Daybreak (37 page)
Still, Tru didn’t know if he wanted to rescue a traitor. “We might rethink our plan and focus our efforts on taking out the general, then freeing the captives.”
Arturi folded his arms. “You’re holding your wife
right now.
If someone took her from you, if they presented evidence, no matter how compelling, that she wasn’t the woman you loved, would you believe them?”
right now.
If someone took her from you, if they presented evidence, no matter how compelling, that she wasn’t the woman you loved, would you believe them?”
No fucking way.
The answer came from a primitive part of him, echoed in the lion’s growl. And like that, he saw the man’s point.
The answer came from a primitive part of him, echoed in the lion’s growl. And like that, he saw the man’s point.
“Not without seeing it with my own eyes,” Tru said. “If I found her and she tried to kill me, I might believe.
Might
. But I don’t know I’d give up hope that she could be fixed, that she could come back to me. I’d want to think she loved me enough to
fight
her way back.” His hold tightened on Pen.
Might
. But I don’t know I’d give up hope that she could be fixed, that she could come back to me. I’d want to think she loved me enough to
fight
her way back.” His hold tightened on Pen.
“You comprehend my position perfectly. Our plan proceeds unchanged.”
“Give Pen a few minutes to recover.”
Arturi nodded. “We need to see to the bodies anyway.”
The leader of the resistance summoned soldiers and directed them to Reynard. Jules needed longer to be convinced that Xialle was beyond saving. There, on the mountainside, they held a quiet service. Preacher spoke a few words where the fallen were buried side by side. It was a solemn moment, one to bring home how much everyone had sacrificed.
Yet nobody appeared to harbor doubts. If they turned craven, then these brave souls died for nothing. The collective resolve firmed, heartening Tru. This might have started out as a motley group of traumatized survivors, but they had united in common purpose.
“Are you all right?” he asked Pen softly, knowing she wasn’t.
If he were a little braver, he’d open up to her and offer warmth to compensate for the anguish she’d endured. But he couldn’t, knowing he’d only deluge Pen with his own fear. She didn’t need the negative messages, and he didn’t have a strong filter on what he shared. Maybe once they grew more practiced, he could pick and choose. Today, not so much. So the door stayed closed.
“Every time I kill that way, I feel like I lose a little more of myself.”
“So
stop
. A knife works just as well, I promise.”
stop
. A knife works just as well, I promise.”
“But there’s still pain. They didn’t deserve more. I can do it so they feel nothing. It simply . . . ends.”
Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
But Tru chose not to argue. She’d made the choice, so she would live with the consequences. He didn’t want to change her, even if her decisions drove him crazy. She must feel the same way about him; any relationship called for compromise.
After the joint funeral, as dawn lightened the eastern sky, Arturi gave the order to move out. They faced a day’s hike, according to their aerial scout. Now only Jules, the condor, remained to provide reports on fortifications. He didn’t look up to the task, but when the boss man asked, “Do you want a break?” Jules shook his head.
“It will be worse if I’m not busy. And O’Malley owes me.”
In blood,
the man’s bleak face said.
In blood,
the man’s bleak face said.
Tru imagined how he’d feel in the same circumstances. He’d lost one family. Losing Pen might kill him. But no. He wouldn’t end it, even then. That wasn’t in his nature, but spending the rest of his life without her, wandering, would be the nearest thing to hell without standing in flames. He’d caught glimpses in her eyes as they traveled—she didn’t expect to survive this final fight.
Which made what he’d done stupid beyond all understanding. Loving her? It wasn’t like he could help that. But
marrying
her? Shit. But deep down, he’d hoped that maybe the promise of a future with him would be a lure strong enough to keep her from making the ultimate sacrifice—trying to save a world that didn’t love her back.
marrying
her? Shit. But deep down, he’d hoped that maybe the promise of a future with him would be a lure strong enough to keep her from making the ultimate sacrifice—trying to save a world that didn’t love her back.
Pen,
he thought.
Ange would want you to live . . . and be happy. That’s all.
he thought.
