A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

“That is incredibly sexist of you, Will,” I snarl in return.

Karl laughs, but I don’t. Just what if today goes badly? Lee’s told us there are four Elders in the region, and with a team this large, the odds are stacked in our favor. But I can’t help but worry that something will go wrong, that somehow those things will get the best of me and take me out, leaving the rest of the team defenseless out in the wilderness of Siberia.

Must. Stay. Focused.

Which means, of course, I wonder what Jonah is doing right now, where he is, how he’s dealing with everything. I laid down the law with Zthane last night that, while I was caving and allowing Kellan to come, there was no way in hell I’d approve both Whitecombs on the mission. He tried for it, of course he did—the twins have proved to be highly effective together against the Elders in the past. But if I had to contend with attempting to protect both of them and Jonah’s snubbing all at the same time while trying my best to kill these monsters, I don’t know if I could do it. It’s bad enough Will’s here, being so perilously fragile in his non-Magical state (not that I’d ever admit that out loud to him, though) but Zthane figured that, after being so effective against the Elders in the last two fights, Will should come because he has experience against these monsters that nobody else on the team, save me and Karl, have.

“According to Erik, there’s a small Métis colony about two hundred miles south,” Karl tells me as we approach the military plane the Guards has absconded for the mission. “So I don’t think we can term this Elder sighting as random.”

“Shite,” Will mutters. He adjusts his sunglasses in the bright morning light. “How many?”

“Colonists or Elders?” When Will indicates the Métis, Karl continues, “Four families—like I said, small, but no number is small enough when you have these things gunning for them.”

“There was an attack, wasn’t there?” Will asks quietly.

Karl sighs heavily, his mouth a bleak line. And then he nods.

My stomach heaves. “Anybody hurt?”

Karl readjusts the straps of his backpack and stares straight ahead. “Three-year-old twins and their mother were in the car that the Elders targeted. Only the little girl made it—her brother and mom are dead thanks to these monsters, not to mention a family of four that were nons in a nearby car.”

“Christ,” Will whispers.

“They were first generation Métis,” Karl tells us as he waves at the pilot in the distance. “Erik says the Métis governing bodies believe that the closer the bloodlines are to Magicals, the more likely they become targets. These kids—” He shakes his head swiftly. “Their mom left Annar about a decade ago for their dad. She was a lower level Elemental. And now there’s a little girl who doesn’t have her mom or her twin.”

I can’t even wrap my mind around such a tragedy. This needs to stop. People—Magicals, Métis, and nons alike—should be safe from these monsters. And I’m reminded of a promise I made long ago, to Earle Locust-tree, who’d lost his husband to the Elders and then was attacked by them himself. And now he’s gone, along with the rest of the team that fought to protect me, and I’m left with the promise that I wouldn’t give up trying to stop these monsters.

I hope to do him proud today.




Maybe it’s because I’ve been removed from Annar for awhile, and maybe it’s because, other than with Callie Lotus, I haven’t really been around such a situation before, but I’m shocked at the level of hostility and distrust coming from the team inside the plane that’s angled toward Will. Well—not from Kellan, who isn’t here yet, since he’s en route directly from another mission nearby, but from the rest of the team, yes. They’re regarding Will with wary eyes, whispering to one another like his presence is unwanted and unnecessary. Every so often I catch snatches of what they’re saying; ugly words about how he’s a non, a freak, how his presence is most likely some kind of appeasement offering toward me, float throughout the belly of the plane.

It’s infuriating, not to mention insulting. I would never have been able to do what I’ve done without Will’s help and guidance.

For his part, Will pretends to ignore them, although I know it’s got to be driving him crazy. He sits in the web seat next to me, settling the sword I’ve made him in between his legs so he can swing it around in a wide arc as we chat about our friends back in Alaska.

I try to follow his lead, but when I hear some kind of innuendo about how he must surely be some kind of toy I picked up while out “sowing my wild oats,” I can’t hold my fury back any longer. “What the hell are your problems?” I shout.

The plane goes deathly quiet. Karl and the Cyclone (I think his name is Flip?) stick their heads out of the cockpit, from where they’d been discussing the flight plan.