Eve of Destruction (29 page)

“Come on, let’s try and get some sleep,” Zach said, tugging at her arm. “We can start reading it tomorrow and get some answers.”

She followed him absently back into their room, but her eyes never left the journal. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe the Vakari was just playing a trick on them, or maybe the Enclave had completely misunderstood her mother’s warnings.

Or maybe her mother had never told her about any of this because she was afraid—afraid that her only child would destroy the world.

***

“Has Chaval made any further attempts on their lives?” Danev asked once the young couple was out of the room.

“None since the hotel,” Shaedra said.

Danev took a deep breath and rubbed at his chin. With the type of business he ran and the number of contacts he had, he was used to dealing with crises. He was usually quite good at handling them, in fact. But this was all coming so hard and so fast that even his mind was reeling.

He wasn’t sure what to believe yet. He had a hard time looking at Eve and seeing the end of the Fane—the girl was barely more than a krata at this point. But he knew full well how powerful Tara’s visions were, and if she really had seen it coming…

He shook his head and tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Simon wouldn’t stop without a reason. Either he doesn’t know where we are—which is very unlikely—or he has changed tactics.”

“Polard was coached, we know that much,” Aram reminded them. “Chaval definitely knows we’re in Cadotheia, and he guessed we were going to see your old friend. We also know he’s read the journal by now and probably tore out some of the pages. The only reasonable explanation is that he wants us to have it.”

“Which makes no sense,” Danev said. “Is he expecting some type of reaction from her? That maybe she’ll read it and suddenly want to help him?”

“I don’t know, but we should consider destroying it outright.”

Shaedra snorted. “I’m sure that would go over well.”

“We didn’t ask for your opinion or your assistance.”

She chuckled darkly and crossed her long legs. Like most of her twisted ilk, she looked just as human as the next person. If not for the tattered, blood-stained jacket and bizarre accent, no one would ever suspect there was a monster underneath.

“Does Glenn have any ideas?” Danev asked. “I assume you’re in contact with him.”

“I have an attuned sending stone, but I can’t speak with him for a day or two,” she explained. “He didn’t want the Enclave to be able to track him while he tries to reunite the surviving members of your little college group.”

“The Seven? I wondered if he managed to keep in contact with any of them.”

“Just Marose, as far as I know, and she wasn’t interested in helping. I believe he was going to try and speak with the priestess next. He wasn’t sure how well she would react to his presence. He said a lot of you felt he was a traitor to your cause.”

“Some more than others,” Danev murmured.

“He still trusts you for some reason,” Shaedra said. “He also mentioned that you used to be a contact for the Enclave but stopped a few years back. He never said why.”

Danev eyed her warily. “It’s not really relevant.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but it does make me wonder why you have an Eclipsean looking over your shoulder.”

“Former Eclipsean,” Aram corrected. His features were tightly controlled, but Danev could almost feel the hatred radiating off of him. If not for the fact it was completely suicidal, the man might have attacked the Vakari right then and there.

“I see,” Shaedra replied neutrally. “Maybe that’s why he trusts you, then. A band of deserters and all.”

“I have the feeling Glenn is expecting something specific from this journal,” Danev said, ignoring the comment. “Something beyond this grim vision of Eve’s future.”

“That was all he knew for certain. Honestly, I think he’s hoping for a miracle. He wants a way out of this mess—many people do. No one wants to think about what happens after the election.”

Aram grunted. “He’s worried about a war, but he still wants to protect the girl? If she really is the Avenshal, then she’ll make it even worse. You made it sound like she was supposed to cause it.”

“My knowledge is only second-hand,” Shaedra reminded him, “so I’m not sure about all the details. Regardless, Maltus’s judgment in this matter has long been compromised. He’s too close.”

Danev leaned back in his chair. They were all too close right now. He couldn’t shrug off the feeling that for most of his old friends, the ghosts of the past were finally catching up to them. Tara had died because of it, and there was every possibility that the rest of them might soon follow.

His first instinct was to get away while he still could. He was a businessman at heart, after all, and he had made a lot of drakes knowing when and how to get away from investments when they took a turn for the worst. The problem was that this wasn’t just business—it was imminently personal. This was the future of his country they were talking about, and these men and women had been his friends at one point.

He sighed softly and glanced to the door separating their suites. Yes, this definitely was about the future. Only one of the Seven had started a family and brought a child into the world they’d once sworn to change. Now she was under his protection. It was a sobering realization, and the pangs of regret were gnawing greedily at his stomach.

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” he said softly. “We’re still safe here for the moment, and I’m too tired to think clearly.”

“I’ll stay up,” Aram told him. “Just in case.”

“You can sleep all you want,” Shaedra said, the corner of her lip curling into an amused grin. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust me.”

Aram didn’t even look at her as he walked back over to the door and took up his normal watchful position. Danev thought to remind the man that if Shaedra did want to do something to them, there was nothing they could do about it.

Instead he grunted and pulled himself to his feet before walking back over to his bed. He certainly didn’t trust the Vakari either, of course, but he was willing to accept their impotence.

