Trial by Heart (Trial Series Book 4) (9 page)

But I must do this.

Shifting in my chair, I draw a breath.

Tristan looks at me first, sensing my fear and anxiety, and offers a warm smile.

I stall, hoping someone else will start talking so I can put off my painful task a little longer.

No one does.  

“I need to ask you guys something,” I start.

“We know,” Tristan says softly.

I glance at Ben, whose silvery gaze is on me. I’m tempted to tell him to leave, so I can have a private discussion with the two candidates but know they’re going to tell him everything anyway. I’m acutely aware of his focus being solely on me and my cheeks starting to grow warm again. I’m not sure why it bothers me for him to witness Tristan and Myca admitting how I fucked them up.

“Before you do,” Myca says, “You should know there was some method to our madness and the order we went in for the trials.”

Relieved not to hear bad news quite yet, I wait eagerly for insight into the master plan behind breaking the curse. Erish, too, is interested and hovering near me, still and silent.

“We determined you to be a tough nut to crack, so Nathan’s job was to knock down the front door,” Myca says with a smile. “We needed you open and willing to learn to what we had to teach you, and there was no one more effective at smashing resistance than Nathan.”

“My brother is as subtle as a bulldozer,” Ben seconds.

I almost laugh. “Okay, I can definitely see that,” I agree, recalling my time with Nathan.

“My unique skill set includes a gift I didn’t tell you about,” Tristan picks up the story. “You know about my empathic skill. You spent your life secluded from the Community. We knew you needed the gift of empathy in order to see the curse from the Community’s view, as opposed to the traditional Kingmaker view, so you’d consider us equals, with compassion, and understand why we have to stop the curse. My second job was to determine how deeply entrenched the curse was in your soul. I cannot heal the body, like you were able to when you were fae, but I can heal a person’s spirit.”

My time with Tristan was somewhat peaceful compared to my other trial experiences. I knew he had the ability to soften my emotions, but the idea he was doing something to my soul is a bit unnerving, no matter how good his intentions were. “You did soul surgery on me?” I ask uneasily.

“I did my best to put a buffer between you and the curse at the deepest level,” he replies.

“That’s kind of freaky,” I murmur.

“The vampire amulet belonged to my mother. It’s the oldest magical talisman in existence,” Myca adds. “It started the process of protecting you, but you inherited the curse, so it couldn’t undo what was already done. Tristan could.”

I look at Tristan anew. Such a gift is absolutely incredible.

“I spent my life frustrated by the idea I could heal a soul but not the children dying,” Tristan explains. “It was a useful gift and countered my empathy, which causes me to take on the pain and suffering of everyone around me. I was able to heal my own soul. When I was selected for the trials, Ben helped me understand I could do my part to stop the curse, and prevent the deaths of many more, by using this gift to heal the soul of the Kingmaker on trial as well.”

“Without Tristan, the curse would’ve taken you by now,” Ben adds quietly.

My heart is pounding.

“Nathan knocked down the door, Tristan walked in to fix you and me … my job was to awaken your mind,” Myca says with a smile. “The line between what I could tell you, and where I could lead you, was very narrow. With Nathan’s wolfy instincts and Tristan’s empathy, you were open to the truth, and I revealed what I could and forced you to see what you might not have otherwise.”

I listen, stunned to realize how tightly coordinated this entire experience has been to date. It’s frightening to learn just how intricate their plan was, and how clueless I’ve been.

“And this was … your idea?” I look at Ben. The werewolf is gazing into the bonfire, relaxed and quiet.

“Yep,” Myca answers for him.

“Too many stars were in alignment for this not to be the right time to act,” Tristan says. “All the clans are represented in the trials for the first time in two thousand years. My gifts are the strongest of any fae leader born in several millennia, and the wolves were ready to take their place leading the Community. Your father’s actions, coupled with the information the vampires had been hiding for a thousand years, and Ben becoming the second man in the vampires’ history to stand up to Myca’s father, all led up to this being the right time, right place, right Kingmaker.”

“He must like you if he didn’t put you to earth,” Myca teases Ben.

“There’s still time,” Ben replies with a small smile.

