Noble Born (Half-Blood Chronicles #2) (The Half-Blood Chronicles) Page 3

  Chapter 5

  Back in my quarters, I paced restlessly.

  You don’t belong here.

  I nearly laughed out loud. Of course I didn’t. But I had nowhere else to go.

  I moved through the dim space, turning on lights as I went. I suppose I should have been grateful there was electricity.

  Pax wasn’t home, and it would never be. But it was no longer so jarringly strange as it once was. I’d gotten used to the stone floors and the way every place felt dark except Upper Walkway.

  But there were still mornings when I woke up expecting to be in my old bed.

  I drifted to the bookshelf. I had amassed quite a collection—most of them histories of the Aristoi. I’d hoped to find something about Source gifts—something that explained the strange way my own magic worked.

  But these were official tomes—and officially, my type of magic didn’t exist.

  I moved down the row of books until I found a slight gap. I reached inside and pulled out a thick stack of letters.

  I flipped past the most recent one, which had arrived nearly a month ago.

  It was a brief, almost businesslike letter informing me that my mother and Vissarion would be moving again, and might be out of contact for awhile. I understood—they were looking for a safe, secure place off the grid. But I still wished they’d chosen to stay at Pax.

  I found the letter I was looking for and took it to my desk. Then I fanned out the pages until I saw it—a faded, slightly creased photo.

  The photo was of me.

  I stood in front of a large, suburban house. I was grinning broadly, wearing a deep green dress that made my eyes stand out.

  Standing next to me—with a far more restrained smile—was a slim, dark-haired man.

  My father—or at least the man I’d thought was my father. I always imagined that I’d inherited my dark hair from him. Now I knew better.

  The first time, I nearly missed the note tucked neatly behind it.

  By now I’d read it dozens of times.

  Dear Kestrel,

  I got your phone message. I hope you can understand that I’m not ready to talk yet. The events of the past year have been more painful than you can imagine.

  I hope you and your mother are well. Your mother’s new friend gave me your phone number. Someday I hope that I will be ready to talk. For now, I think it best if we all try to get on with our lives.

  Please do not contact me.

  Stay safe,

  Jonathan.

  This time, I didn’t cry or shake as I folded the photo back into the letter. But a wistful ache twisted inside my chest.

  I thought of the smiling girl in the photo, her father’s hand resting lightly on one arm. That world had made sense. I’d belonged there.

  Now I didn’t fit in anywhere.

  You could have gone with Mom.

  Yes, I could have. They had promised me safety, a place off the grid, somewhere the strife wouldn’t touch us.

  Pax is safe, I had insisted. You should stay here. But I got the sense that my mother didn’t believe that.

  It didn’t make any sense. Pax was as safe as you could get—separated from the rest of the world by whatever strange magic shrouded the island.

  I thought of what Kynan had said. What was my future here?

  I shoved the letters back into the bookshelf. I had to concentrate on the here and now.

  Okay, so I couldn’t go to the Stronghold meeting. But Tyrus would never let me be pushed out of the government entirely.

  He’d promised to come find me—after the meetings were over. He’d tell me exactly what I’d missed.

  And then it would all be back to normal. I’d find out what they said, and what the next steps would be. A new alliance, maybe? A bridge to the other Strongholds?

  This is a good thing, I told myself. I had to push aside my own ego. The Council had to do what was best for Pax.

  And that was exactly what I’d tell Tyrus.

  The Strongholds were due to arrive tomorrow. Afterward, when Tyrus came by to talk, I would make sure that he knew I was ready to help—however I could.

  But the next day, he never showed up.

  It was nearing sunset, and I had already delayed dinner with Sydney twice. The truth was, I was too nervous to eat.

  Finally, I started toward Tyrus’s office, over in the official wing of Pax.

  It was a long walk from the Domestic Quarters, and I had plenty of time to rethink my decision.

  Maybe he’s still in meetings.

  I told myself that if I found the office empty, I would go meet Sydney in the Cafeteria. And I would force myself to forget all about it until the next day.

  But Kynan’s words echoed in my mind.

  Tyrus hadn’t told me that Dr. Sotheby had been the original pick for Diplomatic Liaison.

  What else isn’t he telling you?

  My last meeting with Sol hadn’t gone well.

  I mean, the meetings never went great.

  They seemed to go in endless circles: me trying to find common ground between Outlaw City and Pax—and Sol pointing out all the ways it wouldn’t work.

  The last time, though, was different. Sol, usually unflappably patient and maddeningly polite, had been restless. Agitated, even.

  He’d grabbed my hands—something he hadn’t done since we were in Pax. “Be honest, Kes. Are you really happy here?”

  I’d been confused. “Happy? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I know you said you didn’t want to come to Outlaw City. But at least consider leaving Pax.”

  I’d held back a sigh. This again.

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s nothing there for you.”

  That made me angry. “Would it kill you to meet them halfway on something? Anything?”

  His face darkened. “They can’t be trusted, Kes.”

