Текст книги "Daggermouth"

Автор книги: H. M. Wolfe

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Chapter thirty-seven11:45 AM

The warm water had eased some of the pain, but Shadera’s body still felt like a battlefield—each movement a fresh skirmish against her broken ribs and battered flesh. She stood in the center of the bedroom, hair dripping onto the floor, the towel clutched to her chest. Every breath was a negotiation, shallow and careful, to avoid disturbing the fractured treaty with her rib cage.

Her gaze drifted to the bed. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d come home, had been too deep in her mind to see anything but the pathway to the bathroom. A dress—long, white silk, with a slit that would reach her thigh and a neck and back that plunged dangerously low. Beside it lay a shawl to cover her arms and shoulders, and her mask. The skull stared back at her, almost taunting her. Reminding her of what she brought into this world. Death.

Something else caught her eye—a small silver tray holding a folded note and a collection of white pills.

Shadera moved toward it, each step sending ripples of pain through her body. Her muscles protested, begging for rest, for stillness, for mercy she couldn’t afford to grant them. Not today.

She reached the bed and picked up the note with fingers that felt clumsy and swollen. The handwriting was elegant, flowing—nothing like her own jagged scrawl.

Your dress for today. Do not hide the damage he has done to you, let the world see the monster he really is when the time is right. The pills are for the pain, you will need them.

Her eyes moved on to the next line as she stilled.

For what it’s worth, I always wanted a sister.

xo, Li

PS. You can trust the Captain.

Shadera read the note again, then a third time, the words sinking into her consciousness and churning out guilt. She didn’t know what she’d done to her brother.

She read the words again.

I always wanted a sister.

Sister. Family. Belonging. Things Shadera had buried so deep within herself that she’d nearly forgotten the ache of their absence. Things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need, didn’t want, couldn’t have.

Shadera pushed the thoughts away, picking up the tray and dumping the pills into her mouth. She swallowed them dry, feeling their bitter taste scrape down her throat. Whatever they were—painkillers, stimulants, poison—she’d know soon enough. At this point, relief in any form was welcome.

She let the towel drop, the air cool against her naked skin, and avoided her reflection in the mirror as she moved toward the window. The plaza below was filling with people—Heart citizens in their finest clothes, their masks gleaming as they gathered for the spectacle to come. Her stomach twisted at the sight of them, at their eager anticipation of the ceremony that would bind her to Greyson forever.

Not that forever would be very long for either of them. Death seemed the most likely outcome for both of them, regardless of what choices they made, what orders they chose to obey.

The drugs began to take effect, spreading through her system like warm honey, dulling the sharp edges of her pain without clouding her mind. Relief flooded her muscles, allowing her to straighten slightly, to draw a deeper breath without the knife-like stab between her ribs.

She took one last look at the plaza below, at the predators gathering hungry for others’ suffering, then turned away and moved toward the dress.

The fabric slipped through her fingers like water, cool and sleek against her skin. Lira had chosen well—the high slit would allow her to move, to fight if necessary, but she’d doubted that was her reason for choosing it.

Do not hide the damage he has done to you, let the world see the monster he really is when the time is right.

Understanding dawned slowly. This wasn’t just a dress—it was a statement. A weapon. Evidence.

Shadera slipped it over her head, wincing as she raised her arms to guide it down her body. The silk clung to her curves, the white fabric stark against her dark skin. The neckline dipped between her breasts, exposing more bruising along her collarbones, while the back plunged low enough to reveal the constellation of scars and bruising littered there.

She gathered the scarf in her arms as she slipped into the black heels at the foot of the bed, then reached for the mask last, the familiar weight settling in her hands. The skull grinned back at her as if it were the promise of death, a reminder of what she was—what she’d always been.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, testing the medicine’s limits, then exhaled as she turned toward the door.

It was time.

Greyson stood in the center of the living room, staring at the note in his hand as if it might transform into something else if he glared at it long enough. Lira’s script swam before his eyes, each word a weight settling into his bones.

