King's Crusade (Seventeen) (39 page)

As evening fell, another blizzard swept across the city. Its ferocity matched the storm of emotions that raged endlessly through Alexa’s heart into the darkest hours of the night. When dawn finally broke hours later, Jackson was still alive.

By the time night fell once more, he was deemed stable enough to be transferred.

Twenty-four hours after he was stabbed by Alberto Cavaleti, Jackson landed in Boston in a private medical plane leased by Reznak. He arrived at the Massachusetts General Hospital at ten in the evening, sedated and still ventilated. He was back in theatre at midnight.

Alexa remained at the hospital the entire time. She did not speak a single word to another soul. A day later, the Harvard professor had still not regained consciousness. It was another twenty-four hours before the doctors came to speak to her and Reznak.

Alexa listened numbly, her gaze frozen on the face of the unmoving figure attached to the life support machines.

CT imaging of Jackson’s head had revealed brain damage from his repeated cardiac arrests. Though he would likely breathe if they took him off the ventilator, his chances of recovery were slim. They asked whether he had any next of kin.

Reznak looked at her at this point. Alexa gazed back at him dully, the first eye contact she had made with another being in three days. He reached for his cell phone and made a call.

Banks phoned him back ten minutes later. Apart from a distant cousin in Montana who was too ill to travel, Jackson had no other family.

An end-of-life care specialist came to speak to them in the hours that followed the grim news. Minutes into her introduction, the woman mumbled an apology and retreated from the room under Alexa’s leaden stare.

Marie arrived with Fawkes on the fourth day. The older woman finally managed to force some food down Alexa’s throat. She ate the meal at Jackson’s bedside. It tasted like ash in her mouth.

In an attempt to distract her, Reznak started to relate the findings of the research team he had dispatched to the Ural Mountains in the days following Kronos’s defeat. After recovering the tombs and the other precious artifacts stolen by the sect, the Crovir scientists had unearthed ancient Sumerian scriptures carved in the walls of the giant complex of caves beneath the mountain. The underground river where Cavaleti had attempted to escape with the tombs had led to a large subterranean lake and a second underground city further in the Urals. The scientists had also discovered dozens of relics that testified to the origins and history of the people who once lived there.

It seemed the underground cities had been the ancestral grounds of the immortal-human offsprings whose bloodline could be traced all the way back to Kronos, the third son of Crovir. They had also been the birthplace of the sect that would come to be named after him. From the early translations of the cuneiform scripts in the cave where Cavaleti had met his death, it appeared that they had been searching for the Philosopher’s Stone for a very long time.

Six days after they arrived in Boston, Reznak came to her once more. It was late in the day. Marie and Fawkes had gone to get a drink in the hospital canteen. Alexa and an ICU nurse were the only ones by Jackson’s bedside.

Her godfather waited until the nurse left the room before turning to look at her with a troubled expression. ‘We found a stone box in the underground city a few days ago,’ he said. ‘It was the third artifact that Kronos had stolen in Egypt besides the tombs.’ His stare touched briefly on where her fingers lay on the unconscious man’s hand. ‘From what we discovered in the first cave more than a month ago, we believe it stood between the two sarcophagi. It held more information about the origins of the immortals. More specifically, the scripts within it mentioned your birthmark.’

Her eyes remained steady on Jackson’s face.

‘If the initial translations are correct, then Guru Rinpoche was right,’ Reznak continued in a quiet voice. ‘You are the pureblood descendant of an immortal named Mila. She was one of Crovir’s daughters. Her intended mate was Kronos.’

Alexa finally lifted her head and looked at her godfather.

‘Though we have yet to complete our examination of the texts, the provisional reports indicate that the first war between the immortals started roughly four millennia ago. As I had suspected from the genetic analysis of their hearts, Crovir and Bastian were indeed brothers. They had three sons and three daughters each. Those siblings gave rise to our two immortal races.’ Reznak took a deep breath. ‘Only four people in the world know what I’m about to tell you next.’ His gaze was unwavering as it met hers. ‘Crovir and Bastian’s father was a man called Romerus. The texts in the stone box appear to confirm what was suggested by the Sumerian scriptures in the smaller cave we excavated in Egypt—Romerus was a direct descendant of Adam and Eve.’

The beeps from the life support machines attached to the man on the bed punctuated the hush that followed.

‘Unlike his sons, Romerus was not an immortal. But he lived for a very long time. Following his death, Crovir and Bastian established their dominion over a kingdom that extended for more than a thousand miles across Europe, Asia, and North Africa,’ said Reznak. ‘Their empire was larger than the Roman one that would follow a few millennia later, and they ruled their lands with their children for hundreds of years. During that time, both immortals and the human slaves who lived among them prospered. But they also suffered, especially at Crovir’s hands. Several of their children eventually rebelled. Although Bastian initially joined their ranks, it seems he changed his mind in the days leading to the final battle and chose to stay by his brother’s side.’ Her godfather exhaled sharply. ‘It was Mila who dealt the final blows that killed Crovir and Bastian. Of all their children, she was the greatest warrior.’

Alexa blinked. Her eyes shifted to the white sheets that covered Jackson’s still body.

What she did not tell her godfather then was that she already knew. In that infinitesimal sliver of time between her first death and her resurrection, she had seen and felt it all.

The unease of an immortal soldier that had slowly grown into disbelief and despair. The rising anger at the injustices and cruel acts she had borne witness to over decades of increasing tyranny by a mad man. The desperate and irrevocable decision taken the night her father committed the final, unforgivable sin. The first trishulas being forged in the white-hot flames of a furnace. And finally, the warrior herself during the last days of the conflict. Lithe. Fast. Deadly. Icy rage filling her belly and fire overflowing her heart as her siblings and cousins fell around her.

