Betrayed: Ruby's Story (Destined Book 4) Page 15

  Drunkards and criminals, I wrote further down the page.

  Murderers and soldiers.

  “Maimed anyone yet today?”

  Wolves.

  At the bottom of the list, I boldly scrawled one last word—

  Students.

  I sketched Chloe’s stunning profile beside the words I’d just jotted down. Her cold, beautiful face was still and joyless on paper. I recalled the flash of indignation in her eyes when she’d debated the “Ballad of Red Beard” with me in class. It was the only hint of passion she had displayed the whole morning.

  If the proverb was true, Chloe was more than a Wolf, more than a dangerous criminal, more than a beautiful girl. According to Professor Kristof, she was a student and her very soul held infinite worth. “I felt like it,” I wrote beside her, thinking of the extra assignment she’d apparently given herself on a whim.

  Professor Kristof’s words at dinner had a deeper meaning now that I considered his work for Praetor Demetrius. He genuinely believed the Western proverb, so he taught whatever willing students could be found in this dangerous, war-torn city. When those students gave up or perished, he taught the violent, inebriated youth of the city’s ruling clan, though they gave him not one iota of respect in return. Equal dignity. Equal honor.

  A chill ran up my arms. I closed the pencil inside my journal, turned the dial down on the lamp, tucked the journal under my arm, and curled up under the covers. Sleep enveloped me quickly, and though I woke several times, always certain I’d heard shouts in the street, the looters didn’t return.

  I rose early the next morning, stiff from the way I’d curled protectively around my journal the whole night. I’d dreamed of smoke and flames, the proverb hovering just on the other side of the fire in my dreams. Boundless worth, a voice had whispered repeatedly, the words comforting and frightening me by turns. Neither emotion made any sense.

  Setting my journal aside, I went to my bedroom window, where the sky was clearer than usual. The previous evening’s rain had been replaced by a pale-blue sky that peeked through small patches in the smoky, gray clouds. The street below was empty and silent.

  Cold air radiated from the window pane. I shivered in my thin nightgown and wrapped my arms around my torso. The sky brightened. A gentle, bright yellow tide slowly spread across the sky, washing over the slate-gray buildings in the old Wasp territory like mage-craft paint in the Falconus art studio. The light grew stronger as the sun rose higher, mixing with the lingering clouds of smoke over Draicia and daubing the villas with gold.

  I rubbed the sleep from the corners of my eyes. I was exhausted, but since the evening’s conversation, also strangely energized.

  I’d left Asylia to pursue Lucien’s story because I wanted a future of light and beauty, rather than the dark and sorrowful world of aurae. It hadn’t occurred to me that Draicians might need—no, be worthy of—the same effort on their behalf.

  If smoke and shadow could become gold in this wild, broken city, anything was possible, wasn’t it?

  Chapter 21

  Astrid and I shared a breakfast of winterdrop rolls and two cups of the delicious honeycream I’d discovered last night. Then I downed a cup of hot coffee and dragged her to the line of demicoach riders, so she could pick the safest—well, the least dangerous—one for me.

  “It’s the least you could do,” I said, nudging her with a laugh. Though the fold of marks from Professor Kristof wasn’t enough to replace all that had been stolen, I knew neither Astrid nor I would go hungry this week. That knowledge put a decided spring into my step.

  She rolled her eyes and waved good-bye, clearly too full of winterdrop rolls to argue with me. “Good luck.”

  Professor Kristof met me in front of the Wolf compound. “Good morning, Miss Kata. Any … ah … trouble in Wasp territory last night?”

  I smiled. “None.”

  He nodded. “Very good. I’m glad.”

  We waited as the guards inside hauled the gate back, and then we strolled toward the large villa together.

  The same woman led us to the classroom, but we waited a full two hours, reviewing our notes and trading thoughts on Western literature, before the first Wolves filed noisily into the room and went to Professor Kristof’s table without being asked.

