The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4) (25 page)

“Either.”

“Perhaps you could commission a new one.”

“Perhaps I could. Holt?”

“Yes?”

“What will you do? I mean, besides picking off the
last few names on your list and taking me on a date?”

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t expected to survive this long.
I didn’t make any plans.”

“Perhaps
you
should run for President.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what else?”

“I like the sound of you reinstating me as Captain.”

“You want a commission aboard a Sky Force airship?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m afraid my days of running around and fighting
battles are behind me. I could only command a ship provided a certain person
remained in close proximity to me at all times,” he said, turning to face her,
slipping his hand into hers.

“Ah, the
Anthonium
poisoning,” she said,
understanding his point.

“And the only cure.” He squeezed her hand gently.

 “You need me,” she said with a smirk.

“I need you,” he replied as he bent forward with a
kiss.

A gust of wind swirled around, rustling
the leaves of the oak trees nearby, pulling a few orangey-brown leaves from the
branches and sending them fluttering to the ground. The pale blue sky was
clear, not a single cloud dusting the expanse above. Larissa climbed down from
the carriage and adjusted her pillbox hat. The wind wasn’t quite strong enough
to pick it off her head and send it flying, but she checked the pin holding it
in place just to be sure.

“You look fine,” Holt
whispered into her ear, his voice low.

She shuddered a little.
She hadn’t seen or heard him climb down from the carriage to join her; his
unique knack for stealth prevailed. She doubted if she would ever get used to
it, although there was no denying the fact that she was on edge today. She
would probably jump out of her skin at the meekest sound.

Three months had passed
since the death of the President and the attack on the Capital. Three months
had passed since the death of her father, her cat, and Cid. It seemed odd
now—after having spent a considerable portion of those three months locked in a
prison cell—to be walking around freely, to feel the wind in her hair, to wear
nice clothes and have a clean smell to her body. She could have been any other
woman in the world, dressed in fine black silks, smoothed down the muscular
lines of her torso, her skirts swishing with every step, her high-heeled boots
clacking down the paved path. She could have been no one—a store clerk,
perhaps. But today, she was Larissa Markus. Pirate. Criminal. Murderer.
Assassin. Daughter of the Empirical Dynasty of Daltonia. Presidential
Candidate. She had so many accolades and accusations stacked up beside her name
that no one really knew what to do with her. It helped that she had two
high-ranking military men in Kerrigan and Vries, singing her praises and
extolling her virtues. Even Friar Narry had provided a useful character
reference. It was thanks to them that she had been allowed out, a fact she
wasn’t going to forget any time soon.

Today, she tried her
best to put all of those things to one side. Today was not about politics or
her troubles.

Holt walked by her side
along the path, his broad shoulders in the peripheral of her vision. Dressed
all in black, as per usual, though today it was entirely appropriate, he had
appointed himself the role of her bodyguard, but in truth, he needed to be
close. The time they had both spent in prison cells had taken its toll on him,
bringing him close to death more than once. It had taken a significant amount
of pleading with the guards to let him move to the cell directly beside her
own, giving him the chance to draw energy from her healing ability and keeping
him alive. She had no idea how long that mysterious link between them would
last. It felt as though an axe loomed overhead, threatening to come plummeting
down and end it all at any moment.

Larissa reached up and
looped her arm through Holt’s elbow. He glanced down at her, a slight frown of
confusion on his brow. “I am not in need of physical contact at this moment,”
he said.

“You may not be, but I
am.”

His face softened with
understanding, and they continued on together.

The path turned into a
steady ascent up a hillside. The green grasses at the path’s side reached waist
height, hiding the base of the oak trees covering the hill. Up ahead, where the
hill reached a plateau, a group of people had gathered. A collection of mostly
men in smart, dark suits stood around conversing with one another. Here, the
grass was cut neatly and arranged in blocks of deep green around small
pathways. Nearby, a collection of headstones was nestled beneath a tree. The
light refracted oddly at the top of the hill, where the smog cloud from the city
spread over the atmosphere, causing yellowish streaks of light to show in the
air.

