Checkmate, p.4
Checkmate, page 4
“Jordiar!” a voice cries from behind Theo – Elliah. “Please – stop!”
“It’s pointless, child,” Commander Jennison chides as the two rush from the tent. “She is lost to the connubial rage.”
“But –”
“We need to subdue her.” The old man’s gaze shifts to Theo.
Say no more.
The wolf is always there for Theo, waiting just beneath his skin. He needs to only pull away his loose robes and reach for it, to skim the surface of his anger, his fear, his sadness – and then his bones crack and his skin splits and the beast bursts free.
Jordiar roars at the sight, charging through the woman holding the staff to reach Theo. But she is too slow.
Things move differently when Theo and the wolf are finally one – when he sees things through human eyes, he always feels too slow, too weak. But finally clothed in his fur and teeth, he knows he can do anything. Defeat anyone.
With a snarl, Theo bowls into Jordiar. In wolf form, she is two times his human size – but changed now, Theo easily overtakes her.
Jordiar yelps as Theo pins her, his jaws falling open. His teeth sink into Jordiar’s thick throat, digging past the robes bunched there, just deep enough he can taste her flesh. Theo growls deeply, the sound reverberating through his chest.
The blind rage snaps from Jordiar’s eyes as she remembers that she is not the only hopiar – the only descendant from the Great Mother – as she is forced from predator to prey.
Dimly, Theo realizes the vibration on his tongue is Jordiar’s quiet, puppy-like whines.
“Release her, Wolf-Born.”
Theo is unable to resist a snarl at the command. He snaps in the direction of the order, and a human hand lands on his muzzle.
Commander Jennison stares up at him, body pathetically small in the eyes of Theo’s wolf form. For half a thundering heartbeat, Theo allows the beast to run wild through his thoughts as he considers – I could kill him in a single bite. Jordiar is already beaten – then I cut through the Elders, and I will finally prove myself to all of them –
“Wolf-Born,” Commander Jennison says, growl sinking into his voice. He is a simple human, so his eyes do not flicker as a hopiar’s would, but he manages to sound beastly all the same.
Jordiar whines again, high pitched and pathetic.
Theo reaches for the anger and tugs it away. The wolf roars disapproval, but he’s well-practiced with this. He exhales long and hard, and the fur creeps away, revealing his pale human flesh.
Seconds later, he stands above Jordiar. His furs, bunched around his neck during the change, fall over his chest, leaving his bottom half exposed. Cold slaps him, but Theo refuses to react.
“Well done,” Commander Jennison murmurs in a voice too low for human ears to hear.
Theo glances at him – and then back to the Elder’s Compound.
Gilianna, Hessifer, and the other five members of the council curve around a wide-eyed Elliah. Elliah presses her hands to her face, cheeks wet with tears. The Elders have drawn their furs tight against the afternoon wind, faces pinched with the cold. Their gazes flicker back and forth between Jordiar and Theo.
They are not their only audience. Other Kiterans have emerged from their tents to gape. No – not gape.
To stare in disapproval.
The connubial rage is not unheard of, but it is uncommon. Rarely, soon after mating, the wolf becomes sensitive to any perceived threats to its mate. Punishment for those who lose control always varies, but, judging by the hard looks cast toward Jordiar, she will not be let off lightly.
“Change back,” Theo orders Jordiar, stepping away from her.
Jordiar does not hesitate. With a crunch of bones and a snap of flesh, she curls on the leaves and frozen grass, covered in goosebumps. Her long brown hair falls to her waist, tangled with debris, and her cheeks are rosy with blood.
“Rise. Face the Elders,” Theo orders.
Jordiar clammers to her feet, head lowered. Her eyes flicker to Elliah, and a relieved grin cuts through the fear on her face.
Theo resists the urge to shift uncomfortably at the sight; there’s nothing that disturbs him more than the presence of a mated pair. Doesn’t she realize the weakness she has just exposed not only to Theo – but all these people she hurt here? All Theo must do to cut through her now is get to Elliah first.
This is why I will never mate anyone.
“My sincerest apologies,” Jordiar says to the Elders, head still bowed.
