Chapter Text
Paige opened one eye and peered at her surroundings. She was hardly unaccustomed to waking up in strange places, but even she was forced to do a double take as she looked at the heavy velvet drapes in the dim light. Where the hell was she? She propped herself up on one elbow and saw Warden sitting in the chair by the fire. Oh yeah.
He set down his goblet and looked at her. “It is late,” he said. “Or early, depending on your perspective. You have been asleep for several hours.”
She rubbed her eyes and ran her tongue over her teeth. They felt fuzzy. The rest of her didn’t feel much better. She had a headache and her overall distaste for what had transpired earlier left her feeling dirty.
“You are welcome to use the bathroom to freshen up if you wish,” he said.
Paige didn’t reply, but she sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. She was dressed only in a camisole and underwear.
“Your clothes were soaking wet,” Warden said. “Michael laundered them. They are at the foot of the bed.”
She looked at the foot of the bed, at the neat little pile of clothes. She resolutely avoided thinking about how and who removed the clothes. Mindful of her sore wrist, she tugged the sheet loose from the mattress, wrapping it around herself like a toga. She gathered up her clothes and headed for the bathroom.
She closed and locked the door, flipping on the light. The bathroom was as modern as the kitchen, all dark slate gray tile and minimalist fixtures. The faucet looked like a sculpture. She shook her head. Warden’s home was having an identity crisis. It couldn’t figure out if it belonged in 1860 or 2060. Though Paige had to admit that if a home was going to vacillate between the two periods, the plumbing was really where you wanted to go modern.
Having recently saved Warden’s life, Paige had no compunction about rooting around in his medicine cabinet. She found a bottle of mouthwash, staring at it. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine Warden using mouthwash, but whatever. She swished and spit. Her teeth felt marginally less gross. She also found a box of adhesive bandages, covered in a layer of dust. She knew they had to be older than she was, but she opened one and the glue was still tacky. It would do. She set it aside until after her shower.
The shower was a work of modern art, all impeccably laid gray tile, glass and chrome. There was a giant rainhead shower fixture. It reminded her of a fancy resort her father had taken her to once when she was fourteen, for a SciSORS convention he had to attend in Geneva.
Paige took her time in the shower, standing there and letting the water sluice over her. The water pressure was so much better than what she had in her crappy little flat. She studied Warden’s toiletries, once again shocked by the idea of him actually using toiletries. When she thought about it, she guessed it made sense. Rephs were of the veil, but they weren’t magically dirt and grime repellent, as far as she knew. If they wanted clean hair, they probably needed to wash it. It was a nice brand of shampoo, but nothing she hadn’t seen before. You could pick it up in any high street store. She assumed Michael must be the one who bought it. She could not, not matter how hard she tried, imagine Warden shopping for shampoo.
Paige dried herself off with a towel. It was really nice, soft and very thick, big enough to completely wrap herself up in. She had to admit that spending quality time in Warden’s bathroom tended to remove some of the Rephaite mystique. He liked soft towels, mint mouthwash and sandalwood scented shampoo. Creature comforts. Everyone had them, apparently even the Rephaim. It was an odd discovery.
Finally dressed again, her wrist bandaged, Paige exited the bathroom. Warden was where she had left him, sitting before the fire, wine and book in hand. Paige watched him, aware of her wet hair dampening the back of her shirt. Her hair was going to get really interesting in about an hour when it started to dry. She wished she had an extra hairpins with her.
Warden set down the book and leaned forward in his chair, watching her, his goblet of wine trapped between the tips of his fingers. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For your assistance.”
She nodded. She still wasn’t sure why she’d gone to the lengths she did to save him. Maybe if she’d waited, Michael would have gotten there in time. Maybe. Then again, maybe she and Michael would be at the mercy of new Reph keepers. That wasn’t a pleasant thought.
“How is your wrist?” he asked.
Instinctively, she covered her wrist with her other hand. “It’s fine,” she said. And it was. She doubted it would scar. It seemed incongruous after all the drama of the evening that there was nothing to show for it except for a couple of bandages. Warden looked fully recovered and Paige would need anti-bacterial ointment for a day or two.
“I know we discussed this earlier,” Warden said, “but I must stress that it is vitally important that what happened here tonight does not go beyond those who already know.”
Paige took several steps closer to him, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at his seated form. “Why?”
He looked away, setting down the goblet of wine. “Like you,” he said, “I am not always free to do what I choose.”
She snorted. “What? Someone owns you too?”
He looked at her, unblinking. “In a manner of speaking, yes. And she would be most displeased to learn what happened here tonight.”
There was something in his tone that sent chills down Paige’s spine. Rephs didn’t hunt the Emim. That was always a task left to the Red Guard. But as far as she knew, they weren’t forbidden from it. But the way Warden was talking, it sounded like someone had declared the Emim off limits for him.
Who or what had the power to command Arcturus Mesarthim? “She?” Paige asked, unsure she wanted the answer.
Warden sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath as he studied Paige. “Nashira Sargas,” he finally said.
