Betrayed: Ruby's Story (Destined Book 4) Read online

  “I felt like it.” She rolled her eyes and held up an imperious hand. “Chair.”

  The young man with the long hair scrambled forward and pulled out the nearest chair, and she sat gracefully. “Good morning, Chloe,” he said, leaning forward beside her. “So …” He glanced at the other men, who snorted at his devious expression. “Maimed anyone yet today?”

  Chloe crossed her legs and drew a compact mirror from her purse. “Don’t test me.” She pursed her lips and examined her perfect, red pout in the small mirror. “I haven’t decided yet. And it’s still quite early in the morning.” She snapped the mirror shut with a loud click.

  At the sudden noise, the young man yanked his hand back from her chair, and the abrupt movement sent him staggering backwards. The other men by the door howled with laughter, but Chloe silenced them with one raised eyebrow.

  “Felix, and friends, if you would please find your seats over here.” Professor Kristof waved toward a table on the opposite side of the room from where I stood.

  Groaning and protesting, they ambled over to the table, where the one with the long hair adjusted his seat so he faced me. He smiled widely and winked.

  I shifted and glanced at Professor Kristof. How was I supposed to respond? Would coldness endanger me or protect me? With this wild group, I was floundering.

  “Good morning, Professor.” I was saved from my indecision when a slender man a few years older than Lucien entered. He wore a crisp, well-tailored suit and smelled of rich cologne. His gaze shot to me. “And good morning, Miss …?” His lips formed a sneer that made my skin crawl.

  “Kata,” I said, my voice shaky.

  The ugly smile broadened. “Good morning, Miss Kata.”

  “She is my assistant, Andrei,” Professor Kristof said, sounding uncomfortable. He hesitated for a moment, then he gestured to the table where Chloe sat. “She’ll be working with you and the other advanced students who join us this morning.”

  Andrei sat opposite Chloe at the table where I stood. I gripped the papers Professor Kristof had given me, feeling Andrei’s overly-familiar gaze on me and trying to force my pounding heart to slow down.

  Since we’d received Lucien’s note at the Herald, I’d known this day would—hopefully—arrive, but knowing hadn’t prepared me for the terrifying whirlwind of being smack in the middle of the Wolf pack.

  I pretended to review the material as more juvenile Wolves arrived, one after another. Professor Kristof sent most of them to the far tables with the first group of inebriated young men, but a few were welcomed at my table.

  As the room filled, dynamics that had been subtle at first grew more obvious. They ranged in age, from late teens to early twenties, and their conversation was an unbroken stream of jibes that occasionally led to violent shoving matches, which were then quashed by one of the older, more self-controlled Wolves, usually Chloe or Andrei. But a steady undercurrent of resentment simmered among the wild, young Wolves, who couldn’t seem to stop baiting the older, more powerful ones.

  By the time Professor Kristof deemed us ready to begin, I was already exhausted. He tapped the first page of the notes on the table in front of me. “Begin with the Warring States period.” His lips twitched. “Good luck,” he mouthed.

  “Thank you.” I sat awkwardly as the Wolves at my table appraised me with expressions varying between boredom, annoyance, and amusement. I tried to emulate Grandmother’s infamously steely backbone but only succeeded in tensing my shoulders. “The Warring States period in the West lasted from around three thousand to two thousand years ago,” I began, “and literature of the era is known for its—”

  “Long-form poetry and themes of enduring love. We know.” Chloe yawned delicately. “Get on with the specifics, fake professor, or I’ll go back to bed.”

  I swallowed hard. “Right. Um …”

  “The ‘Ballad of Red Beard.’” Andrei said, leaning over my notes and tapping a line halfway down the page.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “I …”

  He leaned closer, his arm brushing mine before I pulled away. “Professor Kristof usually gives us an overview of the work, and then, we discuss it.”

  “I see.” Panic made the words swim on the page before me. Could I really do this? What if they caught me? If anyone discovered that I was an undercover journalist from a rival city brought to their city by a high-ranking native traitor, a traitor who’d already severed ties with me, these violent Wolves would probably kill me without blinking.

