35. Tobias
Chapter thirty-five
Tobias
W hen Tobias woke, he first thought he was back home.
But no, it was too quiet. If this were his mom’s apartment, then at least one, if not several, siblings would have busted down the door.
This rustic room, with timber walls and a plank wood floor, was silent.
His nose itched. When he tried to rub it, he couldn’t, because everything hurt too much.
Fuzzy memories flickered. Zari had been there at Lochna with another woman, a stranger with golden hair… she’d tended to him, held him in her arms. Had cried. For Tobias? No, surely not.
Closing his eyes returned her face to his mind.
He’d never seen another as beautiful as she.
Her eyes, warm and bright. Her golden hair like a tumble of sunlight.
And her ears were pointed like leaves. She was a fae.
No other explanation remained. Yet, fae were monsters, demons who destroyed humans as easily as breathing.
Their beauty only served as bait to trap foolish mortals.
But that woman… she’d cared for his wounds and sung to him.
Swinging his feet onto the floor, he stretched, feeling stitches pull against his skin.
He didn’t remember Zari doing that. His uniform was folded at the foot of his bed, and a pair of boots lay nearby.
Light came only from a small oil lamp and the bottom of the closed door. Faint voices echoed toward him.
“Perhaps you’re right,” a voice, accented with an aristocratic poshness, said.
“I usually am.” Javen replied .
The captain had survived the night? Tobias’s first reaction was to rush outside the room to see Javen and demand answers.
As a third, less familiar voice added, “And modest too.” Tobias paused.
Better to listen for a few minutes and get a sense of what was going on, where he was, and who the people were. Tobias twisted the brass doorknob enough for the latch to release and coaxed it open enough to spy a thin landing, edged by a staircase.
Below, the first floor held a kitchenette, fireplace, and three chairs: two old wingback chairs and one made of wood, where Javen lounged, feet up on a box.
Whoever sat to the right of him had a bald head and a wrinkled hand holding a smoldering cigar.
The man on the left side wore a Crimson’s uniform.
He looked to be around fifty, with short curly hair and a beard that was more gray than blond. He, too, smoked a cigar.
Aristocrats, both of them. Tobias, born in a town where even having a job made someone wealthier than most, could spot money as easily as a con man could pick a mark.
These two strangers held themselves with the effortless grace that came from never once cowering to greater powers.
Neither of them, Tobias was sure, had ever been told to bite his tongue, or apologize for simply existing.
In contrast, Tobias’s Karsic accent was mocked by classmates, as were his secondhand bed linens.
He’d fought, both with fists and with words, to belong among those sons of generals and gentry.
For all of Captain Javen’s other flaws, he’d never once made Tobias feel the way any of those classmates or teachers had.
Then again, Tobias had never been quite able to figure out if the captain came from money or not.
Now, knowing he had fae blood, Tobias doubted it.
Downstairs, Javen seemed shockingly relaxed. His uniform jacket lay draped over his chair, his white shirt partially unbuttoned. “What other option is there?”
The bald man cleared his throat. “I’d still rather have a more diplomatic solution. Perhaps an assisted regime change? They’ve served us well in the past with unruly colonies. ”
Regime change? The bald man was suggesting a war crime.
“Did those provinces have Queens guarded by loyal soldiers who can take fifty-to-one odds?” Javen drawled.
“With the right leverage applied…”
“There is no leverage where the Oathborn are concerned.” Javen tapped his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. He spoke with easy confidence, making Tobias second-guess his assumption that Javen hadn’t come from money. “Do not be so foolish as to think so.”
Tobias had to agree. How would someone get close enough to kill the Queen? Didn’t Blood Ember and the Oathborn guard her?
“Everyone has a price,” the Crimson officer spoke up. “No one can be completely loyal.”
Javen’s smile turned wolfish. “Samuel, don’t be a fool.”
Tobias’s jaw dropped. So that was the Crimson soldier. Not just a soldier, no. That was Lord Samuel Rew Lockwood himself. Tobias must have recognized his voice from the commencement address at his military academy graduation.
“I remain perturbed,” the bald man replied, “that we’ve been unable to study a living Oathborn creature. Their magic would be very useful if we could harness it.”
“You can’t,” Javen snapped in his irritated tone usually reserved for discovering incorrectly filed papers. “The magic is in their very blood . ”
“Many human diseases are contained within the blood and we’ve made considerable progress with studying those.”
