Checkmate, p.17
Checkmate, page 17
Theo recoils. But the reaction only lasts half a second. He doesn’t have any more time to recover or reply, for at that very moment, Octavian sweeps into the tent.
“Theodori,” Octavian snarls. “We’re out of time.”
Octavian calls him Theodori, not Theo, Luka forces himself to take note for his country and certainly not for himself, though he cannot deny the glow of satisfaction as he hears this.
Theo snaps into attention. If not for the clear plumpness of his lips and the pink tinge to his cheeks, it would have been impossible to know what he was doing seconds before.
But Octavian is observant. He pauses, panting, eyes darting from Theo to Luka. “What were you two doing?”
“Lost our heads,” Theo explains, gesturing at the Ravage pieces Luka scattered. “We were taking a break.”
“Good,” Octavian says, marching toward Theo. “Because this is not time for games.” He pauses before Theo, his expression carefully crafted.
But Luka has dedicated all of his time in the past ten days to understanding these people, so he can read the minute expressions on Octavian’s face with ease: the man is afraid.
“Out of time?” Theo repeats as if finally registering the words. “What happened?”
Octavian’s eyes dart to Luka and then away again, clearly not wanting to speak in front of their resident Siacchian.
“Fine,” Theo hisses. He drags his second into the morning. “But next time you have such urgent news, summon me from outside of the tent. I don’t appreciate being ambushed.”
“Of course, Sevell Hunter,” Octavian says as they exit, closing the flap behind them. Their voices drop to levels that would be too low for normal human ears to make out, and never before has Luka been so grateful for his impyassus hearing.
“The Elders know about your little… prisoner,” Octavian whispers.
“What? How?” Shock colors Theo’s words.
“I’m… not sure. I’ve spoken to each who could have known. The Wolf’s Teeth used to kidnap the Siacchian have been put to death.”
“Good.” Theo’s words are so cold, Luka shivers. This is who Theo is: a monster. Someone who would revel in the death of others even if they let the slightest bit of information slip. Luka could never care for this man. He could never want to – to kiss him.
Do I care for him?
The question floats through Luka’s brain for only an instant before Luka swats it away. This is not the time for such thoughts – for such distractions.
“They think,” Octavian begins, speaking carefully. “They think the Siacchian might be your….” The next word is said so quietly, not even Luka’s keen ears can hear it.
“What?” Theodori hisses.
“They want him sent to Akull, and they want you to continue with the campaign.”
“That’s – that’s ridiculous! He’s human. We cannot form such bonds with humans.” Theo spits each word.
Realization dawns on Luka and he takes a step back. The word Octavian said must have been – mate.
It is impossible – right? Such a thing is unheard of. Mates are someone you are forever bonded with. Mates are the one person who is meant to be yours, no matter the circumstances.
But those circumstances have never extended across borders.
Or had they?
Once again, before the question can gain enough momentum, Luka forces it away. Mates are a concept that belongs to his younger self, to a boy on the verge of manhood who had thought he found his person, only to instead find heartbreak. He isn’t ready to do that again – ever – much less with a man as terrible and infuriating and sweet and wonderful as Theo.
“What led them to this brilliant conclusion?” Theo growls.
“They apparently know of the… conditions the Siacchian has been living under.”
“And what conditions are those?”
“That you share a bedroll. That you spend your days not leading your command, but instead hiding in your tent, playing a child’s game.”
“Ravage is hardly a child’s game, and my interrogation techniques have earned us plenty of fruitful knowledge.” Theo pauses, saying in a lower voice, “You have already taken out seven of their people with his information, have you not?”
Cold terror seizes Luka. That’s impossible.
“Seven of our enemies are dead, yes, but that knowledge has not won us Cesscounthe,” Octavian says.
Luka sinks to his knees, staring at his hands. Seven dead because of the information he shared. He might as well have taken their lives himself. Somehow, he forces himself to continue to listen.
“You realize what this means, Octavian.” Leaves crunch as Theo starts to pace. “There is a mole in our camp. Someone is leaking information back to them. Someone who we have trusted enough to allow them to witness this.”
“The Elders have many spies within our camp, Theodori –”
“But none that we were aware of were so close to me. How do I know that you haven’t been the one sharing this information with them?”
“Do not growl at me like that, Theodori,” Octavian says cooly. “What would I gain from betraying you like that? I need you here so I can be here. If you were removed from your seat of power, how would I accomplish my own goals? Think rationally.”
Theo releases a breath that sounds like a kettle filled with boiling water.
Octavian continues, “They have given you two weeks to breach the walls and prove your prisoner is not the distraction they believe him to be. After those fourteen days… they will send Commander Jennison.”
“Jennison? Jennison trained me. I know all his best teachings – he will never be better than me.”
“But he has experience where you don’t.”
“That’s only because he’s old enough to meet the Mother Wolf herself!”
“Theodori….”
Theo grumbles, his pacing increasing until he is practically running back and forth in front of his tent. As if realizing their voices have increased in volume, he says quietly, “Fine. Thank you for sharing this with me, Octavian. I will move forward with the next step.”
“So you’ve… you learned something that can be used against –”
“Yes. Not here.”