Butterflies tumbled
around inside Larissa’s chest, though there was no reason to feel nervous. It
wasn’t as if they were heading into battle or a courtroom. She glanced backward
to the road. Their carriage had disappeared already, but another horse-drawn
carriage came into view, heading towards them. It was covered completely,
lacking windows out of which its occupant might see. Another flutter danced
around her stomach.

“I have weapons,” Holt
whispered down to her; he too had noticed the carriage.

“I’m sure it’s
nothing,” she said, lying to herself as much as to him.

“If you say so.”

Kerrigan turned to face
them as they approached. He wore a darker version of Army dress uniform. His
black hair had been cut short and slicked back. A line of medals pinned on his
breast glinted in the light. His back straightened as he saw Larissa, and he
dipped his head in a nod of greeting. His comrade, Lieutenant Saunders, turned
as well, revealing a short and slim woman by his side—his fiancé, Larissa
presumed. The rotund General Gott cast his beady eye over Larissa as he spotted
them. One by one, the other people noticed their approach and parted to let
them through.

As they reached the
hilltop, Friar Narry greeted them with a hearty handshake and a broad smile. He
wore dark red robes with golden tassels at the edges of his sleeves. Larissa
had never really believed in the Gods or followed any of the religious
practices besides celebrating Saints Day. Once again, she had to remind herself
that today was not about her or her beliefs. The Friar’s attendance was wholly
appropriate to the circumstance.

The hilltop plateau led
to a sharp drop on the other side. The rocky face hidden by a bank of trees, a
forest covered the land below, and in the distance, the Capital city dominated
the horizon. A great cloud of smog hung over the vast buildings, shrouding the
residents no doubt carrying on with their lives. At the edge of the grass, an
empty pyre lay in wait. Larissa glanced at it briefly, and then turned her gaze
to the horizon, resolving to avoid looking at the pyre until etiquette required
her to do so.

“I believe,” Friar
Narry said, bringing the hushed conversations in the group to a silence, “that
we are awaiting only one more attendee.”

“Who?” Larissa asked as
she looked around. Everyone she expected had turned up already, and she
couldn’t think who else would come. Some long-lost family member?

Narry responded with a
smile and approached to speak to her directly. “I haven’t seen you for a long
time, child,” he said.

“I’ve been otherwise
detained,” she said with a smirk. Holt subtly untangled himself from her grasp
and took a few steps away to give them some privacy, though she didn’t know
why. He would no doubt hear every word.

“Yes. My apologies. We
were trying to get you out sooner, but the situation was somewhat complex.”

“I know. I’m just happy
to be alive and free. Thank you, Friar.”

“It wasn’t really my
effort that helped. I was wondering if you would wish me to include your father
in the ceremony?”

Larissa twitched,
wishing she was still holding onto Holt for support. She hadn’t considered that
as an option—she hadn’t even thought of her father, at least not so far today.

“No,” she said
forcibly, “this is for Cid. I don’t want that man clouding the moment.”

“I understand. He
wasn’t always that way, you know,” Narry said.

“How would you know?”

“Because I remember him
as a child.”

An odd silence fell
between them. Larissa could feel the frown tugging her eyebrows low, and the
flutter moved from her stomach to her chest. “Explain?”

“In my younger days, I
was a Priest to the former Emperor. A group of other priests and I helped his
young son escape when the military enacted a coup. I was fortunate to be an
unknown priest at the time and didn’t face retribution for my part in what was
deemed a crime after the fact. My elders did, though, poor souls. The young boy
was passed on beyond my care, and I never knew what happened to him. I’m sad to
say I was frightened to ask for fear of being reported to the authorities as
one who helped him escape.”

“Why didn’t you tell me
this before?”

“I wasn’t aware that
he’d chosen the identity of Solomon Covelle or Professor Markus. It wasn’t
until we were in the midst of chaos that I realised who he claimed to be, and
that you were his daughter. I thought to mention it on several occasions, but
there never seemed to be an appropriate moment. Besides, you had enough to
worry about. I didn’t want to add another story from your past to your
troubles. The weights on your shoulders have grown heavier with each day.”

