Fates (15 page)

She had never had much respect for humans. They were too weak, too easily swayed and broken. But Luc was a survivor, just like she was. She had sensed it the moment she saw him on the boat. It was what had drawn her to him when she should have been focused on her task.

It was also what made her hesitate at the Marina.

Luc stopped in front of the fire, stoking it with a charred stick leaning in the corner. Corinthe knew it was an excuse to avoid talking to her. She vowed she wouldn't speak first. But as the silence grew heavier, Corinthe couldn't stand the weight of it. She couldn't help it; she needed to say something—anything—but Luc spoke first.

“You're dying.” His back was still to her, but she heard him perfectly.

“Rhys said he could buy me some time.” Was she actually trying to reassure him? Did he need that? “The poison won't matter if I can just get home. I can regain my strength there and—”

“And try to kill me again?” When he turned to face her, his eyes were cold. “You've tried twice already, but maybe the third time's a charm?”

“I was just following orders,” Corinthe said, then immediately regretted it. Too close. It was forbidden to discuss the marbles and what they revealed. Executors would have no power if humans knew what they were, and how they worked.

“Following orders?” Luc repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He crossed the room fast—too fast. He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him. He smelled like citrus and salt and a little bit like sweat—and like something else, too. Something that reminded her of Pyralis. It made her want to bury her face in his neck and inhale until she was satisfied.

She curled her hands into fists and squeezed. She was confused. Her thoughts were like vapors: swirling, impossible to hold on to. It had to be the venom working its way through her veins. A wave of nausea washed over her body and she closed her eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless. How could she perform her last task if she was this weak? It was impossible. But so was failure. Going home depended on this. Seized with fear, she fumbled around her neck, checking for the locket. Thankfully, it was still there, safely tucked under her shirt.

“It's not my decision,” she said, turning away from him. “That's all I meant.”

He snorted. “So, what? Little green men told you to do it?”

She turned back to him. It occurred to her that he was making fun of her—thought she was crazy. “I told you,” she said coldly. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Please.” Luc spread his hands wide. “Explain it to me.”

She couldn't without telling him what she was. What she
did.

“I knew it,” he said shortly. “You can't
give
me a reason because you don't
have
a reason. You off your meds or something?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “That woman in the car—the one who died. Was that you, too?”

Corinthe said nothing. For a second, they glared at each other. Luc exhaled forcefully, a cross between a snort and a laugh.

“And now you're trying to make me crazy, too? Kidnapping my sister? Dragging me to this—place?” He was losing it. He spun in a circle, aiming a kick at a wooden chair and sending it skittering across the room.

“I
told
you.” Corinthe, too, was losing it. Her chest flashed hot and cold. Anger. She'd never been this angry before. “I didn't even know you had a sister.”

“You're a liar!” The words were an explosion. Luc whirled around to face her. He reached for something in his back pocket—a wallet—and then fished out an old, creased photograph. He leaned forward suddenly, and for the craziest second, Corinthe thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he slammed the photograph on the wall, just a few inches from her head. “Where is she?”

Corinthe froze. The picture showed a girl with a long tangle of black hair, green eyes, a slightly crooked smile.

And a jasmine tattoo on the inside of her right wrist.

It seemed that the room shifted around Corinthe.

“I … I do know her,” Corinthe whispered, even as an alarm was going off in her head. Wrong, all wrong. Too many coincidences.

Except there
were
no coincidences.

Luc's jaw hardened. He drew back and shoved the picture down into his wallet. “I knew it.”

“No. I saw her. I tried to help her, but …” She shook her head. She remembered the blaze of hot panic that had suddenly overtaken her, the way she had hacked at the flower that enclosed the girl. “I didn't know she was your sister.”

“Tell me where to find her.” Luc's voice was cold again.

An idea occurred to Corinthe. It was a risk—he would know, finally and for sure, that she wasn't a mortal. But she couldn't stand the way he was looking at her—the hatred in his eyes. “I can show you,” she said, licking her lips, which were dry again. “Bring me that bowl of water.” She pointed to the cart Rhys had set up earlier.

