A Matter of Forever (Fate #4) Page 12

  They have no idea where we are, which adhered to Zthane’s stipulations, but I told them they could share the information with Astrid. She’s been calling the twins daily, too, and it frustrates us all to have to watch the worlds continue spinning around us while we’re trapped behind glass.

  “Fine,” I tell Will. I flop on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, switching it out to a night sky scene. “And you?”

  “Also fine. Dad and Astrid are having dinner every other night now, though. Heaven forbid they go out by themselves, though. Callie and I are forced to play chaperone more often than not.”

  “I wish I were there,” I say truthfully.

  There’s a long pause before, “I might have kissed her.”

  My word is an arrow fired straight and hard across the phone line. “Callie?”

  Silence.

  I lurch up on the bed, to my knees. “WHAT? WHEN? HOW? WHY? I WANT DETAILS, WILL!”

  The door between my bedroom and Kellan’s flies open; Jonah pops his head in, alarmed. I wave him off, motioning for him to shut the door again. “Details, Will!”

  “Jesus! Calm down, will you?” Will is saying. “We were bored. There was wine. Nice music, picturesque scenery. It was once, and I feel terrible about it.”

  I’m slack jawed. “Callie was a terrible kisser? But—”

  “Are you even listening to me right now? No, Callie was not a terrible kisser. She’s quite brilliant at it. I’m saying I feel terrible because ...” I can hear his soft groan. “It isn’t right to kiss her when ...”

  When he doesn’t know what he wants to do about Becca.

  “Will,” I say gently, “do you like her?”

  It takes him a long time before he admits he does like her. He likes her a lot. And he thinks she likes him, too, which is a big fat duh as I already knew that. “But she deserves better than me,” he says quietly.

  “What? You’re crazy. You’re one of the best people I know. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I still love Becca, Chloe. I probably always will.”

  Love is funny like that. Love stays with us, whether we want it or not. “Are you in love with her though? Becca, I mean? I say this because you can always love many people. You love me, for instance.”

  He murmurs, “That’s different.”

  “Is it?”

  “Chloe. I used to see myself with Becca forever.”

  I smile. Used to, he says. Past tense. He’s not in love with her anymore. He just needs to come to this realization.

  “What do you see with Callie?”

  “I try not to think about it, to be honest.”

  I want to laugh at the way he’s evading my questions. “You may try not to think about it, but I think you just might have once or twice. What do you see?”

  “I take it back. I don’t love you,” he says sourly.

  “Yes, you do. I love you, too.”

  “Fine,” he sighs. “I do love you, even though you’re a prat.”

  When we hang up a minute later, I go to open the door between the rooms. Both Jonah and Kellan practically fall over, their ears were pressed so closely to the door.

  “This is what we get for being trapped down here,” I tell them. “Our parents are practically dating and Will and Callie kissed.”

  “Shut up.” Kellan whistles. “She finally went through with it? I’ll be damned.”

  I can’t help but giggle. “Actually, he made it sound like he made the move, to be honest.”

  “Even better.”

  I love that they’re both grinning, like this is a wonderful thing to know. Like, even though we’re far, far away from our loved ones, we’re still part of their lives, anyway.

  Over the next week, Bios slowly unravels his version of Elder history. Much of what we know today is distorted, altered by Rudshivar’s disciples in an effort to hide truths best left buried with the rest of their family.

  Until Rudshivar’s break away from his father, the Elders, or Dingir as Bios claims they call themselves, lived under Enlilkian’s iron fisted rule. He lived above the rest, Bios says, even above Cailleach, although she was granted a place in his tree of life, albeit further down in the branches. If the Dingir and sentient life disobeyed him or disrupted him even in the tiniest way, he enacted terrible prices in his punishments. To go against Enlilkian was to suffer a horrendous fate, one that wasn’t consistent, either. Some transgressions were countered with obliteration, something, Bios insists, was considered mercy. Others were met with sadism. “One sister,” he tells Jonah and me one evening, “refused him his heirs. She was turned into a holly bush ... but she was more than just a bush. She was sentient and fully aware of every last nerve woven into the composition of the plant. When birds and small animals ate her berries, they were eating pieces of her. When it did not rain, she suffered severe dehydration. When a fire ravaged the area she was planted in, she burned alive. It was best when the fire came, truly. We were all secretly pleased for her when it did.”

