The Shadows

SEVENTY-NINE

The last thing Trez did before dematerializing away from the Brotherhood mansion was take out his phone. He texted his brother just four words.

I am at peace.

And then he walked back over to the front steps and placed the cell down on the cold stone.

A moment later, he was gone. He didn’t look back at the house . . . didn’t hesitate . . . didn’t have any misgiving.

The fight was over. The long stretch of struggle that had defined his life had reached its conclusion.

When he re-formed, it was before the great gates of the s’Hisbe.

Walking forward, he knew that he would be instantly spotted on the security cameras, and he was right. Without his having to make any announcement at the check-in telephone that was for the benefit of humans, there was a clinking and a break in the center of the entrance’s two solid panels.

For the first time in so many years, he put his feet back on the soil of his people, striding over the divide that he was prepared to never resurface from.

The guards gasped as they recognized him, and he was immediately surrounded by a circle of black-robed males. They didn’t touch him, though. They were prohibited from coming into contact with his sacred body.

And, indeed, there was no need to strong-arm him. He was here of his own free will.

He was but a false gift to the traditions, however.

His body was no more capable of mating with a female than was a eunuch’s. He was dead from the waist down in that regard, so whatever dynastic hopes the Queen might have were not going to go well for her.

He did not care. They could do to him as they wished.

What he was coming to realize was that Selena had taken him with her. His soul had left sure as hers had—the only difference being that his body had yet to lie down and stop its functioning.

But maybe the Queen would take care of that for him.

When it became obvious that he was unable to perform, she probably was going to have him killed.

Whatever.

All he knew, all he cared about, was that his brother was now free of the burdens that had long weighed him down, and the Brotherhood and their families were safe.

That was all that mattered.

Along the way to the palace, he found himself removing his clothing, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the ground. Kicking off his shoes. Shedding his pants.

He was naked in the cold autumn sunlight as they came up to the palace doors.

AnsLai, the high priest, was waiting for him. And although the male’s head was hooded, he wore no mesh over his face, so his satisfaction was evident.

“What a fine decision you have come to,” the male intoned, bowing at his waist. “I commend you for your level head and your devotion, although perhaps late in its manifest, to your duty.”

At that, the great white marble-faced entrance split in half and revealed a white corridor that, as Trez stared down it, seemed to go on for eternity.

For a moment, he thought of Selena and him embracing in the training center’s underground tunnel, holding on to each other.

That infinity he had spoken of, that he’d had with her, was still in him.

And it was going to have to sustain him through whatever came next.

The guards in front of him parted and he went forward, placing bare foot after bare foot upon the shallow steps.

As he came up to AnsLai, the high priest bowed again. “And now we must proceed unto your cleansing.”

“Take this one instead, you’ll have better luck with it.”

Instead of giving Catra the knife she’d asked for, the executioner handed over to her a smaller one, with a smooth blade.

Leaning back down over the infant’s chart, she worked quickly, taking the razor-sharp point and trying to find a fissure or a seam under the added paint.

“We need to do this somewhere else, Princess,” he said. “We need—shit, stay here.”

She barely noticed as he left, her concentration consumed by the delicate operation she was performing. If she went too quickly or dug too much, she was liable to wreck what was underneath. . . .

At last, she got the patch loosened, and then off altogether.

Fortunately, the ink that had been used first had stained the parchment, sinking into the very fiber of the paper.

Closing her eyes, she swayed.

They had doctored the infant’s as well.

The newborn had been the rightful heir to the throne according to the stars.

As the implications sank in, Catra opened her lids and looked over her shoulder. s’Ex had his back to her and was struggling with someone—or, rather, someone was struggling against the executioner’s hold.

When s’Ex turned around, the Chief Astrologer, in his red robing, was up against that enormous body, locked in a grip that was so tight, she could hear the labored breathing under that ceremonial hood.

With a hard yank, s’Ex ripped off what covered the male’s head. Beneath the folds, the Astrologer was terrified—and the fear got even worse as he put two and two together and clearly concluded he was looking at a female no one was supposed to see.

