Daggermouth, p.23
Daggermouth, page 23
“I manage public relations for the Heart,” she said, her voice taking on the practiced cadence she used for official functions. “Specifically, I oversee the media and the narrative regarding the Serel family and Heart governance. I determine what information reaches the Cardinal and Boundary, and how it’s presented.”
“So you’re the one who makes sure everyone in the rings gets a good view when your brother executes their friends on the live stream.” Shadera’s voice had gone flat, the brief moment of camaraderie evaporating.
Greyson stepped forward. “That’s not—”
“No, let me answer this,” Lira interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. She tuned, facing Shadera directly. “Yes. I am. I make sure everyone sees exactly what the Heart wants them to see. I craft the stories that keep people compliant, that justify the executions, that maintain the system.” Her voice was steady, unflinching. “I wasn’t born in the Boundary, with the luxury of open rebellion. I wasn’t born in the Cardinal. I was born here, in this prison—make no mistake it is a prison, luxurious as it is—where every step is watched and measured.”
Shadera’s expression remained hard, but she didn’t interrupt. Greyson still moved closer on instinct, preparing for her to attack.
“You think I don’t know what my father is?” Lira continued, something raw breaking through her polished exterior. “You think I don’t understand that the Heart is corrupt, that the system is broken? I’ve known it since I was old enough to recognize the fear in our maids’ eyes.”
She leaned on the counter closer to Shadera, her voice dropping lower.
“I do what I must to survive, just like you. The difference is that my survival doesn’t just depend on my own actions, but on my father’s perception of my loyalty. Do you think I’m safe because of my last name? Because of this?” She tapped a finger against her mask. “I could be on that platform tomorrow if I step out of line—if I speak against him. If I show an ounce of sympathy for the wrong cause.”
Greyson watched this exchange with growing unease. He’d never heard Lira speak so openly about her position, not even to him. There was a naked honesty in her words that made him acutely aware of how much she normally concealed, even from family.
“Why don’t you—” Shadera began.
“Why don’t I do something about it?” Lira finished for her. “Because I lack the power, the authority, the position. Because I am a woman in a system designed by men to keep power in their hands. Because every time I’ve tried to mitigate suffering, I’ve been reminded of my place.”
Lira reached up and touched her mask, a gesture that seemed unconscious, habitual. “This isn’t just a symbol of status. It’s a muzzle. A constant reminder that my face, my identity, my very existence belongs to the Heart first, to the Serel name second, and to me last.”
The silence that followed felt weighted, heavy with truths that were rarely spoken aloud in the Heart. Greyson held his breath as the two women reassessed each other, calculating where to go from here.
“I don’t like you,” Lira said bluntly to Shadera. “Your people killed my brother. But we share a common enemy, whether you recognize it or not.”
“Your father,” Shadera said, a statement rather than a question.
“Maximus Serel is a monster,” Lira confirmed, and Greyson felt a chill at the simple declaration. “And he’s using all of us as pieces in whatever game he’s playing. So perhaps we can set aside our mutual distaste long enough to ensure we all survive it.”
Silence fell over the kitchen. Shadera studied Lira for a long moment, her expression smooth, unreadable.
“You said there were other things you needed to talk about. What are they?” Shadera finally asked.
Lira glanced at Greyson, as if gaging his reaction before answering. “The Vow ceremony is in four days, tonight’s dinner is meant to test you. It’s for my father to see how far he can push you before you snap so he will know your limits publicly. Do not show him anything.” Greyson saw the nervous tic in her jaw before she spoke the next words. “You’re about to step into a world that is crueler than you could ever imagine. Talk to Greyson. Talk to each other. Make sure you understand what to expect so you are not blindsided.”
Shadera’s back straightened. “What do you mean?”
“You two need to talk, really talk.” Lira pushed away from the counter, lifting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll have appropriate clothing delivered before dinner.” She paused for only a beat, looking to Greyson. “Walk me out, brother?”
Greyson nodded once, escorting Lira toward the door without looking back at Shadera. He waited, biting his tongue until they had stepped outside the door and it closed behind him.
“Why would you say that to her?” he snapped, turning to Lira as they waited for the elevator. “Do you realize how angry she is going to be? And it’s not subtle anger, Li. It’s ‘slice my throat while I sleep and stab me in the heart’ kind of anger.”
Lira didn’t turn to look at him until the elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside. Greyson put his hand on the frame, forcing the doors to stay open until she gave him an answer.
“It doesn’t matter how much I hate her, Grey, she deserves to know what happens to the women here after the Vow and she needs to hear it coming from you. If you want her on our side, if you want her to trust us, you have to tell her. If you don’t, there will be no chance of her ever telling us anything.”
Greyson stared at her for a long moment. He knew she was right. Knew that the truth would be easier to swallow coming from him—but it was a truth he still hadn’t accepted himself. His hand fell from the doors’ pathway and Lira disappeared behind them as they swept shut. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, and for one breath he considered running.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THANK YOU
SHADERA STOOD BEFORE THE mirror, turning the mask in her hands. Beautiful and macabre. A Daggermouth symbol brought into the heart of her enemy’s world. She hated that she loved it.
