Prisoner, page 17
part #2 of The Contractors Series
“Rachel’s funeral?”
“We don’t have…” Henry’s face lowered. Shadows ran down his eyes and under his chin. “I was about to say that I don’t have time for my daughter’s funeral. God. It almost makes me feel like Daniel had a point about us.” He sighed. “We’ll make time. Tomorrow morning.”
“A burial, or...?”
“The Ashworth crypt. Full enchanted internment, for as long as our home stands. It’s the least she deserves.” Henry’s eyes misted. “The last of her line. She upheld their honor to the very end.”
Nickolas nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements. You focus on what needs doing.” He put a hand on Henry’s shoulder, then started down the hall. “I’ll try to talk to Eleanor. I get the distinct feeling she’s going to do something stupid.”
Henry privately agreed, but he let Nickolas go without further comment and sat back at his desk. A mound of paperwork regarding the supply distribution to the refugee camps awaited him. He reached for his pen, but paused, thinking.
Am I playing into his hands?
He could only do what he believed was right. Henry gave his head a shake and reached for the first packet he needed to sign. Self-doubt could wait its turn at the bottom of the stack.
****
There was a knock on the door. A stern voice followed, muffled by the wood. “Eleanor. It's Nickolas.”
Eleanor ignored him. She grabbed another fistful of clothes from the second drawer of her dresser—a random clump socks, some underwear—and jammed it into her suitcase.
She was usually mindful when she packed, folding everything so as to avoid wrinkles. Everything tucked in exactly the right place.
She couldn't do that right now. The only way she could stop her hands from shaking was to keep them moving.
More knocks rapped across the room. “Eleanor, I know you're in there.”
“It's Miss Astor to you!” Eleanor said. Her voice cracked. “I don't want to see anyone right now!”
“It's about Daniel's family.”
Eleanor paused, arm halfway into her dresser. She looked over her shoulder.
Her suitcase lay on her bed; its thick shell pushed a depression into the blue and gold comforter. The carpet was the same colors, blue lines weaving between gold diamonds. The wallpaper was white, with little gold suns embossed upon it in a repeating pattern. Even her dresser was white pine, edged in gold leaf. It all shone down at her, the cheery confidence of power and security heralded by the Ivory Dawn.
She never loathed it like she did then. She stared down the suns on the walls. They didn't budge.
“Eleanor,” Nickolas said. He sounded more subdued, less the body man and more himself. “Please. He's trying to compromise.”
Eleanor's eyes flicked to the door. “I’m listening.”
“I've located the camp in Cleveland with his father and brother. Our agents are keeping an eye on them.”
“Does my father,” Eleanor said, “mean to pretend that this relieves me of my responsibility?”
“I'd be happy to give you the details,” he said, a certain dryness seeping into his tone, “but I'd really prefer not to talk to you through a door.”
Eleanor sighed, tossed the clothes she was holding in the general direction of her suitcase, and crossed the room to open the door. Nickolas stood there, tall and stiff in a white suit and gold vest, his black hair tied back tight behind his head. Anyone else might look like they were planning on going to a high-fashion gala; Nickolas somehow made the outfit look solemn and studious.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“I didn't open the door to slam it in your face, Nickolas,” Eleanor said. She returned to the task of stuffing her suitcase.
Nickolas's eyes automatically scanned the room; Eleanor saw his gaze unfocus slightly as he scryed, hunting for magical danger. He was born and raised a servant of their family, a bodyguard, not unlike Rachel.
Eleanor's throat tightened. She tried to swallow, but the knot clenched up tighter, almost as if her own body was trying to choke her. Her hands crushed the blouse she was holding.
Eleanor saw Nickolas looking at her, and she put on her face, her mask. She took a breath and tried to put the scrunched-up blouse in the suitcase. The attempt ended in an awkward chucking motion, her arm caught between the half of her brain that wanted to ram the thing down as hard as possible and the half working to keep the anxiety at bay. The blouse caught the air, drifted, and fell to the floor next to the bed.