Trust the Captain. He’s with us. When the time comes, follow his lead.

The rest of the note contained instructions for the ceremony, details he’d already committed to memory, but it was those three words that kept repeating in his head.

Trust the captain.

A soft sound pulled his attention away from the paper, the soft click of heels against marble. He dragged his eyes upward and audibly gasped.

She was light given form standing at the edge of the room. The dress exposed the brutality of what she’d survived these last few days, the bruises blooming across flesh like violent flowers.

And yet, despite it all—despite the damage mapped across her skin—she was breathtaking.

Something caught in Greyson’s chest as the realization finally, truly, settled into him. This woman was about to become his wife.

The thought should have disgusted him. Should have filled him with rage, with revulsion. Instead, he felt a strange, twisted knot of emotions that he couldn’t begin to untangle—protectiveness, admiration, desire, guilt, all of it tangled up with one single, horrifying truth.

He wanted to be her husband.

“Did you get one from Lira too?” Shadera asked, her voice rougher than usual, proof of the screams she’d swallowed in that cell.

Greyson’s throat worked, suddenly dry. He cleared it with a sharp cough, forcing his gaze back to the paper in his hand. “Yes,” he answered, the word coming out hoarse. “It was left by my suit.”

She took a step into the room, moving carefully. She must have received medicine as well, he realized, noting how she held herself straighter than should have been possible with her injuries. Still, he could see the cost of each movement in the tightness around her mouth, the careful way she distributed her weight.

The air was tight between them now, charged and uneasy in a way it hadn’t been before. The casualness in how they’d existed around the other, even while planning each other’s deaths, was gone, replaced by caution.

“Mine said we can trust the captain,” she said, her good eye fixed on his face, searching for his reaction.

Greyson nodded once, sharp and quick. “Mine says the same.” His gaze flicked toward the door separating them from the Veyra, then back to her. “If that’s the case, we should prepare ourselves.”

Confusion flickered across her features. “What do you mean?”

He gestured his head toward his bedroom at her back as he strode toward it. As Greyson passed her, for one single second his eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching in his lungs as her scent engulfed him. A low groan slipped over his lips as he forced himself to keep moving.

She followed him down the hallway and into his room, then paused at the threshold of his closet as he entered. He moved to the back corner and knelt. His fingers found the edge of a floorboard, lifting it to reveal a hidden compartment beneath.

Inside lay a small arsenal—four handguns, a collection of knives, spare ammunition, all with serial numbers that would never be traced back to him, unlike the ones in his weapons room.

He glanced up at Shadera as she leaned against the doorframe to steady herself. Greyson selected one of the guns and checked its chamber, then rose, extending the weapon toward her grip first.

“Are you going to shoot me with this one?” he asked, trying to push them back to comfortable territory.

She stared at the gun, then at him, her brow furrowing as the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “. . . Yes?”

Something loosened in Greyson’s chest, a knot of tension unwinding at this small sign that not everything between them was broken beyond repair. He found himself almost smiling back, a grim twist of his lips that felt foreign on his face after days of pain and rage.

“Well, can you at least wait until after I’ve shot my father?”

She pulled the gun from his hand. “I can definitely try, but I’ll probably get to him before you.”

“You wanna bet?” he asked, selecting another gun for himself. “Twenty credits says I shoot him first.”

Shadera laughed now and the sound almost brought him to his knees. “A thousand credits says you won’t even have the safety off before I put a bullet in his skull and yours.”

Greyson shook his head, a grin now spreading over his face. “Deal”

Greyson met her gaze, and even with the humor, he saw the same murderous intent reflected there that burned in his own chest. In that moment, they understood each other perfectly—two weapons pointed now at the same man.

He turned back to the cache as Shadera took another step into the room, selecting a smaller gun that could be concealed in an ankle holster. “Take as many as you can hide,” he advised, reaching for a knife next. “We don’t know how this will play out, but—”

“If I were you, I’d carry as many as possible.”