  Mage Fortis. I took a deep breath and imagined I was back in the Falconus studio. Natural light streaming in through high windows. Showers of golden sparkles streaming over pink fabulator crystals on the work table. Stories of love, not heartbreak.

  “Enduring love.” I sat straighter. I could talk about enduring love, couldn’t I? “The ‘Ballad of Red Beard’ tells the story of a young man and his bride, separated by a brutal attack on their village the night of their wedding. When the invaders enter the village, the young man hides his bride under the floor boards of their cottage to protect her. The invaders conscript the young man as a slave for their ships, burn the village, and leave.”

  “So they burned her alive?” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Men are brilliant.”

  I bit my lip. “Well actually, according to the ballad, she wrapped herself in their wedding quilt, doused herself with water, and escaped through the flames into the darkness.”

  “Hm. That’s better.” She waved her hand. “Continue.”

  “The young man is forced aboard a ship and chained to his oar. He sails to the invaders’ homeland, not knowing that his bride has survived. His wife hides in the wilderness and eventually returns to their village, where she helps the remaining survivors rebuild. Though she knows she will never see her husband again, she vows to love him always. My love for you will never fade, she says. The line repeats throughout the poem.” I opened the single translated anthology of Western poetry that Professor Kristof had spared from the library, found the poem in question and pointed to the line.

  “And what about her husband?” Andrei leaned closer as Chloe tugged the book out of my hands and bent over it. “Did he remain true?”

  His obsequious tone grated on me.

  “He thought she had perished. His heart is broken, never to be healed. And he resolves to never love another. My heart has crumbled like the clay. That’s his line, which also repeats throughout the ballad.”

  “It’s so depressing.” A third student, a girl with straight, brown hair, thin lips, and wide, emotionless eyes spoke up. “I love it.”

  Chloe tossed her hair and set the book down with a thump. “You would.”

  “The young man spends seven years rowing as a slave for the invaders. He learns their tongue. He grows strong. His hardened heart allows him to endure suffering like no slave they’ve ever seen. One day, his captain sends him to serve in their army, where he becomes a formidable soldier, earns his freedom, and works his way up in the ranks. Seven more years pass, and eventually, he is given his own force to command. He takes charge of a ship and sets sail, with order from the invaders’ king to plunder their enemies and enrich the king’s coffers with the spoils of war.”

  “So he’s not a slave anymore,” Andrei said, his tone approving. “He’s become one of them.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Now he’s sort of like a pirate for the king.”

  “So he’s become exactly the type of man who ruined his bride’s life. Typical.” Chloe pursed her lips. “Get back to the wife’s part of the story.”

  “Back home in the village, she’s devoted herself to helping her damaged village recover. In the first seven years, she builds a trade in fine fabrics like the thick wedding quilt that saved her life. In the next seven years, her thriving industry attracts new families from surrounding villages, and new trades spring up. Their village grows into a small city.”

  I glanced up, and Andrei caught my eye. “I think I see where this is going. Tr
ue love never gives up.”

  “Yes … well, sort of.” I wanted to ask Professor Kristof to ban Andrei from looking at me. “The husband builds a name for himself. They call him Red Beard—the fiercest, meanest pirate on the entire coast. Eventually, he hears of the young, thriving city built on the ruins of his home village. Infuriated at the thought of the people there finding happiness when he was robbed of it, he is determined to invade. He takes his fighting force ashore in the night. They begin to burn the wealthy city and attack the inhabitants. When he enters one of the largest, finest homes, he stops in his tracks, for there is his wedding quilt, singed and damaged from fire, yet hanging in a place of honor in the house. On instinct, he searches the dwelling and finds his bride, still alive after all these years.”

