Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(24)
“When does Will get in?”
Roan gave him an are-you-serious look. “On schedule to the minute. He’ll arrive in about eighteen hours, precisely at the stated move-in time. The mighty senator wouldn’t have her son ask for any special consideration.”
The senator was one of the few Native American congress members, as well as being one of the rare single mothers who had attained and held a seat in the nation’s New Congress. Perhaps because she was breaking boundaries, she focused an inordinate amount of attention on keeping up overall conservative appearances.
That meant that she didn’t rage against her son’s sexual orientation; she simply denied its existence—and insisted that Roan was merely a “good friend” to her son.
Roan’s father was also strict, but in his case it was about staying away from “New Hollywood wastrels.” On breaks from St. Columba’s the unit functioned like two smaller groups. Zephyr saw Creed and Alkamy fairly regularly. Roan was able to stay in close contact with Will. Violet, of course, was able to do whatever she wanted. No one told her “no,” or if they tried, she simply ignored them. So she was a liaison between the two groups.
The one missing piece had been Lilywhite. None of them had a way to reach the daughter of the acknowledged head of the country’s most successful criminal organization. She’d been kept hidden from the media and the world.
Until now.
Until today.
Roan guided them to a pathway that cut through a small park a few blocks from the pier. After they passed the park, they’d be in a residential area, and from there they’d eventually come up to the side of campus. It would require scaling the wall to get into the grounds, but once they did, they’d be in the gardens.
“Creed is still communing?”
“In the back corner, by the yew trees,” Roan directed.
They walked in silence for several minutes, which was precisely what Zephyr needed—no extra complications. He had enough to worry about with Alkamy’s moods, Creed’s drinking, and Violet’s temper. He’d expected that Lilywhite would share his burden, be a voice of reason in their odd little group. Instead she added to his list of problems, although it was through no fault of her own. Someone had failed in their duty to let her know who she was, what she was, who he was.
“Did you ever think that maybe it’s not an honor?” Roan’s voice was low enough that Zephyr had to lean closer to hear. “Being chosen, I mean.”
“No.” Silently, Zephyr added, because if I allowed myself to think it, the queen would kill us all.
Roan looked away before almost guiltily adding, “I don’t want to die . . . or hurt anyone again.”
Zephyr couldn’t be afraid, not to die and not to kill. There was no questioning, not of the regents, not of their handler, not of the missions they would be assigned. Questions could lead to answers he didn’t like, to disobedience, and that would lead to death—and leaving his team, his friends, alone. He could die for his duty, for his friends, for their people, but he wasn’t going to die because he questioned their regents. He certainly wasn’t going to let his friends die if he could prevent it.
“You need to stay here when I go to see the queen,” Zephyr told Roan.
“No argument here.” Roan shuddered.
Zephyr gripped his friend’s arm and repeated the words he’d been drilled on for years: “We owe the queen everything. She came up with a plan to save our lives, to save everyone. She’s bled for us, Roan.”
Roan said nothing as they reached the wall that stretched along the east side of campus.
Zephyr stroked the vines that covered the wall, asking them to part for him. The plants were meant to keep anyone from scaling the wall, but flora answered Zephyr. Once the vines shifted, Roan gripped the stone and began to climb. He reached the top of the rose-and-thorn-covered wall, and stepped over. Without seeing him, Zephyr knew the boy had landed in a graceful tumble. They’d been climbing this wall for going on four years.
He spoke to the plants again, thanking them as he climbed. Tendrils reached out, touching his skin, seeking contact with him as eagerly as he sought their touch. It was a terrifying gift in his childhood. He’d grown up in New Hollywood, where gardens were groomed meticulously. All Zephyr had to do was take a walk, and the plants rioted. They burst into bloom out of season; they snaked across paths and fountains. They tangled in his hair and shredded his clothes. Early on, his family had a fleet of gardeners and landscapers to keep their grounds from looking wild, to protect him from accusations of fae blood, but by the time he was twelve, his parents had simply erected a high fence with a gate and told their friends that they liked the “hedonism” of an unkept garden. Zephyr still wore the key to that gate like a talisman.
The gardens at St. Columba’s didn’t respond as vigorously as those of his childhood. Over time, the plants had taught him though, filled his mind with messages of patience and wisdom. If they hadn’t, he’d still be at home, unable to be anywhere other than concrete and brick vistas. He’d wondered more than a few times if that was why Lilywhite had been hidden away all of these years.
Inside the gardens, Creed was stretched out in the sunlight. He looked listless, too limp to rise from the ground and greet them. He cracked one eye, saw that it was them, and closed it again. “No lectures, Zephyr. Kamy looks just as bad.”