  “And Sforza can?”

  It was the first time I’d mentioned Liberatus Sforza—his real boss.

  “No.” His voice was quiet. “But he never asked me to trust him.”

  And so we’d gone back to negotiating in circles. Sol’s strange, restless mood evaporated. He even joked about his tan.

  “I just got back from vacation—I was visiting an old friend in Jupiter Beach.” His old, goofy grin had surfaced. “You look like you could use some sun, Kes. When’s the last time you went outside?”

  When I finally got to the office, Tyrus was hunched over his desk.

  He looked up, and I drew back with a start. He was pale and looked to have aged about ten years.

  For a pureblood Aristoi, that was a lot.

  I backed out of the doorway. “Sorry, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  But he waved me inside.

  The chair that usually sat in front of his desk was gone, so I stood there awkwardly. “The Kotek Stronghold…are they—?”

  “Gone. Eager to get back, I’m sure.”

  The rancor in his tone was hard to miss.

  The office looked different. Had it really been that long since my last visit? I scanned the shelves and noticed that most of the books seemed to be missing.

  “How did it go?”

  “That, I imagine, is a matter of opinion.” He smiled sourly.

  My heart sank. “Are they talking about an alliance with Pax?”

  “No.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “They informed us that they do not recognize the Council of Pax as having any kind of authority over their Stronghold.”

  Not good—but hardly surprising. “So…”

  He shrugged. “The Strongholds have always kept their own Council. That changed somewhat under Atameus. But only because they believed that he was just crazy enough to enforce his authority.”

  We hadn’t inherited Atameus’s government. We’d taken it by force—or rather, Lucan had swept the place clean and we’d moved in.

  Like squatters.

  It wasn’t a flattering image.

  Finally, Tyrus stopped rummaging through his desk drawers. He met my eyes, and I saw a weariness there that worried me. “They brought…news.”

  “Good or bad?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Definitely bad.” He seemed to hesitate.

  I stiffened. Didn’t he trust me?

  Finally, he sighed. As though he’d decided to tell me—but wasn’t happy about.

  His gaze drifted toward the window, and he squinted slightly, as though he could see the problem out there somewhere. “One of the Relics has been stolen.”

  Chapter 6

  I thought I’d misheard. “A Relic—as in a Source Relic?”

  Tyrus nodded.

  “I thought that wasn’t possible.”

  I mean, I knew about Relics. You couldn’t read one of those dusty old Aristoi histories without getting a long—and usually boring—account of how the original Sources had left behind their earthly remains. How those remains contained so much power that the original families had decided to keep them hidden in separate, top-secret locations.

  Tyrus had gone back to arranging the piles on his desk. “That’s what we’ve always told ourselves. We were wrong.”

  “What does it mean? Did they find the Keeper?”

  Tyrus glanced up with a look of surprise. “You know about the Keeper,” he said evenly.

  “I read about it in some of the histories.”

  The Keeper was the one person who—according to the histories, at least—knew the identities of the families who guarded the Relics.

  Tyrus sighed. “The Keeper was never the only way to find the Relics. There is a plethora of historical documents, family chronicles and the like—evidence that could not be completely erased. An enterprising seeker could piece together what he needed to locate the Relic-holders.”

  “So…this was why the Stronghold came to visit?”

  He smiled thinly. “A sort of parting courtesy.”

  “Whoever it is—” I stopped. “Who do you think stole it?”

  Tyrus raised an eyebrow.

  “Lucan?”

  “He’s certainly shown himself to be someone who might desire it.”

  “Is that what the Strongholds think? Maybe now they’ll help us against Blood Right.”

  “That’s not their way. I imagine they’ll shore up their own defenses. Isolate themselves even further.”

  “But if Blood Right gets all seven Relics…”

  Then they’ll have the power of the original Sources. Near-omnipotence, was how one of the books had described it.

  Tyrus sighed heavily. “The Strongholds have always believed that their own strength would be enough to protect against calamity.”

  I began to pace. “What about Outlaw City? Do they know?” In spite of everything, I felt a new hope—and a plan coalescing. “Maybe they’ll be open to an alliance. At the meeting with Sol next week—”

  I stopped. Tyrus was watching me with a tight expression.

  “What? Whatever it is, we can fight this.”

  He shook his head. “We aren’t going to do anything. Or at least, I’m not. I am no longer in a position to lead this fight.”

  I frowned. “Of course you are. You’re—”

  “No longer the Head of the Council of Pax.”

  I stared, dumbfounded.

  He pulled something out from behind his desk. A cardboard box. I watched, incredulously, as he began to fill it with the desk-drawer detritus he’d extracted.

  He said, “They voted on it after the Stronghold left. I’ve been relieved of my duties.”

  “They kicked you out?”

  “I’m still on the Council. So are you, for that matter. But I’m afraid my significance is rather…diminished.”

  And so is mine.

  I forced myself to ask the next question. “Who’s the new Head of Council? Who took your place?”

  “House Karpathos.”

