Mortal

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE CORPSE SPY might as well have walked into the council chamber and told Rom that the Citadel had fallen into the ground. No. That news would have been far better received.

Rom felt the blood drain from his face. Surely, he hadn’t heard the words correctly.

“Feyn? What do you mean missing?”

“I mean her body is gone.”

“Gone? It can’t just be gone.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was there just three days ago.”

“That’s not possible!” His voice rang through the stone sanctum. “She’s been in stasis. She can’t just disappear!”

“Everything in her chamber is as it should be, but her lines have been cut and her body is gone.”

Rom felt the hot prickle of panic against his nape. Lines cut. Feyn gone. There had to be a mistake.

“You went to the wrong crypt, then. Did you see her body being taken?”

Alban’s fear-filled eyes darted to Roland, searching for help.

None would be forthcoming.

“There are no other crypts like it below the Citadel. I’ve been checking the same room for five years now, sir. It’s no mistake. She was taken in the last two days. I came as soon as I could.”

“Then Rowan took her.” Rom spun to the Book, who’d ensured and monitored all of the arrangements for her stasis. “You knew of this?”

His eyes were locked on the spy. “No. Did you go to Rowan with this?”

The spy shook his head. “You yourself instructed me not to. In the case of any tampering with her no one but you was to know. But I spoke to him about some other matters and am certain he knows nothing of her disappearance. He would have said something.”

“If not Rowan, then who?” Rom demanded.

“Saric,” Roland said.

Rom stared at the prince. Just behind him, Saric’s Dark Blood slumped in the interrogation chair, dead from Jonathan’s blood.

“Who else knows?” he demanded of the spy. “How long has she been missing?”

“As I said, two days at most. I swear to you, I came as soon as I discovered the empty chamber.”

There was no deceit in his scent.

“You know nothing else?”

“Nothing.” His voice wavered. His eyes were on the Dark Blood.

“There are no other changes in the Citadel?”

“None that I know of.”

Rom raked at his hair. “Leave us. Wait at the edge of our camp for orders. Speak to no one and be sure to stay downwind.”

The Corpse dipped his head and hurried out. For several long seconds, no one spoke.

Feyn, the once Sovereign to-be.

The sudden swell of emotion coursing through his body surprised him.

“Book?” His voice was raw.

Behind him, the Keeper remained silent.

Rom turned and faced him. “Tell me something, man!”

“We may have a problem,” the old man said softly.

“If what Roland says is true…”

“How would Saric know to look for her?” Triphon asked, rising. “No one but Rowan knew!”

“And that Corpse,” Michael snapped. “We’re fools to trust any of them.”

“We knew,” Seriph said.

They looked at her. “You’re suggesting one of us told Saric?” Triphon demanded.

Seriph shook his head. “I’m only saying what needs to be said. That we were foolish for allowing a dead Sovereign to be kept in stasis to begin with.”

“We?” Rom said, glaring at the Nomad. “Say what you mean. Accuse me. Accuse Book.” He flung his arm out to Jonathan, who stood in the grip of his own distress over the dead Dark Blood. “She gave her life for Jonathan under the express agreement that we would keep her in stasis for nine years until Jonathan took his seat. Once he became Sovereign we were to bring her back to serve under him. But we were the ones saving the woman who died for Jonathan while you were still a desert Corpse!”

“She died to see him to power, not to come back and undo it all!”

“Silence!” the Book snapped, stepping out onto the floor. His eyes were fired, his face cut with an urgency Rom hadn’t seen in many years. “I made the promise with Jonathan’s full agreement.” He stared Seriph down. “Only a fool would question what was done long after it was done. No more of this!”

Rom nodded once. “Roland’s right. We have to assume that this was Saric’s doing.”

Triphon wasn’t ready to assume anything. “But how could he have known-”

“That’s not important now!” Rom said. “No one else in Order would have the same incentive as Saric to take her body. Even if they did, they’d present no threat to Jonathan. But if Feyn is resurrected before Jonathan comes into power, she, not he, will be rightful Sovereign.”

Silence.

“Tell me I’m not right, Book.”

“Yes. The laws of succession are clear. Her claim precedes his. If Feyn is brought back to life before Jonathan takes office, she is Sovereign by right.”

“Then we find her and kill her,” Roland said. “Now. Before Jonathan comes to power.”

“No!” the Book cried. “If Feyn is alive, she is Sovereign already! And if a Sovereign dies, power passes to the last living former Sovereign, not to Jonathan.”

A beat of silence passed between them all.

“Saric,” Rom said.

“Saric?” Roland glanced between them. “I heard nothing of Saric being-”

“Few knew.” Rom paced, one hand digging at the back of his head. “He became Sovereign for a few days when his father died. As Sovereign, he changed the laws of succession. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if Feyn is alive now, Jonathan will never be Sovereign. And her death would only put Saric in power.”

“As I said,” Seriph murmured. “Keeping her in stasis-”

“Leave us!” Roland thundered.

Seriph blanched.

Roland shoved a finger at the door. “Now.”

The Nomad got up, slowly dipped his head, and strode for the door, jaw tight.

“Your zealots are fools,” Rom said, after the door closed behind him.

“They aren’t my zealots,” Roland corrected. “And they’re not all fools.”

And yet, all of those who’d argued for a more forceful approach to ensuring Jonathan’s coming to power would have to be watched, Rom thought. But for this moment, at least, they had far more immediate issues to deal with.

