Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) (16 page)

Unless… wait. Yep. It paid off, didn’t it.

“Cyrus,” she said, a knowing smile on her face.

He turned to her with a broad grin, and she knew it without even asking or bothering to read his mind.

“There’s some mighty fine meat in the kitchen, you know,” he said. “Mighty fine. Best in the land.”

“Uh huh,” she said as she stretched out.

He said nothing more, continuing to hum, and she went to the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw Crystil cooking ursus.
Cyrus, I swear.

“Hi,” Crystil said, equally happy. “I have to work soon, but I figured you might kill Cyrus if he had ursus and you didn’t.”

“Among other things,” Celeste said dryly.

Celeste took her food and sat next to Cyrus in silence. Behind him, Crystil walked out of the room and back into the warehouse, not once staring at Cyrus. As soon as she disappeared out of sight, Celeste looked right at Cyrus, refusing to turn her gaze until he looked up at her.

“So,” she said. “You seem awfully happy this morning.”

Cyrus shrugged, but a grin he could not suppress was forming over his face.

“I had a good night,” he said.

“A good night? Or a great night?”

Cyrus, who had dug a fork into the ursus on his plate, paused, sighed, and laughed.

“You and your sensing powers,” he said. “I swear we have to make it a rule in the future that you aren’t allowed to use your sense powers on me or Crystil or Pops.”

“I didn’t even need my sense powers for this one, Cyrus,” Celeste said, her arms crossed as she watched, bemused. “Sometimes, just a sister’s intuition will tell her everything she needs to know.”

“Lucky,” he said as he went back to chewing some meat. “So I guess you know, then?”

“Know what?” Celeste asked innocently.

“What happened last night,” Cyrus said.

“I don’t know. It seems kind of clear, but I’m looking for an adjective to describe how clear. Like… it’s something clear, but I can’t quite pin the word. What’s the right word for that, Cyrus?”

Cyrus jokingly threw a small, nibble-sized piece of meat at her, which she easily dodged.

“Crystil, duh,” he said, leading to Celeste to smile broadly and coo. “Long time coming, too. Six months or so? I’m usually not that patient.”

“Usually? Try never,” Celeste said laughing. “But that’s great! That’s why I suggested we spend the night.”

“Oh,” Cyrus said, his face red. “If I had known—”

“It worked out anyways. So how did it happen?”

“I finally did what you suggested earlier,” Cyrus said, and Celeste cheered as she clapped twice. “Turns out it’s a lot easier to express how you feel to someone when they haven’t slept for days and they want a shoulder to lean on. I just brought her up to the viewing room, we had some emotional conversations, one thing led to another, and…”

“Yeah, I can figure out the rest,” Celeste said.

But she didn’t even need to figure out the rest. She had waited for that moment to happen, and even though it no longer needed to happen to save humanity, it still warmed her heart and gave her much-needed joy.

“So yeah, that’s us,” Cyrus said. “Just don’t tell anyone. We want people to stay focused.”

“That’s fine. Just try and be more subtle than you were humming.”

Cyrus groaned and Celeste laughed. But when the laughter died down, Celeste knew it was time to shift gears into battle mode.

“We have to get ready to go to Tapuya. But before we do… you need to know something. I talked with Typhos last night. I telepathically communicated with him.”

Cyrus’ smile faded as he leaned forward on the table, his hands folded.

“I know we talked about this, but I really need to hammer it home. I don’t think he wants to fight us. I think he feels trapped. I think that he feels like he has to destroy everyone else’s future in order to destroy his past. I’ve tried to talk him out if it, because honestly, I am quite sympathetic to him. Think of what he grew up with, Cyrus. His father dying. His mother abandoning him, he thinking that she died only to realize no, she’s alive and ignoring him. Abandonment at the worst. Jealousy of us. He knows we are half-siblings to him, Cyrus. He knows.”

Cyrus displayed no reaction, but Celeste ignored it.
As long as he’s listening and not blowing me off at this point, it’s OK. It’s good.

“He says we are constant reminders of the happiness that he never had or has, and frankly, I get it. Erda’s presence was a continuous reminder of the awful life he had, and our presence is a reminder of the good life he could have had, with Dad always being there. But when I asked him why he wanted to kill us, he said it’s because it would bring him peace. I pressed him, though. I asked him what would happen if he didn’t find peace after killing us, and it was like he had never considered the possibility. He seemed very distant at that moment, lost in thought. I was reaching him, Cyrus, I really was. I think it became too much because he left after that, but I was getting through to him. I saw his real side, Cyrus.”

She took a quick breath, not sure if her hypothesis was correct, but willing to run with it.
If I don’t push it, Cyrus is just going to kill him, and we’re going to miss a great opportunity.

“Typhos is not a psychopath, Cyrus. This notion that he’s just pure evil and wants to watch the world burn was just a description Erda gave him. I don’t know why she did, probably because doing so absolved her of the mistakes she made.”

Cyrus sighed. Celeste could tell he wanted to take the conversation seriously, but a part of him would not allow him to see Typhos as anything but the enemy.

“I can’t look beyond the past, Celeste. He captured Pops and tortured him for years. He put everyone in shackles here. He killed you. You’re only here because Erda sacrificed her life for yours. That doesn’t change that he killed you. Those acts were pure evil.”

“They were,” Celeste admitted. “I never said I would defend the atrocities he’s done. I don’t let him off the hook for destroying Nubia or trying to attack us on Vostoka. But understand where it’s coming from. He’s a Kastori who has experienced a lot of hurt and only knows pain and suffering. He believes if he inflicts it, he can absolve himself of that pain. He also believes he’s trapped in that he can’t give up, because if he does, we’ll use our power to crush him. Anyone who has ever said they loved him has hurt him in some fashion. Cyrus, he’s not looking for just sheer mayhem. He’s looking to get rid of the hurt that inhabits him. It’s no different than you or me, trying to get rid of bad memories, like trying to build a home on Anatolus because we thought Monda was completely destroyed.”