The voice from the doorway sent Greyson spinning, gun raised and aimed before he’d fully registered the movement. He stepped in front of Shadera in the same motion, his body instinctively placing itself between her and the threat.

Mikel stood in the entrance to his room, his Veyra mask betraying nothing of his expression beneath. He made no move to draw his own weapon, showed no reaction to the gun pointed at his chest. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back in that perfect military posture Greyson had seen his entire life.

“It’s eleven forty-five, we need to go. The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes.” Mikel said, gesturing toward the window before turning away from them. “I’ll be by the door.”

Greyson slowly lowered his gun, turning back to face Shadera whose eyes were just as wild as she clung to his arm.

Trust the captain.

Chapter thirty-eightThe Vow

Lira moved through the crowd, her path to the platform opening before her as if by right. Bodies parted without hesitation, their masked faces tilting in respect as she passed. The air in the plaza was thick, suffocating with anticipation. Thousands gathered for the vows that would bind Shadera and Greyson.

Lira’s stomach clenched, bile rising in her throat as her fingers closed around the tablet in her pocket. She had minutes now. Just minutes to set everything in motion.

She glanced up to the platform where her father already stood at its apex, his golden mask gleaming brighter than any, the full weight of his presence pressing down upon the crowd. Her mother stood a few steps behind him, head dipped in submission.

Her lungs felt too small suddenly, unable to draw enough air. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the murmurs of the crowd. This was it. There would be no going back.

Lira slipped the tablet from her pocket and pressed it to her ear, turning slightly away from the platform. Her fingers trembled as she dialed, the encrypted line connecting almost instantly.

“I can see you on the feeds.” Callum’s voice was warm, amused—trying to calm her. “You look terrified. Remember to breathe.”

His casualness, his easy confidence, cut through her. He had no idea what she was about to do. What she’d already set in motion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

A beat of silence. “What’s wrong?” The warmth drained from his voice, replaced by concern.

Lira swallowed hard, watching as the final preparations were made on the platform. The cylindrical veil hung suspended above the altar, ready to descend at the crucial moment. Soon Greyson and Shadera would stand beneath it.

“I can’t let it happen,” she said finally. “I can’t let them take Shadera to that room. You don’t understand what happens there.”

“Lira—” The alarm in his voice was growing. “What are you talking about?”

She glanced up at the platform. “I found documents. I didn’t know until a few days ago. Until I really started digging. She won’t just be forced to consummate the marriage with Greyson.” Her breath shuttered. “After . . . After Greyson and her . . . My father, his men . . . They rape them. They rape them and make their husbands watch.” The words spilled out of her now. “It’s not just a consummation of the marriage. It’s a consummation of their loyalty to the Heart and its leaders.”

She could hear Callum gasp. She pictured him in his office, surrounded by screens, watching her through a dozen different camera angles. Trying to piece together what she saying.

“I have a plan,” she said, her voice steadier now as her resolve hardened. “I should have told you, but I knew you’d try to stop me. All of you would have. But this was the only way.”

“The only way for what?” Panic edged into his tone now. “Lira, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it. The plan is working. Jameson’s teams are in position. Farrow is about to cut the power to the checkpoints inside the Heart to let them into the plaza. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t wait till tonight.” She watched as Veyra officers arranged themselves at the base of the platform, hands clutched around their guns. “I will not let them take her to that room. I won’t.”

“Tell me what you’re planning. Let me help you,” Callum insisted, his words coming faster now.

“Just let the others know that it’s starting.”

“Lira, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hearing the desperation in his voice and hating herself for causing it. “I love you.”

She ended the call before he could respond, slipping the tablet back into her pocket. Her eyes burned, tears screaming to be freed, but she blinked them away. There was no room for weakness now. No room for doubt.

