Mortal

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ROM PACED NEAR THE BANKS of the Lucrine River, glancing up for the second time in the last five minutes to consider the position of the sun’s dull glow above a thin blanket of stratus clouds. An hour past noon. He bowed his head, willed nerves that had steadily frayed over the last hour to calm. Perhaps they had had trouble finding the place.

But no… just yesterday Saric had come here with his entire army.

A dozen scenarios collided in his mind. Perhaps Saric had reconsidered and broken his word. Maybe Feyn had been compromised or imprisoned or, worse, killed. What if the Dark Bloods had found the Mortal camp in the Seyala Valley and were marching there even now?

Perhaps Feyn had balked at the idea and refused to come. Or knew a better way. Or had a plan she would get to him via other means. Surely she wasn’t as untouched by the Mortal mission as she seemed.

He schooled his thoughts and glanced at the river where Javan, one of the men who’d accompanied him, watered his horse. He was one of the most skilled Nomadic scouts. Telvin, one of Rom’s Keepers, sat on his mount on the hill, silhouetted against the sky. He would be the first to see any approach.

The river was young in its banks, the waters of an older river that had changed course in the last half century. In the world of Order, it was the same waterway-one that had deviated from its proper path. But by Nomadic standards, the new waterway constituted a new creation, and as such had merited a new name as well. The nomads called it Chava. The name meant “life”-the battle cry, manifesto, hope, and purpose of every Mortal. The Nomadic map was littered with such altered names for valleys, grasslands, and waterways.

Here the name was well given, Rom thought. The ground offered up pine and young oak near the river’s banks, and olive trees-a small natural grove of them-some thirty feet away. The tree had meant peace in the ancient world, he was told. He hoped it would mean the same today.

Across the valley, the eastern hills opened to the southern plains. Even from here, Rom could see the evidence of Saric’s army in the churned earth. Roland’s report of the Dark Blood’s numbers had kept him awake half the night. He’d risen at dawn even more aware of the critical nature of his meeting with Feyn. It might be as doubtful as Roland insisted, but there was no better path before them. Surely, it was either this or war.

He squinted to the south, drew a long breath.

“How much longer do you want to wait?” Javan said, leading his horse up from the bank. He spoke as though Rom waited for the dead to rise.

But Rom had seen Corpses rise before.

“As long as it takes.”

“How do we know they haven’t drawn us away from camp and aren’t even now-”

“Do you doubt Roland’s ability to defend?” Rom snapped.

Javan corrected himself quickly. “Never.”

“I thought not.”

But truth be told, Rom didn’t know how long they could wait. If she wasn’t here in the next hour or two, he would have to assume she wasn’t coming. Was the Maker determined to see every leg kicked out from beneath them?

He cursed under his breath and started toward his horse. The whistle came then.

Rom snapped his head up and saw Telvin riding down the hill at breakneck speed gesturing toward the southern horizon.

Two riders had rounded the hip of the hill, both in dark leathers. One of them riding a gray stallion. The scent came, faint on the wind. Dark Blood.

Rom’s pulse surged.

He could make them out clearly: one man, broad through the shoulders on a horse larger than the other. Riding beside him… Feyn. The tilt of her chin, the dark braid over her shoulder, the gloved hands holding the reins unmistakable.

She had come. Thank the Maker, she had come.

Telvin pulled his mount up and dismounted on the fly. “You see them.”

“Yes. Stand by, Javan. No aggression, either of you.”

Rom paced, arms crossed, as Feyn and her guard made their way up through the valley with no apparent hurry. Now he could just detect the scent of slight fear. Wariness, on the part of the Dark Blood. Of something else-curiosity. And another scent that he could not place at all.

At fifty paces off, Feyn held back, allowing her escort to approach alone. Javan spat to one side, a common reaction to stench among Nomads. Telvin, to his credit, held his ground, unmoving.