Myca laughs.

I’m too touched to speak for a long moment. These men are so selfless, so
good.

“This is madness.” Erish’s whisper is terse, which I take as a good sign. He didn’t see this coming, even if the Community has been plotting for hundreds of years.

“What did it cost you?” I ask the question I’ve been dreading.

“You shouldn’t think of it that way, angel,” Myca chides softly. “Every member of the Community would’ve sacrificed everything, if the curse could be broken.”

“But I want to know what
you
gave up,” I say firmly. “Ben gave up equal standing for the werewolves in the Community, and Nathan lost his mate.”

“Leslie, your focus should be elsewhere,” Tristan chides.

“I need to know, Tristan,” I insist. “I need to know why I should keep fighting when this fucking thing is trying to steal my mind!” Agitated, I shift to the edge of my seat and motion towards the second shadow. “Please.”

Tristan hesitates. “To do soul surgery on you, I had to make the bond permanent on my end. The level of access we had to one another is only possible during a full bond, not the temporary mating bond. It was temporary for you, permanent for me, though both broke at the end of the week. My sacrifice was twofold: first, I can never have a mate. Second, I lost the healing gift. I passed it to you so your soul would remain invulnerable to the curse.”

I swallow hard. At one point, he told me the fae leaders depended heavily on their mates, because their empathic gifts left them raw and vulnerable to the emotions of tens of thousands. If he gave up the gift to do soul surgery, he can no longer heal himself or protect himself from such exposure, and he’ll never have anyone to help him balance.

“You’ll be a tortured soul forever,” I whisper.

“I would do it again without a second thought. We each have a role in breaking this curse. The lives we save are worth more than one fae’s soul,” Tristan replies.

I don’t know how I’m able to function right now. I have a feeling I’m going to snap, but at the moment, I’m calm and in control. Even so, I’m not sure what to say to Tristan. I’ve witnessed the pain he carries. I could never do it.

With effort, I look away from him and clench my trembling hands in my lap.

“Your turn,” I say and shift my attention to Myca.

“Ben convinced my father to release me from my punishment,” Myca begins. “But it came at a cost. My father would’ve probably never agreed, if he wasn’t assured of …”

My breath catches, and I wait to hear the worst.

“Let me start again,” Myca says. “During the trials, you are expected to make three choices: a leader, a lover, a sacrificial victim. In order to enter the trials, we candidates all had to agree to these terms, that one of us would die, another lead, another become your husband. To break the curse, we also had work within these limitations. It means each of the candidates had to give up something. For Ben, it was leadership. For Tristan, a mate. For me, my immortality.”

I stare at him.

“A vampire my age has a great deal of power,” Myca continues with another of his contagious smiles. “The magic in your amulet is as old as my mother, whose age no one really knows. It’s always been a protection amulet worn by my father that he agreed to turn over with some convincing. But to break the curse, we needed more, basically, an amulet on steroids. My mother was killed by the curse, and her magic binds the contract that enabled the curse to take hold. So her magic alone could be used to protect you from future attempts by the curse to take you, but couldn’t be used to break the bonds of the contract made two thousand years ago. We needed something older, which didn’t exist, so we needed to
create
something capable of executing the final part of the plan. My magic is twenty thousand -”

“Wait. Go back,” I interject, my mind swimming with the information. “Did you say you gave up your immortality? Meaning … what exactly?”

“I die at the end of the trials. My father wouldn’t have freed me otherwise.”

Am I hearing him correctly?

“I know where the alcohol is,” Erish whispers.

I have a feeling he’s experiencing panic for the opposite reason I am. I’m trying to understand how Myca can
die,
and Erish is figuring out just how ironclad this sick plan is.

For once, though, we’re on the same sheet of music.

I rise stiffly. I can’t bring myself to speak through my shock and stride into the house.

Erish beckons me to follow him, and I do so. I need more than alcohol tonight to numb the madness boiling inside me. Maybe, if I drink enough, I’ll simply never wake up. The nightmare will be over. I won’t have to see Myca die or know Tristan will spend his life tormented.

