The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4) (24 page)

She laughed, the sound oddly alien and completely out
of place. Finally, she looked down at her aching chest; her shirt was soaked in
blood. Holt caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. Her pulse raced,
her hands seemed to tingle, and everything else paled in comparison to the
realisation that she had been shot. Every beat of her heart grew laboured.
Every breath felt like a marathon attempt. Darkness encroached around the edges
of her vision. Was this a noble death? Was this worth the price?

She wanted so much to ask him, or at least to tell him
not to worry—to carry on and find love elsewhere. He deserved so much. But as
the vision of Holt’s distorted face faded from her eyes, she realized it was
too late. A strange smile played on her lips, and then silence descended once
more.

A cool breeze disturbed a curl of hair,
pushing it across her face and tickling her nose. Her nose wriggled of its own
accord. A cough escaped her lips, and a stabbing pain followed.

“Gods,” a voice came
from nearby.

“I’m not a fan of the
gods right now,” she said. Her voice sounded gravelly, as though she hadn’t
drunk anything for days. She willed her eyes to open, but for some reason they
refused. She listened carefully, expecting to hear the noises of battle growing
in the city. Instead, a slight hint of birdsong greeted her attention. Was she
dead? Was this the afterlife? Did they have pretty birdsong as a form of
greeting in the afterlife? Perhaps claiming to dislike the gods hadn’t been the
best idea. It was hardly a good first impression at the entrance to eternity.

“Larissa?” The voice
belonged to Holt, that much she knew. Maybe he had died with her. She couldn’t
help but feel glad for that prospect, though she instantly regretted feeling
happy at his demise. Another bolt of hope boosted her joy. Would she see Cid
again? And Imago?

“Do cats go to the same
afterlife as people?” she asked, still unable to open her eyes.

“What?”

She raised her hand to
her chest, finding the front of her dress soaked and sticking to her skin. She
frowned. Surely she wasn’t doomed to spend eternity walking around in the same
clothes she’d died in?

“Larissa,” Holt said
again, his hand covering hers.

Finally, her eyes
popped open and she was able to focus on him. She lay on her back and he sat by
her side, his hair coated in white plaster dust and his face streaked with
tears.

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

She moved to sit up. A
tightness tugged across her chest, feeling as though something were lodged
inside.

“You should be dead,”
Holt said. “I thought you were.” His hand moved up to her face to push her hair
away from where it had stuck to her lips. “You should be dead.”

“You said that
already.”

“He shot you in the
chest. He shot you in the heart. I thought, since your healing ability is
impaired…”

“Covelle,” Larissa
said, rolling her eyes shut.

“What?”

“He injected me with
Anthonium
.
I had no idea why. I’m not even sure he knew why, except that…”

“Except that what?”

She took a deep breath
and stood up slowly, a light-headed sensation making standing a chore. She
climbed slowly over rubble and mess, ignoring the President’s prone form and
snapped neck. She moved out onto one of the balconies and looked out at the
city. The remaining airships in the skies were all Sky Force, not a single
pirate airship in sight. The city had grown quiet, and just a few burning fires
remained.

She slumped down onto
her backside and stared out at the world through the balcony balustrades. Holt
emerged and came to sit nearby.

“It is over, then,”
another voice spoke. Larissa turned to find a rotund man dressed in military
uniform, standing in the entrance to the room and glaring down at the
President.

“General Gott,” Holt
said. He didn’t move from his seated position beside Larissa.

“On your list?” she
asked, unsure if this General was a friend or foe.

“It’s about time you
caught up to him, Captain Holt.” The General gave a nod towards them both,
interrupting Holt’s reply. “Might I presume you have dealt with Covelle as
well?”

Holt looked at Larissa.
Was he expecting her to answer?

“Covelle perished in
the fire beneath the palace.”

“Ah. Good.”

“You might spare some
men to round up the firemen and take care of that issue before it burns the
whole place down,” she said, still unsure whose side the General was on.