Cyrus snorted. Celeste realized she was losing the argument the further she went.

“It’s a little different than you or me, just a tad,” Cyrus said. “And what do you believe this means for us going forward? Let’s say everything you say is true, which I don’t agree with, but I’ll consider. What if it is true? What then?”

Celeste sighed.

“Look, he will never be one of us. He will never be forgiven by the people of anyone who knows who he is now. But when we fight him—and I know that is going to happen—we have to spare him. We can send him to a planet where he has no past, where no one knows who he is, and he can blend in there. Or, if he accepts, we put him on trial here but chose not to kill him. The point is, somehow, we give him another chance.”

“And who would accept that? The Kastori here who lived in fear of him? The humans he enslaved? Crystil, who lost her husband? Pops, who nearly died?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not impossible.”

Cyrus nodded, but even Celeste admitted she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just converting Typhos from his sadistic ways was the first step, and once that was done, they could move forward.
It’s a big enough step that we can’t worry about what the other side looks like.

“And if he fights us to the bitter end?” Cyrus asked.

Then it’s all a moot point.

“Then we have to do what is best for our survival and kill him,” Celeste said simply, hoping that the more matter of fact she said it, the easier it would be to digest. “But don’t just go for that so easily. He’s our brother.”

“Half-brother.”

“He’s a brother to me,” Celeste said. “He’s got your smart mouth, you know.”

“Great, now I’m being compared to the universe’s most malicious killer,” Cyrus said, but the smile on his face alleviated any concerns of it being an actual accusation. “You’re going to force me to become boring and staid, and then guess what? Crystil won’t like me anymore. Then I’ll also have to wear an ugly mask, and I won’t be able to kiss her, and—”

“Hah,” Celeste laughed. “Of all the reasons she likes you… OK, maybe, maybe your mouth is up there, but I would probably put your loyalty and sense of duty a bit higher.”

“Just a bit?” Cyrus smirked.

Believe it or not, Cyrus, you have some good traits. Some traits in which you’re better at than me.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “Look, back on track, Typhos is my brother. Say what you want about different fathers, but the fathers aren’t that different. His father was former chief on Anatolus, ours is Emperor of Monda. Both of us have fathers in powerful positions. One just had the misfortune of having his dad die young.”

Celeste could see the gears in his head turning, at least willing to consider things from Typhos’ perspective.

“Just, if you see him, let me talk to him. He responds most clearly to me, and you have a bit of a brash tendency.”

“Me??” Cyrus said mockingly but then laughed.

Suddenly, Celeste felt something. It felt like a flash, like someone… teleporting.

She could suddenly see the world through the eyes of Typhos as if being brought in by the man himself. She first saw Anatolus from the peak of Mount Ardor, but her vision shut off and came back seconds later to an area full of thick trees, swampland, and creatures of unusual sizes.

“Tapuya is mine
.”

He then shut off the communication, and Celeste had her normal vision back.

“Typhos just went to Tapuya,” Celeste said. “We gotta go.”

Cyrus immediately stood up, his food uneaten, and dusted himself off.

“Grab a bite, you haven’t eaten since we got back,” Cyrus said, tossing her the remainder of his food.

Celeste grabbed it and joined Cyrus in walking toward their armory.

“Go outside, teleportation will be easiest there.”

Hope you listened to what I had to say. We’re about to test it.

27

Typhos had spent the night in utter confusion after his conversation with Celeste.

He had started out furious at himself for creating a monster weak enough that Cyrus and Celeste had survived their encounter with it. Needing to go somewhere different, he walked out of the sphere when her voice came.

But it didn’t come to warn him. It didn’t come to scold him. It didn’t come to challenge him.

It came to offer him peace that somehow seemed more genuine than anything he’d ever encountered.
More authentic than Erda. More authentic than the council members, be it Pagus or Fargus. More authentic than any of my own people.
He opened up to her despite his own intentions, spilling his pain and tortured soul to her. He couldn’t believe at one point that he had craved her presence and admitted that to her.

It became too great, and he severed the connection. But the pain rolled out of him and came in the form of tears.
What if she’s right? What if this pain will never end even after killing those who remind me of Adanus and Aida? What if I am cursed to a life of sorrow and agony, no matter who I defeat?

The more he thought about it, the more he began to fear she was right. It became such a heavy burden that he even began to consider surrendering, on the condition that only Celeste could take him in. The isolation on Mount Ardor had begun to wear on him. Even having his guardians, whom he knew could betray him at any moment, gave him a sense of support that he no longer had. No amount of created monsters could give him that company.

But now, he truly had no one. No Pagus. No Hanna. No guardians. No white magic Kastori. Only Celeste reached out to him, and she did so sincerely.

When night fell, he told himself to sleep on it. He would make a decision in the morning, and whatever decision came, he would commit to it and would not waver.

Sleep did not come for several hours as he played out the consequences and possibilities of both fighting and surrendering in his mind. When he finally did drift off, he dreamed of the moment when he had stabbed his sister through the chest, all but sealing her to death. But then he had gotten struck by bullets, and her brother had come and destroyed his mask, the mask he had worn for several years to disturb his enemies.

He wished that Celeste had perished right there—
I wouldn’t have to deal with her now, and my decision could be much easier.

But he also wished that he had perished at the blade of Cyrus or the rifle of the humans—
I wouldn’t ever have to deal with the pain I feel.