A spike of frustration raged in her head. She knelt down, grabbed the blouse—now wondrously wrinkled from her manhandling, perfect—then started to stand.
She saw the stitching on the front. A sun, again—but softer, better than the angular globes that were up on the walls of her bedroom. It was one Rachel had sewn for her.
Eleanor fell to a knee. She drew the blouse in, clutching it to her chest. She put out a hand to balance herself against the carpet. Water filled her eyes. She breathed in through her teeth, then out. I will not cry. I will not.
Suddenly, Nickolas was behind her, kneeling next to her. His hand touched her shoulder. “Elly...”
The sadness burst like a popped balloon. Her body went out of control, forced to clench in and down as if to protect itself—but the pain was inside. All she could do was wrap herself tighter. Her tears stained the blouse in her arms.
Nickolas was a silent support at her back. He kept his hand on her shoulder as the sobs wracked through her. It was already too much.
“Please.” Eleanor drew herself up slightly. Her diaphragm ached. “It's fine.”
“It clearly,” Nickolas said, “is not fine.”
“It has to be,” Eleanor said. She picked herself up, shrugging off Nickolas's arm. Her jaw worked a few times; she cleared her throat, then went for her dresser again.
“What are you packing for?” Nickolas asked.
“I'm going to Cleveland whether he likes it or not,” Eleanor said. “I promised Daniel I'd take care of his family.”
“Henry won't be happy.”
Eleanor rounded on him. “Did my father,” she said, voice rising, “ask about whether it would make me happy when he sent Daniel to Hell? Did he even listen when I told him Rachel would have been fine if it wasn't for that Rothschild bastard intentionally holding back the plan!? Daniel had the Vorid lord on the defensive. He had him pinned down! We could have taken him out in the first few minutes!”
Nickolas raised his hands, a gesture of peace. “I'm not here to debate what should have been done. It isn't my place. I'm here to tell you that if you want to go to Cleveland, then you're going to have to cut a deal. One way or another, you're promised to Aiken.”
“What does that have to do with this?” Eleanor asked.
“Trade your willingness for a trip to Cleveland,” Nickolas said. “Wartime marriages used to be common, back when we fought each other. It was a guarantee between families that they’d share magical secrets and grow together after—”
“I don’t need a history lesson, thank you.”
Nickolas paused and let the strain from Eleanor’s words fade a bit before he continued. “Promise Mr. Astor you'll go along with the wedding. In exchange, you want to personally ensure the safety of Daniel's brother.”
“Trade,” Eleanor said. “With him. My father. Did you see the way he looked, back in there?!” She threw her hands up. “I don't even know who he is!”
“He lost one of his daughters.”
“AND I LOST MY SISTER!” Eleanor shrieked. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Frost grew at Eleanor's fingertips, at the corners of her eyes. Threads of ice snaked through her hair as her magic fluctuated, tearing out from under her control.
Nickolas's face was still, but he took a step back. Eleanor let the magic roil through her, let the iced-over anger seethe in her core, and then she pushed it down, locking it in place. The ice withered away, but the air stayed chill.
“Listen,” Nickolas said. “We all say the president of the Ivory Dawn isn't elected. Almost like a family joke, sometimes.” His lips drew thin. “But it's not a joke. I was there, the last time there was a fight over the succession. He's shielded you from family conflicts your whole life. He can't afford to do that now.” When he saw Eleanor's face change, he raised his hands. “I'm not saying he made the right decision. I'm just—”
“You're just trying to excuse his self-righteous bullshit!” Eleanor said. “As if he's the only one sad that Rachel is gone. He gets to be angry and act like an idiot, and everyone else has to bow and obey. Daniel was right! They're all a bunch of fools positioning themselves to be king of the ashes! Oh, how wonderful it will be when the Earth is a blasted rock sucked dry of every last fucking ounce of life, but the Astors are yet the leaders of the Ivory Dawn!” Eleanor's chest heaved with her anger; her eyes blazed with it; her throat was sore from it. Her magic swelled again, banging about for an outlet. “I swear, Nickolas, I...” She trailed off when she saw the look on Nickolas's face. She glanced over her shoulder, then back. “What? What is it?”