Paige could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Nashira Sargas. Nashira Sargas commanded him? Nashira Sargas was the name voyant parents whispered to their disobedient children to keep them in line. She was power, brutality and horror all wrapped up in one aesthetically perfect form. Gomeisa Sargas was the public face of the Rephaim, but everyone knew Nashira was the real power behind the Sargas dynasty. Paige had always known Warden was allied with Gomeisa and Kraz. However, she had never considered that he might have a relationship to Nashira, who, as far as Paige knew, spent most of her time outside of London.
Paige opened her mouth to speak, but it took several tries before she could form the words. “Why would Nashira Sargas care?”
“Because I am her consort,” Warden replied.
Paige blinked. Consort. Betrothed. Fiance. Warden was the blood-consort of the Sargas sovereign? What the fuck? She shook her head. “How is that possible?” she demanded. Surely if that were true Jaxon’s research would have turned up at least a hint of it.
Warden watched her. “Some knowledge is for the Rephaim alone,” he said. “And therefore, closely guarded.”
Paige was going to need another shower. Or a coffin. If there was even enough left to bury once Nashira was done with her. Paige had been asleep in the bed of Nashira Sargas’s consort. As far as bad ideas went, that had to rank up there with a wintertime invasion of Russia.
“Paige, I do not tell you this to upset you,” he said.
“Upset me?” she said, her voice edged with hysteria. “I know what Nashira Sargas does to people like me. I have no intention of ending up with my face cast in a death mask for her wall. You don’t think you could have mentioned sometime in the last decade that she’s your betrothed?” Paige was shaking.
“You are my pledge,” Warden said calmly. “Nashira is aware of this fact. Your presence in my life and in my home is not unexpected.”
“And in your bed?” Paige demanded.
He frowned. Exactly. Paige knew without asking that Nashira Sargas did not share.
“You ass,” Paige swore, wishing like hell she knew some curse words in gloss. Something really foul. About his mother. If he had one. He probably didn't. He'd probably been hatched somewhere. “After everything I did for you tonight, this is how you repay me? By putting me in a position to catch Nashira Sargas’s attention?”
He watched her for a long moment. “You have already captured Nashira’s attention. That is what I am trying to tell you.”
“Fuck you!” Paige cursed, adrenalin coursing through her veins. She didn’t wait for a reply, she turned and ran. Warden didn’t follow, but Paige didn’t stop running until she was four blocks from his residence, and heavily winded. She left her bag in his room. Fuck.
She stood there under a street lamp, staring at nothing. She didn’t have any money or her mobile. She had no keys, no datapad. She groaned.
She heard steps approaching and turned, watching Michael jog up to her. He handed Paige her bag and then turned back the way he came. She stared at the bag. Fuck.
Soothsayers often said Nick reminded them of snow. But looking at his face, Paige wondered what was paler than snow. She felt bad, seeing the anguish on his features. It mirrored what she felt inside, the acidic mixture of terror, anger and helplessness. She knew that Warden would not be happy she was telling Nick about Nashira, but Warden could go fuck himself. Paige couldn’t imagine trying to process something of this magnitude without Nick.
“Nashira Sargas,” he said quietly.
Paige nodded, flopping back on her bed. She’d called Nick on her way home and he’d met her at her flat with some much needed coffee. As it turned out, once she started recounting the events of her evening, neither of them had touched the coffee. It was stone cold.
“Sotnos,” Nick said, grasping her hand. He collapsed onto the bed next to her and they both stared blindly up at her cracked plaster ceiling. “What does that even mean that you’ve attracted Nashira’s attention?”
“I don’t know,” Paige said. “Nothing good. It can’t possibly mean anything good.” She felt trapped in a way she had never experienced. More trapped than when Warden claimed her. More trapped than when her father refused to pay for her flat when she told him she wasn’t attending USL. Nashira Sargas’s reach transcended borders. It transcended worlds. Where could Paige possibly hope to hide from her, especially considering she was bound to Nashira’s consort?
“You’ve got to tell Jaxon.”
Paige turned her head and looked at him. “I can’t tell Jaxon,” she said. “He still doesn’t know I’ve seen Warden.” And while that wasn’t really Jaxon’s business, she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. And she didn’t want to hear about it.
She glanced at Nick’s puzzled expression. “Arcturus”, she clarified. “Ceremonial title.” She sighed. “Besides, what could Jax do about it? There’s nothing he can do. Not him, not anyone in the resistance. This isn’t a Reph we’re talking about. It’s Nashira fucking Sargas.”
“The resistance could get you out of the country,” Nick said.
“To where?” Paige asked glumly. “Scion controls half of Europe and has outposts in a dozen other countries. They have extradition treaties with most of the free world. Where could I run, even if I could manage to get out of England?”
“You’d rather just sit here and wait for Nashira to do something?” Nick demanded.
Paige groaned, curling into a fetal ball. Of course she wanted to run. Her fight or flight reflex had been in high gear for the last four hours. But running would most likely be a waste of time and precious resources.