“Mistakes were made today,” Theo says when Jordiar falls awkwardly silent. “But no lives were lost. Jordiar Fletcher will seek forgiveness in any way those injured deem fit. That seems a worthy enough reprimand, no?”
The crowd murmurs, but heads dip in agreement. Jordiar first tenses at his words – they are the same rank, but he speaks of her as if she is his subordinate – but when she sees the crowd’s opinion change, she relaxes.
“Yes, they will live,” Gilianna says, gaze skimming the injured. “That’s right… your mating bond is still new, isn’t it, Sevell Jordiar Fletcher?”
“That’s correct, Vell Scholar.”
Gilianna offers a smile that looks at odds with the tension in her neck. “How lovely to see the pair of you. I look forward to Elliah remaining in the capital.”
The muscles in Jordiar’s jaws flex. “As do I.”
“Delightful.” Gilianna’s gaze flickers to Commander Jennison and Theo. She purses her lips. “However – we cannot send such a newly bonded pair into the front. Your wolf will not handle the separation well, and I would hate to put either of you through unnecessary suffering – especially with you being so sensitive to the connubial rage.” Gilianna curls her fingers in the tiniest of waves. “Wolf-Born. Approach.”
Theo does as ordered, standing before the Elders, willing the goosebumps from his flesh. A cruel breeze brushes a strand of blond hair over his shoulder. He towers over them, so it makes sense when they gesture for him to kneel.
“Sevell Wolf-Born, Kitera calls for you,” Gilianna begins, and Theo is grateful that his head is bowed so the Elders cannot see the victorious smile blade-like on his face. How nice of this crowd to watch, to bear witness to his victory. “Will you answer the cry of war? Will you lead our troops into victory? Will you expand our empire for the good of our people?”
Theo raises his head, teeth bared – triumphant. “I promise – I will do all that and more, Vell Elders. I will destroy them all. I will go to Cesscounthe and return only when their rulers are in pieces.”
Chapter Three – Luka
The sun casts long shadows over Cesscounthe as Luka hurries home.
Autumn afternoons in Cesscounthe fade quickly to evening, and Luka needs to be back by dinnertime. His mother will be disappointed that he hasn’t stayed in the competitor’s apartments, but he has already dealt with his defeated opponent (thoroughly) and the thought of spending another night in that glass box, tucked against the naked stars, brings bile to the back of his throat.
So instead, Luka dodges paper-runners and ducks his head, skipping past the bustling markets and the glowing lanterns of the spices district, ignoring the beckoning call of peppermint and instead taking the back alleyways. Here, the cobblestone juts, tooth-like, sprigs of wildflower and dandelion cutting through the early autumn chill, barely lit by the glow of residential apartments and flickering sconces.
Luka stumbles twice, half-blinded by the hood of his cloak, but he needs the anonymity. It’s such a relief to be out of the unfamiliar heat of the spotlight – his mother has surely received her needed fame for the day. Now Luka can retreat into the life he once had, like a snake returning to shed skin; it might not fit quite right anymore, but it feels so much like home, he doesn’t care.
By the time Luka crosses the primary shopping plaza and reaches the Abraxi District, the noble residential quarter, it’s nearly dark and he’s nearly late. The newly instated curfew draws tight like a noose. He finds himself outside the gates of the Lockehart compound panting, sweat gathering at the back of his neck beneath his velvet cloak. He crunches across fallen leaves as he takes the hidden side door. No need to make a grand entrance.
The Lockehart compound matches its neighbors – enormous, often cold, and bone-white, there are no distinguishing features to set it apart from the other residences in Abraxi beyond the emblem carved on its white beech doors: a clenched hand wielding a long tooth. It is the only sign that remains of the Lockehart’s legacy, a legacy Luka knows his family would much rather live without.
And if not for Luka, centuries more might have passed before the Lockehart family had to be reminded of their roots. If not for Luka, his family wouldn’t have to worry about sideways glances from the neighbors and whispered rumors – rumors that chased him through his childhood, rumors that saw to locking him away until he was finally fit to be seen.
