Counting Shadows (Duplicity) (22 page)

“I don’t kill innocents,” Lor hisses. His shoulders are slumped and he’s still collapsed on the ground, but his hands remain clenched.

Asair raises an eyebrow. “You consider her innocent? After she killed your own brother?”

Lor shakes his head, his fist clenching tighter. “She’s right. She didn’t do it. She couldn’t have.”

Asair scoffs. “And why do you say that?”

Lor grits his teeth and stares directly at his brother. “You’re the one who convinced me she was an enemy.”

Asair shrugs, but doesn’t deny this. “So?”

“You’re also the one who convinced our father to rip my wings off and outcast me.”

“So you’re saying you don’t trust me?” Asair asks, his tone mocking.

“I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth,” Lor snarls. Then he looks up at me, meeting my eyes. His gaze is just as intense, but the anger has settled to a simmer. “Besides,” he says, “Faye isn’t a killer.”

“Well,” Asair says briskly. He gestures to me, that smile still in place, but he looks a little unsettled. “Time to prove him wrong, princess.” He makes a little shooing motion toward Lor. “Now go on. Kill him, fulfill your destiny, and I’ll hold up my side of the promise. You’ll survive.”

I stumble to my feet and lurch toward Lor, my injured leg stiff, my entire body trembling. I swallow hard and clench my dagger harder. Lor shakes his head as I approach, and I distantly hear Asair chuckling in amusement.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lor murmurs. He looks me straight in the eye, and I flinch away from the compassion in them. “There’s another choice, Faye. We could die together. We could end the prophecy.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to take his offer. But I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not about to change it. “No,” I murmur. “There’s not another choice. Not for me.”

I lift my weapon high above my head. Lor closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

I bring the dagger crashing down.

I wake to something fiery burning in my chest and something cool pressed on my forehead. I groan and try to sit up, but a hand pushes me back onto a bed. The mattress isn’t soft, and little pieces of straw poke through the sheets and into my back.

“Steady there, darling,” someone whispers. The voice sounds strangely familiar, almost like I’ve heard it before… The beach. The attack, and the running, and Cyrus. That’s why the voice sounds familiar. It’s the same one that I heard in my head.

I open my mouth to tell him not to call me ‘darling’—it isn’t fitting for royalty to be called by that name. But all that comes out of my mouth is a pained groan.

Cyrus dabs my forehead a few times with a wet cloth. Which confuses me, because how can a bird tend to me? Or a panther, or whatever he is now. A few droplets of water drip down my cheek, tickling my skin there. I reach up to brush them away, and open my eyes.

Cyrus hovers over me. His appearance is nothing like it was before—he looks like any other Fae, with pale skin and delicate features. His hair is bright red and matches his eyes, which stare down at me with a grim expression.

Those eyes… I know them. I’ve seen that vibrant red color before, first in the eyes of the hummingbird phoenix, then in the deer, then the sparrow. Has Cyrus been following me? Why?

“You shouldn’t try to move for awhile,” Cyrus whispers.

I say the first word that comes into my head. “Lor?”

He flaps his hands at me a little. “Not so loud!” he hisses.

I frown at him, and he rolls his eyes, like I’m slow or something. “I’m not supposed to be in here, okay? And I really don’t feel like being gutted by that crazy vamp out there, so keep it down.” His expression suddenly turns thoughtful. “Would he really gut me? Or would he go for the neck? Because I hear gutting is quite painful, but the neck… Well, that might not be a bad way to go.”

“Lor was right,” I mutter. “You’re insane.”

He grins. “Oh, darling, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Lor,” I repeat. “What happened to him?”

That grim smile returns. “He’s alive. We think. Well,
he
thinks.” He points to the door, where the ‘crazy vamp’ is. I have no doubt Cyrus is talking about Jackal.

“Where?” I manage to murmur.

“Asair took him.”

I try to sit up, but pain rips through my chest. A choked scream escapes me, and he dabs at my forehead some more. Cyrus sighs. “I told you not to move.”

“It hurts,” I whisper.

He gives a short laugh. “Well, what do you expect? Knife wounds usually hurt, especially when they’re through the heart.”

I frown, trying to understand his words. Then I remember my blade hovering over Lor, staring into his composed face, and stabbing into my own chest instead. And Asair’s promise. He’d sworn to spare one of us if the other died, and he couldn’t get out of that promise without dying himself.