Larissa shook her head
slightly. She didn’t want to think of her father as a young boy, frightened for
his life, escaping death and seeing his family torn down by politics. It must
have been heart-breaking. A pain settled in her chest. It didn’t excuse his
actions, but it did explain them, she supposed.

“Being sympathetic to
his plight doesn’t make you weak or mean you accept his actions. You are
nothing like him,” Narry said, offering some form of consolation. “I imagine
you must be like your mother.”

“The woman who easily
fell for the charms of a liar?” she said. Another pain struck her chest. Yes,
she was just like her mother. How easily had
she
herself fallen for the
charms of her own Professor—a man who had just as many secret plans and
ambitions as her own father?

“Your mother would have
achieved all you have achieved?” Holt asked. Larissa knew he’d be listening,
despite his attempt at discretion. Their eyes met. He had a serious and
determined expression on his face, the hardness of his jawline showing with the
freshly shaved chin.

“She wasn’t fortunate
enough to have a wily Ex-Captain hop onto her airship…or a Cid.” She turned to
face the pyre, and then looked away again, refocusing on the Friar.

“Leave my father out of
today, please. I will reconcile with who he was and who he was not some other
time.”

“You don’t even want to
know his name? To know what your true family name is?”

“I’ll check the history
books when I’m ready.”

“As you wish.” Narry
moved off to speak with Sandy, who had also donned a dark robe of her own, her
hair pulled back into long plaits. Larissa made a mental note to thank her for
all she’d done later.

Beside her, Holt
shifted his stance. The hairs on the back of Larissa’s neck stood up as she
noticed his movement, his feet planted firmly on the ground, legs bent
slightly. Most of all, she noted that his hands had slipped to the back of his
belt, where he had no doubt concealed a blade…or several. His attention had
shifted to the path, and she followed his gaze, not knowing what to expect.

The dark carriage had
stopped at the bottom of the hill, the horses pulling it standing ready to
leave. Two figures had emerged from the carriage, along with several large men.
Larissa knew who they were the moment she laid eyes upon them. Their dark skin
stood as a stark contrast to the bright sky and colours of autumn surrounding
them. Long locks of dark hair flowed freely in the breeze on the taller of the
two women; the other had pulled her hair into a braid. Larissa’s knees went
weak, and she felt like a skittish rabbit as her eyes darted around, checking
for signs of the military or enforcers bearing down upon them. The road leading
to the hill was empty in both directions. No one seemed to care that the
Eptoran Empress and her sister were causally wandering about on a hillside a
few miles out of the Daltonian Capital.

“It seems she received
your letter,” Holt said quietly. He relaxed his stance one iota but kept his
hands at his back.

“I sent a letter to
Elena to tell her about Cid. I didn’t extend an invite to them. I’m pretty sure
nothing I said in that letter could have been interpreted as such.”

“I sent a letter of my
own with yours,” Kerrigan said as he joined Larissa at her other side. “The
Admiral lent his assistance in the wording of the invitation.”

Admiral Vries appeared
at Larissa’s shoulder just behind Kerrigan. For some reason, the men
surrounding her kept their distance a few inches behind her. Even Holt. They
had all placed her squarely in front of the group. If they had been anyone
else, she might have questioned their integrity or bravery; no man—especially
military men—would use a woman as a shield. It didn’t take long for her brain
to figure out the subtle meaning of the act.

“Empress,” she said as
the women approached. She faltered, having not had the time to figure out the
protocol. Should she bow? Curtsey? Grovel on the floor and beg the Gods for
help?

“Miss…Markus,” the
Empress said with a quirky upturn in her eyebrow. The two women settled on a
mutual nod of greeting. The men at Larissa’s back all dipped into stiff bows.
The show of respect to their enemy was both wonderful and confusing. “I’m sure
you can appreciate the gravity of my presence in your land.”

“I can. I would like to
assure you that you will be treated well and allowed to leave unharmed, but I’m
not in a position to make such a promise.”

“Assurances have been
given on your behalf. My sister insisted upon attendance at this affair. It is
right, I suppose, that you follow your Daltonian rituals for honouring the
dead, considering the man was of this land. I’m not sure I will ever understand
the need to burn an empty pyre, though.”