Things would be much easier without Luka – which is why he needs to win this tournament.
Luka shakes himself as he enters the courtyard. It’s dimly lit by lanterns and heavily shadowed by perfectly groomed maples and crape myrtles. Fallen flowers line the manicured cobblestone, sparks of pink and red against the white. This had been his favorite place as a child – right there, next to the tiny pond, where the gurgle of water and the bubble of the scarlet koi had been his only companions beyond the warmed wood of his Cesse set.
“Framellio!” a high-pitched voice cries, and Luka’s head snaps up.
His heart warms and an almost painful smile stretches his cheeks – all lessons from his tutors on emotional control forgotten – as Cassian rushes from the house.
Small for his age and always laughing, Cassian looks more like their mother than he does their father; his dark hair spirals in tight curls, his eyes a deep brown. Even his skin, pale in the winter, freckles in the summer, same as Linne.
He runs to Luka, wrapping his arms around Luka’s leg and pressing his face against the soft leather. “Framellio – we didn’t know you were coming home today!”
Luka hefts his brother up with a grunt, holding him close and breathing him in – honeydew from an early stolen dessert and sage from the Cesse room. Cassian has been practicing.
“Have you gotten even bigger?” Luka asks as he tosses a squealing Cassian about. His brother writhes, wiggly as a snake, in reply.
“Luka.”
His mother’s voice is always a cold slap of reality.
Linne stands in the doorway, backlit by the dining room, face cast in grim shadow. The sweet smell of roasted pork and the bitter of freshly picked herbs sweeps around her, drawing a growl from Luka’s stomach.
Luka places his brother down and Cassian giggles, wrapping himself around Luka’s leg. “Carry me!” he chimes when Luka tries to take a step forward.
“Cassian, you’re too old for that,” Linne chides, crossing her arms. “Go inside. You’ll need to wash up.”
“Again? But –”
“Cassian.”
His mother only needs to repeat their names with a sterner cast to her voice to receive obedience. Cassian untangles himself, leaving Luka to stagger for balance, and rushes up the bamboo steps. Linne catches him at the doorway, straightening his hair and adjusting his shirt before shooing him in.
“You’re back early,” she says to Luka.
“I got you your headlines.”
“I heard. A match at midnight? With this curfew in place? I told you victories and winning smiles, Luka, not dangerous controversy.”
Luka clenches his jaw. “Actually,” he begins, but Linne’s eyes flash and the words tangle in his throat. He bows his head. “I just wanted some dinner, Mother.”
“Is that Luka?”
Luka’s father, Carlo, pokes his head around Linne, brown hair falling across his forehead. His warm blue eyes brighten. “You’re home!”
“Yes,” Linne says. “He’s home. And the tournament isn’t over.”
“Come now, Linne,” Carlo says. “Surely he could come in for a meal? Maybe stay for a bit?”
A breath hisses from Linne’s clenched teeth before she spins in her soft house shoes. “Oh, you boys,” she says as she pads inside. “I swear, I'll let you get away with anything.”
Carlo rolls his eyes and beckons Luka in, smiling widely. “It’s good to have you home for the evening, figilo.”
“And the night. I don’t like sleeping in that room.” Luka wrinkles his nose, climbing the steps and entering the house.
The Lockehart compound is the same as always: white, chilly, and painfully clean. The oak dining table stretches to cover much of the room, made larger by the lack of plates on it. Three spots have been made – though their household’s Aiutani, Mina, rushes to pull up a chair and meal as Luka enters, her eyes downcast as she lays the silverware. At the head of the room, Carlo’s automated hunting fuille hangs over the empty fireplace, muzzle gleaming in the gaslights. Luka perches at the threshold before tentatively stepping inside, sliding off his boots.
Carlo laughs, the sound jolly and warm. He pulls Luka into a one-armed embrace, smelling sharply of chemicals and faintly of blood – his familiar doctor smell. He adjusts his spectacles as he draws away.
“You’ve done marvelously so far, figilo,” he says. “We’re very proud of you.”