“It is not the same ,” Javen growled.
The bald man cleared his throat, ignoring the low threat emanating from Javen’s words. “Now, Alaric, tell me why you are opposed to Samuel’s plan? If we cannot depose the Queen, to deal with the threat, I see no other option than the direct one he proposes.”
Tobias was momentarily distracted trying to figure out who Alaric was. It hit him a moment later. That was Javen’s first name. He’d never really considered the man must have one .
“Give me a week,” Javen said. “Let me assess the situation.”
“How?” Lockwood asked. “No one can get to the isles, and we certainly don’t have a man on the inside to give us intel.”
“You will have a full report,” Javen said.
“Do I have your word?” The bald man pushed himself upright, dusting himself off with one hand. He was short and dressed in a very expensive, perfectly tailored suit. Gemstones flashed on his cufflinks and watch.
Both Javen and Lockwood rose to their feet. Though Lockwood seemed deferential to the man, Javen did not. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looked just as ready to challenge him to a duel as to bid him farewell. Javen said, “I do not give my word lightly.”
Lockwood shook his head. “Do be safe, Percival.” He pulled an overcoat from a hook on the wall and offered it to the bald man.
“Do not worry, the Sables are well-prepared for whatever things go bump in the night these days.”
The Sables. For that elite military branch to be mentioned, by a man named Percival… he could only be one person. Just what sort of meeting had this been, with two of the most powerful men in all of Rhydonia in attendance?
“As for Blood Ember’s reappearance, well…” Percival buttoned his coat, which was wool with gold buttons and a silk kerchief tucked in one pocket. “More than a dozen burned bodies of Crimsons are tragic, yes, but not proof the monster has returned.”
Burned? Did they mean the soldiers like Erik who had fallen to that horrible smoke? No, there hadn’t been more than five who died. Not a dozen. Which meant… he was referring to the scouting party which had gone missing.
Standing, Percival knocked twice on the door by the kitchen.
The door swung open, letting in a rainy blast of chilled air.
A soldier stood at the door, dressed in a wool cloak with brass toggles and a fur collar, with a weapons belt showing two gleaming pistols.
Only one branch of the military had cloaks like that. The Sables .
No less deadly than the Crimsons, the Sables protected only two men in the whole country. Which meant Tobias’s guess was right. Percival was the deputy prime minister himself. Sir Percival Montclair.
Tobias shuddered. The war’s shadow loomed closer.
After the door banged closed, Lockwood slumped in his seat. “Well, that went like we expected, didn’t it?”
“I hate when he calls me Alaric.” As he sat, Javen kicked his feet up, sprawling out in a shockingly relaxed way. The usually impassive captain seemed at home here in this remote cabin.
“It’s a perfectly fine name,” Lockwood replied. “Came right from my family tree. I thought I was quite generous offering it to you, since I happen to remember the first forged document that I had to—”
“Enough. There’s work to do. You can reminisce later.”
“So curt. Is it the gray hair? Do you find me a doddering old fool now?” Despite Lockwood’s jovialness, an edge still remained. “Meanwhile, you haven’t aged a day.”
“My apologies,” Javen muttered without a drop of sincerity.
An odd mix of friendship and dislike crackled between the two.
It reminded Tobias of when his sisters had tried to bring home an old tomcat they’d found outside.
The cat enjoyed the free food and warm bed, but never grew used to the affection the girls tried to show it.
Any attempts at petting the small beast usually resulted in bloodshed, and even making eye contact with it might cause it to hiss.
When they’d attempted to put a ribbon around its neck, it ran back into the wilderness and never returned.
Tobias thought that if he could, Javen would absolutely hiss at Lockwood, based on his expression at the moment.
Lockwood, though, merely took another sip. “Percival is going to notice one of these days. He’s known you almost as long as I have.”
“When he does, I will ensure I have an appropriate answer.” Javen struck a match, taking yet another cigarette from his pack. His intake had increased considerably in the past week. But, given what happened when Javen was denied his vice, Tobias couldn’t blame him .
Lockwood said, “What about the damned Accords? How much longer will they remain? With Blood Ember loose and that smoke returning…”
Javen’s eyes flicked up to the cracked open door. Tobias, like a cornered mouse, froze. Surely, he couldn’t have noticed him. The conversation resumed, and Tobias breathed a bit easier.