The Dark Blood pulled up, studied them for a moment, then nodded. “You’re one man more.”

“We didn’t know how many to expect,” Rom said.

“Send one of your men back.”

“Javan. Leave us.”

The Nomad stared at him. Clearly he thought himself more qualified to stay. But to his credit, he said nothing, even as he glared at the Dark Blood, walked to his horse, mounted, and wheeled it round.

He would join three other scouts who watched for the inevitable sign of the other Dark Bloods who undoubtedly circled nearby-Saric was no fool and neither was Rom.

“Satisfied?”

“You’ll talk in the open,” the Dark Blood said.

“Of course. Alone.”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“What is your name?” Rom said.

The Dark Blood hesitated. “Janus,” he said.

“Then hear me, Janus. The Sovereign has come as surety for an exchange. Neither of us will leave your sight.”

He seemed to weigh that, glancing back at Feyn, who gave him a slight nod.

He’s concerned for her…

The warrior turned back. “You will leave your horses with me and remain this side of the boulders.” He glanced north, where the valley began its bottleneck.

“I will leave my horse with you and my man, Telvin. We will remain in the valley.”

The man nodded and nudged his horse toward the bank where Telvin held both his and Rom’s mounts. Feyn waited until her escort had stopped and turned back, ten paces from Talvin. Evidently satisfied, she walked her horse slowly forward.

Dark veins beneath her skin traced her neck and along her cheek like faint claws beneath the diffused daylight. Fathomless eyes watched him like peat-filled pools, unable to reflect the light of the sun. She wore no jewelry, only a leather riding coat and tunic, leather pants and boots.

She slipped her foot from the stirrup, swung gracefully from the saddle. Her escort whistled and the horse headed toward the bank, as well trained as any Nomadic mount. Their enemy seemed more refined than Rom would have guessed.

The smell of death, offensive as rancid meat, thickened in his nostrils as Feyn closed the distance between them. She was undeniably Dark Blood.

And still utterly majestic.

“I was told it would be the Nomadic Prince, Roland,” she said.

“A change of plans. I only ask that you hear me out.”

“This was only a ploy to bring me out. Why?”

“You have nothing to worry about, I assure you.”

Her gaze flitted past him, quickly scanned the hills beyond, then settled back on him. She began pulling off her gloves. The bulky ring of her office looked large on such slender fingers.

“Very well, Rom Sebastian. Here we are. Say what you must say.”

Rom settled to one knee and dipped his head before looking up. “Thank you, my Lady.”

She considered him with frank appraisal and a hint of amusement. “Do we lean on ceremony, then, even here?”

He gave a slight smile and took the hand she extended. As was customary, he kissed her ring, cold against his lips.

“I show respect where it is due,” he said.

You knew me once. I convinced you then. Let me turn your heart again.

“The first time I laid eyes on you, you came to my chamber and kidnapped me. And now you kiss my fingers,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Have you become a man of respect?”

“I was always a man of respect, but you know that already.”

Rom pushed himself to his feet. During the nine years of Feyn’s stasis, Rom’s shoulders and legs had hardened from hours in the saddle, from the hunt and endless training. He’d noted the squint of the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the slight thickening of his eyebrows.

But Feyn was as tall and slender as she’d been a lifetime ago. Though nine years older, she hadn’t aged. She might have been the same woman that he’d known when he was twenty-four.

Might have been.

But then there were those eyes. And the dark veins that flowed with a new blood.

“No more formalities. You obviously went to a lot of trouble to get me out here. Let’s not waste time.”

“Fair enough.” He glanced at his man who could undoubtedly hear them if he chose to listen, despite the distance. “Walk with me.”

She walked toward the canyon beside him with a deliberate step, and he was suddenly uncertain of how to begin. Feyn cut the awkward silence first.

“This request for a law to protect Mortals was always a sham.”

“Not necessarily, no. As a fallback, I would press for it.”

“You have no intention of giving up the boy.”