Both of you? Luka’s eyes flicker to his mother as she lowers herself primly into her chair, adjusting the long white sleeves of her blouse. Even in the late evening, she looks put together enough to face the Council; her curls have been cut to frame her face in a dark halo, her deep brown eyes outlined in kohl, making them appear otherworldly. Her lips, a brilliant red, curl as she catches his eye. Even her freckles have been dusted away beneath makeup, leaving a flawless white canvas behind.
“Well, aren’t you going to wash up?” she asks. “Some of us are hungry.”
Luka and his father do as told, and together with Cassian, all sit at the four ends of the table.
The sounds of chewing and swallowing are only allowed to be broken by Linne, so Luka avoids eye contact with his brother, who will surely burst into questions about the tournament if they so much as look at each other, and instead focuses on the perfectly spiced food. The pork is spicy and the salad bitter with a hint of sweet from the autumn apples, crunching with each bite.
Linne waves Mina over a few bites in, requesting black olives and the late summer strawberries. Cassian wrinkles his nose and trades grossed out looks with Luka, who barely manages to smother his laughter.
Finally, Linne says, dabbing at her face with a napkin, “The Kiterans are having a new soldier head their attacks.”
“Really?” Carlo replies. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh.” Linne flaps her hand dismissively. “Here and there. That doesn’t matter. Their new leader – he’s supposedly been hand-picked for their new attacks on Siacchi – is said to be more beast than man. The Wolf-Born, I believe he’s called.” She cuts into her meat with a deft hand, the juices spilling across her plate. “Ruthless, apparently. He sliced through our bordering villages and left them to bleed. Siacchi has never experienced such… such violence before.”
Cassian pales. “But we’ll be safe, right?”
Linne shakes her head, a rueful laugh escaping her. “Safe? No. There's a reason why these Kiterans have made it this far. Their leaders are not only ruthless, but also smart, despite their brutality.”
“That’s impossible,” Luka scoffs. “They have no control.”
Linne’s eyes flicker to his. “Even the beasts can learn a few tricks,” she says. Luka swallows harshly and looks away.
Linne continues, “I’ve heard they are cutting directly toward Cesscounthe. They know we are the jewel of this country – the brain, to be more apt. Capture the leaders and break us… Well, then the Kiterans could use our intellect to take control of the other nations. With our intelligence and their brute strength combined, the southern nation – even the eastern kingdoms across the water – wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“But – but we have our walls,” Cassian says, eyes darting between his parents. “They won’t be able to break through – right? We haven’t been attacked in… uh… a cen-centuries.”
When Cassian speaks, it isn’t his voice that Luka hears, but their tutors speaking through him.
“We haven’t been breached in a hundred and thirty-one years, Cassian, and that is only because our enemies have not learned of the ancient tunnels beneath our city,” Linne corrects, scowling. “Hide that fear of yours, son, it will get you nothing.”
Cassian shrinks. Luka grits his teeth, saying, “Mother, they would perish in the tunnels without a guide and die before they manage to breach. We have the Aiutani – our impyassi – to uphold our non-violence pact, do we not? We would use them to defend us.”
Mina, standing with her back to the wall, pales. Luka tries not to look at her – tries not to think that she might be able to use her own beastly powers to smell the monster inside him.
Linne turns up her nose. “Do you think our country has the wherewithal to train all of those that failed the Bombani Exam how to fight in addition to how to clean? They already struggle enough with the latter. We will have to make do with the few guards we have. It’s not like the impyassi pick up things quickly.”
“Linne,” Carlo says. “Perhaps you should tell the children where you’re going with this.”
“Oh, yes.” Linne nods. “Tomorrow, when I speak before the Council Members and compete with Council Member Childes for the open position, I will present a solution to this. So, you needn’t worry. I will ensure your safety.”
“How?” Cassian asks, eyes wide.
“Well.” Linne smiles. “I can’t tell you the whole plan now, can I? That would ruin the surprise.”
When Cassian frowns, she adds, “But I will make sure we are properly stocked for a siege. The Kiterans shouldn’t arrive at least for another week, so we should have time to pool our supplies from those in the Gamgy District.”