Alexa had lived it through Mila’s eyes and ears. In that moment, their souls and minds had been as one.

Although she had not felt the warrior’s presence inside her consciousness since the battle in the Ural mountains, she sensed that Mila still existed somewhere inside her. And although Alexa now recognized that the idea of reincarnation put forward by Guru Rinpoche and Yonten himself was probably true, she also knew that she was her own being, with her own memories and experiences. Mila was only a part of her.

An alarm tore through the room and scattered her thoughts. Her head snapped up. The fear that had been her constant companion for the last seven days threatened to drown her as she stared at the flashing monitor above Jackson’s bed.

Two nurses rushed inside the room. A doctor followed in their footsteps.

Half an hour later, the medical team spoke to them again. Jackson’s organs had started to fail.

Chapter Thirty-Three

D
imitri Reznak stood at the
window of an expensive hotel room overlooking the Boston Harbor waterfront. The suite was located on the twelfth floor of the building, which was owned by a Crovir. The room was reserved for the use of immortal nobles who visited Boston.

He stared blindly at the festive lights that glimmered gaily along the snow-covered promenades lining the wharf. The hotel was about a mile from the hospital where Jackson lay dying.

Footsteps rose behind him. Reznak turned and saw Marie.

‘Are you coming to the hospital?’ she asked softly. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. Fawkes stood silently next to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

‘I’ll be there soon,’ said Reznak quietly. ‘Go ahead without me.’

The door shut after them moments later.

It had been three days since the doctors had given them the news about Jackson’s deterioration. In that time, Alexa hadn’t left the Harvard professor’s side once.

Today was the day they would turn off his life support.

A ragged sigh left Reznak’s lips and his shoulders sagged. He would never forget the look on his goddaughter’s face when the doctors told them their decision—not until his very final death.

Ten minutes later, a knock sounded at the door of the suite.

Reznak crossed the floor and opened it. Four familiar faces stared at him over the threshold. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said hoarsely. He ushered them inside the room and closed the door.

They spoke for an hour before leaving for the hospital.

The ICU was quiet when they entered it just before midday. It was the week leading up to Christmas. The nurse in charge glanced at the group of visitors behind Reznak before frowning at him over the top of her glasses.

‘Can we borrow your family room?’ he said with a tired smile.

The woman’s eyes softened. She nodded once.

Reznak went to get Alexa from Jackson’s bedside. At first, she refused to leave him. ‘This is important,’ he finally said, his voice hardening.

She stared at him for a moment. His heart twisted at the deadened expression in her silver eyes. She glanced to where Marie and Fawkes sat by Jackson’s side.

‘Go,’ whispered Marie tremulously.

Alexa rose and came around the bed.

Seconds later, she froze on the threshold of the room where Victor Dvorsky waited with Lucas and Anna Soul. A third man leaned against the wall to the right. He was as tall and as powerfully built as Frank Schmidt; sharp brown eyes watched them carefully from an impassive face.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Alexa coldly. She looked at Reznak over her shoulder, faint misgiving evident on her face.

It was the first genuine emotion he had seen her express in over a week.

‘Sit,’ Reznak ordered curtly. He closed the door behind him.

Alexa hesitated before folding herself in a chair.

He almost smiled at her then. Despite the grief that was visibly crushing his goddaughter, she had chosen the best position in the room from which she could guard herself from a physical attack. The expression that flashed across the faces of the other three men in the room suggested that this hadn’t escaped their attention.

‘Before we begin, let me introduce you properly,’ said Reznak. He took the seat next to hers. ‘You saw Victor briefly in Russia.’

‘We finally get to meet,’ said Dvorsky. He glanced at Reznak. ‘You are the most closely guarded secret this old fox has ever kept from me. And I’ve known him for a long time.’ His lips twisted in a wry grimace.

Alexa watched the leader of the Bastians warily before tilting her head in brief acknowledgement.

‘Anna and Lucas you’ve already met,’ Reznak continued, indicating the immortal couple.

Anna’s lips curved in a small, sad smile. Lucas Soul gazed at Alexa inscrutably.

‘This is Reid Hasley,’ Reznak added, indicating the man by the wall. ‘He is Soul’s business partner—and a human.’

Alexa stiffened. She turned to him again, her expression vigilant.

‘I never told you how Eva got her name,’ said Reznak.

His goddaughter’s eyes widened. She had obviously not expected him to talk of such things.

Reznak glanced at the other people in the room and met Victor’s stare briefly. ‘Victor has known for centuries. In view of what I’m asking of Lucas, Anna, and Reid, they also deserve to hear this.’ He took a deep breath as old memories flooded his mind. ‘The original Eva was a cousin of Ivan the Third, a Grand Prince of Moscow and the founder of what would become the Russian state. She was, and always will be, the love of my life. She was also a human.’

He heard Alexa’s breath catch in her throat. ‘You know of the concept of immortal soulmates?’ he asked.

She nodded once, her gaze unblinking.

‘Very much like humans profess to have “soulmates” in their lifetimes, immortals also share similar bonds with each other,’ said Reznak. ‘But not every immortal will necessarily find a mate, despite their many lives. This situation has been made doubly worse since the advent of the Red Death. Many of us lost our soulmates during the plague.’ He sighed. ‘For an immortal to find their other half these days is in the realm of the truly miraculous.’ His gaze shifted fleetingly to the immortal couple seated several feet away. ‘But a few immortals will have a human soulmate.’ He felt the surge of a familiar, centuries-old ache in his chest, and swallowed hard. ‘I was one of them.’