So. Right to the point. But he’d known she’d assume as much the moment she saw that Roland hadn’t come as indicated to Saric. They might have been persuaded that the Nomad Prince would betray Jonathan, but never him.

“No.”

“Then don’t go through the pretense of entertaining or courting me. Say what it is you want.”

He walked on in silence, choosing his words carefully before speaking. Clearly, this was going to be a difficult task.

“Well?”

“I want to see what we began nine years ago through to the end. Only you have the power to do that, Feyn.”

“Seeing it through may not include Jonathan as you once thought. Despite what you may think, I’m not in a position to command whatever I want.”

“You’re Sovereign.”

“Still so naïve, Rom? I would envy your idealism if it wasn’t so misguided.”

“Idealism? I would call it destiny. You know what we’ve both sacrificed to bring this day.” He pushed aside the anxiety sweeping in like a storm surge. Not like this. You won’t convince her like this.

They stepped under the shade of a tree. Telvin and the Dark Blood hadn’t moved from their positions, and they were now far out of hearing range, even for a Mortal.

She turned to him, arms crossed. He had to take her mind back to the place it had once occupied nine years earlier, when she’d first tasted life. Short of that his objective would be lost.

“You already know this is foolishness.”

It was her unflinching tone more than the words she used that shook him. Perhaps Roland was right: his hope in Feyn had been borne of irrational emotion over sound logic. As she said, foolishness.

But no. There had to be a trace of true life behind her dark eyes.

“The Order sees Chaos as foolish. Does Saric agree?”

He’d caught her flatfooted, but she replied soon enough. “No.”

“And you? Do you believe Chaos was foolish? That the life humans once lived was properly crushed? That any such life should be forbidden today? Is this foolishness?”

“No.”

“And yet before I brought you life you found it all foolish. Please don’t make the same mistake again. I am no fool.”

“No, but we are all misguided on occasion. Maneuvering me out here alone so that you can bend my ear far from Saric is not only idealistic, but foolish.”

She saw through all of it.

“We will see,” he said.

“I already do.”

“Do you?” He glanced at Telvin, who stood near the Dark Blood down valley, idly chewing on a stalk of grass. “Tell me what my man eats now.”

She followed his gaze but offered no answer.

“A stalk of sweetgrass. Evidently my sight is far better than yours, as is the sight of all Mortals brought to life by Jonathan’s blood.”

“You only say that.”

“And your man is scratching at something on his neck. He has a rash?”

She blinked. “So you have good eyes,” she said. “So does a dog.”

“You compare me to an animal?”

“No. Come, Rom, we both know why you’ve brought me here. You could have sent a runner to tell me why I should give up my Sovereignty for Jonathan’s sake. It would have spared us both wasted time. Was your intent to frustrate me?”

“My intent is to use all the resources short of brute strength to help you embrace destiny.”

Feyn moved toward the tree trunk and gazed down valley. He let her think for a few minutes and settled on a nearby boulder. They had time.

But Feyn wasn’t eager to let time pass. “Let me tell you about destiny, Rom. It’s upon us already. I am alive, Sovereign according to every law of succession. Short of my stepping down, there is no way for Jonathan to take my place. But we both know that if I were to step down, Saric would kill me and become Sovereign himself.” She looked at him. “That, Rom, is destiny. And it can’t be altered. Not now.”

“Unless Saric didn’t kill you. Unless we found a way to contain him.”

“You haven’t seen his power.”

“No, but Roland has. Don’t underestimate the Nomads.”

“You’re assuming I have any interest in stepping aside.”

“No. I’m assuming that you will once you remember who Jonathan is.”

“Then you assume wrong. Saric has my undying loyalty.”

“Today, yes. Hear me out and that could change.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

“Doubts can be erased.”

A fire took to her eyes and he wasn’t sure if it signified defiance or amusement. Either way, she was set.