Luc stared at her for several long seconds before moving to the stand next to the bed. He carefully set the bowl in front of Corinthe, then straightened up and crossed his arms. Clearly, he still thought she was—what had he said?—
off her meds. Crazy.
Another human word.

It didn't matter. She would give him this gift; she would show him.

Corinthe unfastened one of the crystal earrings from her ears—miraculously, they were still in place—and used the sharp tip to pierce her pointer finger. Luc let out a small noise of protest. A tiny drop of blood welled up. She shook it out over the water, wincing even as she did. She was so weak.

Life from life; even now, she could feel her energy swirling away.

The blood writhed across the water, dispersing. As it stilled, an image coalesced: Jasmine lying in the middle of a giant flower, encased by the bright blue petals. Vines wrapped around her arms and one pierced her skin right below the tattoo. She looked paler than before, and blue veins crisscrossed her skin.

Luc exhaled. A look of intense pain passed across his face, as though he'd been hit. He sat heavily on the bed next to Corinthe, leaning closer. His shoulder pressed against hers, and for a second she focused on the feel of him so close, on his smell.

Energy—pure and white—passed suddenly through her body, just as it did when she drew it from the gardens at the rotunda.

Her pulse sped up.

She could stitch from people, too? There had never been a need to; she had always been strong enough that the trees, the oceans, and the earth below sustained her in Humana.

Luc reached out and touched the reflection. It became distorted; Jasmine's image rippled.

“What … what the hell is happening to her?” Lucas could barely get the words out.

“She's being turned into a Blood Nymph.”

Corinthe looked up at the sound of Rhys's voice. She hadn't heard him come back into the room. Neither had Luc, judging by the way he jumped. Mags sat on Rhys's shoulder, still, uncharacteristically silent, like an onyx statue. Corinthe stared at Rhys, who held a small vial in his hand. How was he able to see—to feel—the image in the water?

“A
what
?” Luc asked.

“It means she'll die soon.” Rhys was carrying a woven basket. He set it on a wooden table, and began sorting through it. “A part of her will, anyway. Her body will live. She'll have to feed in order to survive.”

“Feed?” Luc nearly choked on the word. “What does that mean?”

Neither Corinthe nor Rhys answered. Corinthe felt a pulse go through her. Pity. She had a sudden urge to squeeze Luc's hand. But she didn't.

Luc stood up, nearly overturning the bowl of water. The image of Jasmine broke apart. He raked a hand through his hair. “Can I stop it? Can I save her?”

“Maybe,” Rhys said. He stood, frowning, staring at the ground. Then he said, “I've heard say the nectar from the Flower of Life can cure any poison known or unknown, though I've never had the opportunity to see it myself.”

Corinthe's entire body went rigid and she pursed her lips—not daring to say a word. Her heart beat frantically, thumping against her chest so hard she was certain they'd hear.

Rhys placed the vial down and walked over to the fireplace, where he pulled something out of a recessed hole in the cave's wall. He brought it back to the bed.

The book had a faded leather cover and yellow edges, held closed by a rawhide string that wrapped around it several times. Rhys carefully unwound the string and thumbed through page after page of intricate sketches of flowers and wildlife. If it had been another time, Corinthe would have asked for him to slow down so she could study them. Whoever did them was a talented artist; the flowers looked like they were growing right off the page, and Corinthe felt that if she could only handle the book herself, she might be able to draw life straight out of it. She felt desperate, thirsty for a life energy to replenish what she had lost.

Rhys's fingers moved deftly over the illustrations, as though he was feeling their contours. “Grows only at the center of the universe. I have a picture somewhere. … Here it is. The Flower of Life.” Rhys tapped his finger on the page.

