Checkmate, p.19
Checkmate, page 19
“Cowardice?” Evland cries.
“Yes. There is no other reason you would have avoided meeting me for that match I challenged you with, weeks ago. You knew you would lose then just as you know you will lose now. So keep quiet, and I’ll try to keep you alive.”
Evland’s lips part, but before he can speak, Theo waves his hand. Octavian must put more pressure on the Siacchian’s back, for Evland’s words emerge as a pained gasp.
“Linne Lockehart. Good. This is good,” Theo says. He looks at Octavian. “Take Evland Childes back to my tent and question him more on the matter. I will speak to these Siacchians here. For every misalignment of their story, we will take one of this one’s fingers.” He looks down at Evland Childes’ long, slender fingers, running his hand over the knife at his belt.
Evland shakes. “Please –”
“Understood,” Octavian says. He steps on Evland’s back as he moves to guide Luka from the tent. Luka tries desperately to meet Theo’s gaze – why would he split them like this – but Theo looks the other way.
Instead, Luka looks to Xyla. Xyla, whose eyes are wide and filled with a strange understanding. Xyla, who Luka needs to get out of here.
We will escape together, he thinks as he meets her gaze.
And suddenly, they click into alignment again. Just as it had been before, when Luka had thought them soul mates, Xyla understands his words without the need for vocalization. She nods.
Together, her gaze replies.
Luka shivers as Octavian guides him back to Theo’s tent. He glances at the man as they walk, sizing him up again. No, even though Octavian is one of the smallest of the Kiterans Luka has seen thus far, it will be impossible for Luka to overpower him with strength alone.
If only he had something more – if only he had an ally that would be willing to help them from the inside.
If only I had Theo.
Luka shakes his head. He can’t think about such things now, not when he needs to get his story straight. At least he has Xyla on his side. The thought warms his weak, aching heart ever so slightly, and surprise flashes through him. Before, having Xyla with him would have meant he felt like he could accomplish anything – beating a Kiteran army with Xyla as his ally would have been a bonding challenge.
But now… now he wishes instead that Theo hadn’t left his back turned to Luka. That Theo hadn’t betrayed his trust like this. That Theo hadn’t reminded Luka, painfully so, that they are enemies.
Octavian ushers Luka into Theo’s tent. The Kiteran looks around the outside before he joins Luka.
Luka blinks as Octavian glances over him, unsure how to interpret the way the Kiteran’s face has shifted from emotionless to tensed.
“Have you had sex with him?” Octavian asks.
“What?” Luka shouts.
Octavian winces. “Calm down. I asked you a simple question.”
“Is this part of the interrogation? Why would Theo want you to ask something like that? Have sex with who? My captor?”
Octavian scans Luka again, brow furrowing. “So he hasn’t sealed it yet, then,” he mutters, words too soft to be meant for anything other than his own ears.
“Why in the world would you ever want to know such a thing? Why would you even think something like that?” Luka is aware his voice is far too loud and painfully high-pitched, but he can’t seem to make himself any quieter.
Octavian glances around once again, looking toward the entrance of the tent. When Luka parts his lips to speak, Octavian hushes him, cupping his ear. After a long silence, the Kiteran presses a finger against his lips and says in a low voice, “If that’s the case, then we can speak freely, but not for long.”
When Luka only continues to blink in stunned silence, Octavian glares. “Come now, Siacchian. You’re supposed to be smart.”
“You’re Theo’s second. You… you don’t like me.”
“Of course I don’t like you,” Octavian says, wrinkling his nose. “And likely not for much longer.”
“What?”
“I don’t have time to explain now, but you’re going to have to trust me. All I can tell you is that I’ve allied myself with Linne Lockehart, and she wishes to recover both you and Evland Childes.”
“Evland Childes – w-what do you mean?”
Octavian’s narrowed eyes grow impossibly narrower. “I don’t have time for these games, Luka.”
