Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(73)
My insides quail at the thought.
The mask sits tight against my face, and the air activates before I ease into the water holding the propulsion device with both hands. Sinking beneath the surface, the mask illuminates the opening to the sea ahead. The right handlebar has the throttle grip. Turning it slowly, I ease away from the stone fortress.
The water is cold, but it’s not unbearable. My legs drift as I circumvent rocks and reefs. Beautiful coral is alive with sea plants that sway in the current. As I near the Halo Palace, the water becomes shallower, and my chest and thighs bump against the sand. I let go of the throttle, and the waves push me gently toward the shore. I stand up and wade forward until I’m only waist deep. I collect my boots and coat from the niche, holding them above the water with one hand, then take off the mask and drop it inside before closing the compartment. Following Quincy’s instructions, I press the button, and the vehicle submerges and jets away.
Chapter 16
Carry these Bones
When I enter the foyer, my apartment is quiet and dark. Phoenix doesn’t waddle in to greet me. I drop my boots by the door and wait, but it doesn’t come. Maybe its hover mode malfunctioned? I take one tentative step, and then another. “Phee?” I slip off my jacket and leave it on the small table. I have sand all over myself. I need to shower and sleep.
Walking out of the foyer, I slow my steps. The lights don’t come on automatically in the drawing room. The shutters are closed. “Lights,” I order. Nothing happens. I fumble for the lamp I know is on the small bureau near me. I touch it, and the soft glow barely pushes back the shadows. I move to the other lamp near it, but the shadow of a figure on the sofa in the drawing room captures my attention.
Reykin.
Seated on the middle cushion, the Star is hunched over, his elbows resting on his thighs, his head bowed, his hands gripping the back of his skull. I take a few steps toward him. “Reykin?”
He lifts his chin and drops his hands. His expression is a mixture of rage and relief. Dressed to kill, literally, he wears black everything—his moniker covered by his lead-lined glove—the outfit of someone ready to do murder. A shadow of a bruise mars his jaw. The muscles of his arms twitch. In a sword fight, we’re equals. In hand-to-hand combat, I might not fare as well. Icy chills run down my spine. “Where have you been?” he asks in a low snarl.
“I . . .” I haven’t thought this part through. He can’t know about Gabriel and Balmora. He’ll kill my brother.
“Is that a hard question?” His lip holds a sneer.
“Yes.” I hate hearing the quiver in my voice.
“Well, let’s start with where you weren’t. Maybe that’s easier. You weren’t in the Neon Bible with Grisholm.”
“No,” I reply breathlessly, “I wasn’t.”
He leans forward and reaches for a fat tumbler of amber liquor. Lifting the rim of the glass to his lips, he drinks all of it in one swallow. He sets it down and seizes a nearly empty diamond-shaped bottle, splashing more alcohol into his tumbler. “If that child you sent to me with your message hadn’t delivered it when he did, I would’ve killed Grisholm.”
“Why?” My stomach twists with dread. I put out my hand and steady myself against the seat back of a chair.
“My first impulse was that he arranged your kidnapping. I thought he let your mother’s killers take you. Do you know what that feels like?” Reykin’s jaw flexes. He looks as if he’s ready to throttle me.
“It should feel like nothing. You said you don’t have a heart—that you don’t care about me.” The rawness of my emotions chokes me. I blink away tears. Why does this man affect me so? “You should be more concerned about Grisholm being assassinated by my mother than about what I’m doing. I can handle myself.”
Reykin throws the glass against the wall. It shatters. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” He rises from his seat, seething. “You’re the most important person. You. Not that ridiculous excuse for a man who thinks he should be the ruler of the world!”
“Tell me you didn’t hurt Grisholm!” My knees grow weak.
“No. I left him at the Neon Bible. I told him that I found you but you were ill and I had to take you home. In essence, I lied for you. Nobody knows you were gone. I fixed it, like I always do!”
Anxiety like I’ve never known passes through me. I’m not a fan of Grisholm, but it’s not that. If Reykin were to kill Grisholm, he’d be hunted down like no other man in the history of the world. He may not care about me, but apparently, I care about him . . . enough to feel the crushing force of panic building.
I wring my hands to try to get them to stop trembling. My breathing becomes heavier. Cold sweat develops on my skin. Reykin continues to rant at me, but I can hardly hear him over the pounding of blood in my ears.
I turn away and, in a daze, hurry from the sitting room to the den where I put some chets away for an occasion such as this. It’s dark when I enter. I stumble to the box on the table. Its clear wrapper crinkles when I try to unwrap one. The walls spin. I knock over the box. Why is this happening?
I didn’t feel an ounce of panic when I was fighting my way through a club full of assassins, but that was different. I was in control. It’s the things I can’t control, like Reykin, that turn me into a panting, shaking mess of heighted emotion.