Her fingers traced the contours of the cheekbones, the hollow of the eyes, the curve where the nose would be. It was exquisite craftsmanship, far more detailed than anything she’d expected them to give to her.
A gift. She’d never been given anything before. Everything in the Boundary always came at a price. She supposed that this would too.
“Fuck,” she muttered to her reflection.
In the Boundary, faces were weapons, identities were armor. To cover yourself was to admit fear, to tell the world that you were a coward. But here, in this prison, she had no choice.
She lifted it to her face, the cold material sending a shiver down her spine as it made contact with her skin. The weight of it surprised her—heavier than expected. The edges suctioned to her skin, holding it snuggly in place. It fit perfectly, but wearing any Heart mask felt like surrender. Foreign. Invasive. Like betrayal.
She didn’t bother looking at her reflection, not now. Not with what she would see staring back at her.
* * *
SHADERA ADJUSTED HER MASK for the third time as Chapman held the car door open, the black town car idling at the building’s private entrance. She caught her reflection in the car’s tinted window—death staring back at her, silver-traced and elegant. At least if she had to wear their mark, she would wear it as a threat.
Chapman had looked appropriately horrified when she’d emerged from her room wearing it, his eyes darting to Greyson as if expecting him to object. But Greyson had merely nodded once, something like satisfaction glinting in his eyes before he donned his own. A matched set of nightmares, ready for their public debut.
“It suits you,” Greyson said from behind his mask, the familiar obsidian hiding whatever expression might have accompanied the words as he gestured for her to enter first.
Shadera didn’t respond, just slid into the back seat, the leather cool and supple beneath her. Another luxury that made her skin crawl with the knowledge of what such excess cost the rings. She shifted to the far side, maintaining as much distance as possible between them as Greyson followed, settling into the seat beside her.
Chapman closed the door behind him, then took his place in the driver’s seat. He was a thin man but strong, older than she’d expected for a Heart servant, with methodical movements that spoke of military training. Cardinal born, Greyson had said. Not a slave. She wasn’t convinced there was a difference when it came to Heart service.
The partition between them and Chapman was half raised, creating an intimate bubble that felt suddenly too small for the two of them. Shadera felt her lungs constricting, her chest tightening.
Her eyes tracked their route as the car pulled away from the building, cataloging landmarks, intersections, security checkpoints. Three turns to the main boulevard. Four security checkpoints between here and the outer Heart perimeter. Two surveillance drone hubs visible on rooftops. All information she could use if—when—she found her chance to escape. Information Jaeger and Jameson could use to plan their next strikes.
The thought of Jameson sent a pang through her chest. He would be frantic by now, thinking her dead or worse. And here she sat, in a luxury car beside the Executioner, wearing a Heart mask like some prized pet. Shame burned hot beneath her skin.
“Where are we going?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Show nothing. Reveal nothing. Gather everything.
“The military district first,” Greyson answered, his attention on a tablet he’d brought. “Then the farming dome, security headquarters, and the Entertainment District. You should see what you’re up against before tonight.”
“You mean what I’m being forced to endorse.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone.
He looked up from the tablet, those blue eyes bright and unreadable behind his mask. “Yes.” The simple acknowledgment of truth surprised her. No justification, no Heart propaganda. Just recognition of her reality.
She inclined her head. “Practical of you to show your assassin exactly how well defended you are.”
A soft huff escaped him. “Consider it mutually beneficial. You get to satisfy your curiosity, and I get to impress upon you the futility of any thoughts of further assassination attempts.”
“Bold of you to assume that will stop me.”
She swore she saw a smile reach his eyes. “Bold of you to assume you’ll get another chance.”
They lapsed into silence, but it felt different from before—charged with something that didn’t quite feel so hostile.
Shadera turned to look out the window as the car wound through the Heart’s immaculate streets. Everything was pristine—the sidewalks spotless, the buildings gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Even the trees seemed perfectly shaped, not a leaf out of place. It was beautiful in a sterile, controlled way that made her stomach twist with anger.
People walked with unhurried steps, their faces hidden behind masks of varying designs, though none as provocative as hers. They wore clothes all similar to each other—elegant, understated, expensive. From a distance, they looked like figures in a simulation rather than real people. Perfect and empty.
“After tonight’s dinner,” Greyson said suddenly, breaking the silence, “we should discuss what Lira mentioned.”
Shadera turned back to him. “About what to expect?”
He nodded, his gloved fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knee. “There are aspects of Heart society, of the Vow ceremony you should be prepared for. Things that will be expected of you. Things you’ll see that…” He trailed off, jaw working beneath his mask. “Things that will be difficult… shocking for someone not raised here.”