Luka’s mouth goes dry at the sound of his name – his real name – on the Kiteran’s tongue. He struggles to sort through his thoughts. “I need some sort of proof that I can trust you,” he manages to say. That should buy him time.
Octavian closes his eyes. “Fine.” He reaches to his belt and pulls free a small sheathed blade the length of his finger. He hands the weapon to Luka and Luka accepts it automatically before realizing what rests in his hands.
“I-I can’t take this,” Luka says. The only reason he doesn’t immediately drop the weapon is because of the fierceness of Octavian’s glare. His stomach churns at the sensation of holding something that could hurt someone – something that could cause violence.
“You can and you will. You don’t even have to use it against anyone. Don’t think of it as a violent stabbing if you will, but a defensive stabbing. Surely your pacifist ways will allow for some defense.”
“Not at all.”
Octavian sighs and slides the sheath from the blade, revealing the gleaming metal beneath. Luka’s mouth goes dry as Octavian seizes Luka’s hand and raises it so Luka is holding the knife against the Kiteran’s throat.
“I would let you slit my throat with my own blade,” Octavian says without breaking eye contact. “I do not like you, Luka Lockehart, but I have a need for you – a use for you. And I think you can find a use for me, too.”
Octavian pulls too hard on Luka’s hand and the blade cuts, drawing a thin tear of blood down Octavian’s throat. The man doesn’t even blink.
“Haven’t you wondered why Theodori still believes you to be Evland Childes?” Octavian asks. “Who do you think has kept him in the dark about your identity after we kidnapped Xyla Mobiele and the real Evland Childes? It wasn’t easy to keep them quiet, you realize.”
Luka stares at Theo’s second. “How did you learn?”
“How do you think I captured Xyla Mobiele and Evland Childes? The Cesscounthe mercenaries had to know who they were hunting for.” Octavian’s lips curl into a smile. “And do you want to know where we found the man you’ve been masquerading as?”
Luka slowly shakes his head. Sweat slicks the knife in his hand. The blade quivers against Octavian’s throat, though the Kiteran hardly seems to care.
Octavian laughs. “In a hopiar whorehouse. Sweet Mother – he’s been stinking up the whole tent with the stench. And he calls us beasts.”
This is a trap, Luka thinks. But with what gain? Theo has already won. He already has all the insurance he needs. No, the real question here is: what does Octavian have to gain from turning against his leader who is about to overtake Siacchi’s capital?
Unless Octavian has already been promised a greater position of power.
“Linne Lockehart trusts you,” Luka says. “She has offered you something.” Though it is not a question, Octavian nods.
“Yes,” he says. “I told he we could rescue you – save Childes, too. She didn’t think I could do it.” He grins. “But I’ve always been smarter than Theodori.”
Allies in all sorts of places my ass, Luka thinks as he remembers his mother speaking of how she knew when the Kiterans were moving and how quickly. How long has she had this relationship?
Has Octavian been planning on betraying Theo this whole time?
The twist of anguish Luka feels at the thought is wrong. He squashes it and instead forces himself to meet Octavian’s gaze.
“I can trust you,” Luka says.
“Good,” Octavian replies. “Because I’m getting the three of you out of here tomorrow evening. We’re going to end this siege.”
Before Octavian turns to leave, he pauses, considering Luka. His gaze lingers for so long on Luka’s narrow shoulders, his thin arms – his chapped lips – that Luka shifts his weight, wondering if he’s failed some sort of test, until Octavian lunges forward and smashes his mouth against Luka’s.
The kiss lasts less than an instant before Octavian is pulling away, scowling.
Luka coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What was that?”
Octavian chuckles. “I just wanted to see why he’s so interested in you. I wondered if it was catching.”
Luka gapes at the man. “And?”
Octavian casts him one last disparaging look. “You’re not worth it.”
Chapter Fourteen – Theo
Dawn comes bloody when Theo goes to war. He stands before his gathered battalion, words of power bleeding from his lips. His people gaze at him, eyes blazing with determination – with blood lust. Weapons shake in their fists as they echo his cries, completely enraptured.