He blinked a bit. “I don’t think I can get used to you swearing.”
Eleanor huffed. “You’d better start. It isn’t going away.”
His surprise settled back into stern formality. “You can't run off on your own right now. First, it's too dangerous. And even if I helped you, you wouldn't make it fifty feet from the property.”
“You'd help me?” Eleanor asked.
Nickolas was quiet. He glanced at the corner of the room, checking the clock on Eleanor's nightstand. “It isn't my place,” he said, “to question Mr. Astor's decisions. But I'm a servant, not a robot. I don't think Mr. Astor made the right choice with Daniel. His family should be protected.” He looked back to Eleanor. “He listens to me in matters of security. Daniel's father and brother might be targeted by the Vorid. He gave them a serious blow.”
“And all I have to do to leave the house,” she said, her nose wrinkling up, “is sell myself to Matthew Aiken like a very expensive 18th century whore.”
“Imagine the fun you'll have,” Nickolas said, “making him miserable for the rest of his life.”
Eleanor snorted. “Unfortunately, it would also be for the rest of my life.”
“It's the only way your father will give you any flexibility right now,” Nickolas said. “He knows how you feel about...the Daniel issue.”
Eleanor stiffened slightly; her lips squashed in an ugly line. “He's a person,” she said. “Not an issue.”
“It was poor wording.”
Eleanor waved off the apology. “I have to think this through. We need to get out of this house and get to Daniel's family. My father is stopping me.” She folded her hands behind her back. “How else can we leave? You know the security runes as well as anyone alive.”
“I don't think there's a way through,” Nickolas said. “Even when I move through them, my subordinates will know. They'll inform your father if it's unauthorized. Doubly so if you're with me at the time.”
“Can't we hide from the sensors?” Eleanor asked.
“Not with any magic I know,” Nickolas said. “Maybe a Wu assassin would have something, but I doubt it. We'd have noticed eventually.”
“That doesn't do us much good,” Eleanor said.
“You could easily do it,” said a voice—somehow slithering and stately at the same time—“with magic I know.”
Eleanor and Nickolas whirled on the spot, each one calling their magic up on reflex. Green flames erupted from Nickolas's hands; ice crusted on Eleanor's fingertips. The air wavered between them, like a mirage, caught between the two opposing sources of temperature.
Their concentration stuttered when they saw the figure seated on the stuffed chair next to the door. Even described generously, the Klide ambassador was lopsided, like a children’s cartoon reflected in a funhouse mirror. A frog’s head was perched on top of his small square torso. His legs were long, too long, so that seated, his knees came up almost to his chest. “Terribly sorry,” Xik said. “Didn't mean to startle.”
“You?” Nickolas said.
“Xikanthus,” Eleanor said. She cut off her magic, tamping it back into her core with her mind; Nickolas did the same. “How did you get in here?”
“Well, you see.” Xikanthus took a noisy slurp from a steaming cup that Eleanor was fairly certain wasn't there a moment ago. “I rather let myself in.”
Nickolas's magic was suppressed, but he still had his hands raised, ready to channel energy out from his palms. “How did you get past my runes?”
“Is that what you call them?” Xik said. “Hmph. You might as well be...” Xik's red eyes met Eleanor's. “Finger painting on cave walls.”
“These are Miss Astor's private quarters,” Nickolas said. “You'll be wanting Mr. Astor.”
“I believe I want Miss Astor today,” Xik said.
“What for?”
“I can speak for myself, thank you,” Eleanor said. “You mentioned being able to leave the building?”
“Oh yes,” Xik said. “I can simply teleport you to Cleveland.”
“That’s impossible,” Nickolas said. “That kind of distance would take at least ten magicians. And you can't teleport in or out within ten miles of this building.”
“And yet here I sit,” Xik said, “in defiance of the laws of nature.”
Nickolas's answer was to edge in front of Eleanor, placing himself between her and the frog-man. “What do you have to gain from this?”