She climbed the steps to the platform, each one bringing her closer to the moment that would change everything. Her father turned as she approached, his golden mask catching the light, hiding whatever expression lay beneath.

“Is everything all right?” Maximus asked, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.

Lira nodded, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Yes, Father. I was just confirming that the billboards in the rings have the live streams working properly.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to read beyond her words, beyond her mask. Then he nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Everything must be perfect today.”

Lira took her place beside her mother, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes upon her. Elara stood tall and elegant. Lira had always wondered what expression her mother wore beneath that mask. What thoughts passed behind those eyes that watched the world through metal slits.

She nearly gasped aloud when her mother’s hand slipped into hers, fingers intertwining and squeezing gently.

“I have never been more proud to have you as my daughter,” Elara whispered, her voice so soft it was barely a breath.

Lira’s mind reeled, her carefully constructed calm cracking at the edges. What did that mean? Did she know?

Before she could process, before she could fully latch on to the words, a stir ran through the crowd. Heads turned, bodies shifted, creating a path from the edge of the plaza to the platform.

Greyson and Shadera had arrived.

They moved in perfect synchronization, side by side but not touching. Greyson wore formal black, his mask the obsidian piece he’d worn all his life. Shadera walked beside him, the shawl draped over her shoulders, covering the evidence of her suffering. But she could still see the bruises marring her neck, disappearing beneath the fabric, only to reappear on her exposed leg through the high slit.

Bile rose in her throat as they ascended up the platform steps. This was it. Her heart thundered in her chest as Greyson’s eyes caught hers, and gave her a small nod.

Shadera’s eyes stayed focused forward, her chest rising and falling just as fast as her own.

They took their places on either side of the altar within the golden cylinder, standing like statues, barely breathing. The crowd fell silent, anticipation crackling like electricity in the air.

Lira stepped forward, aware of the media drones hovering closer, capturing her every movement.

“Citizens of New Found Haven,” she began, her voice carrying through the live feed at her back, “we gather today to witness the union of two worlds. The Heart and the Boundary, joined in sacred Vow.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, but she spoke them clearly, playing her part one final time. “The ceremony has now begun.”

The drones shifted, focusing now on her father as he moved to stand behind the altar. Maximus raised his hands, a gesture that silenced even the whispers that had begun to stir in the crowd.

“The Heart endures,” he intoned, and paused as thousands of voices echoed the words back to him. “This is a day of great celebration, a promise of a brighter future for our great city. Unity between rings. A symbol that will forge bonds.” His voice rolled across the plaza, practiced and powerful. “Greyson, Shadera, you may face each other now and join hands across the altar.”

They turned toward each other slowly, lifting their hands until they met across the altar. Lira could barely breathe, could barely hear anything over the sound of her own pulse as she watched their fingers wrap around each other’s. Even from where she stood, Lira could see the tension in their bodies, the forced nature of the gesture.

Maximus continued the ritual, his voice rising and falling in the familiar cadence of the Vow ceremony. Words about duty, about honor, about the sacred traditions of the Heart.

It was static. All of it was static.

What the fuck is she planning?

Callum’s mind raced through possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Her voice had been calm—too calm. The voice of someone who’d already accepted the consequences of their actions. Who’d made peace with them.

He leaned closer to the screens, scanning every angle of the plaza. Security patterns normal. Veyra positions unchanged. Nothing visibly amiss.

Callum’s fingers flew over his keyboard, checking the status of Jameson’s teams. Still in position. No movement. Jaeger’s assassins remained hidden among the crowd, and perched on rooftops waiting for his signal.

He could hear Maximus’s voice through the feeds echoing through every channel. Callum forced himself to focus, to think like the strategist he was rather than the man terrified for the woman he loved.

He reached for his security override panel, the digital interface that controlled his backdoors into the Heart’s surveillance systems. His password flashed red. Access denied.

That isn’t possible.