Corinthe sucked in a breath. It was true. She
knew
that flower, had seen it thousands of times. Seeing the great purple petals, the fernlike leaves that feathered around the stem, made her ache with longing. There was only one growing in the Great Gardens; as a Fate, she had often stared through the heavy iron gate that guarded the Gardens to wonder at its beauty.

The Flower of Life was in constant bloom, surrounded for miles by fields of lush grass in either direction. It grew in the very edge of the Great Gardens of Pyralis Terra. But as a Fate, she was forbidden to approach it.

And she knew that anyone who plucked it would die.

“This flower will cure her?” Luc sounded skeptical.

“Any poison, known or unknown,” Rhys repeated. “The nectar is the only antidote.” He pointed to the center of the flower.

Corinthe's pulse sped up; already, she felt stronger as she began to formulate a plan in her head.

Luc.

Luc was the answer. He would bring her to Pyralis.

If she could stitch
his
energy—if she could draw it the way she drew it from the flowers and trees—she just might make it to Pyralis. And once they arrived at the gardens, there would be plenty of life to pull from. She could restore her former strength and finish her final task as an Executor. She could kill him
and
reclaim her rightful place in Pyralis at last. But she had to convince Luc that he needed to take her with him. …

Luc had returned to the bed. He pulled the book onto his lap and studied the picture of the flower intently, as if he were memorizing it. Dark hair fell over his eyes, and she had a wild urge to brush it away. He shifted a fraction of an inch closer, so their knees touched through their jeans, and she tried to ignore how good it felt to be touching him, even in this small way. Suddenly, the thought of hurting him made her feel sick.

But it was the only way.

And feelings, she knew, were a sign that she was growing weaker. They were a sign that she would die.

“I know where the flower grows,” Corinthe said. “I can take you there.”

Luc slammed the book shut. “Forget it,” he said, without looking at her.

“You'll never find it on your own,” she said neutrally.

“How do I get there?” Luc asked Rhys, as if Corinthe hadn't even spoken.

Rhys shook his head as he picked up his vial. “She's right. The pathways between the worlds are confusing and treacherous. Easy to get lost if you don't know where to go.”

“But you can tell me. You know things.”

“Some things aren't meant to be known, boy,” Rhys said.

“More riddles!” Luc practically shouted the words, and caused Rhys to stumble. His tray tipped and the vial fell to the floor, shattering at his feet. A sweet-smelling liquid pooled on the stone floor.

“Good thing there's more where that came from,” Rhys said softly. He put the tray down and stepped over the broken glass, back toward the door.

“Rhys. I'm sorry. It's just—”

“Never mind, Luc.” Rhys waved his hand wearily. “Never mind.”

After Rhys exited, Luc squatted and began to pick up the pieces of glass, placing them gently in the palm of his hand. He moved slowly and sullenly, like a child who had been reprimanded. He was desperate; Corinthe could feel it. Now was her chance.

Corinthe lifted the chain around her neck and pushed the tiny button on the back of the locket. It sprang open and tinny music filled the room as the tiny ballerina pirouetted.

He turned toward her.

“The flower grows in the Great Gardens of Pyralis. My home. This key can help us to find the gateway and navigate the Crossroad. It will lead us to Pyralis.” She turned to Luc. “I can help you get there quickly.”

Luc snorted. “Help me?” He shook his head. “Why would you help me? How do I know you won't use the flower for yourself?”

“I don't need the flower,” Corinthe said. “Like I tried to tell you, I just need to get home. My strength will be restored once I set foot on the ground.” She could hear the pleading in her voice but she couldn't help herself. “You heard what the Healer said. I'm dying. I'm almost out of time. And I need you because I'll never make it alone. You need me, too. You'll never find your way without my help. We need each other now.”

“What about your
orders
?” Luc asked.

Corinthe held his gaze. She needed to get to Pyralis, to regain her strength so that she could fulfill her last task, but Luc would never take her with him if he thought she'd try to kill him again. “I couldn't hurt you right now even if I wanted to,” she said. It was not a direct answer to his question, but it was not a lie, either.