Something in his tone made her study him more carefully. The rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hand had curled into a fist on his thigh, the slight increase in his breathing rate. Signs she’d been trained to read in targets before the kill—signs of fear, of distress.
“You don’t want to go to this dinner. You’re worried about it,” she realized aloud.
His head snapped toward her. “What makes you say that?”
“Your body is screaming it.” She gestured to his tense posture. “I’ve been reading people’s fear my entire life. It’s coming off you in waves.”
For a moment, she thought he might deny it, might retreat behind the cold facade he usually maintained. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping a fraction.
“I don’t,” he admitted, the words so quiet she almost didn’t catch them. “But the consequences of not going aren’t worth it.”
The admission shifted something between them—a crack in the perfect Executioner’s armor, a glimpse of the man beneath the monster. Shadera found herself wondering, not for the first time, who Greyson Serel might have been if he hadn’t been born into this family, if he hadn’t been shaped by the Heart’s poison.
“What happens at these dinners?” she asked, genuine curiosity replacing the tactical assessment she’d been conducting.
Greyson looked away, staring at the city passing outside the window. “Nothing good.”
The car slowed as they approached a checkpoint—the first of many, she guessed, based on the military presence ahead. Guards with pulse rifles stood at attention, their own masks more utilitarian than decorative.
“For now,” Greyson continued, straightening as they pulled to a stop, “remember that you’re no longer just Shadera Kael, a Daggermouth from the Boundary. As far as anyone knows, you’re my fiancée. My chosen partner. Try to act accordingly.”
“You want me to simper and hang on your every word?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
He actually chuckled at that, a small quirk of his lips visible at the corners of his eyes. “I’d like to see you try. No, just… don’t threaten to kill anyone in public. That should be sufficient.”
Despite herself, Shadera felt an answering smile tug at her lips. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
A guard approached their window, and Greyson rolled it down with a touch to a panel beside him. The guard’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Shadera’s mask but recovered quickly.
“Identification, sir?”
Greyson handed over a sleek black card. “Greyson Serel. Security clearance alpha-nine. And my fiancée, Shadera Kael. She’s been cleared by the patriarch himself.”
The guard scanned the card, then nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. We received the notification. You’re clear to proceed.”
Shadera’s brow furrowed as the window rolled up. “Maximus would never give me access to the Veyra base.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Greyson tilted his head, a smile in his voice. “But Callum would.”
As they drove through the gate, Shadera found herself studying Greyson again. There was more to him that she was starting to see—layers beneath the Executioner, the son, the Heart elite. A complexity she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge because it was easier to hate a simple monster than a complicated man.
“What?” he asked, apparently noticing her scrutiny.
“Nothing,” she replied, turning back to the window. “Just thinking that maybe we’re both prisoners here, in different ways.”
He didn’t answer, but she felt his gaze linger on her profile for a long moment before he too turned to look out at the Heart—the beautiful cage that held them both.
The car swept through three more checkpoints, each more heavily fortified than the last. At each stop, Greyson’s name opened gates like magic—no questions, no delays, no searches, just immediate compliance.
Power. This was what real power looked like, Shadera realized. Not the brutal strength she’d known in the Boundary, but this frictionless movement through a world designed to serve you.
The streets grew wider as they approached the military district. Buildings became more utilitarian, less ostentatious, though still bearing the Heart’s signature glass and platinum aesthetic. Veyra in black uniforms patrolled in precise formations, weapons visible but not drawn. A show of force, carefully choreographed to appear both casual and overwhelming.
Greyson pointed toward a massive complex surrounded by high walls. “The trading base. We maintain trade relations with the three other city-states there.”
Shadera absorbed this information, filing it away. Jameson had suspected other cities survived the collapse, but confirmation was valuable.
“What do you trade?” she asked, cataloging every detail—the number of Veyra per rotation, the access points that might be exploitable.
“Technology mostly, each city-state manages its own resources.” His voice took on a lecturing quality, as if reciting from a textbook. “New Found Haven is the largest of the three and its agricultural production is sufficient for our population, assuming proper rationing.”
“Proper rationing,” she repeated flatly. “Is that what you call starvation?”
“No. That’s what my father calls efficient resource management.”
The distinction was subtle but clear. Not we. He never said we when he spoke of the Heart, it was always ‘my father’. Shadera filed this away too, unsure what to make of it.
The car continued past the weapons manufacturing facilities, enormous complexes that hummed with activity even visible from the street. Workers moved with purpose, their masks marking them as Cardinal residents permitted temporary access to the Heart for labor. Greyson provided details about production capacity, distribution protocols, security measures—all information that would be invaluable to the resistance. She wondered if he realized what he was giving her, or if he believed her so thoroughly trapped that such knowledge posed no threat.
“The agricultural sector,” Greyson announced as they approached a series of massive glass domes that rose like bubbles from the immaculate Heart landscape.
Shadera’s breath caught in her throat.
“Stop the car.” The words came out almost frantic before she had a chance to steady her voice.