Ange would want you to live . . . and be happy. That’s all.
But he didn’t speak those words aloud either.
He fell in with the rest of Arturi’s army. They still appeared a ragtag bunch as they trudged up the mountain, but looks could be deceiving. Although the scouts were among the most dangerous of their number, the young girls offered no hint behind their quiet, innocent faces. They would slip in first, kill the sentries. Pen and the other mystics would handle magical defenses, then she intended to go after the mad witch.
For her sake and Arturi’s, he hoped it wasn’t Zhara.
As for himself, Tru would lead the few remaining skinwalkers to the general. If they had a sample of his scent, their task would be simpler. But the man was slippery as a snake. Nobody had seen him outside his mountain stronghold in years.
By the time they arrived at the base of the path Jules had discovered, sunlight slanted through the tangle of tree limbs with a distinctly orange cast. After a short hike to the first checkpoint, the mission scouts tackled their first assignment. As evening fell, Arturi gave last-minute instructions without displaying even a hint of uncertainty. Tru admired his conviction, even as the sinking in his stomach worsened. He didn’t feel as if he were about to defeat a great enemy.
He felt like he was about to lose everything he loved. Again.
“We hold here until we hear from Bethany,” Arturi said. “Once she gives the all clear, we go in. Is everyone ready?”
Just as he’d done with the previous encounters, Preacher provided specific assignments, giving people tasks according to their strengths. His precision made Tru think he had military experience, before he found religion.
Whatever happens, this is it. Either way.
He went to find Adrian then. The boy wasn’t happy about being left out of the final attack, but since he was young and not especially well trained, he would prove a liability.
Consequently his mouth was sullen, but his eyes were scared. “I want to fight.”
“We need you to watch our backs,” Tru said.
“Bullshit.”
“Be safe.” He gave the kid a half hug. “I’ll see you soon.”
Pen put a hand on his arm as the girls disappeared into the brush that framed the path. He couldn’t hear even a rustle from their steps. Amazing, really. Mary Agnes had achieved miracles with her charges.
Tru glanced down at his wife, memorizing the beauty of her upturned face, those indigo eyes, and the rosy curve of her mouth. Tears stung, thickening in his throat, but it wasn’t the time to be a sensitive pussy. It was time to give her the strength to do what she must. No matter what. Even if it meant leaving him behind.
God, no. Don’t make me do this. Don’t.
He found the resolve to kiss her, knowing it might be the last time. “I love you, more than anything.”
She clung to him, her lips sweet as nectar. Maybe this was his big destiny: loving people and letting them go. If so, then it fucking sucked.
“Me too,” she whispered, arms tight around his neck.
He drew back then, because he wasn’t done. No more touching—he couldn’t bear it—just the power of his words, setting her free. Jules wheeled overhead, a shadow of wings among the trees. “Believe, like I do . . . You won’t hurt anybody you don’t mean to. You’re the motherfucking Orchid. Now go kick some ass for me, Pen.”
THIRTY-NINE
Pen watched her husband walk away, ending their farewell. Although, in truth, they’d been saying good-bye over and over during the last arduous hike to the fortress. Without access to Tru’s pictures of the world—his memories, his fantasies—a hollow had opened in her mind. This was different from when he’d left the island. They hadn’t been living inside of each other then, sharing every inspiration.
She could call it off. They could run away, back down the mountain, to be free of these burdens. But one look at the way Arturi’s troops fanned out across the glade put an end to that momentary lapse in concentration.
Everyone had a job to do.
Pen’s was to destroy a witch.
She’d spent the last half day in a semi-trance. Walking. Preparing. Always eating. But all the time reliving the moments inside those fractured, ruined minds. Reynard and Xialle. The dead who’d blamed Zhara.
The feel was all off. She didn’t know what had happened to them, but nothing about their possession had even hinted at Zhara. No sense of her spirit. No glimpse of her mind. Just that blood-red aura, all sticky and bitter in her thoughts. When she searched from the island, looking for Arturi’s wife, she had seen Zhara’s leaf-green aura. Distinct. Unmistakable. And then the shock of blood and pain.