“I’ll have Kerrigan see
to it.”

“Is Kerrigan…”

“Alive, well. Mopping
up the last of the scumbag pirates on the streets. If the two of you are
planning on leaving, now is the time. I can turn my back for long enough.” A
second terse nod was all they received by way of farewell before the General
turned to leave.

“That explains why the
palace soldiers didn’t make any effort to stop us,” Holt said.

“The General was on
your side the whole time?”

“The General was on the
side of whoever came out on top, hedging his bets. He’s better at betting games
than all the high-ranking officers put together.”

“I’ll make a note to
never play him at cards.” She smiled, looking out to the city once more,
wondering if they should be rushing to escape as the General had suggested. Her
hand trailed up to her chest, the odd sensation that a bullet remained inside
making her feel woozy.

“Covelle is truly
dead?” Holt asked.

“No one could have
survived that fire. Do you think he knew I would be shot?” she asked.

“I doubt it. How could
Covelle know what would happen?”

“No idea. That only
leaves one possibility as to his reasoning for injecting me.”

“And that is?”

“He did it to protect
me. To help me survive no matter what. Above all, he wanted to protect his
legacy, no matter that he went about it in the worst way possible.”

“If that is what you
want to believe,” Holt said, ever the skeptic.

Perhaps he was right.
Perhaps she was being too simplistic, still too naive. She laughed as she realized
it didn’t matter. They had survived, against all the odds. A single tear
escaped her eye for Cid and Imago. Had it been worth the sacrifice?

 “What now?” Larissa asked, not daring to look at him.
Holt shifted his position, scooting closer towards her.

“Well, there’s still my list. I know there are a few
people who seem to have mysteriously disappeared.”

 “I thought the list was destroyed?”

“It’s up here.” He tapped his temple. “Etched in
memory.”

“Gods, Holt, don’t you think you’ve avenged your
brother already? I’m sure he’d appreciate everything you’ve done up till this
point and want you to have a rest now.”

“Is that what you want? A rest?”

“You don’t think we’ve earned it?” she asked.

“You could say that, though I note you didn’t answer
my question.”

“What question?”

“Do you want a rest? What do you want, Larissa?”

She gazed across the horizon, taking in the view of
the rooftops of the residential district; each billowed smoke from chimneys
into the sky. The hazy cloud hung around the quiet evening air, causing the
fading sunset to bristle with every imaginable color. The people in the streets
below carried on with their lives, mostly unaffected by the strange events which
had occurred above their heads and in the palace. What did she want? What could
she possibly wish for? There was no way she could go back to working in a
clothing shop and spending lonely nights huddled up in a small apartment. The
mere thought of it made her feel restless and depressed.

“Well. You might…” Holt’s sentence faltered. It was so
rare for him to stumble on his words; he usually took great care to say
anything at all, especially when it involved feelings and emotions.

Her thoughts filled with all the things he might have
meant to say, something romantic? Maybe something sordid? Maybe he wanted to
proposition her for a few hours of horizontal exercise spent atop the
Presidential desk. Despite having just survived a gunshot to the heart, she was
more than willing to give it a try. She felt her cheeks flush as she noticed
she was beaming an idiotic grin at him and had to suck her bottom lip to try to
suppress it. She cleared her throat.

“I might…what?”

“Want to put your name down as a candidate.”

“As a candidate...for what?”

“President.”

“Holt?” she looked him over, frowning.

“Yes?”

“Did you hit your head?”

He chuckled at her and grabbed her hand with a firm
grip. “Being here suits you. The public will favour you for being the only
person to prevent the entire war—”

“I’m not the
only
person who did that,” she
interrupted.

“No, but you were the mastermind behind it. The
Empress of Eptora trusts you more than she would any of the other Daltonian
military candidates. Not to mention you’re the heir to the original line of the
Empire. With you in charge, you could even forge an alliance with Eptora.
Hardly anyone votes in the elections these days, they’re so mistrustful of
those in charge. If they saw someone like you in the running, they might just
make the effort to make a change. Seeing as we’ve killed the man responsible
for rigging the elections, we might have our first genuine round.”