Luka stills as the silhouette of Theo’s head turns, almost as if the man is staring directly at him. His heart rattles. Surely Theo can’t know that Luka can hear them?
Theo continues, “Find me the one who shared this information with our Elders and bring them to me. I will move forward with the next stage in our plan. We’re taking Cesscounthe in the next ten days.”
“But we have fourteen –”
“And the last four will be spent in celebration of our monumental accomplishment.” Theo chuckles, and the noise is nothing like what Luka has heard during their games. Instead of sounding warm, it chills his blood.
“And the prisoner?” Octavian asks.
Theo pauses. After a beat he says in a determined voice, “I’ll deal with him.”
Luka steels himself as Octavian and Theo conclude their conversation. He carefully folds his fear, his anguish, and his guilt into a neat box, where he refuses to think about the seven dead (who were they? Did he know their families? Did he know them?). He imagines how he will fashion his mother’s cipher to explain this message, carefully arranging each piece in his mind. Once he has the message’s formation memorized, he rights the Ravage board. He strokes the pieces – black and blood-red, how appropriate for such savages.
Savages that kissed him.
His fingertips graze his lips as he briefly relives the moment. Never before had he experienced something so close to perfect.
Savages that have killed his people.
But those feelings he felt then were false. No, they weren’t feelings at all, but hormones mixed with longing and loneliness and lust, all turned into a perfect concoction that merely felt like love, but in reality was simply survival and terror.
Is simply survival and terror.
Luka freezes as the tent opens and Theo steps in alone. He catches a glimpse of Octavian hurrying across the camp, boots crunching across dying autumn grass.
Theo’s shoulders are braced as if approaching battle. He stares straight ahead for a moment too long before his eyes finally locate Luka. A tiny muscle relaxes around his eyes, almost as if he is relieved.
But Luka is sure he must be reading into things, for Theo quickly looks away.
“I need to use the latrine,” Luka says as Theo pointedly avoids eye contact.
“I’ll escort you,” Theo replies, words rocky. He opens the tent flap.
It’s impossible to make casual conversation as they cross to the same side of the camp Luka left the first message for his mother. Sweat gathers beneath Luka’s warm Kiteran cloak as they walk.
Theo doesn’t bother to bind Luka’s hands. “We can’t let my soldiers know you are our prisoner for your sake,” he explained. “Then they will think you a target – someone of import they use to fulfill their need for vengeance.”
Instead, Theo walks painfully close. Oftentimes, he would either sling his arm over Luka’s shoulder or hold his bicep in a way that was less prisoner and more lover. “It’s what my soldiers expect,” Theo explained the first time he had done it and Luka jumped away. After, Luka grew used to the little touches – he almost anticipated them.
Now though, they walk with distance between them.
They arrive at the latrine and Theo has the courtesy – and foolishness – to turn away as always. Luka does his business and scans the ground.
Every three days, he has left a new message for his mother, tucked at the weakest point of the camp where the walls are shortest. The location is one of the few her spies might have been able to safely locate.
Luka’s stomach sinks as his eyes spot what only he would be able to see; a twig left diagonal to a stone, a scattering of grasses covering them. Untouched, unlike the messages he left before.
“Sevell Hunter,” a Kiteran calls, approaching Theo. Luka jumps. Theo automatically steps in front of him, shielding Luka from the Kiteran’s eyes.
An opportunity like this won't present itself again.
Usually, Luka has to wait until nightfall to leave his messages, using the cover of darkness to avoid even the sharpest of impyassi eyes. But now, he can’t wait. Why is this message untouched?
He moves quickly, replacing his old message with the new. As he adjusts the rock, something glints from beneath it.
A sheet of paper.
Luka drops to one knee to feign adjusting his boot. He shuffles the paper to where he can unfold it without the Kiterans seeing.
The handwriting is familiar and it takes only half a heartbeat to realize why: it belongs to his mother.
Luka reads the words in a blink and then shoves the paper into his mouth, swallowing the evidence just as Theo turns.
“Ready?” Theo asks.
Luka nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“I’ll speak to you later,” Theo says to the soldier. “Have to deal with this little troublemaker for now.”
The soldier chuckles as Theo escorts Luka away. Thankfully, Theo has his back to Luka, so he won’t see the tears gathering Luka’s eyes or the raw terror Luka is unable to contain.
His mother’s message keeps running through his mind, the words so cold and so final.
We can’t come for you.
Chapter Twelve – Theo
“Perhaps this isn’t the best plan,” Octavian says. This is the fourth time he’s voiced his unease, and for the fourth time, Theo ignores him. Octavian sighs when he sees the set to Theo’s jaw, and pulls his hood to cover his face despite the sky’s lack of a moon. Their boots crunch across the frost-bitten ground.
It is the coldest night since the Kiterans first arrived outside Cesscounthe’s walls, nearly four weeks ago now, and Octavian’s breath fogs the air with each exhale. The guards lining their camp’s makeshift walls are still tense from the incident three evenings ago, which saw the Siacchians sending out their second wave of hopiar soldiers. Or, according to Evland Childes, a more accurate title would be hopiar slaves. It was easy enough for Theo’s well-trained soldiers to cut down the two dozen Siacchians, though they did so with looks of disgust.