Ben has a billiard room with a full bar on one side. I flip on the lights and cross to the bar, almost relieved to see the pristine bottles of expensive alcohol lining the back wall behind the polished wooden counter.

Circling to the bartender’s entrance, I grab a bottle of expensive vodka and begin trying to twist off the top. My hands are shaking, and my vision is blurry, but I somehow manage to free the lid without crumbling in on myself. I need something to numb me, fast, before my world collapses and the pain begins.

“This can’t be happening,” Erish voices my mantra.

I don’t bother to answer and snatch a glass from the neat rows lining the back of the bar and dump vodka into it.

“Leslie.” Ben’s voice is soft, but the warning in his tone draws my gaze. He closes the door to the billiard room behind him before crossing to the bar.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” I snap at him.

His response is to lean over the bar and pluck the bottle of vodka out of my hand. I twist away before he can grab the glass that’s almost full to the top.

Ben’s alpha side, which Nathan wore openly on his sleeve, is emerging. He circles the counter and stalks towards me with resolution on his features.

“Stop!” I order him and back away, holding my glass out and away from my body so he can’t grab it. “I’m a fucking adult. I can drink vodka if I want to!”

To my surprise, he halts a few feet from me. “Myca’s death is not your fault or responsibility.”

I hate werewolves and their ability to see straight into my heart!

“The curse isn’t your fault, either,” Ben adds. “Fucking yourself up because you’re upset – that becomes your fault.”

“Myca is going to die because of me! I sure as hell don’t want to be sober when that happens!” I shout back.

“Myca’s death is not your fault.”

My head is going to explode. “Don’t you get it? If not for me, none of you would be sacrificing anything! You’d be Community leader, Tristan’s soul wouldn’t hurt and Myca would live! I’d be fucking dead, in a perfect world but you all … you …” My voice breaks. I’m sucking in shuddering breaths and feeling as if my entire world has finally spun out of control. Magic isn’t needed to make this meltdown the worst I’ve ever experienced.

Ben takes a step closer. “Myca’s death is not your fault.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I demand.

“Because it’s what you need to hear.”

My vision is a blur, my body trembling hard enough I can hardly hold the glass in my hand. I can’t lose any of them. Hurting them kills me, but to know one of them dies at the end of this, no matter what I do …

“It’s not fair,” I whisper hoarsely. I wipe my face and blink tears from my vision.

“No, it’s not,” Ben agrees. He gently pries the glass from my hand and sets it on the counter top. “But it’s not your fault, Leslie. None of this is.”

“How can you possibly believe that?” I gaze up into his silvery eyes.

Ben cups a cheek in one hand. His palm is warm, rough and large. He’s not shaking like I am, not afraid or freaking out. I want his calm to rub off on me but don’t think anything can soften the blow of these trials or the curse.

“It’s the truth,” he says, his voice steady and firm. “You were born in the eye of a storm that’s been raging for two thousand years. You’re innocent in all this.”

“No, I
am
the storm,” I argue.

“No. You’re the only person who can stop it.”

“That’s so much worse!” My throat is so tight, the words come out a squeak, and more tears spill down my cheeks. “I’m not … strong enough.”

“You don’t have to do it alone. It’s why I’m not part of the trials.”

Ben’s confidence and strength pushes back my emotional hurricane. I search his features, wanting to believe what he says but afraid to after all I’ve been through and after learning how deep the suffering of those around me truly runs. I don’t deserve peace of mind or to stand here with the man whose life revolves around breaking the curse. I don’t deserve to be comforted by his warmth and nearness and the way he looks at me as if he has no doubt I can do what no other Kingmaker has been able to.

With the other candidates, my relationships started with magic. They might’ve morphed into something more, but the magic is what drew us together.

Ben doesn’t need magic. His light touch sends sparks of awareness through me that nudge my emotions in a new direction. His direct gaze becomes an anchor and prevents me from spinning out of control and sinking into my mind again. His quiet strength withstands the storm that I am and manages to tame it before I can identify how he does it. I no longer wonder what kind of man the Community needs to lead it. If the other clan leaders’ reliance on Ben isn’t a sign, then standing before him, awestruck by his gentle power, would have convinced me within seconds.