  Lucien entered soon afterward. When his disquieting gaze rested on me, something inside me flipped over. I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest and tried to ignore the odd sensation.

  He wore charcoal slacks and a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his strong, bronze forearms. His black hair must have been combed back earlier in the day, but now it was mussed and several strands hung across his eyes. His jaw was tight, as if the sight of me standing beside the table disappointed him.

  He approached without speaking, his steps slow but deliberate. Holding my breath, I wondered which Lucien would greet me today. The impossible, disruptive, and violent Wolf? The obnoxious flirt? Or the quiet, intensely-focused man I’d found so fascinating in the Badlands?

  Before I had a chance to find out, Andrei careened through the door and slammed hard against Lucien’s back.

  Lucien whirled and struck his attacker with a brutal fist to the gut.

  The taller man took the punch without a sound, his eyes glinting with rage. He shoved Lucien away and darted back. Something in his hand reflected light. He reached up as Lucien barreled toward him.

  “Knife!” I shrieked.

  Lucien dove out of the way just as Andrei swung the knife down. Robbed of his target but still surging forward, Andrei stumbled. There was a sickening crunch as Lucien struck his wrist. The weapon clattered to the floor, and Lucien snatched it up.

  Andrei finally broke his silence with an agonized groan. “Your father was a worthless rat,” he hissed, doubled over in pain as he clutched his wrist to his chest. “Too stupid to keep his hands clean.”

  Before I could think to look away, Lucien grabbed Andrei’s shoulder and thrust the dagger into the other Wolf’s side. “Better stupid than weak.”

  Lucien released his grip on the wounded man and straightened his shoulders. Andrei crumpled to the floor, his face ashen.

  “Felix. Leonardo. On your feet. You know what to do.” Chloe stood in the doorway and beckoned two of the young men who’d already sat down. She must have arrived during the fight. She waited beside Andrei’s prone body with a bored expression. “He’ll be fine as long as you don’t tarry like last time.”

  Felix and his friend approached, giving Lucien a wide berth. “Off to the healer’s villa with you,” Felix told Andrei as they hoisted him up by the armpits. “Again.”

  “Really, cousin.” Chloe shot Lucien a pointed look as Felix and Andrei disappeared down the hallway behind her. “For some reason, I thought you’d promised not to stab Andrei in the library anymore. I must have been mistaken.”

  “Must have been.” Lucien glanced at me, and Chloe’s gaze sharpened.

  “The assistant’s all yours,” she said, her lips tilting into an amused smirk. “Looks like she already picked sides.” She strode to Professor Kristof’s table.

  My heart raced as Lucien pulled out the chair beside me and relaxed into it. I sat slowly at my own seat, too nervous to meet his gaze.

  Andrei had tried to kill Lucien. Kill him! Right here in the library, just five steps from where I’d stood. My hands shook, so I buried them in the folds of my skirt. I couldn’t stop hearing the horrifying noise the knife had made when it sliced into Andrei’s torso.

  Equal dignity. Equal honor. The words that had rung so powerfully in my heart last night and this morning now seemed weak, too scholarly to be of any use.

  Lucien watched me for a long moment, his body tense. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like he was still ready to fight even though he’d already won.

  The other students watched us in edgy silence from across the library.

  Finally, Lucien spoke. “Well?” He waved one hand in a lazy gesture. “Start civiliz
ing.” His voice was low and void of emotion, at odds with the way his body vibrated with tension. “Unless you think it’s too late.” There was a wildness in his eyes as he waited for my response, and I had the strange feeling that if I said or did the wrong thing in that moment, I would lose him forever. To what, I didn’t know.

  I looked down at my notes, my vision blurring. He wasn’t mine to begin with.

  There was a quiet rustle as the other students turned back toward Professor Kristof, apparently satisfied that the show was over.

  Equal dignity. Equal honor.

  No. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t—

  “Let’s begin with yesterday’s poem,” Professor Kristof said to his students.