“Please, Feyn. Just hear me out.”

“Haven’t I?”

He stood and joined her. “This isn’t about who is or isn’t Sovereign, Feyn. Jonathan could co-rule with you. Yes, Saric would have to be dealt with, as would the senate. Undoing death is a massive undertaking, granted. But I would beg you to consider the value of that task. The world must be set free.”

“And live as they once lived,” she said, looking away again.

“Yes!” He instinctively reached out and touched her arm, thought immediately to remove his hand from her, but left it when she didn’t pull away. “We can at least agree on that much as a beginning. I know life. You’ve known it. If it isn’t the duty of the Sovereign to offer life to the people, then what is?”

“You misunderstand me, Rom.” She looked up at him. “I will bring life. But I will not give up my Sovereignty.”

“Then we find another way for Jonathan to rule with you.”

“I will bring my life. The life given to me. Not Jonathan’s.”

His hand fell away.

“Saric’s life is no life. Surely you can see that!”

“Isn’t it?”

“Life, Feyn! Life, as you tasted once. With joy. Hope. Love. You loved once. Or have you forgotten?”

“No. I haven’t forgotten.” The cords in her neck stood out as she said it. “And I love again.”

“Love? Who? Saric? You call forced loyalty love?”

“Who are you to dictate to me what love is? What love feels like? I knew love once, for a very short hour with you, Rom. I loved you and you denied me because of Avra. And I couldn’t even begrudge you. But I knew even then that a part of you loved me in return.”

He’d never admitted his confusing sentiments for Feyn to anyone. They’d felt like a betrayal at the time, as though love, once given, existed only in finite amount and could never be shared or given to another. But hadn’t he loved Triphon as surely as he’d loved Avra? As he loved Jonathan, with his whole heart?

As he loved Feyn, still?

“What you feel for Saric now can’t be love. Just as the blood in your veins isn’t true life.”

“Isn’t it?” Her brows arched. “Are you so arrogant that you don’t think I feel hope for this reign of mine? For what I might bring the world? You don’t think I want to be remembered fondly? Treated with love? Do you think that I don’t feel the deepest pull of love in my veins this very moment? Who are you to say?”

“It’s only alchemy! Chemicals, in your blood!”

“All emotions are caused by chemicals! What is love but the rush of endorphins into your bloodstream?”

He raked a hand through his hair and turned away.

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!” He turned back. “Feyn. Think of Jonathan. Twelve hundred Mortals have come from his veins.”

“Twelve thousand have come from Saric’s.”

“Jonathan was born with life in his veins! He didn’t ingest it, wasn’t injected or altered. He was born with it in the line of Sevenths. It’s his destiny, not Saric’s, to build a new kingdom of life, freed from the slavery of death!”

“Life was taken by altered blood,” she said. “Now you say it can’t return the same way?”

“Yes! No! But Saric’s life is no life. You feel-I can’t deny that. You believe you have love, perhaps you do truly love somehow… I don’t know. But can’t you see Saric’s intent is to enslave the world? He has no intention of offering freedom to anyone-least of all you.”

There was so much he wanted to say, all carefully rehearsed in logical sequence. But that had fallen by the way now.

“Saric stands against every ounce of true life and freedom in Jonathan’s veins! He’s not only a dictator, but the enemy of life itself. He would replace one virus that at least brought peace with another that will give him absolute power. We both know that Saric intends to kill you and reign himself. You must have concluded at least that much!”

She glared at him and he prepared for her anger. But as her eyes misted, he couldn’t help but gentle his tone.

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to be crass. The fact is I can’t bear the thought of any harm coming to you. But the law is clear. If you die, Saric is Sovereign. By bringing you back to life, he ensured his own rise to power. It’s only a matter of time before he decides the time has come to seize that power.”

She didn’t snap back with witty comments or arguments that undermined what had to be patently obvious. A storm was brewing in her mind and Rom meant to feed it.