All they could do now was trust in a friend from a different lifetime and hope for the best.

Chapter Fourteen

The airship rumbled as it broke free of its moorings at Zefrim Station, and Amaya reflexively clutched onto the railings. Her face immediately flushed with embarrassment, and Chaval chuckled and coyly slipped his hand around her waist.

“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” he soothed just loudly enough for the others to hear. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Even though he was her employer—even though this job was the only reason her family was still alive—Amaya almost broke his arm and threw him off the edge of the ship. She despised this part of her job. He always wanted her to play the exotic attachment to his arm as he schmoozed with the social elite, and right now she hated herself for unwittingly giving him an opportunity to exploit it. The other wealthy and influential men standing around them all smiled knowingly at the innocent, backwards Talami woman who didn’t have the faintest clue how any of this miraculous Arkadian technology worked.

She was professional enough to keep the bitterness off her face, however, and her eyes remained fixed out the window. Chaval could play this however he wanted.  Soon the election would be over, and then perhaps he could stop with the incessant campaigning…

“Faster than trains, and in a few years they should be even more reliable,” General Hovien commented from off to her right. He was a bit past middle aged, though his wife, sitting at a table inside the enclosed section a few meters away, couldn’t have been more than thirty. “I hope you can keep up with production, Simon.”

“We’ll manage,” Chaval assured him. “I’m just happy knowing the military has finally seen the tactical value in Zefrim technology.”

“You can’t really blame us for being skeptical. They don’t exactly look combat worthy.”

Chaval smiled. “I’ve already shown you a list of modifications we can make to improve integrity. In three months you’ll have a squadron capable of reaching any city in Arkadia.”

“We may very well need it,” Hoven said. “I’ve always thought Selerius in particular could use a little…redecoration.”

The group of men chuckled to themselves, and Amaya did her best to fight back a wave of nausea. Chaval had been pushing these airships hard the last couple months, and in addition to lucrative production contracts, he figured they would win him another few points in the polls. She had to admit that they were clever. Each one was essentially a massive, oval-shaped balloon with plenty of room for spacious cabins along the bottom. She didn’t understand how their engines worked, but Chaval assured her they were superior to the standard railroad steam engine in many ways.

She didn’t have to understand the engineering specifics to realize the Zefrim Project’s military value, though. An airship could easily move a small squad of soldiers across enemy lines, for one, but its true value would come from simple air superiority. With its cargo holds stuffed full of explosives, a single Zefrim could rain death down upon anything beneath it. No city in the world could defend itself from such an attack, not even Selerius. 

She wondered what the Enclave thought about the fact that a mere torbo engineer had beaten them to mastery of the skies. The magi could control the very forces of nature, and yet the power of a simple bird continued to elude them. Now Chaval had found a way to unravel that age-old puzzle…and weaponize it.

“Why don’t we head inside?” Chaval suggested after a few moments, gesturing back to the enclosed area behind them. “Dinner should be ready shortly.”

She stayed on his arm and let him lead her in through the hatch. The red dress he’d wrapped her in was tight and uncomfortable, but he’d made sure to play it up as a stylish, exotic design of Talami make—even though one of his personal tailors had whipped it up only a few days ago.

They took a seat at a dining table inside along with his honored guests, all of whom were vital campaign contributors. Over the last few months, he’d explained to her numerous times about the importance of such funding in Arkadian politics, and it lowered her already dirt-level opinion on this so-called democracy. Arkadian propaganda, especially overseas, always insisted that their government was run by the people, yet until recently they had conveniently never elected a torbo president—and had still never elected a poor one. Money remained the most important component in rising to power here, just like it was anywhere else in the world. 

“So I admit I’m surprised you think you can win the Highland voters,” Garrick Turell, a fellow railroad tycoon and factory owner, said as the appetizers were placed on the table. “I thought they would be flocking to support Marose with Janel floundering like he is.”

Chaval shrugged. “They’re a difficult group to figure out. Most of them are rural farmers and hunters who’ve gotten by on only their wits for a very long time. They’ve never had much use for the government or outsiders in general.”

Turell grunted derisively. “They fought like hell to keep our tracks off their land. We lost dozens of men building those rails from cock-eyed hunters taking it upon themselves to drive us out. It’s a lawless free-for-all up there.”

“There are challenges, to be sure,” Chaval conceded diplomatically. “But we do have a great deal to offer them, even if they might not realize it immediately. Once we get our goods to the younger generation, within a few years they’ll be demanding new tracks and freight cars full of supplies. It’s a long term agenda.”

Amaya took a sip from her drink and again had to fight to keep her mouth shut. He could have been talking about her home province in Talam. Those that had survived the fall of the Lo’Sai were mostly farmers and hunters, and they had learned to be distrustful of anyone outside their small villages. Most of them were good and simple folk who just wanted to be left alone, but Chaval and his allies treated them more like an ore vein than human beings—a resource to be tapped rather than a culture to be respected.