Xik's red eyes focused on Nickolas, and his gaze wasn't pleasant. “Unlike you, I don't have an ulterior motive in approaching Miss Astor.”
Eleanor didn't miss the flicker of surprise that crossed Nickolas's face. He collected himself so quickly she might have missed it if she wasn't paying attention. Nickolas wasn't particularly expressive, but he was a bodyguard, not a professional liar. Her father might have sheltered her from the rough side of things, but she'd been involved in the elite-level politicking of her family since she was a debutante.
Eleanor turned to her guest. “Xikanthus. Please continue.”
“Eleanor, you can't trust him,” Nickolas said. “Who knows what he—”
“I'm at least going to hear him out,” Eleanor said. She looked at the Klide ambassador and gestured for him to go on.
Xik steepled his long fingers. “Daniel got involved in this because of me,” he said. “And now he's in quite the situation. The least I can do is make sure his loved ones are given adequate protection.”
“Why don't you do it yourself?” Nickolas said. “Why come here?”
“I have got a lot on my plate, so you humans say.” Xik’s voice softened. “And I believe Miss Astor has her heart in the right place, and can be trusted to take care of things on my behalf.”
“That's very sweet,” Nickolas said, “but I don't believe you.”
“As far as I can tell, Miss Astor, you have two options,” Xik said. “First, allow me to teleport you to Cleveland, where you can handle matters as you see fit. Or, second, go quietly to your father, agree to a marriage you don't want—to a person you hate—and then be transported to Cleveland several days later...after consummating the union, presumably.”
Eleanor mentally lurched in revulsion at the latter idea. Nickolas was less surprised, and more alarmed. “How do you know all this?”
Xik leaned back in his chair, continuing to ignore Nickolas, and took another sip of his drink. “I'd advise you to consider who is helping you further your goals, and who is ushering you toward your father for the sake of his own.”
Eleanor and Nickolas glanced at each other at the same time.
“Eleanor, don't!” Nickolas grabbed for her, but she danced out of reach—and he collapsed to the ground, his feet iced down into the carpet. She’d already frozen them while he was paying attention to Xik.
“Father sent you to lure me back, didn't he?” Eleanor said. The warmth she'd felt toward Nickolas for comforting her crumbled. The anger came in like a glacier, slow, but crushing. “I don't hate you, but I know you're my father's man when it counts. You said it yourself. You helped him win the succession.”
A flash of green fire melted Nickolas's shoes free from the ice. He lunged forward—only to smack into a translucent purple barrier that sprang up across the room. Nickolas stumbled back, a hand on his forehead.
He gave himself a shake, then tested the barrier with his fist. When that did nothing, he extended his palms. A beam of green-white fire leapt out. The flames rolled and sparked against the wall, but didn't leave so much as a mark.
Eleanor glanced at Xik, cocking an eyebrow. “Relax,” Xik said. “I won't hurt him.”
“Eleanor!” Nickolas's voice could still be heard; it sounded like he was behind a thick pane of glass. “I won't apologize for pushing you in the right direction!”
“So you admit it?” Eleanor said.
“I want you to be safe!” Nickolas stepped up to the purple wall. His features settled to their normal seriousness. “You don't understand the politics right now. Your father hasn't told you about the alliance between the southeast and the west coast. The main household took too many casualties in New York. The Dawn is on the verge of falling apart. Unless we secure your marriage—”
“If the Ivory Dawn can't come together without using me like a piece of meat,” Eleanor said, “then it deserves the consequences.”
Nickolas was stunned. “Elly...this is our people. Our way of life.”
“And what good has our way of life done me lately?!” Eleanor said. Her voice rose higher. “I was so blinded by my own arrogance I almost lost my sister. And before I had a chance to start over with her, she died! Rachel is dead, and not because of the Vorid—she died because of a weak, flimsy alliance between magicians that were blinded by the same arrogance I was! Another alliance isn't going to save us. Daniel was right. He was totally right about us. If the Vorid invasion has a silver lining, it'll be that the old elite that think they can steer the world from the shadows—people like my father—are going to receive serious instruction in hard life lessons!”