“I only seek to protect your life and ensure Jonathan’s destiny. Think with me. You saw the vellum, the prophecy. You believed it. You gave your life for it once; please don’t offer your life to undo it all.”

“According to you, I was never alive.”

“Not true. You were for that day. And it’s that part of you that I appeal to now. Tell me, is Jonathan’s life false?”

“How do you know that there aren’t many ways to life? How egocentric-how ethnocentric-does one need to be to say, ‘Mine is the only way’?”

“Who’s to say that Saric’s life of bondage should be the way?” he snapped. “He will lead you into death as surely as Jonathan would return you to life!”

Rom stepped in front of her and took her hands.

“Feyn,” he said, looking into her eyes. “You and I were united once. You believed in the words of Talus, the Keeper whose account you translated that day in the meadow. Do you remember?”

“I do,” she said quietly.

“Everything you translated about the blood and Jonathan was true.”

Her expression was impassive.

“You gave your life for it, Feyn. You’re not a woman of rash action, so I understand your struggle now. You were trained to think strategically, methodically, all your life. And yet you knew.”

She made no effort to argue.

“If all had gone as we planned, you would be waking four days from now-not to Saric’s face, but to mine and Jonathan’s. To Mortals who revere you for the price you paid for them. If you only knew how I anticipated that day, how many times I’ve imagined it…”

He let go of her hands. She had no idea the number of nights he’d thought of her. The times he had waited for the Keeper’s return from Byzantium to hear that she was intact, protected in stasis. The nights he had halfheartedly entertained the company of the women Roland had sent to him-nights that had invariably ended in their leaving him for more interested game when he had proven unmoved by their advances.

Feyn glanced down, but not before he saw the tears welling in her eyes.

“The way it is now-this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, Feyn. This isn’t what we worked for. What you sacrificed yourself for. You didn’t do it to become Saric’s pawn. You did it because you believed. And you did it knowing I would be here, as long as I was alive, waiting for you.”

Tears slipped from her eyes and onto her cheeks. She brushed them away with the hand that bore not the ring of office, but only the simple moonstone he remembered from so long ago.

“And now…” He shook his head. “My hands are tied. Short of a war that will cost far too many lives and send fear rippling throughout Greater Europa, there’s no way to get Jonathan into power. You’re the only one who can fix this now. Please, Feyn. I am asking you.”

She glanced up at him. “You always seem to be asking me, Rom.”

“Only because I was asked first.”

“By whom?”

“By destiny when the blood first came into my hands! So now I ask you. We will go to war if you refuse, but I beg you first. Please, for love of life.”

She nodded absently, though not in agreement.

“I can only give so much, Rom,” she said quietly. “I’ve died once already. Now I find life and power and you ask me to step aside.”

“Listen to me, Feyn. Think carefully. Can you say that you feel the same now as you did that day with me nine years ago? The day the sun was so hot on your pale skin-remember? We rode a gray stallion out from the royal stables beyond the city. One just like the one you rode here.”

She was listening, staring off at the horizon.

“The anemones were in bloom,” he said, more gently. “I sang you a poem, because you asked for it like a gift, and I gave it willingly… You cried.”

Her lips parted but no words came from her.

“You asked me to come away with you. To live with you. To bring Avra if I wanted… You laughed then. I’ve never seen you laugh since. But you did, and you were beautiful. Not a Sovereign. Not a Brahmin. But a woman with a heart that loved.”

He stepped toward her as he said it, the smell of death thick in his nostrils. Her scent had once been beautiful, an exotic and intoxicating perfume, heady as too much wine. Now she smelled of a reek so foul no Mortal except Jonathan could seem to stomach it in close proximity.

He touched her cheek and she turned her eyes up to him. Dark, fathomless. He was desperate to find her within them.

His fingers slid along her jaw to the back of her neck.

“Tell me you remember,” he said.