There existed two entities. She was nearly sure of it.
But even now, there was still so much she didn’t know about magic and the Changed world. If such a creature existed, she hadn’t yet encountered it. Leave it to O’Malley to harness and exploit the greatest potential for evil.
The battle began with the crack of an automatic weapon. A Klaxon added to the sudden chaos. Pen’s heart slammed into high gear; she could rocket to the moon on her adrenaline. Best of all, she carried Tru’s blessing.
Now go kick some ass for me, Pen.
Only as she crawled over a low embankment, gunfire everywhere, did she realize how much that must have cost him.
Her knees clotted with mud as she chased the shock troops closer to the battlements. A huge fortress loomed before them. Rows of stripped tree trunks made it look like a fort from pioneer days, which seemed oddly fitting. If O’Malley was the invading force with technology and supplies, she was part of the pesky native population that wanted them gone. She considered herself lucky she’d learned so little about history before the Change. Precedent might very well say that the natives always lost, but she didn’t want to know.
Detonation charges exploded at the base of the main gate. Near-suicide runs made by the forward-most skinwalkers. As soon as their human duty was dispatched, they scurried away in their animal skins. Pen couldn’t see past the sudden haze of smoke and flashes of fire. But her job wasn’t to make sure the others were safe.
The chaos intensified as O’Malley’s people responded with massive artillery. How long had they been stockpiling such weaponry? For just such an assault? Pen smiled at that, liking the idea her ragged band was worth so much hassle. And it still wouldn’t be enough to keep O’Malley safe.
The last she glimpsed of Tru was the flick of his tail as he bounded through the wreckage of the fortress door. She exhaled and shut her eyes. It wasn’t her job to keep him safe either, although that fact cut a sharp twinge of pain across her heart.
She followed as part of the second wave. Humans and those with other powers. The guards were easy to find, easy to muddle and confuse. They rankled with a proud scorn that rubbed her mind the wrong way. She slipped deeper into a trance of her own making. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see the same way. Something deeper, far down inside her, was taking control.
Shaking with a brief flash of terror, she grounded herself in the truth. She was stronger now. More practiced. More mature. The motherfucking Orchid.
She ran until her lungs burned on each inhale of cordite and charred wood. With a thud, she slammed up against the external wall of stripped tree trunks. The position would give her body cover as she sank deeper into her mind. Eyes closed—sight was almost a distraction now—she found the five closest guards. Depraved, ugly thoughts of killing throbbed in her mind like rotting sores.
She twisted her magic. And killed all five.
The energy in her cells sank. Although her stomach was a liquid mess after being in those foul minds, she grabbed a hunk of cooked meat out of her satchel and shoved it into her mouth. Choking down food was the least disgusting thing she’d need to do that night.
Without those five guards, the covering fire at the external wall was almost nil. Arturi’s remaining people surged forward. She caught sight of him in the crowd, face tense, eyes determined. Her Finn, all grown up.
They locked gazes, exchanged nods. She turned away and ran into the fortress.
Almost as soon as Pen raced across the threshold, cloak furling out behind her, a hard wall of sensation smacked against her brain. She staggered. The back of her head connected with the leg of a lookout tower. She sank into the loam, seeing stars and blood red. The entire fortress was protected by that hideous aura.
Her intrusion was not welcome.
Too goddamn bad.
Pen used her hands to drag her reluctant body to its feet. Splinters dug into her palms—unpleasant, but a reminder of anything outside of the chaos of her thoughts.
Something else was trying to get in. Get into her brain.
So that’s what had happened to the others. This . . .
thing
shoved inside and took control. With that much power, no telling what thoughts it could implant. Maybe even that the culprit was Zhara. Pen held out that hope.
thing
shoved inside and took control. With that much power, no telling what thoughts it could implant. Maybe even that the culprit was Zhara. Pen held out that hope.
Shrugging out from that invading touch took all her strength. She shoved back.
Hard
. And headed toward the source of the energy.
Hard
. And headed toward the source of the energy.
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