage, his body completely paralyzed. He reached for his talent?—
Ielle hiccupped and looked at him in amusement.
“Was that you? Oh, Rie, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” She took another bite. “The paralytic you’ve ingested has some wonderful side effects. The one you’ll be feeling most keenly is the blocking of your pitiful amount of talent. Later, it will be the twitches it induces. But never mind that, I’ve struck a deal with Titus.” She licked the sharp tines of the fork, her eyes following the beads of sweat puddling from his brow.
“He’s graciously allowed me the opportunity to work through my issues with you. We simply can’t carry on as we have.”
She drove the fork through his hand, into the table beneath. Pain flared from it to Riegel’s shoulder. He barely managed a dull groan. Ielle rocked its handle back and forth. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. Her smile widened, enjoying his anguish.
“In exchange for his generosity, I told him everything I knew about you and Kara. All the little things, you know, like how you partially bonded her?” She smiled, taking a sip of wine.
Riegel let out a squeak. She knew?
“You really are thick, Rie. I’ve known about that for-ev-er.” She gave the fork a twang, rolling her eyes. “Anywho, Kasham transferred me to Titus this morning.” She indicated her dress. It swirled over her breasts as her hand glided past, briefly exposing a hardened nipple. “Do you like my signing bonus? I know he does, and in exchange for my service, he’s given me you to get closure on our relationship. He really is kind.”
Riegel’s stomach cramped, and his dinner came up, splattering across the table.
Ielle wrinkled her nose. “Another side effect of the paralytic I’m afraid.” She clapped her hands and two burly attendants came in and dragged him from his chair. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you all cleaned up and ready to play. Oh, Rie, we’re going to have so much fun!”