“For months now, we have stood before these walls,” Theo shouts. “And tonight – they will fall!”
“They will fall!” echoes his warriors.
Theo raises a fist to the air, and his soldiers mimic him, and, despite everything with Luka, his heart flutters with anticipation. This is where he belongs. Not with some Siacchian, but on the field of battle.
Theo’s mouth continues to speak as he looks above them, at the walls of Siacchi that have taunted them for a month now. Carvings of kings and Ravage pieces and foxes fleeing hunters look back.
Today, these walls will fall.
All the night before, he pored over his war map. He spoke with his people. He plotted, he schemed, he strategized.
And now he is ready.
The information from the prisoners is good; Evland’s words perfectly align with those of Theo’s new captives, for all that it took more days than Theo hoped to procure the information. Theo is confident in his victory – and not a second too soon, with the Elders’ imposed deadline looming a scant twenty-four hours away. If Theo does not send them the head of Cesscounthe’s leader by daybreak the following morning, he will be overthrown and stripped of his titles. He will lose everything.
But not this time. This time, Theo has won. He has no doubt.
No, daybreak will see him victorious. This time tomorrow, the battle will be won and Theo will be triumphant. He will finally be one step closer to the victory and power he has always dreamed of – of the power that might finally enable him to be strong enough to protect the ones he cares about – instead of endlessly hurting them.
He dispatches his troops.
The first will attack the walls – a distraction. A powerful distraction, of course; a threat is not a threat unless it is loaded with a real promise. They will bear weapons and bloodlust, and should they break through the walls, Theo will have to take lives he has sworn to leave untouched. But he’s prepared to take that risk.
His second group will sneak through the sole passageway Luka and his friends confirmed – the same tunnel Evland marked on his maps weeks before. Theo’s people will break into smaller parties, cutting through the Abraxi District, where Cesscounthe’s upper class reside. Theo’s new prisoner, Luka Lockehart, has been especially forthcoming, revealing further detail to Theo of the tunnel that the nobility built so they would have special means of escape – a tunnel that was forgotten by most in the centuries that followed.
“This way, we can avoid the Siacchian’s hopiar,” Octavian said, satisfied. “There will only be untrained upper class nobility in our way – and they never know how to get their hands dirty.”
Any guards that do confront them will be short-lived. Octavian will head the raiding party, and finally apply his favorite weapon, the Midnight Kiss, a poison that only he will carry an antidote for. “It will shorten bargaining,” Octavian said, “when Cesscounthe’s leaders learn their options are to forfeit or die.”
“I should be with you,” Theo said.
Octavian shook his head. “You need to be here with your people – and I know the city better because of my spies.” His finger worried the skull mask hanging from his waist. It was the standard uniform for all of his spies.
Theo kept his face expressionless as he considered his second. If Octavian saw even a flicker of hesitation, he would be disappointed that Theo didn’t trust him. But the success of his plan rode on Octavian’s shoulders.
Theo’s eyes search the crowd now, though it’s impossible to locate the man. Half a dozen snarling skull masks meet his gaze.
You made the right choice, Theo tells himself, and finds, to his surprise, he doesn’t doubt it.
This is, after all, the only way.
Octavian and his men will find the leaders of Cesscounthe – Linne Lockehart and all of her fellows. There, they will force them to surrender.
Once triumphant, Octavian will come for Theo through the tunnel, and Theo will be escorted into his city. He will claim the land for Kitera. Not only that… but he will also free these enslaved hopiar.
Luka Lockehart’s words from earlier echo through Theo’s mind; the way he had spat the word impyassus like it befouled his tongue. The look in his eye that was akin to hatred reserved for a stupid animal, not for a person.
Already, Theo has seen the refugees as they sneak through the cracks of the city’s walls. He has seen the desperation in their eyes – scented the brokenness of their spirits. These will be people who will have their lives bettered once Theo takes this city.