  “Why didn’t any of you help her?” I ask, now sitting on a chair of my own creation because our sessions together are lasting more than the five minutes.

  “To help would have meant risking a similar fate. No—by this point, we all knew Enlilkian’s word was the final law. We are inherently selfish beings, little Creator. No one was willing to be disciplined in a misguided attempt at righteousness.”

  Jonah asks, “Do you really think it’s misguided to hold fast to ideology you embrace?”

  “To die for a cause I firmly believe in?” Bios considers this. “For many millennia, I would claim disinterest.”

  “And now?” my fiancé presses. “Is there a cause you would die for?”

  “Until recently, I have been mere essence: no corporal body, no voice, no ability to do anything other than exist in the most meager way possible. Causes are now dust and ash, Empath. They died alongside the people who carried their torches.”

  “It’s not too late,” I argue. “Those of you who disagree with what Enlilkian is doing can join with us. You don’t have to live like that. You don’t have to do what you’re told anymore.”

  His amusement is tempered with sorrow, I think. “We do as we’re told, because there is no other course we can take, but that does not always mean that the actions we carry through are the paths we would voluntarily walk. No, little Creator. I cannot see how joining your side would ever be an option for us.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You are free to do so in these last moments of freedom,” he says quietly.

  “Things are different now,” I insist. “He’s not as powerful as he once was.”

  “Now ...” he muses. “No. Now is no different than before.”

  I walk away from this talk severely troubled. For so long, the Elders have been nothing more than mindless monsters to us. They murdered innocent beings, stealing their life essences away in fits of revenge. And yet ... the more we hear Bios’ story, the more it seems like these facts aren’t as cut and dry as we’d assumed.

  Maybe the Elders aren’t, either.

  “What did you look like?”

  Bios stretches his arms above his head; chains clank noisily against the metal bed. “I’ve told you before. I was beautiful.”

  For all he’s shared with us lately, sometimes getting answers out of him is like pulling teeth. “I meant specifically. For example, what color was your hair?”

  “All colors.”

  Jonah rolls his eyes. He is standing near the door, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest. He still doesn’t feel completely comfortable relaxing in the room, but he isn’t outwardly hostile towards Bios anymore, either.

  Nor am I. I don’t know why, but I’ve come to view him as ... not exactly harmless, but not as big of a threat as I’d once perceived, even though he wears my father’s rotting face.

  “How about your eyes?” I press. “What color were they?”

  “All colors.”
<
br />   I resist the urge to slap him. Sometimes, his answers are so maddening. “Nobody has hair or eyes that are all colors. For example, my hair is brown. My eyes are green. What were yours?”

  “I told you. They were all colors.”

  I sit on my hands so I don’t shake him silly. “And was your skin all colors?”

  He laughs at my apparently stupid question. “Of course not. Only black, brown and white.”

  How foolish of me.

  “I will show you, if you like.” He sits up in the bed, tapping my father’s head. “I would let you, just this once.”

  Jonah’s answer is firm. “No.”

  “Do you not trust me, child of Frejjya?”

  Well, it’s a step up from pet. We are working on Bios getting used to names.

  “Should I?” Jonah asks mildly.

  Bios chuckles. “Probably not. But I give my word to both you and the little Creator that no harm will come to her during this visit to my memories. Come, little Creator. Sit next to me and see what life was once like for the once mighty Bios.”

  I hesitate, looking to Jonah.

  “You are a Creator.” Bios’ disgust comes out in a harsh exhale. “An Empath should have no influence over your choices.”