“Ognena Maria has connections in Eastern Europe,” Nick said. “She can get you out. It won’t be easy, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting here waiting.”
She shook her head. Warden hadn’t been forced into telling Paige about Nashira last night. He chose to tell Paige. She felt like that meant something. She just wasn’t sure what. And it was Warden to whom Paige was bound, not Nashira. Warden had been Paige’s keeper for the last decade and she had never once seen Nashira. Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. “You know, maybe this is a good thing,” Paige said dully. “Maybe this is the break the resistance has been waiting for.”
“How?” Nick asked incredulously.
“We’ve always know that we have to strike at the Archon. And for that, we need access. We’ve been looking for a way to get close to the Sargas for years. Maybe this is our chance. My keeper is the blood-consort. I don’t imagine it’s possible to get much more access than that.”
Nick looked at her and Paige knew he wanted to argue, but she had a point. The resistance had some powerful voyants, from old English lineages. But almost none of them were bound to Rephs. Paige was the only member of the resistance bound to a Rephaite in the Sargas inner circle. She’d always known it was one of the primary reasons Jaxon had put so much effort into recruiting her. That, and her gift. Though apparently Jaxon wasn’t the only one who had noticed.
“She’s going to kill me,” Paige said quietly. “That’s what Nashira Sargas does to powerful voyants. She’s going to murder me and bind me to her forever.”
“You don’t know that,” Nick said, holding her hand tighter.
“Yes, I do,” Paige said. “You know it too.”
Paige didn’t return to Warden’s residence that night, or the next night. The cut on the inside of her left wrist slowly started to heal. Nick was still upset, and for that, Paige felt bad. But she just couldn’t immerse herself in fruitless worrying about Nashira. She couldn’t live like that.
Much to Nick’s irritation, Paige met up with Liss in a flash house in one of the sketchier parts of the citadel. Most voyants tended to have money and power, but not all. Some voyants chose to live outside of Scion’s system, to keep their gifts all to themselves, rather than tithing as required. It created its own sort of shadow culture.
The flash house was a mixed population of voyants and amaurotics. There weren’t many places in the citadel where the two populations could mix so openly, but even here, it was clear that the amaurotics were at the bottom of the social ladder.
The flash house didn’t serve floxy, only alcohol, in solidarity with the voyant slumlords who refused to abide by Scion’s restrictions. Paige wanted to get blind drunk and find some amaurotic company, but she settled for nursing a gin and tonic.
Liss looked awful, as usual. Paige had been shocked that Liss was able to get away. Apparently Gomeisa was otherwise occupied with running the country and too busy to take out his frustrations on Liss. There was a particularly nasty bruise along the left side of Liss’s jaw. It appeared to be several days old. Paige looked at it and frowned. Liss ducked her head. “He didn’t like the deck.”
“Blaming the messenger,” Paige said sourly.
“Always,” Liss replied, finishing the last of her glass of wine in a single swallow. Paige knew that Gomeisa would be irate if he found out Liss had been poisoning herself with alcohol. But she also understood Liss’s need to defy him, no matter how self-destructive it was.
“He hits you,” Paige said, unable to look at Liss. “Doe he ever do ... other things?”
“What?” Liss said, snorting, signally the bartender for another glass. “Like shag me?”
Paige nodded, meeting Liss’s gaze.
“No,” she said. “Thank the aether. He settles for beating the shit out of me and feeding on my gift. I don’t think he has much interest in pursuits of the flesh. And he sure as hell doesn’t want any offspring from me.”
Paige’s brow furrowed as she looked at Liss. For all of Paige’s first hand knowledge of debauchery, she felt incredibly naive. She’d assumed that the Rephaim wanted offspring, as a way to amass more power, especially the Sargas. But Warden had disabused her of that notion, and now Liss as well.
“Why not?” Paige asked.
Liss took a drink of her new glass of wine. “He already has one, for starters,” Liss said. “And while the Sargas-kin do help him amass power, give him a deeper well from which to draw, it also means he has to share that power. Gomeisa doesn’t like to share anything.”
That, Paige had no trouble believing. She took another sip of her drink. “Does Gomeisa ever mention any of the other Sargas?”
Liss shrugged. “Not really. Thuban and Kraz are at the residence infrequently. I don’t know that Gomeisa has much use for them.”
“And for the other blood-sovereign?”
Liss arched an eyebrow. “Nashira?” she asked. “He doesn’t say much anything about her in front of me, but he’s careful around her. Far more careful than he is with Thuban or Kraz.”
“Do you think he’s scared of her?” Paige asked.
Liss frowned. “I’m not sure scared is the right word. Respectful. They are both Sargas, so they have a vested interest in each other’s survival. He occasionally defers to her. She’s the only Rephaite I’ve ever seen him defer to.”
Paige stared into her drink. What the fuck was she going to do? If even Gomeisa was careful around Nashira, what chance did Paige have? On second thought, getting really drunk sounded like a great idea. She tossed back the rest of her gin and tonic in a single gulp and signaled for the bartender.
END CHAPTER