chapter Twenty-two
Trapped
I had plenty of time to think about what Morgan had said, because every attempt I made at falling asleep, William created some new form of torture to wake me. Presently, he’d slapped me, quite hard, and was standing in waiting to be certain it had taken.
“Okay,” I said, forcing my eyes open. “I’ve got it.”
His gaze narrowed on me.
I pursed my lips. “Listen, how about you let my arms down for a while—”
“Silence,” he said tersely.
“Why? Morgan doesn’t trust you to—”
My words cut off as he slapped me again, though I was clearly awake. Clearly.
“Boy, he’s sure got you—”
William backhanded me. This time my only response was to turn my head as I spat blood.
I would have to think of something else. I was tied near the center of the room, in plain view of not only William, but three other battle-trained men. I could only assume the cameras hidden among the library shelves were still operational, which meant several more guards watched my every move from the safety of Council’s private security office. Between me and that office were untold sentries, key-coded locks, and alarms. They had placed me in the archive for a reason. It was the most secure room on the property.
I racked my brain for a way to disable the cameras, the four men, those blasted ties cutting off circulation to my hands, or any portion of said list, but my mind was too addled from lack of sleep. I wondered vaguely if Logan had realized I was missing, if he’d waited at the drop point, or if someone from the Division had found him. But I couldn’t even be certain what day it was. Judging from the severity of my wounds, I might have only slept hours before Morgan had woken me. Or it might have been days.
I could remember the pain, a bullet tearing through my side, one cutting my chest and striking bone, another in my leg… and Emily. The flash of sneaker as she disappeared into the trees. I hoped she wasn’t still sealed within the chamber. I hoped someone had gotten her out. Not Morgan, surely. He would have said. He would have been proud.
And then his words were swimming through my mind again, and I couldn’t fathom their full potential for harm. Brianna’s mother had not merely been a prophet. She’d had the power to release our kind’s abilities. And they had known. Brianna first, but Emily, the realization only coming as she’d spoken the words in my room, that their mother had been taken before Morgan had gotten this sway. This new power. Her sickness, her panic made sense now. But as she’d doubled over, I’d spotted her mark, and everything had changed.
And that was our one saving grace. No one knew but the three of us. No matter what happened, Morgan would not fulfill the prophecy. Even if he captured Brianna, if he tricked the Division into giving her up, if he used his sway against them, he would still have the wrong girl.
Emily was the chosen.
“You’re going to die, traitor-boy,” a voice hissed from beside me, “and your dragon blood can’t do a thing to stop it.”
I stared straight ahead, but I could see the man in question. He leaned back in his chair, thumb playing patiently over the hammer of his pistol where it lay on his leg. The barrel casually pointed in my direction, but there was no threat of him using it. It would be Morgan’s doing, not one of these men.
A low grumbling laugh followed, but William cut him off. “Silence.”
The laughter ceased, but the man’s mouth remained tweaked in a nasty grin.
It didn’t matter that the sway had turned them against me. I had betrayed them. I had left them to Morgan. Whatever happened now, I had destroyed the brotherhood. I had destroyed Council.
As I waited for Morgan to kill me, there was one comfort in which I found solace. He had taken everything from both sides of the battle, but he would never win.
Because he would never have the girl.
I must have stared at the door for hours. When it finally opened, it was Caleb who walked in. My strength was waning, though I knew the wounds were slowly being repaired. The need for sleep was crippling, but I managed to follow his movement across the room. He was giving direction to William. Something was ready, something about time…
“Caleb,” I said, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and disuse.
He didn’t respond when I called his name, simply finished his conversation with William. But when he turned to go, I caught a glimpse of his face. It was somehow vacant, lifeless, and I felt my heart sink at the memory of Brendan’s words so many hours ago. Morgan had used his sway. Noah was dead. Caleb had submitted.
But there was something wrong with the way Caleb had appeared. The sway on humans was nearly unrecognizable. I wondered if Morgan had destroyed some part of his brain. I wondered if this sway was different, stronger. I wondered if it had only been hours since that report landed in Brendan’s hands, or days—how long I had been hanging here. I wondered where Brianna and Emily were.
“Wake up!” William yelled as he slapped me across the face.
I jolted, opening eyes I’d been completely unaware had closed, and rasped, “I’m getting really tired of that.”
“Not me,” William answered in a low tone.
He jerked the ties at my arm, which wrenched my side and brought me back to life. Abruptly awake, I realized the other men had guns on me. And there were five of them now.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To witness your brother’s destiny,” he said. “Now, make one wrong move and you’ll get another bullet hole in your chest.” He pointedly jabbed a finger into the meat over my heart. “And this one won’t heal so easily.”
My arms fell from their bonds, for a moment numb and then suddenly stinging with sharp, needling pain. I rubbed my wrists, agony and relief warring at the act, while William unlatched the other restraints. When he released my waist, my knees gave, and I fell against a post of the structure they’d brought in to restrain me.
He threw a shirt at me. “Clean up. Morgan doesn’t want you looking like a vagrant.”
I glanced down, dried blood covering large portions of my torn jeans.
“Put the shirt on,” William demanded. “No one will see your legs anyway.”
My head jerked up to stare at him, but he was already walking toward the door. “Let’s go, Archer. We’ve got a prophecy to carry out.”