He tried again. The same error message pulsed on the screen, mocking him.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, fingers flying over the keys as he tried a different approach. Another rejection. A third.

Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Someone had changed the security protocols. Someone had located him in the system and locked him out.

Callum grabbed his tablet, punching in Farrow’s emergency code with trembling fingers. She answered immediately.

“I’m a little busy—”

“Cut the power grids,” he interrupted, the words rushing out. “Now. Right now.”

“That wasn't the plan—”

“Fuck the plan,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Something’s wrong. Cut the power to the checkpoints now.”

“I’m trying,” Farrow said, her voice tight with concentration. “The access isn’t working.”

“What do you mean it isn’t working?” Panic clawed up his throat. “Use the bypass codes.”

“I am,” she insisted. “They’re not going through. The system is rejecting them.”

Callum’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Try again.”

“Nothing. It’s like someone changed everything. Like someone knew exactly what we were planning.”

His stomach bottomed out.

If Farrow couldn’t cut the power to the internal checkpoints, Jameson’s teams couldn’t move beyond the Entertainment District. They would be trapped there.

He would be trapped there.

“Lira called you,” Callum said frantically. “What did she want?”

“What?” Farrow said, confusion fusing with her panic.

“What fucking plan did she make with you?” His words were a snarl now.

“Tonight. At the final ceremony, she was going to release documents to the public of her father’s corruption. She asked me to help her make copies without the Heart knowing.”

That couldn’t be what she meant. That was too simple, that was too easy. “What else?”

“Nothing, Callum. What is going on?” There was a breath’s pause. “Oh God. Did she—”

“No.” He refused to believe it. She wouldn’t betray them. She wouldn’t lock them out of the system. She wanted this as much as any of them.

“Shoot it,” Callum said. “Fry the whole fucking power grid if you have to, just get those checkpoints offline.”

Lira was sure she’d faint from breathing so hard. Each shallow breath barely sustained her as she stood rigid beside her mother, watching the ceremony unfold with the inevitability of an execution.

Maximus turned to Shadera, the tilt of his golden mask conveying benevolent authority as he asked the question that had sealed the fate of countless women before her.

“Do you, Shadera Kael, accept this Vow? Do you vow to uphold the honor of bowing to your husband, of bowing to the Heart and the laws of New Found Haven?”

Lira watched Shadera’s chest rise with a deep breath, watched her straighten despite the pain that must have lanced through her body.

“Yes.” The word carried across the plaza, broadcast through speakers that would send it to every corner of the city. A single syllable, devoid of emotion.

Lira’s fingernails bit into her palms.

Her father turned to Greyson now, his posture shifting subtly—from benevolent ruler to stern patriarch. “Do you, Greyson Serel, accept this Vow? Do you vow to uphold your duty as the head of the family, the educator of the family, and to bow to the Heart and the laws of New Found Haven?”

Greyson’s “Yes” was firmer than Shadera’s, almost challenging in its clarity. Even through his mask, Lira could feel the rage radiating from her brother, the violence that simmered beneath his exterior.

“By the sacred laws of the Heart,” Maximus declared, raising his hands in a gesture that would be captured by every camera, broadcast on every screen, “your vows have been recorded into history.” His voice swelled with practiced emotion. “You may now witness each other’s faces as husband and wife.”

At his command, the veil descended, the golden cylinder lowering smoothly around Greyson and Shadera. It would give them their minute of privacy—the only moment in the ceremony not broadcast to the watching city.

Lira focused on her breathing, forcing each inhale and exhale to steady and slow. She’d planned this moment methodically. Had moved pieces on the board with a patience that would’ve made her father proud, had he known. Had created contingencies and fail-safes, backups for backups.

But still, doubt crept in. Doubt and fear and the terrible weight of consequence.

It all rested on Greyson and Shadera now.

The minute passed in silence, the crowd waiting with collective breath held. Her father stepped forward again, his posture radiating satisfaction and control.