I smile. It’d worked. Lor is alive. And I’m…

What am I?

“It’s a miracle you’re alive,” Cyrus says, as if reading my mind. “And I mean that literally. You died when you stabbed yourself.”

“Mmm,” I murmur, wondering why he has to state the obvious. Of course I died. That was my plan.

My mind feels fuzzy, and something tells me I should be more interested in this conversation. But I’m too tired to focus properly.

“But you reincarnated again,” he says brightly. Then he snaps his fingers. “That’s it! You’ve died before. So you can tell me if the gut or the neck is better, right?”

I ignore the question and focus on his other words. Part of my plan had been to end the prophecy. I was supposed to just die, and Lor was supposed to survive, and that should have broken our curse. That was it; end of story. But it hadn’t worked that way, and Lor and I are still trapped in this never-ending cycle of murder.

I shake away the dark thoughts and struggle to focus on our conversation. “How?” I ask.

“How did you reincarnate so fast?” Cyrus shrugs. “We’re still trying to figure that out. Jackal says it’s because you were right next to one of the Chosen.”

“Chosen?”

“Lor. He’s one of the Angels from the prophecy, the Chosen.”

I close my eyes and attempt to absorb his words. My pounding head tries to reject them, but I grit my teeth and struggle to understand him.

“The crazy vamp thinks that since the Chosen—”

“Lor,” I correct, the name mumbled. “His name is Lor. Don’t call him the Chosen. He’s deserves better.”

Cyrus gives a little harrumph, but doesn’t argue. “Right. Since
Lor
was so close to you, and you hadn’t killed him yet in this life, you reincarnated more quickly. Almost immediately, actually, and into the same body.”

My frown deepens, because that doesn’t make sense. If my heart was ruined, wouldn’t I just die again as soon as I reincarnated? I take a deep breath and say, “But my heart. I stabbed it.”

“Believe me, darling, I know. I saw all the blood. Have I mentioned I don’t like blood? Especially human blood? Yours is such a bland color.” He frowns at me and shakes his head, like this is somehow my fault.

I ask, “Then how am I alive? If my heart was cut open?”

He bites his lip and stares down at me hard. “Maybe I wasn’t quite accurate when I said you’re alive.”

My breathing stops. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re alive, but your heart isn’t working.” He points to the door again. “The crazy vamp says it’s some kind of magic keeping you from dying completely.” He clears his throat and looks away. “He doesn’t know how long the magic will last.”

I know that should scare me, but I’m exhausted and hurting, and I just can’t bring myself to panic. I didn’t expect to survive stabbing myself, and I’ve already resigned myself to death. Death is natural and expected, so unlike everything else in my life. I’d almost welcome it.

In the back of my mind, I remember that there’s something else I should be concerned about. Something agonizing. I struggle to remember what it is, and manage to mumble, “The raid? What happened?” Maybe that’s what’s bothering me, but I don’t feel any better as I ask.

“Irrador’s archers managed to fend off the gryphons, but a lot of soldiers died.”

“The castle?”

“Safe and still in Irrador’s control. For now.”

“Whose?” I swallow, and the saliva scrapes along down my dry throat. “Whose controlling Irrador?”

He frowns at the question, but replies, “Your father, of course.”

I nod, and Cyrus clears his throat again. “I’ll let you rest for awhile. Try not to die, okay? I’d really prefer it if you stay alive. And the Vampire out there would, too.” He tsks and glances at the door. “And I think it’d be best to avoid upsetting that one.”

It’s the fourth time he’s mentioned Jackal, but the first time I’ve really heard him. Jackal, my mentor, my teacher. Now that I think back to all his strange lessons in survival, I wonder about their ulterior motives. Did he know I was the Unknown? Was he priming me to be a killer?

“He’ll be in to see you soon,” Cyrus says, and stands from his chair. “I’d better get going. You get some rest, okay?”

I nod and close my eyes, too tired to argue.

A strangled cry escapes me as I wake.
Farren.
The name slams into me, along with the image of his bleeding corpse. My mind has cleared, and there’s no longer any fog to obscure the memories or the pain. I remember everything: His bloodied shirt, his limp body, and his eyes that are glazed and no longer such a pretty green.