  Apparently, another thing Rudshivar and his followers did was change the names associated with many of the different crafts. Despite being told numerous times that Jonah is an Emotional, Bios refuses to term him anything other than Empath.

  “Did you have Connections?” I ask curiously.

  Bios quirks an eyebrow up in silent question.

  “Links,” I offer, “between people who Fate means to be together.”

  “Fate,” Bios scoffs. “No. Fate has no control over the Dingir. Fate is a creation of Rudshivar.”

  “Did any of you marry? Fall in love? Have relationships that were partnerships?”

  “Father and Cailleache had an association, although it did not stop him from mating with others,” he muses. “But I hesitate to call it a partnership. The rest of us ... No. What you call love was a dangerous thing. Love could be used against you. The few that dared to show preference for another were always punished by having the object of their desires taken away.”

  “Things are different now,” I counter. “While there is a hierarchy of sorts within Magical society, partnerships are encouraged and desired. So is marriage.”

  His eyes flicker towards Jonah. “I can feel the tie between you two, but I suppose I’d always assumed it was as Enlilkian claims it to be—a bond between master and servant.”

  I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or roll my eyes at such a stupid statement. “First of all, there is no master/servant stuff going on here. We’re together because we choose to be.”

  The first Shaman merely smiles faintly.

  “Was that something the Dingir had, though?”

  Bios shrugs. “Occasionally. Mostly between the priests of our cults and ourselves. There were the occasional pleasure servants. That is what Enlilkian has insisted to us the relationship between you and the Empath is, though.”

  Oh my gods. He did not just say that.

  Bios is unfazed by Jonah’s outrage or my embarrassment. “Why is it that I also feel one of these bonds between you, little Creator, and the other Empath?”

  I sigh, wondering who is behind the glass, watching. Hopefully it’s only Kellan, or even Karl. “That’s a long story we don’t have time for.”

  “Well then. Shall we commence?” He turns to Jonah. “Empath, if you are worried about the Creator’s safety with me as she walks my memories, you are free to join us.”

  Jonah pushes off the wall and comes to stand next to me. And ... I’m surprised, because I think he’s intrigued by this notion. Huh.

  “I have come to realize that your kind do not normally walk in memories,” Bios says. “So for the sake of those watching us right now, let me be clear: even though you two will appear lifeless, it will not be so.”

  Hold on here.

  “In fact,” Bios continues, “if they wish, the two watching right now may come into the room and monitor your progress. I make this vow to them now: I will only hold you in my memories for a quarter of an hour. Will this be acceptable to you?”

  The door opens, and unsurprisingly, Kellan is there saying, “Hell no.” And then he gives his brother a very pointed look.

  “Ah!” Bios says, clapping his hands as Zthane also walks in. “I so rarely get to see the ... what did you call them? Twins? The twin Empaths together. This is most interesting. I see they communicate like we do. How oddly advanced of them despite being abnormalities.”

  “You can hear them?” I ask in surprise.

  He is offended. “Of course I can. They are fighting right now over whether or not I am to be trusted.”

  Zthane says, “I agree with Kellan, Chloe. This is a terrible idea.”

  Bios looks him up and down and sneers. He still harbors prejudice against Zthane for being an Elemental.

  I’ve been down in this bunker for nearly two months now. Enlilkian is out there doing who knows what. This needs to end, and it needs to end soon. I go over to where Zthane is and tell him, “Any piece of information we have about how the Dingir work can only help us. Besides, do you really think he’d pull something, knowing you’re watching?”

  The head of the Guard says, “While he has the Creator in a situation that simulates death? Absolutely.”

  “If I’d wanted her dead,” Bios snaps, “she’d be so already. I could have unleashed any one of a million different viruses or bacteria I’ve cultivated over the ages. She would be writhing on the floor, bleeding from every orifice, and you’d be helpless to stop it. Are you all so inbred that you do not retain information? I have sworn repeatedly to keep her safe as long as we are down in this hiding space. She will be in no danger in my memories. And I have already conceded to allow the Empath in. I would invite you all, but I know the need you harbor to ensure their safety. So, sit and watch, child of Cailleache, and say no more unless it will aid your cause.”

