Mark of Betrayal

Page 68

“When the council brought Eric before them to question his whereabouts on the night several people had reported seeing David, he lied, told them he had been with Jason and his girlfriend. But when the security tapes were checked, evidence proved that the man in the tape was David. Eric was arrested and sentenced to six years hard torture.”
“Oh, my God,” I said into my fist.
“Jason panicked—told the council he and Eric had been following David, that they’d not reported his whereabouts because they suspected he would lead them to a pure blood Lilithian.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He had no way of knowing then exactly what he had set in motion, and he had no intentions of ever letting them catch you. I was there when he confessed to the king, and it is only that confession that saved both himself and Eric.”
“So, what did Drake do?”
“Nothing. He stood in the shadows while his World Council discussed our options and made plans for David's arrest and your capture. I reported the information back to Jason each evening, and we devised our own plan—to help you escape. But we needed a back-up plan.”
“Which was?”
“We were only too aware of what would happen to you if they brought you in. One of us, who cared for you, needed to be approved as your persecutor. And I knew Jason’s good soul could not handle that. I offered to be the one, but he fought me on it—said that you were safe in his hands—that no one in this world could possibly love you the way he does, and in that, could not torture you delicately enough.”
My eyes watered, my gentle exhalations jagged.
“I put forward the request for this young Blood Warrior to be your persecutor, and strangely, Drake approved.”
“Why is that strange?”
“Jason was young, new to the army, not really qualified for this kind of mission.”
“If he’d been denied, would you have applied?”
He looked at his feet. “Yes, but, to be honest, when Drake approved Jason, I was relieved.”
“Why?”
“I didn't want to hurt you. I’d seen your pretty face once or twice when I’d checked up on David, and it tore my heart out to even think of you suffering. I'm afraid I would have blown our cover in the first act. But Jason’s heart was stronger, as was his love for you, and he knew the importance of holding out until help came.”
“But that was it—he was going to kill himself after that?”
“Jason sat me down, made me swear an oath on our bloodline that I would get you to safety when the time came. When he asked this of me, I realised only then that he did not plan to live with what he’d be forced to do to you. He didn't want that burden on his soul.” He rubbed his brow fiercely, then dropped his hand into folded arms. “The plan was for him to erase everything from your mind, then erase himself from this world. And the fact that his plans to kidnap you and keep you safe failed, meant that everything you suffered was his fault—because he told the council of your existence.”
“But he did that to save Eric, Arthur. That wasn't his fault.”
“I know. And I argued this with him, but he’d made up his mind. He took an extra vial of your venom, planning to use it for his own death, until later that week, when we realised that Drake was playing along too easily with Jason’s excuses as to why he hadn't finished the list.”
“Playing along?”
“Mm. You see, Drake is a hard man; he does not allow excuses, of any kind. But he allowed this. And it seemed strange that each time the council gathered to watch your torture on the monitor, Drake had somewhere else to be, almost as if he couldn't watch.”
“Why couldn't he watch?”
Arthur smiled softly at my face. “You’re his niece, essentially. He’s always been a family man, and he loved Lilith. I believe it pained him to see you cry that way.”
I looked away then, from the wash of hurt across Arthur’s face as he clearly remembered things he’d seen. “Did you watch?”
“Some, yes. Only for Jason’s sake, though.”
“How was it for his sake?”
“I was watching him for signs of psychological distress. But it seemed the compulsion act Drake gave him—to hate your kind—helped Jason cope in those moments.”
“So, when Drake refused to watch, you suspected he didn't want me dead?”
“I suspected that this went deeper than just what we had learned about the prophecy so far. I managed to convince Jason to stay alive until we figured this out, told him that, even once we rescued you, you would not be safe from Drake. He promised to live only until we had seen Drake’s demise.”
“So…he still plans to die?”
Arthur nodded.
“He’s going to end his life just because he was forced to hurt me?”
“Not just for what he did to you in that chamber, Amara, but for all he did before that. For the fact that he was at fault, for the fact that his torture of you at the masquerade was the reason I discovered you were Lilithian, but, most of all, for the guilt he suffered because of the bind.”
“Why the bind?”
He scratched his chin with his thumb. “When he confessed that to me, that he had tricked you into loving him under disguise of your best friend, he was so aggrieved that the words came out unintelligible. He is a good man, was always a good boy, and he let his anger turn him into something he was not—something he could only try to be. But it ate away at his soul. And I know, of all the things he did to hurt both you and his brother, the bind was the one he regretted the most.”
“But…I forgive him for that, Arthur.”
“I know. But he cannot forgive himself. It would be like a man of God—a priest—murdering someone. The forgiveness of others does not heal the hatred we have for ourselves.”
I covered my mouth tightly, holding in a sharp snivel.
Arthur softened, coming to wrap an arm around me. “We will see this resolved, my dear. I will not stand by and see either of my nephews die. No matter what.”
I nodded, looking up into his kind eyes. “Arthur, how am I going to do this? How am I supposed to talk with Jason, knowing how deeply he regrets things he doesn't need to regret, and how will I see David—how will I look into his eyes, knowing he believes he’s going to die?”
“You are strong, my dear. What David suffers for the fear of his own fate is, as far as I'm concerned, his own doing. He could have come to you—he could have come to me, but he chose to deal with this on his own. That is not your burden. And, as for Jason,” he said, walking me to his door. “Time heals hearts. He needs your friendship right now, and that is all. Do not try to reason with him, because it will only see him tunnel into his own proverbial shell. Just hold your tongue, bide your time, and I will see that everything will be all right in the end.”
I hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“You are most welcome.” He patted my back then opened the door for me.
“And thank you, also, for…you know, for being okay after what I said to you the other day. I really need your friendship. It’s…it’s kind of all I have right now.”
“You will always have my friendship, Amara. Even if your words have destroyed my heart, I will be here for you.”
I smiled up at him once, then walked down the corridor, wiping my face dry, nodding to convince myself I was okay.
Chapter Eighteen
The wind subsided as the doors closed behind us and we walked, our feet clonking up the steel steps through the barrel of the lighthouse. All around us, the smell of damp, briny leather and engine fuel on heavy ropes reminded me of the time I went on a submarine, while a strong breeze coming down in howling gusts from the room at the top of the stairs weakened the scent the higher we climbed.
“How’s Arthur?” Jason asked.
I closed my eyes and took a breath, stepping more carefully, concentrating on the mind-blanket. “He’s okay now.”
“Was he unkind to you?”
“No. Why?”
“You’ve been crying. Your face is all red.”
I wiped it again, massaging my cheeks to help the blood-flow. “I was crying because he accepted my apology.”
“Apology for what?” He grabbed my wrist, stopping me.
My eyes met his for a second before I started walking again. “For saying I’d be sick if I slept with him.”
“You didn't need to apologise for that, Ara!”
“Yes, I did. Well, maybe not for feeling that way, but at least for hurting him.”
“If he’s hurt by the way you feel about him, that’s his problem. Not yours.”
“Just drop it, okay.”
“No.”
I spun around. “Then I'm going back home to bed.”
“Okay.” He blocked my path, lowering his head to swallow his issues. “Fine. I’ll drop it. I'm sorry. I just—I don't like it if you’re crying and I'm not there to make it okay.”
I reached across and ran my fingers over his hair, feeling it slide through them like soft ribbons. “I'm okay.”
“Hm,” he said, and started up the stairs again.
“What’s hm?” I asked, pushing past him to stay in front, as if it’d help me keep the mind-blanket in place.
“Nothing,” he said, but I could hear the suspicion in his tone. “You know, that dress probably wasn't really the right thing to wear up here tonight, Ara.”
I looked behind me. “Don't look up then.”
“Where am I supposed to look?” He showed his palms defensively. “If you put a cute little butt in front of a guy and show him you're wearing red lace over it, he’s going to look.”
“Hey!” I pinned my dress to my legs. “Pervert.”
His hand shot out and he pinched me.
“Ow!”
“Don't pretend you don't like it.”
I huffed and started walking faster. Jason’s steps picked up behind mine, the clang of metal louder as our feet thumped at full human speed—the narrow walls echoing our laughter into the night.
“Racing me, huh?” He pushed past. “I’ll beat you there.”
“Not on your life.” I grabbed the handrail to pull myself up faster.
He started taking two steps at a time, leaning deep into his thighs, and reached the top before me. “Told ya I’d beat ya.”
“Hmpf!”
“Come on.” He laughed and offered his hand as I stepped up onto the wet, wooden platform of the room at the top. The wind washed a cool, salty spray across my face—leaving tiny dots of moisture over my cheeks, and the gigantic globe at the centre of the room spun around, shooting light out to sea. I half expected there to be glass covering the windows, like other lighthouses I’d been to when I was younger, but there wasn’t.
“You okay, Ara?” Jase spoke slightly louder over the clatter of the wind, as if I was human and couldn't hear him.
“Yeah,” I breathed, trying not to fold over. “Just a bit puffed-out.”
He frowned, his eyes nearly black in the dim light. “You shouldn't be puffed-out.”
“I know.” I nodded, making myself stand straight. “So, how do we get on the roof?”
“We climb.”
“Climb?” I gasped.
“Yeah—come on.” He took my hand and we stepped through the window frame onto a thin platform, wrapping the lighthouse like a balcony with no railing. “Stay here—I’ll go up first then reach back down for you.”
I nodded, resting my hands and butt flat against the wall, trying not to look at the crashing waves I could hear abusing the rocks below. “Jase?” I called.
“Yeah.”
“What’s taking so long?”
After a few choice words in another language, Jason popped his head over the ledge above and smiled. “Give me your hand?”
My hand didn't want to move; it stayed stuck to the wall, safe there.
“Come on.”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. The width of a wide world stood before me, open and wild, eager to challenge this girl and her need for gravity. If I reached up—if I moved my hand off the wall, I would feel that space. I would feel the absence of ground, and I could fall.
“I’ll jump down after you if you fall, Ara. Not that I’d let that happen.” He hung right over the edge, using one hand to support himself, and grabbed the strap of my dress. “Come on. Give me your hand.”
Shaking, I moved my hand, and as soon as my fingertips were in reach, he grabbed them and hoisted me out over the ledge, swinging my body by the wrist so I came up into his arms. I screamed, hiding in his chest for a second, while the violent wind rushed up my legs, revealing my underwear. Jason swept his hands over the back of my thighs and held my dress down for me.
“Are you okay, Ara?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get down?”
I shook my head. “I'm okay. Just gimme a sec.”
He drew a really deep breath against the top of my head and let it out slowly, warming my hair, wrapping his arms just a little tighter around me. “No problems. You take all the time you need.”
And I did. I stood there, in his arms, warm and wrapped up like a child, until the wind softened and died down to a breeze. “My legs are numb,” I said.
Jase laughed and took my hand, guiding me down to the curve of the white metal roof, helping me and my shaking legs to sit.