Yes, perhaps this victory will be even more than it seems. Perhaps Theo will not only add the mark of his win to the history books as a moment where he overtook Cesscounthe, but as a moment when he was able to save a people, too. He never dared to dream he would be capable of such a thing.
If he leaves his mind idle though, he finds his thoughts wandering back to thinking about what will come after the battle is finished… when the dust settles and Theo is left with three prisoners who know too much and who can’t be trusted to let go.
Who can’t be trusted to live.
Theo closes his eyes against the weak touch of dawn. He sends his first and second wave of soldiers away as morning is born. He watches the red rays fade to blue as the fall day grows only more beautiful.
Such a delightful color – almost the exact same shade as Evland Childes’ eyes.
Octavian has already been sent away with the second group of masked assassins, tasked to take down Cesscounthe’s leaders, and Theo reminds himself that this trust is hard-fought and well-earned. Octavian has done nothing but aid him. Yes, I must trust Octavian with everything, Theo tells himself, though some small part of him quakes at the thought.
Uncomfortable with his wavering beliefs, Theo casts back deeper, for a time when he was small. When he needed the help and advice of others.
He imagines he speaks to his proud mother and strong father. He crawls on his father’s knee and tugs on his beard as he confesses he is scared. He wants someone else to bear the burden of this decision.
But his memory has faded with time. Though he can perfectly remember the cadence of his father’s voice, his face is blurred as the man in Theo’s memory gazes down at him. “You always know the right thing to do, don’t you, Theo?” he says in a gentle, unironic timbre.
Theo shakes himself, barely pulling free of the memory.
His father was almost right.
Only once has Theo failed in making the wrong decision. Only once did he fail in battle, and the Snake of the South, the demon prince, made an example of him and thousands had been killed.
And amongst those thousands were his mother and father.
Theo will never make that mistake again. He will never allow his strategy to be led by his heart.
This is what Theo tells himself as he summons the final group of soldiers. When he speaks, his words sound distant, like someone else’s tongue is shaping them.
“Come nightfall,” he says. His voice, he realizes, sounds like his father’s, heavy and thick, though still never as wise. “Kill the prisoners.”
Theo imagines the Kiteran he speaks to blinks in surprise. He imagines she says, “All of them? Even the one you’ve kept for so long? The one who has slept by your side and woken with you in the morning? The one you have laughed with, dreamed with, played with? The one who finally calms the rage in your heart and makes you imagine peace?”
In his mind, Theo nods, setting his jaw. His words slice from his tongue like the executioner’s blade when he says, “Especially that one.”
Part Three
Chapter Fifteen – Luka
An hour before noon, a soldier wearing a snarling skull mask enters the tent, binds Luka’s wrists, and blindfolds him. When Luka protests, the soldier muffles his words with a hand. “I thought you decided to trust me?” Octavian’s voice brushes Luka’s ear as he forces Luka from the tent.
“Where are you taking me?” Luka hisses.
“I think you know where,” Octavian unhelpfully replies. Their boots crunch in unison across the frozen ground as Octavian guides a blinded Luka across the camp.
“I thought we were supposed to wait until evening?” a soldier asks as Octavian pushes Luka ahead.
“Plan has changed,” Octavian says, voice cast in an oddly gruff manner. “Don’t want to question Sevell Hunter’s orders.”
“Understood, sir,” the unfamiliar soldier replies, and Luka rolls his eyes, easily able to picture the Kiteran’s salute in response.
Luka struggles to keep track of their direction as Octavian pushes him through camp. His vision narrows to the tiny patch of land he can make out next to his right foot, and it is only the occasional splash of pale brown grass that helps ground him. Even with that guide, when they come stumbling to a halt, it still takes Luka an instant to realize where they are headed.
“You’re taking me –” Luka begins, but Octavian hushes him again as the gleam of daylight fades.