  “Does she jump out and murder him for burning the city she built?” The girl with the wide eyes looked delighted. “Maybe with … a pair of fabric shears? No, a long, sharp needle. Wait, no, a—”

  “Her bare hands.” Chloe raised an eyebrow at me. “Right? Strangulation? That has to be it.”

  “Well, the—”

  “He woos her back, of course,” Andrei said smoothly. “Throws himself at her feet. Declares that his love never faded, even though he thought she was dead.”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, they rush into the city street together and try to stop the invaders, but it’s too late. The army refuses to stop the violence, and instead, the soldiers turn on their commander, declaring that he was never one of their own and has no right to command them. The man and his wife escape the burning city and flee into the wilderness with nothing but their lives and each other, where they live out their days in quiet poverty. Born with little, died with less. That’s the last line of the ballad.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “It’s fine, I guess.” The girl with the big eyes shrugged and glanced around the room, like she was losing interest in the discussion.

  Chloe leaned back and crossed her legs. “Hm.”

  I consulted my notes. “Now …” How could I keep them engaged with only one copy of the translated text? In school, we’d spent most of our discussion time working through the content and symbolism of each verse. But here, in a city with so few books …

  “We know that this ballad was widely sung in the Warring States period, a time when the Western states fought each other endlessly for over a thousand years straight. The ballad’s ending may be unfulfilling by our standards, but we must start by seeing it in its own time. What aspects of the ballad do you think resonated most with the people in the Warring States period?”

  Chloe made a show of inspecting the ends of her hair. “Who cares?”

  My heart began to pound again. “Well—”

  “The futility of progress.” The girl with straight hair tapped her pencil on the table. “The wife’s city, the husband’s military career—both are destroyed in a single night of violence. No one can build anything significant or lasting when constantly at war. There’s no point.”

  “That’s good.” I offered her a small smile. “What else?”

  “It’s a warning to traitors.” Chloe’s tone was flat. “The soldier joined the enemy’s side. And in the end, they turned on him. Cities that are constantly at war rely on the loyalty of their people, so I imagine they liked that part.”

  A warning to traitors. I felt the color drain from my face. “Very good.” I scanned the notes, feeling flustered. “And what about—”

  “You started without me.”

  I froze. I’d know that slow, bored drawl anywhere. Lucien stood in the doorway, his gaze fastened on me.

  The room went still. The other Wolves were tense and watchful, silent for the first time all morning.

  After studying me for a moment, Lucien surveyed the room, his clean-shaven face exposing a strong jawline, his muscles straining the rolled-up sleeves of his white, button-down shirt. His coal-black hair was slicked back, and his hooded gaze was impossible to read.

  I’d found Lucien compelling in the Badlands, with his broad, muscular body and inscrutable gaze. Now, clean-shaven and clad in tailored shirt and slacks, he was painfully handsome. If I wasn’t so terrified he would expose me as a journalist, I’d be practically drooling over him.

  “Welcome, Lucien.” Professor Kristof greeted him from the other table. “Miss Kata is my new assistant. She will be teaching the most advanced students.”

  I held my breath as Lucien entered the room, his stride unhurried and deliberate. “Then it looks like I have a private tutor this morning.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Andrei’s fist clench around his pencil. Lucien reached my table and jerked his head toward the others. “Go on.” His voice was low and quiet, but the threat was unmistakable. “Get up.”

  The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

  Beginning with an icily silent Chloe, the students at my table stood and moved to the other table.

  But Andrei leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out under the table. His expression was neutral, but his white knuckles told a different story. “You sure you want to do this, Luc?”

  Lucien’s powerful body went still. His gaze shifted lazily from me to Andrei. “Just taking my birthright, Cousin.” The last word was uttered with a decidedly mocking tone.

  Andrei’s face blanched.

  I sat frozen, wondering if I should duck and cover or pretend I wasn’t aware of the tension.

  Slowly, insolently, Andrei peeled his tall body out of his chair and scooped up his paper and pencil. I cringed when he stepped closer to Lucien. Andrei was almost a head taller than Lucien but far less powerfully-built.