“You have to find her.”

The voice came from the back, from Jordin. He looked at the young fighter who’d taken up the unspoken role of Jonathan’s second-and perhaps, of late, his closest-protector. Her face was set and her hazel eyes blazed with surety.

“Jonathan owes her his life,” she said.

Rom turned from the girl. “Book? How long can her body survive disconnected from the machines that kept her in stasis?”

The Keeper shook his head. “Forty-eight hours. At most. We must assume Saric has her.”

He had to force himself to say his next words:

“If he has her, he’s killed her already and become Sovereign.”

“No. He will need to establish her as ruling Sovereign first to prove that she is alive. He will need her in power. If Saric has her, he will install her.”

“Or has already.”

“It’s possible.”

“Then we’ll hope so,” Rom murmured.

Michael stepped in front of what had been Seriph’s seat. “How can you say that?”

“No, he’s right,” Roland said, frowning, deep furrows across his forehead. The Nomadic ruler rarely betrayed concern, but he had to be as unnerved as the rest of them, Rom knew. There was no better man to have at his side.

“If Saric has Feyn in hiding, we have as little chance of finding her as we do of finding these other Dark Bloods. But if he installs her as Sovereign we know where she’ll be. It’s our best hope.”

“To what end?” Triphon demanded. “If she’s Sovereign already, Jonathan is finished!”

“Hold your tongue!” Rom snapped.

Triphon stared at him and then looked away.

In all of this, Jonathan hadn’t moved once from the side of the dead Dark Blood. He watched them now with silent eyes. His was not the look of a world leader on the cusp of losing his reign, but neither was it the reaction of a naïve boy. There was far more happening in that mind, Rom was sure, than perhaps even Jordin knew.

To date, everything predicted by the first Keeper, Talus, four hundred and eighty-nine years earlier, had come to pass. There could be no doubt about the veracity of the first Keeper’s claims. The fate of humanity rested on Jonathan’s shoulders, and Rom was prepared to give his life to see that fate fulfilled.

Never mind that Mortals could now make other Mortals with their own blood, rendering Jonathan’s blood redundant, as some had recently begun to whisper.

Never mind that no one knew just how Jonathan would bring life to the world. Or that the zealots in particular were far more interested in protecting Mortals as an elite race than seeing any more Corpses come to life.

Never mind that Jonathan had shown neither defining desire nor expected aptitude for ruling the world as Sovereign.

Everything Rom and the Keepers had done had been with one purpose in mind: to bring Jonathan to power as required by the sacred vellum written by Talus. Nothing else mattered now.

Nothing.

A single tear broke from Jonathan’s eye and snaked down his right cheek.

“Jonathan?” Even in the midst of sick unease about Feyn’s disappearance, Rom felt a tug of empathy for the boy chosen to carry the world’s burdens. “Forgive us. No harm will come to you, I swear it on my life.”

Jonathan dipped his head, barely. “You have a good heart, Rom. It’s Feyn I worry for.”

Of course Jonathan’s heart was drawn first to the woman who’d paid a terrible price for him. The woman Rom himself had led into life once, if only for a short time.

Desperation thickened in his chest.

As he turned to the others, his mind was already set, but he would at least act in deference to the Nomadic way.

“Roland. Your recommendation.”

The prince spoke after only brief consideration: “If we knew where these Dark Bloods gathered and the full nature of their defenses, we could take them and Saric with them. They’re very strong and we’re outnumbered, but we have seven hundred fighters with unequaled skills and Mortal perception. We would destroy them.”

“Even if we knew where,” Rom said, “slaughtering them would go against everything Jonathan stands for.”

Roland gave a nod. “You asked. I speak my mind. Either way, we don’t know where they are. So we go for Feyn.”

Rom faced the old Keeper. “Book?”

“You must find Feyn…” He rubbed at his head, shaking it. “Saric will have moved quickly. If she isn’t Sovereign already, she will be soon.”

Michael said flatly: “So we find her and do what?”

“She has the ancient blood in her,” the Book said. “She’ll hear you, Rom. That’s our one hope.”

Yes. It was.

“Roland, you’re with me.”

The Nomad nodded.

“We ride for Byzantium.” Rom stepped toward the door.

He had taken two steps when Jonathan’s voice sounded from behind him.

“I will go.”

Rom stopped. Turned around. “No.”

Jonathan was on his feet. “I must go. She loved you, Rom, but she died for me. My blood is stronger than any other Mortal. I’ll go to Feyn.”

He had never been beyond the perimeter of protection. He’d never stepped foot in any town or city since the day he had entered Byzantium as a boy to make claim to the Sovereign throne. He’d never even seen a Corpse beyond those who came to camp.

“I can’t allow that.”

“He goes,” the Book said, crossing to the altar, retrieving the stent where he had left it. “We may not have a second chance.”

“Then I go as well,” Jordin said, stepping toward Rom.

“Out of the question.”

“She goes,” Jonathan said, eyes on the olive-skinned girl.

Michael flung up her hands and began to protest, but Roland stopped her with a raised palm. “Jonathan’s right. Jordin goes. She’s one of the best fighters we have.” To Michael: “You will stay with our people.”

Rom looked from one to the other, then to Jonathan, whose arm was already in the Book’s grasp, the stent going in to the vein.

Blood? Now?

“What are you doing? We don’t have time!”

“I need to know what happened.” The Book glanced at the dead Dark Blood. “You’ll be gone for a day. And I need to know now.”