He told himself he should not crave the taste of her. The smell of her. What Mortal had ever kissed a Corpse? And yet he brought his lips to hers without reservation.

He found no sweetness. Gone the smell of her breath, the wet of her tongue, sweet against his, her lips, plush and soft at once.

Her breath, when she exhaled, was fetid in his nostrils. And still he slid his hand into her hair as her lips parted beneath his, as though in surprise at the response of her body, only now catching up to her heart.

Her mouth tasted like rot. But this was Feyn, the woman he had known and loved. It didn’t matter how foul his senses claimed this act to be. He wasn’t there to take, but to give. To help her remember.

She suddenly pushed herself away, lips parted as though in shock.

Or stunned realization.

Any Mortal would find the mere thought of what he had just done repugnant. But it was all he could do not to draw her back again.

“You’re too bold!”

“Forgive me. But don’t tell me you don’t remember how life felt that day.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Feyn said. But the determination in her tone had been cut by confusion.

“What you ask is impossible,” she added, straightening her back. “I’m not some girl that you fool into drinking blood as you did once. Yes. I loved you. But I might have loved anyone who made me feel the way I did that day. Any face that was before me at that moment. Even as I love the face that I saw the moment I came out of stasis.”

Saric.

“Surely you can’t mean that.”

“You’re very good at telling me what I can and can’t feel, Rom Sebastian. At dictating whether I truly live or not and if the life I bring is real or false. No more.”

Rom paced away, frantic. He couldn’t allow her to slip away like this. They had come too far. He had seen the tears flow from her eyes!

He faced her, mind set.

“Then see him. For my sake, and your own, see him again.”

“Who?”

“Jonathan. The boy you gave your life for.”

“I have seen him. You brought him when you invaded my chamber. And now here you stand beyond the city with me as you did once so many years ago. This time history will not repeat itself. I will give you the statute you want, protecting the Nomads, but its all you can ask and expect to receive from me.”

“Face the one you’re refusing in person. The one who would be Sovereign if you permitted him to be. The one who carried the life now in my veins. If nothing else, see the Maker of the Mortals at such odds with the world you rule. See if he’s not the true source of life. Talk to him yourself, and then decide.”

“You ask too much.”

“I ask only for a few hours of your time.”

She glanced away. For a moment his heart stopped.

“When?”

“Tomorrow night, at our Gathering.”

She was silent a moment before she said: “Where is this gathering?”

“In our camp.” Roland would object, Rom was sure. But what was the alternative? They had little choice.

She gave him a long look. “Only to see the boy.”

“Yes, of course. And to see the life of Mortals in celebration. Nothing more.”

“Already you extend your request.”

He lifted his hands in halfhearted surrender. “No more. I swear it.”

“I will hold you to that promise.”

He expelled a breath, considering their course of action. They would take her blindfolded and hold her in a yurt outside the camp, not for her privacy, but because of her scent. No Mortal would tolerate the smell of death within the camp-especially at the Gathering, though in truth Rom no longer cared how it affected the Gathering, what sensibilities her presence offended, or what anyone else might say.

He only prayed that the boy did not disappoint.

He whistled at Telvin and the Dark Blood in the distance.

“Rom…”

“It will do you no harm to see our way of life. You have nothing to fear.”

“Rom.”

He glanced at her. “Yes.”

“You need to know something.”

“What is it?” Telvin was coming, bringing Rom’s horse, and Janus, leading both his and Feyn’s.

“I have to be back in two more days.”

He felt his brow wrinkle. “Of course.” But the timing of her return depended also on their course of action with Saric… which in turn depended entirely on Feyn’s interaction with Jonathan.

“I have to be back in two days or I’ll die.”

“Nonsense. Saric can’t reach you here. He doesn’t know the location of the camp.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I need his blood every three days. I’m dependent on it.”

He stopped. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t live without him. He’s engineered the blood in me so that I require more of his or I die. Physically. Permanently.”