He saw Blay's face clear as day the whole way along. With each step he took, his friend's crushed expression was the beacon he followed.
It was going to stay with him. Forever.
By the time he reached the end of the tunnel, put in the pass code, and opened the way into a gardening shed about a mile away from the house, he realized he did have something to lose after all...that there was a level lower than he thought he'd bottomed out at: He'd shredded Blay's heart and crushed it under his boot, and the regret and pain he felt were almost more than he could bear.
As he stepped out into a stand of lilacs, he came to a change of mind. Yes, he was disgraced by birth and circumstance. But he didn't have to make that worse.
He took out his phone, which by now had only one bar of battery left on the screen, and texted John where he was. He wasn't sure whether he still had service -
John hit him right back.
Fritz would be there to pick him up in ten minutes.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Up in her bedroom in the Brotherhood's mansion, Cormia sat on the floor in front of the construction she'd started the night before, a box of toothpicks in her hand, a bowl of peas next to her. She wasn't putting either to use. All she'd been doing for the good Virgin knew how long was flicking the box's lid flap open and closed... open and closed... open and closed.
Stalled out and all but immobile, she'd been at the flicking for quite some time now, and her thumbnail was wearing a patch in the lip.
If she was no longer First Mate, she had no reason to stay on this side. She was serving no official function, and by all that was manifest, she should be back in the Sanctuary meditating and praying and serving the Scribe Virgin with her sisters.
She didn't belong in this house or this world. She never had.
Shifting her focus from the box to the structure she'd put together, she measured the units and thought of the Chosen and their network of functions, from the keeping of the spiritual calendar to the worshiping of the Scribe Virgin to the recording of Her words and Her history... to the birthing of Brothers and future Chosen.
As she pictured herself living in the Sanctuary, she felt as if she were going backward, not returning home. And strangely, what should have bothered her the most - that she had failed as First Mate - wasn't what upset her.
Cormia tossed the box of toothpicks to the ground. When it landed, the lid flipped open and a bunch of the blond sticks popped out and scattered in a tangle.
Discord. Disorder. Chaos.
She picked up what had spilled, making right out of the mess and deciding she needed to do the same with her life. She would speak to the Primale, pack up her three robes, and go.
As she put the last toothpick into the box, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," she said without bothering to get up.
Fritz put his head around the jamb. "Good evening, Chosen, I carry a message from Mistress Bella. She is inquiring whether or not you would wish to join her for First Meal in her bedroom?"
Cormia cleared her throat. "I'm not sure - "
"If I may," the butler murmured. "Physician Jane just left her once again. I gather that the examination raised questions. Perhaps the Chosen's presence would calm our mahmen-to-be?"
Cormia looked up. "Another exam? You mean after last evening?"
"Yes."
"Tell her I will be there right away."
Fritz's head dipped reverently. "Thank you, madam. Now, I must needs perform a pickup, but I shall be back and shall cook for you. I shan't be gone long."
Cormia took a quick shower, dried and coiled her hair, and changed into a freshly pressed robe. As she came out of her room, she heard the sounds of boots on the foyer and looked over the balcony. The Primale was down below, striding across the mosaic apple tree on the floor. He was dressed in black leathers and a black shirt, and his hair, that wonderful, soft profusion of color, was bright in the lights and against the dark width of his shoulders.
As if he sensed her, he stopped and glanced up. His eyes flashed like citrines, sparkling, captivating her.
And she watched the glow in them dim.
Cormia was the one who pivoted away, because she'd quite had it with being the one who was left. Just as she turned, she saw Zsadist coming around the corner of the hall of statues. His eyes were black as they shifted to her, and she didn't have to ask how Bella was. Words weren't necessary, given his dark expression.
"I was going to stay with her," she said to the Brother. "She asked for me."
"I know. I'm glad. And thank you."
In the beat of silence, she measured the daggers crisscrossing over the warrior's chest. And there were other weapons on him, she thought, though she couldn't see them.
The Primale had had none. No daggers, no bulges under his clothes.
She wondered where he was going. Not the Other Side, as he was dressed for this world. Where then? And for what?
"Is he down there waiting for me?" Zsadist asked.
"The Primale?" When the Brother nodded, she said, "Er... yes, yes, he is."
Odd to be the one who knew where he was... and the one to be asked.
She thought of his lack of weapons.
"Take care of him," she demanded without apology.
"Please."
Something tightened Zsadist's face, then he inclined his head once. "Yeah, I'll do that."
As Cormia bowed and turned to the hall of statues, Zsadist 's low voice stopped her dead: "The baby's not moving very much. Not since whatever happened last night."
Cormia looked over her shoulder and wished there were more she could do. "I'll purify the room. That is what we do on the Other Side when... I'll purify the room."
"Don't tell her you know."
"I won't." Cormia wanted to reach out to the male. Instead, she said, "I'll take care of her. Go and do your business with him."
The Brother bowed his head and took off down the stairs.
Below in the foyer, Phury rubbed his chest and then stretched, trying to get rid of the ache between his pecs. He was surprised at how difficult it was to see Cormia turn away from him.
Curiously brutal, as a matter of fact.
He thought of the Chosen he'd met at dawn. The difference between her and Cormia was obvious. Selena was eager to be First Mate, her eyes shining as she looked him over as if he were a prize bull. It had taken all the manners he had just to stay in the same room with her.
She wasn't a bad female and was more than beautiful enough, but her affect... man, it was like she wanted to crawl into his lap right then and there and get down to it. Especially as she'd assured him that she was more than ready to serve him and her tradition... and that "every bone in her body wanted this."
This clearly meaning his sex.
And there was another coming at the end of tonight.
Sweet. Jesus.
Zsadist appeared at the head of the stairwell and came down quickly, his windbreaker in his hand. "Let's go."
As he measured his twin's tight brow, Phury thought, Bella wasn't doing well.
"Is Bella - "
"Not going there with you." Z marched across the foyer, passing by without so much as a glance. "We're just about business, you and me."
As Phury frowned and then followed behind, their footsteps echoed up as if one person, not two, were walking along. Even with Phury having the prosthesis, he and Z had always had the same long stride, the same way of going heel to toe, the same swing in their arms.
Twins.
But the similarities ended with biology, didn't they. In life, they'd gone in two separate directions.
Both of which had sucked.
With a sudden shift in logic, Phury saw things in a different light.
Shit, all along he'd tortured himself about Z's fate... all along he'd lived in the cold, pervasive shadow of their family's tragedy. He had suffered, goddamn it... he had suffered, too, and suffered still. And while he respected the sanctity of his twin's mating with Bella, something popped in his head at getting closed out as if he were an absolute stranger. And a hostile one at that.
When he stepped out into the pebbled courtyard, he stopped dead. "Zsadist."
Z kept on walking toward the Escalade.
"Zsadist."
His twin paused, put his hands on his hips, and didn't turn around. "If this is about you and the lesser shit, don't try to apologize again."
Phury reached up and loosened the collar on his shirt. "It's not."
"I don't want to hear about the red smoke, either. Or your getting kicked the f**k out of the Brotherhood."