“They didn’t need to die,” Theo said after the last man’s head was severed from his neck. His soldiers looked to him; they were only a month into the siege. They knew this might last for much longer.
But Theo needs to end things. The Elder’s deadline looms, only days away.
“We can get Siacchi’s walls open if we have the right leverage – like Council Member Dawls,” Theo replies to Octavian, trying to ignore the way the guilt in his stomach only grows heavier and fouler, like a festering wound in his gut. “Evland Childes shares things with me, but we need more than a few dead officials. This will be enough to crack him open completely.”
“I still don’t know how you could put so much faith in just him. He might know nothing of import, Theodori.”
“If he does not, then we now have two additional prisoners – isn’t that what you wanted, Octavian?”
Octavian’s wrinkled nose is only just visible. Ordinarily, Theo would chuckle at his second’s look of distaste, but he’s too distracted by thoughts of his prisoner. He left Evland Childes curled in his bedroll, hand tucked beneath his cheek, dark tendrils of hair splayed across his lips. Never before has Theo shared his bed with someone for so long and not been inside of them. Theo had brushed those locks away with unthinking hands, and Evland turned into the touch, lips parted.
Such a sight – such a hard thing to leave.
And an even harder thing to betray.
These past few days only led to the tension between them tightening. The kiss was never mentioned, of course, but Theo had found himself absently gazing at Evland’s lips when he was certain the other man wasn’t looking. Twice now, he has been caught.
And twice now, Evland looked away, cheeks colored, brows furrowed. The interest that had shone so brightly in his eyes extinguished, now lost to a snarl of conflicted emotions that Theo only recently came to understand: after Theo had spoken with Octavian outside the tent about the Elder’s imposed timeline, it became clear Evland’s opinion had soured.
It was as Theo suspected. Somehow, Evland had heard Octavian and Theo discussing their plans. It was a high price to pay to test such a measly theory – but Theo had done it intentionally.
Surely human ears wouldn’t be able to hear so keenly?
Which meant…
But Theo hadn’t even dared to think his theory and he was glad he hadn’t. In the days that followed, he tried to determine if his prisoner was a hidden hopiar.
But Evland had failed every test Theo had subtly put to him with flying colors; he had no superior reflexes (every time Theo tossed his lunch, pillow, or threw a Ravage piece at a speed only hopiar would be able to handle, Evland fumbled, no matter how off guard; he had no easily provokable wolf that would rise to the surface when poked or prodded, as Theo had learned during a late night of fierce name calling that nearly devolved into a second round of kisses; he even didn’t have a superior sense of smell: he hadn’t detected how foul the horse’s milk had turned before taking two deep sips of it).
Sure, these were all things that could be faked, but it would have been difficult for a man like Evland to keep up such an act for so long.
No, Theo is quite certain the man is human, and therefore absolutely not his mate.
Which means what he’s about to do – what he’s already done – isn’t something unforgivable. It’s something he has to do to win this battle – to win this war. To finally prove to the Elders he’s someone to trust with power.
Theo and Octavian draw to a halt outside the newly erected tent. It stands on the outskirts of the camp, kept isolated from the bustle.
“Are they awake yet?” Octavian asks one of the four guards posted.
The Kiteran woman shakes her head.
“Must be still shaking off the spirits,” Octavian says to Theo. Theo narrows his eyes at his second and waves a hand at the guard posted at the head of the tent. The man draws the flap aside. Before Theo enters, he exchanges a look with Octavian. He speaks in a voice so low, he is certain that even the guards across from him won’t be able to hear. “And the mercenaries who carried out this mission…?”
Octavian’s nod is the slightest dip of his chin. “Dealt with using monkshood.”
Theo smiles grimly. He will not have another leak take place, especially since only those who were well acquainted with Cesscounthe could have been used for this task, and mercenaries familiar with the inner city – so far removed from Kitera – cannot be trusted. He is only grateful that the mercenaries were able to snatch his new captives. For all that both are nobles, they spent an unusual time in the lower districts of Cesscounthe.
Theo can’t afford any mistakes. He has to hide his tactics from the Elders, who surely keep close tabs on his own movements. Avoiding their spies meant ensuring that the guards posted outside this tent are rotated on a regular basis and never told the truth about the people kept inside. This will narrow the pool of people aware of his decisions down to two: himself and Octavian.
If another information leak occurs, Theo will know where it came from.
Theo and Octavian enter the tent, both pausing as their eyes adjust to the flickering oil lamps.
There, crumpled on opposite ends of the tent, lie two bodies: one female, one male. Both unconscious and bound, left facing away from each other. The rest of the tent is barren but for a chamber pot.
Octavian’s breaths fog the air as he speaks, “Would you like me to watch them? I can alert you when they wake.” His eyes narrow as he shoots Theo a sideways glance. “That way you can get back to your prisoner.”
Theo shoves down the bile that rises in his throat at the thought of returning to Evland after witnessing first hand what he has done. Before he can reply, the female prisoner lets out a low moan, rolling onto her back.