  Anger flares in Zthane’s eyes.

  “Jonah,” Kellan warns, but apparently, Jonah has made up his mind to back me. So he turns to me and says, “Chloe. Don’t do this. Please. I’m begging you.”

  “So interesting, these bonds,” Bios murmurs. “What a cruel trick Rudshivar has played upon you all. He was always a twisted bastard when it came to emotions.”

  I ignore this, instead focusing on Kellan. “We need this. You know we do.”

  “Then let me do it,” he says. “Or Jonah. But not you.”

  “I can’t fight what I don’t know,” I whisper. “Don’t let me stay blind. I’m the only one who can take Enlilkian out. I need to find out everything I can to beat him, Kellan.”

  He takes a deep breath. Since that night on the rooftop in which I told him I chose Jonah, Kellan’s been very careful not to expose his feelings for me much. Even after the accidents, when I knew him to be terrified and torn apart, he still managed to keep things under control, especially around others. To see him show this piece of worry in front of Zthane makes part of me want to acquiesce. But the other part, the one that remembers all of the threats my loved ones face, knows I need to accumulate as much ammunition against Enlilkian as possible. Because I could lay down good money that Bios, who has been hinting for some time his displeasure with his father, wants to do more than simply show me his former visage.

  “Kel,” Jonah says quietly. “You will not lose us today.”

  Zthane looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the rare display of all three of our tangled emotions, but Bios watches in utter fascination.

  “Do not worry, Empath,” he says in the kindest tone I’ve heard from him so far, “I will deliver them back to you in the same state you see them in now. If not, then you may do your worst to me, and I will not struggle once. You have my word.”

  Minutes later, I’ve extended his chains so he is sitting in front of us, fo
rming a small circle of clasped hands. He tells us to close our eyes, reminds Zthane and Kellan not to be worried about our appearances, and then murmurs something in the language I’d heard Enlilkian use on the roof the day he murdered my father.

  The next thing I know, Jonah and I are in an elaborate room decorated in precious metals. Only, this isn’t like any room I’ve ever seen before. The walls are made of bark.

  “Do not worry. This is not Enlilkian’s tree,” says a voice from behind us.

  The speaker takes my breath away. He is tall—taller than even Karl, even—and sculpted in the way that reminds me of statues found in museums. And then I’m averting my eyes, because these muscles are completely visible thanks to a single, tiny scrap (and I mean that literally, as it’s ridiculously tiny and gauzy) of white linen dipping across his pelvis. His skin is white—not peach that is called white, but a genuine white—that darkens gradually mid-torso to a rich brown. The brown then darkens into a genuine black at the upper thighs and continues all the way to his feet. As promised, his hair is every color: shades of red, blonde, brunette, and black all mingle together alongside sterling grays and whites. A step closer by Bios proves his eyes to be kaleidoscopes of colors swirling about. And, if these features weren’t enough to stun a person into silence, the faint glow emitting from his skin does the trick.

  “This one was mine.” He wanders over to a paneless window. “It had a beautiful view, did it not?” Beyond him is a stunning, picturesque landscape that reaches as far as the eye can see. “But I did not bring you two here for idle, irrelevant chit-chat. I came here because there are things I am not physically allowed to say to you while housed in the body Enlilkian forced me in. No one, however, has forbidden a conversation here.”

  He ushers us toward a pair of chairs before lounging in a throne-like chair made of branches studded with gemstone. “I thought we were going to see a memory,” I murmur.

  “You are in a memory.” All the colors in his eyes turn melancholy. “This place only exists in memory nowadays. I tried visiting it once, but my tree no longer grows. Concrete has flattened the land.”