I lurch forward and wrap my arms around my legs, burying my face in my knees. I cry, my chest aching from the sobs. But I don’t care about that pain. The only pain that matters is the one searing in my heart.

It’s not from the knife.

When I wake next, there’s only blackness. Am I dead? I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of mint and fresh rain. Who would have guessed death smelled so good? The aroma reminds me of my Ashe, and it’s comforting as I take in another breath and close my eyes.

I smile, wondering if I’ll see my Ashe in the land of the dead. Maybe Farren will be here, too, and I’ll get a chance to apologize.

“Don’t look so happy, princess.”

The voice echoes around me, reverberating through the dark. I snap my eyes open.

Blaize stands in front of me, dressed in his black cloak, his fire sword clutched in one hand. He lazily swings it in an arc and blandly states, “You’re not dead.”

I try to look around, wondering where I am, but I can’t move my head. Focusing on Blaize, I try not to panic. I watch him warily as he approaches me.

As he walks across some invisible ground, colors ripple out from his footsteps. His gait is purposeful and graceful, like a panther’s, and he seems at ease, despite the sword in his hand.

“Where am I?” I try to stand, but still can’t move. Only my lungs and mouth work.

“You’re in Jackal’s house, sound asleep in his guest room.”

I frown. “This is a dream?”

“A message within a dream,” Blaize corrects.

I bite my lip, relieved when I’m able to do it, and narrow my eyes. “What’s the message?”

Blaize chuckles. “Don’t be so suspicious, princess. I’m only here to help you.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“And why is that?”

“People never take the time to help others, not just out of the goodness of their heart. They always expect something in return.”

Blaize shrugs. “A cynical viewpoint. Cynical, but accurate.”

“So then you admit it. You want something from me.”

“I only want the same thing I asked of you before.”

I try to look away from him, but can’t. Closing my eyes, I curse under my breath. I shouldn’t have to think about this now. Not with Farren dead, and Lor in danger. Not when so much death already surrounds me.

“I won’t kill my father,” I whisper. Then I think about what Lor said, and decide to add it. “I’m not a killer.”

Blaize laughs. “Not a killer? Don’t be ridiculous, princess. You were created to kill.” He clasps his hands behind his back and paces in front of me. “What you mean to say is that you’re not a killer of innocents. And your father isn’t an innocent, as you well know.”

“I won’t kill him. He’s as much as a person as I am, and I have no right to take his life.”

“Funny, he didn’t seem to show that much consideration for your brother.”

My blood runs cold. “He…?”

Blaize scoffs, and I picture him rolling his eyes under his hood. “Of course he did. He wasn’t the one to do the dirty work, but your father ordered Prince Farren’s death. He didn’t want his son taking the throne and interrupting his scheme with Shale.”

I try to clench my first, and nearly scream in frustration when I can’t. “Don’t call him that. Don’t call Farren his son. Farren is too good for that.”

“
Was
too good,” Blaize corrects. “He’s dead, Faye. All because you were too weak to kill the king.”

I let the scream out, and it pierces through the darkness, echoing around me. When I’m all out of breath, I grit my jaw and glare at Blaize, focusing on the place where his eyes should be.

“You can’t make me do it,” I hiss. “You can’t make me kill my father.”

“No, I can’t,” Blaize replies, his voice as calm as always. “But I can assure you that others will die if you don’t kill him.”

I close my eyes. So much death, so much destruction and pain. How can more be possible?

I let out a shuddering breath. “I’ll do it,” I whisper. “I’ll kill him, if it means saving others.” A fresh waft of the mint and rain smell washes over me, and I open my eyes. Blaize stands only a yard in front of me, his sword gone and his hand held out to me. I reach out to take it, finding I’m suddenly able to move. His flesh is strangely cool against mine as I twine my fingers with his. “Just show me how,” I murmur.

“Don’t worry,” Blaize says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll show you everything, my little sparrowhawk.”

Olivia Rivers is the author of five novels, ranging in genres from Epic Fantasy to Contemporary Romance. Along with being a writer, she’s a freelance digital artist, a literary agent assistant, and a high school student. She’s a nerd at heart, and is a hopeless fan-girl for Doctor Who and Pokémon. Olivia lives in California with a dog who thinks he’s a cat, a cat who thinks he’s a dog, and a kitten who is just generally confused.