  His familiar voice chased some of my terror away. I listened to his lesson for a moment, letting his words soothe my panic until I could think coherently. If Professor Kristof could do this, I could at least try.

  Instead of addressing Lucien’s cryptic statement, I finally lifted my notes with trembling hands and began to read from the top of the page, barely aware of the words as they passed from my lips.

  Something about the mid-Warring States Age.

  The page was shaking so badly, it was difficult to focus on the words, but I pushed forward, stumbling over every sentence.

  Something about a new form of poetry.

  I’d never needed the anchor the words provided more badly than I did in that moment. Perhaps Lucien felt the same, because he didn’t move or interrupt.

  Gradually, the roaring in my ears faded, and the sound of my own voice became clearer. I darted a glance at Lucien’s face. His gaze was distant as he stared blankly at the table, his whole body frozen like a glass window waiting to be smashed.

  He was a good man, your father? I thought of the way Lucien had looked when he spoke of his father in the Badlands. The best.

  Too stupid to keep his hands clean. I cringed at the memory of Andrei’s cruel words and flipped to the second page of notes. I continued to read, not knowing what else to do, though the vacant look in Lucien’s eyes told me there was no way he was listening to the lesson.

  From Chloe’s response to the incident, their scuffle had been nothing but a momentary inconvenience to everyone involved, but judging by Lucien’s stricken expression now, it was anything but. He’d spent a year planning to bring the clan down for the death of his father. I was the final piece of the plan, he’d said. Yet he’d been so worried I wouldn’t survive in Draicia, he’d tried to send me home. He’d tried to protect me from exactly the kind of scene I’d just witnessed.

  What would happen to Lucien if I gave up now?

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that the darkness of his clan might swallow him whole.

  Boundless worth to every soul—

  I reached out and gripped his hand, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

  Tilting the note papers to shield our hands, I squeezed his tighter and continued to read. It’s not too late, I wanted to say, but I didn’t dare speak the words aloud.

  I’d read halfway through the second page of notes before he seemed to become aware of my touch. I thought he’d pull away, but he only shifted his hand to hold mine, like a man gripping a life line. My throat tightened, but I kept reading.

  When we heard the echo of high-heeled boots in the hallway, Lucien and I yanked our hands back at the same time.

  The starchy woman who’d led us to the library appeared in the doorway. “Miss Kata.”

  I swallowed, feeling inexplicably guilty, though I knew no one had seen me reach out to Lucien. “Yes?”

  “Come with me. Now. The Praetor wishes to speak with you.”

  Chapter 22

  Lucien shifted in his chair, like he was preparing for a burst of movement. But I dropped the notes on the table and stood quickly, before he could get it in his head to try and protect me.

  The woman beckoned, and I followed her from the room.

  “Would you mind telling me why the Praetor wants to see me?” I asked, once we were out of earshot of the library.

  She tossed me a knowing smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  She led me through the building to the main staircase, then downstairs and outside into the desolate square. We crossed it and entered a smaller, adjacent villa—the one I’d seen the first day, with the warehouse attached to it. Though smaller, the front entrance was grander than the main villa’s.

  We turned down a hallway on the first floor and stopped by a closed door.

  A gangly man with a tailored, black suit lounged in front of it with his back against the door frame. “Well, hello again, Leila.” A distinct hunger lurked in his eyes.

  The woman, Leila, narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head so subtly I barely caught it. “Manuel,” she answered coldly. She prodded the man aside and she tapped twice on the door. “Praetor? The assistant is here.”

  “Send her in.” The man’s voice was muffled by the door, but it still made me shiver.

  Leila opened the door and, when I hesitated, shoved me inside with surprising strength. I stumbled into the office, and she shut the door behind me without joining me.

  Praetor Demetrius appraised me from behind a neatly-organized desk. The most powerful man in Draicia was wide, with broad shoulders like Lucien’s and a square jaw that had probably once been quite handsome. His black hair was carefully slicked into place, his suit equally smooth and precisely-tailored. But he seemed soft despite the crisp suit, like perhaps he’d once been as powerfully-built as Lucien and had let his strength turn to paunch over the years.