“The veil will now rise on the newlywed couple,” he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the plaza. The golden cylinder began to ascend, inch by slow inch, revealing first Greyson and Shadera’s joined hands, then their formal attire. “Citizens of the Heart, please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Greyson Serel.”

The Heart remained utterly silent.

No applause. No murmurs of approval.

No reaction at all save for a collective inhale that seemed to suck the very air from the plaza.

Confusion rippled through her father’s stance, a momentary hesitation that would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him as she did. He turned, his movement unnaturally stiff, to face the altar.

Maximus froze.

Lira watched the shock move through him like electricity, his body going rigid as stone. The golden mask hid his expression, but she could read the disbelief in every line of his posture, in the slight tremor that ran through his hands.

Greyson and Shadera stood side by side, fingers still intertwined, faces bare to the world.

No masks.

No veils.

Shadera’s shawl slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her feet as a note slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the ground at Maximus’s feet.

He bent to retrieve it, movements mechanical, as if his body were functioning on instinct while his mind struggled to process the betrayal.

Lira watched as he read her handwriting. Her command. Her rebellion.

Leave them off.

His head lifted slowly, the golden mask turning toward her, gaze finding her face across the platform.

In that moment, with her father’s eyes locked on hers, Lira felt a lifetime of fear fall away. Fear of his disapproval. Fear of his anger. Fear of his punishment. All of it dissolving like mist under the rising sun.

She’d spent her life as his perfect daughter. His diplomat. His puppet. Moving when he pulled the strings, speaking the words he put in her mouth. She’d smiled through her mask as he built his empire on the broken bodies of the rings.

No more.

She held his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to bend.

For the first time in her life, she faced her father not as his daughter, but as his enemy.

The silence in the plaza stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. The media drones hovered, capturing every moment of this unprecedented breach of Heart law.

Slowly, Lira’s hand raised, finding the zipper on the front of her dress, and pulled it down. The sound of it sliding over teeth was the loudest thing she ever heard. She shrugged out of it, letting it pool at her feet, letting it reveal the white slip underneath.

White.

The mark of purity required for the Vow. The purity that would be stripped from every woman who ever took it just moments later.

Lira didn’t have to wait for a Vow ceremony for her father to rip everything from her. She’d only had to wait fourteen years for that.

She swallowed hard, never taking her eyes from her father’s as she reached up and removed her mask. It slipped from her fingers, falling to the platform with a ringing sound that was beautiful in its pitch.

Then, slowly, she heard it, the gasps that began to flow from the crowd.

Gasps turned to murmurs, and murmurs swelled into a growing wave of sound as women throughout the plaza began to move. One by one at first, then in clusters.

They shed their dresses. Expensive gowns fell to the ground, revealing white slips beneath. Their hands reached up, fingers finding the edges of their masks, sealing their fates as they showed their faces.

Lira’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched her own rebellion unfold. She’d planted the seeds days ago, whispered truths in the right ears, passed messages through networks of women who had suffered in silence for generations. But seeing it now—this mass defiance—stole her breath.

Soon the plaza was filled with the musical clatter of metal hitting stone as women revealed their faces to the world. Some were scarred—burns, cuts, deliberate disfigurements hidden for years behind clothing, behind masks. Others bore bruises, fresh evidence of what happened behind closed doors in the Heart’s glimmering towers.

Her father’s body went rigid as he turned to see the severity of her actions. She could feel his rage radiating like heat, the golden mask no longer able to hide the monster beneath.

“What have you done?” he hissed, not caring who could hear it.

Lira lifted her chin, rolling her shoulders back as she took two steps forward and looked directly into the eye of the media drone.

“We are the Heart. We are its power. And we are taking it back.”

Her words rippled through the crowd. Women who’d spent their lives as decorations, as possessions, as silent witnesses to atrocity, lifted their faces to the sky. Their expressions ranged from terror to exhilaration, but in each face, Lira saw the same thing.

Freedom.