“If anyone knows my name, it will be because they
think I’m the crazed pirate who caused the deaths of all those men on the
warship and the destruction of the Hub in Aditona…and the hub in Sallarium
city. Now I’ll be known for killing the President.”

“We both know those things aren’t your fault.”

“Yes, but no one else knows, and I don’t know where I
would start in trying to convince them otherwise.”

“It’s all just politics and propaganda. Kerrigan is
well respected. If he can accept and exonerate you, others will follow.”

“Did you just say Kerrigan might be of use?”

“I did.” His eyes narrowed.

“It was a bit of luck I didn’t let you rip his head
off when he jumped aboard my ship then, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure luck has anything to do with it. So
ruling all of Daltonia doesn’t appeal, then?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“I may have to think it over for a while.”

“You should.” He sighed and turned away but continued
holding her hand tightly.

“And what do you want, Holt? Besides picking off the
last few names on your list.”

Holt said something in response, but she barely
registered it as a bolt of thought struck her mind so clearly it drowned out
everything else in existence.

“I’ll do it,” she blurted.

“That’s…not the response I was expecting.” Holt
scratched at his stubbly chin with his free hand.

“I’ll run for President. If I get elected, I can just
give the names of the people on your list to the enforcers and say I want them
brought in for questioning. Of course, I could just have them bumped off
completely. I’m sure the Presidential position comes with access to some secret
team of assassins, but... I don’t think that would be much of a way to start a
term in charge, do you?”

As her gaze turned to meet his, the incredulous look
on his face told her that she’d been waffling. His eyes flicked back and forth
between hers and his jaw shifted around as though he were physically chewing
something over as well as mentally.

“You’d run for President just for a chance to finish
dealing with the people on my list?” he said after a time.

“Not
just
for that. What did you say earlier?”

“Earlier when? I can’t keep up with your thought
process, Larissa.”

“Well, try harder.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“What did you say, before I said I’d run for
President. Did you ask a question?”

“I asked if you would like to go on a date…with me.”

“A date?”

“Yes, I believe that’s what normal people call it.”

Larissa sat dumbstruck for a moment as she processed
his request. A date. Her mind tried to conjure up an image of them sitting in a
quiet nook in a restaurant, him dressed in his usual monotone black fatigues,
her in her grubby and ripped dress with a pair of Cid’s goggles perched on her
head. The waiter asking what they’d like to order and Holt insisting he would
only eat proteins and vegetables to keep his body in peak physical condition
and refusing to drink a glass of wine. Somehow, the vision just would not meld
into something coherent.

“Will it involve target practice or training?” she
asked.

“I’m sure that can be arranged, if you would like.
Although, I thought...”

“You thought I would want flowers and chocolates, to
be whisked off my feet and treated like a princess, then taken home to a warm
apartment adorned with rose petals and scented candles and listen to you
whispering sweet nothings in my ear until we got ourselves so worked up that we
had to retire to the bedroom?”

“Something along those lines. Is that what you’ve had
in mind?”

“No, not at all. I haven’t imagined that sort of thing
in detail.” She felt the heat rushing to her cheeks, and the slight upturn in
the corner of Holt’s mouth reminded her that lying was not one of her skills.

“I don’t have a warm apartment,” he said, slipping his
arm around her shoulder. “Or scented candles…or a bed.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can find a suitable
alternative. Do you have a desk?” she asked without looking him in the eye. She
didn’t try to hide the grin spreading so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

“Not even a desk, I’m afraid. Though I believe the
President does have one.”

“I’m not sure that’s an acceptable act of state to
perform upon the Presidential desk.”

“I can think of far worse things to do in there.
Waging war, plotting horrific crimes, signing death warrants.”

“Oh, charming. Now I really don’t fancy using the
desk,” she said, scrunching her nose up.

“For horizontal exercises or for running the country?”