  Lucien, for his part, didn’t seem phased by the fury radiating from Andrei. Cousin, he’d said. What was that supposed to mean?

  “Get ready,” Andrei hissed ominously in Lucien’s face. Then he strode past Lucien and left the room without a backward glance, his gait stiff and furious.

  The other Wolves remained quiet as Lucien grabbed the back of Andrei’s vacated chair, pulled it out with a screech, and sank into it. Then he leaned back and folded his thick arms across his chest. “Get on with it then, Miss Kata.” His challenging gaze held mine so intently, I could barely breathe. “Civilize me.”

  Chapter 19

  Slowly, gradually, the other Wolves resumed their chatter, but Lucien never looked away from me.

  My heart was thudding so loudly I couldn’t concentrate. Was he angry that I’d ignored his instruction to stay in the Badlands, or pleased I’d made it into his compound on my own? The predatory gleam in his eye didn’t indicate either anger or approval, but something else, something I didn’t understand.

  Lucien unfolded his arms and leaned forward, close enough that I could feel heat emanating from his bare, muscular forearms. “What were you teaching?” His low voice, so familiar after nine nights in the Badlands together, sent shivers up my arms.

  “Love,” I blurted out.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Love?”

  “Yes, I mean … We were talking about love.” I took a calming breath and squared my shoulders. “Enduring love, that is. In the Warring States Period of Western history.”

  He smirked. “No wonder Andrei didn’t want to leave you alone with me.”

  My gaze dropped to his lips. I was right. All that time in the Badlands, his beard had been hiding a smirk from me. “Um …” Why was he so clean and handsome? It was unfair and completely unhelpful. I wished he’d left his wild beard and matted hair exactly as they’d been, so at least I could think.

  Beard. Focus. “The … ah …” I shook my head and dropped my gaze to my notes as heat rushed to my cheeks. “The ‘Ballad of Red Beard.’ That’s what we were discussing.”

  “Can I trouble you to repeat the lesson, Miss Kata?” His voice held a distinct note of goading.

  “Yes. Of course.” I ran through a shorter version of the lesson I’d just given. “So …” I finally dared to meet his eyes. “What do you thin
k of the ballad?”

  He was leaning back in his chair again, his legs stretched out, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on me. “He was an idiot. Never should have left her.”

  “But he was conscripted—”

  “You never leave a woman alone during an invasion. Everyone knows that.” He stretched and folded his arms behind his head. “The enemy will find and exploit her.”

  Of course Lucien would get riled up about the proper way to be invaded. Why wouldn’t he? I should have redirected him to the poem’s themes, but after nine days of trying and failing to engage Lucien in conversation in the Badlands, I couldn’t bring myself to correct him. “Then how can you protect her?”

  “First of all, it’s easier to protect her if you’re with her And anyway, you train her to protect herself.” Lucien nodded toward the other side of the classroom, where Chloe perched elegantly on her chair, inspecting her manicure. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “My cousin Chloe is the most lethal Wolf on the compound. She’s injured more members of the Hawk clan than any man in the city.”

  “The Hawk clan? Why?”

  His lips drifted into another smirk. I bit my lip and found myself leaning closer.

  “Because they’re fascinated by her but keep underestimating her.” He drew closer, blocking my view of the other Wolves. I held still, frozen and hypnotized, as he reached up and brushed a loose, auburn curl away from my eyes. “I find myself making the same mistake.” His voice was so quiet, I could barely hear it.

  I couldn’t look away from his lips. “You do?” I whispered. He was close enough to kiss. Kiss! I was sure my heart would beat right out of my chest.

  His lips hovered closer to mine. “Where are you staying, Ruby?” he breathed.

  Oh. So that was it. He just wanted to speak plainly without the others overhearing. My body didn’t receive the message, because his nearness made me shiver. “A boarding house in the old Wasp territory,” I replied, matching his quiet tone.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered into my ear. “This city will destroy you.” His bleak words contrasted sharply with our intimate position.