  Kynan. I was sure I didn’t hide my reaction very well.

  Tyrus laughed softly. “It could have been worse.” He gave me a significant look. “He’s not going to kick you out. Though I wouldn’t count on ever being relevant again.”

  “Maybe I could talk to him. I could still be useful as the liaison to Outlaw City—”

  Tyrus cut me off. “You’re done here, Kes. It’s time for you to start making other plans…before they’re made for you.”

  “So what do you think will happen?”

  Even in the fading light, I could see the worry in Syd’s face.

  There was an answer on the tip of my tongue—something glib and dismissive. But after a moment, I answered truthfully, “I don’t know.”

  We were in the cavernous Cafeteria eating a warmed-up meal that consisted of boiled potatoes and some sort of fish. Neither of us had been all that hungry, though, and our half-empty plates were pushed to one side.

  In earlier days, the servants used to bring out an array of sweets and teas after dinner. But for the past few weeks, they’d disappeared after the main meal.

  Now Syd’s lips turned up in a pointed smile. “Don’t know or can’t tell me?”

  I grinned. “If I knew anything, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you. But on this subject, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I doubt that.” But she was grinning, too.

  In spite of everything that had happened between us, we shared a certain bond. We were, after all, both outsiders here.

  When Dr. Sotheby had first brought Sydney to Pax, the purebloods had been in an uproar. Humans had never been welcome here. But he’d smoothed things over—just, I suppose, as Tyrus had smoothed things over with the Council over my presence.

  And now…

  Well, he wasn’t Head of the Council anymore. And I actually didn’t know where I stood anymore.

  “Are they going to kick us out?”

  “Of course not,” I said, though I wasn’t so sure.

  Syd gave me a kind of sideways look that made me think she knew I wasn’t being entirely truthful.

  “Look,” I said. “They have bigger things to worry about than a human and a half-blood.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, I realized. I really wasn’t. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

  A deep, mournful bell tolled from somewhere inside the building. It was eleven o’clock.

  I stood. “Come on. I’m ready for bed.”

  She gave me another long look. But after a moment, she sighed and pushed back from the table.

  As usual, we left our plates at the table. Syd said, “Do you think anyone’s going to come and clean them up?”

  I shrugged. That was how it had worked every other night. But the Domestic Quarters seemed even emptier than usual.

  As we started back toward our rooms, Syd shivered and pulled her sweater-wrap closer. It looked expensive, and was ridiculously out of place here. Somehow, she’d managed to convince her father to ship most of her extensive wardrobe here.

  She said, “I feel like I should be packing.”

  I forced a laugh. “These are purebloods we’re talking about. Nothing happens quickly.”

  But the very next day, I was summoned to Kynan’s office.

  Chapter 7

  There were two guards posted in front of the office.

  Well, that’s new.

  They stopped me from going in or even knocking. One said that Kynan would see me in a moment.

  Tyrus had never done that. Nor had I ever received a formal summons to his office. He’d always come to me.

  At least the men flanking the door weren’t Hooded Guards. Those had all mysteriously disappeared after the Battle of Knossos. They’d left without any fanfare, and no one knew where they’d gone.

  Kynan opened the door. He gave a sort of half-bow. According to Tyrus’s embarrassed explanation, it was some sort of Aristoi custom with women.

  The chair was back in front of the desk. New books filled the shelves.

  Kynan offered me a seat. “I guess you’ve heard by now.”

  If I hadn’t, then I probably would’ve figured it out when I received your summons.

  Something crossed his face—annoyance, maybe. I remembered, then, that he was a Multi—someone with multiple Source gifts. Among other things, he was an Empath.

  Or was it more than that? Could he actually read my thoughts?

  God, I hate magic.

  But he was already getting down to business. There was a certain briskness to his manner, as though I were taking up time he did not have to spare. “After the departure of the Kotek Stronghold last night, we held an emergency session of the Council during which I agreed to take over as Head.”

  He paused, cocking his head. Reading my emotions?

  Well, they should have been obvious.

  “Please understand that there was no personal animosity against Tyrus. The Council simply decided that they wanted to go in another direction. We have a different vision for the future of Pax.”

  And what vision would that be? But I bit my tongue.

  This was his meeting, after all.

  He seemed to be waiting for a response. When I didn’t offer one, he cleared his throat.

  “And on that subject…” He actually looked uncomfortable now.

  Well, that was touching. But it could only mean one thing. “You’re getting rid of me.”

  He blanched. “No, no. Not at all. We’re simply—that is, your presence is no longer required on the Council. Your position as Diplomatic Liaison to Outlaw City is…”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, we’re eliminating that position.”

  “What about the meeting next week?” Sol was due to arrive on Wednesday.

  “Canceled.” He added, in a slightly gentler tone, “I’m sorry. But…I have to do what’s right for Pax. For the future of the Noble Race.”

  It was a term that grated on me—though I suppose it shouldn’t have annoyed me any more than the pretentious Aristoi.

  “What about the stolen Relic?”