  I kept my expression neutral and waited for him to speak. The Wolves in the library frightened me, with their unpredictability and dark humor. But for some reason, the Praetor didn’t scare me. Perhaps it was because I’d interviewed dozens of men just like him. If there was anything in this impossible story I knew I could handle, it was this.

  “You think you’re better than us?” he growled.

  Ice ran through my veins at his angry tone. No one had ever said such a thing to me before. Maybe I couldn’t handle him, after all. “No, of course I—”

  “Both Asylian and Western, put together in one pretty, freckled package.” He had heavy-lidded eyes just like Lucien’s but even more difficult to read. “Double the civility, I see. How kind of you to come to teach the barbarians in the north.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I know, I know.” He waved a hand. “But if you did come here to civilize us, I wouldn’t mind.” His tone switched to amusement, as if the anger at first had been a test. “We sure could use some bettering. Come closer, my dear. I won’t bite.”

  I swallowed and took four steps into the room, stopping halfway between the door and his desk.

  “There. Don’t be scared, girl.”

  I waited without fidgeting or speaking, calling on years of practice to present him with the façade of a deferential, unthreatening audience. Whatever reason he had for wanting to see me, this visit was the perfect opportunity to do a bit of investigating away from the watchful eyes of the young Wolves and from Lucien’s protective instincts. I just had to convince the Praetor I was not worth worrying about.

  For another awkward moment, he inspected me, and then his lips cracked into a smile. “You came here for a fresh start. I know. They all do. The weight of Asylian government crushes too many souls. All that civil government and controlling nonsense about family status. It’s too much to bear.” He leaned back in his chair. “And we’re glad to have you here.” He waved a benevolent hand in the general direction of the compound’s front gate. “No restrictions in our city. Live where you please, work where you find opportunity. Do whatever you like.”

  And good luck staying alive. “Thank you, Praetor. Very … um … generous.”

  The way his gaze flickered over me reminded me distinctly of Hal Dukas—the lightning-fast intelligence, the highly-tuned awareness lurking behind his bored gaze—like he knew exactly what I was t
hinking.

  “You wonder why I wish to educate such a violent people, do you not?”

  I nodded slowly, hoping this wasn’t another test.

  He smiled. “I’ve kept the Wolves strong, for the most part. We’ve ruled the city for more than a decade and we have no difficulty putting down any challenge to our power. Our old leader, my father, used to believe that if Draicia was just united under one ruler, it would finally find peace and flourish, like Asylia. But it seems that consolidating power has not been enough to turn my city into yours. Draicians are not Asylians. Even if I thought an Asylian legal code and bureaucracy would change our city, I’d have no citizens to implement it. After a hundred years of war, Draicians know nothing but violence. We can’t live any other way.”

  I couldn’t help frowning. “Then why—”

  “I don’t think we can live any other way.” He shrugged, and an oddly frustrated expression dashed across his face. “But I could be wrong,” he said quietly, his gaze growing distant. “And if our city has any chance of recovering from the last century of war, we’re going to need people who know more than just violence.”

  I bit my lower lip as his words sank in. “Then, if you don’t mind my asking, sir, why don’t you reopen the university to everyone? Why only educate the Wolves?”

  “You think my young Wolves are too violent to learn anything?” His expression remained neutral, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

  “Not at all.” I kept my tone even, though I’d wondered the same thing earlier that morning. “But I do think that if they learned alongside other students from outside the Wolf clan, the added challenge might inspire them.”

  The Praetor studied me for a moment, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Then he shook his head. “It’s a nice idea, but they’d all kill each other before the first day of class was over.”

  Probably. But whose fault was that? The young Wolves’, or the Praetor who’d raised them to be that way?

  He paused, and amusement colored his expression. “I know what you’re thinking.”