I slid one arm into the button-up shirt, but it took considerably more effort for the other arm. After fumbling with the middle three buttons, I gave up, leaving it loose at the neck and bottom hem.
“On your feet,” one of the gunmen said from beside me, and I pushed unsteadily off the post to be led from the room, a guard clutching each arm, two following behind, and another between us and William in the lead.
Morgan had never underestimated me.
Several minutes later, I was thrust into restraints and seated on the raised, dark-mahogany platform running the front wall of Council’s meeting hall. William had been right, my lower half was not visible from the hall, because in front of me was a short half wall meant to disguise electrical equipment and the like. The half walls were positioned at each end of the raised platform, and at the center, not twenty feet from where I waited, was the podium from which Morgan would be making his “presentation.” The chairs had been removed, and Council men lined the outer, unadorned tan and burgundy walls of the hall. I was surprised to see that they seemed to be adhering to at least one of the old code: there were no weapons in conference.
I recognized many faces, though few of them risked a look in my direction. They were pointedly not looking at the man their leader had tied to a chair, a man who would likely soon meet some unfortunate end at the hands of his brother. What I did not see were the faces that had been my allies. Nowhere among the crowd were the men and women who had supported my rise to head of Council, who had hoped I would one day supplant Morgan.
“Ready, brother?”
Morgan’s voice from beside me made me jump, and I questioned my faculties for not hearing his arrival. And then the slightest noise, the muffled whisper of a metal track, and I knew why. There was a hidden door behind us, an unmarked entrance that had not been there before. I mentally cursed, knowing he’d have modified the security throughout Council’s walls, because his biggest threats were those who had left him, those who had been raised to know this place’s secrets.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get the words out, Morgan’s face lit up in a grin. “Brendan, so glad you could make it.”
I followed his gaze to the entrance opposite us, and stared in horror as the Division’s eight walked through the door.
“Shut it, Archer,” Brendan said, “I’m not in the mood for your antics.”
Behind them, a dozen more came through the door, headed by Logan, and what I assumed were his best men.
It felt as if the episode were playing out in slow motion, as if I were caught in the depths of an ocean and couldn’t find which way to swim out, could do nothing to stop what was coming. It was endless and frantic, a sinking, drowning sensation, and I was helpless to fight it. Had they not realized what they were doing? Had they not read the prophecy? They were outnumbered three to one in this room alone. They had no chance of winning.
I wanted to shout at them to run, but I couldn’t seem to get air.
They would die here, all of them.
Brendan’s gaze flicked briefly to me, and then back to the center of the platform where Morgan stood. “We want to make a trade.”
Morgan laughed. “Oh, Samuels. You always were a dull boy.” He clapped his hands and picked up his speech-giving tone again. “You are here today to witness the coming of the prophecy.”
He took two steps forward. “I understand that you of this… Division,” he said with disgust, “have been living on the notion that you have figured out a way to subvert the prophecy.” Morgan’s gaze narrowed the slightest fraction, taking in the assembly that watched his performance. “But I can assure you, you are wrong.”
Brendan stared on, but several of the others shifted uncomfortably.
“Let me say, also,” Morgan continued, “what a huge disappointment it has been that you turned against the core of our existence, the one truth of our kind.” His eyes scanned the group of twenty. “That so many of you were traitors to our lines.” Morgan shook his head, as if dismissing the idea. “No bother. Because most of you will not be leaving this room alive.”
Brendan’s jaw went tight. “You invoked the rules of the code, Morgan. You invited us here under the pretense of conference, and now you turn on the very ideals you accuse of us abandoning.”
“Precisely,” Morgan said. “You have abandoned them. Which is why they do not apply to you.” He paused. “Some of you may stay,” he added, gaze lingering on Kara, “but we will decide that later.”
Kara swallowed hard, the thought of being wanted by Morgan suddenly worse than the threat of death.
“First,” Morgan said, “to dispose of this notion that the heir can be your savior.”
“Wait,” Brendan said. “We can give you the girl. Set Aern free, and we will bring the chosen to you. The Drake girl is all that matters.”
Morgan laughed. “Don’t be a fool, Samuels. I don’t need your help to find Brianna. And besides, once my brother is gone, there is no other way for things to play out. The prophecy will bring her to me.”
“You’ll have to kill us first,” Logan said, stepping from behind Brendan to glare at my brother.
Morgan shrugged. “I could, but that wouldn’t be as much fun.” He glanced pointedly around the room. “You see, I can pretty much do whatever I please.”
I sickened at the reminder, suddenly sure that part of his display would include using the sway on one of us.
It was obvious the others were thinking the same. Logan’s chest rose and fell in measured breaths. I was certain he was forming a plan, one that would unquestionably cost him his life. The drowning sensation became suddenly acute. We were running out of air. We didn’t have long.
“Do it,” I said to Morgan. “Quit trying to make a show of yourself and just get it over with.”
“As you wish,” Morgan said, slipping the thin silver blade from inside his jacket. He took two steps toward me.
“No!”
The shout came from across the room, and every eye in the place fell on the same spot as mine.
Relief and terror flooded me. The source of the command was the one person none of us expected. The one person who didn’t appear to be a threat.
The one person who should have never been there.
Emily.