“Yes, I have to kill you now that you’ve seen the Princess,” s’Ex said. “But first, some answers.”

Catra glanced back down at the charts and thought . . . what she had found here was something her mother’s adviser should be even more scared of.

As soon as s’Ex found out . . .

“Shall we tell him what you’ve discovered,” s’Ex said, dragging the smaller male with him. “Shall we ask him why the charts have been altered?”

Catra stared up at the executioner.

Something in her face must have betrayed her emotions, because s’Ex frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Absently, she noted that the executioner’s gray disguise was stained with even more blood. He had not hesitated to do away with any of the males who had sought to attack, in spite of the fact that he had trained them, worked with them, no doubt found a kinship with them.

If she revealed this part of what she’d found?

Well, if she did, then, in addition to this Chief Astrologer and no doubt AnsLai, the Queen . . . Catra’s mother . . . the female responsible for leading the s’Hisbe . . . was going to die.

And Catra felt . . .

She actually felt nothing.

Then again, the female was her leader, not her parent—and the Queen had violated the traditions to her own ends.

It was the only explanation, especially given what the female had said in the ritual chamber.

Catra spoke up to the Chief Astrologer. “These charts have been doctored. I assume you did it.”

The male had turned his head away so as not to see her, but s’Ex was having none of that. He bit his serrated blade, holding the weapon between his teeth, and clapped his now-free palm on that skull, wrenched the thing around by the jaw.

Then he spoke around the steel. “The Princess asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.”

When there was only a gaping mouth and no words, s’Ex looked at her. “Shut your eyes.”

She shook her head. “Do what you must. I shall be fine.”

s’Ex cursed, but then he gripped the Astrologer’s gloved hand and squeezed it so hard the male moaned . . . and then jerked and screamed as bones were broken.

Then s’Ex took the dagger from his lips and placed it back against that throat. “Now, answer the question—”

“Yes! I changed the charts!” the male shouted. “I changed the charts! I did not desire to do so, but the Queen demanded it of me! I was sworn to secrecy!”

“Does AnsLai know?” Catra asked.

“No! He does not! No one knows!”

The explosion of speech seemed as much due to the threats he was facing as the purging of a conscience that had long been troubled.

“I did not wish for this!” The male began to weep. “It is a violation of my sacred position, but she told me she would kill all of my bloodline—she said she would kill my mate, my young . . . my parents. . . .”

“Why switch the charts for TrezLath and his brother? I don’t understand why it was necessary to change one for another.”

“The true Anointed One, the infant born first of its mother’s womb, iAm, was sickly. He was not expected to live past the night, much less survive into adulthood. The Queen wanted one of the sacred twins for you, Your Holiness, so she ordered me to change the chart to the second son, who was hearty and strong. That was the reason.”

Catra took a deep breath.

In the silence that followed, she knew that what she said next was going to change everything. Violently.

She swung her eyes back to s’Ex’s. The executioner was preternaturally still, his huge body exuding a calm that she had a feeling was like that before a storm.

In an utterly level voice, he said, “Tell me.”

As if he might already know.

She turned back to the chart, rolled it up, and placed it in the heavy gold box with the others. Then she got to her feet and approached the executioner and the male.

“Give me the knife,” she said again to s’Ex. For a different reason this time.

“Why.”

“Because we need him alive.”

She expected him to argue, and was shocked when s’Ex flipped the weapon around and handed it to her hilt-first without comment.

It weighed almost as much as the box.

“Now let him go. You have to let him go,” she said. “He’s not going to run off, because I am the only one who can save his life. Release him, s’Ex. I am commanding you to do so.”

When the executioner complied with the order, the Chief Astrologer dropped to the ground as if he were no more than a bolt of cloth. And he was smart. He dragged himself a number of feet away.

Locking eyes with s’Ex, she said loudly and clearly, “Now, Astrologer, tell him why his daughter’s chart was changed.”