Blood for Honor

Whiskey slides down my throat in an amber stream of lava, settling in my belly with the only lasting warmth I can attain these days.

My father’s funeral pyre flashes before my eyes more frequently than I would like, followed by the desertion of a third of our fighting force.

The fact that they found the idea of my leadership so appalling that they chose to leave the safety of our clan hurts worse than their actual disapproval. I had problems with swearing fealty to my father because I felt it took away a part of me, but when given the only other option of fending for myself in the wilderness, I gladly knelt and kissed the ring. I can’t fathom why they would risk it on the brink of war.

But I was never meant to be in this position. Leadership was meant for my oldest sister, Nadia, the epitome of a humble leader. Then, the future role fell upon my brother’s shoulders, who embraced it with an overbearing pride, frequently trying to push his agenda before his time. Then in one sweeping pull of a trigger, the responsibility landed on my unready shoulders in a smoldering heap.

As the youngest, I learned things like tattooing clan marks and helping to train fighters, not leading the people. I have picked up a thing or two, but I am wholly unqualified for this position.

A log falls into the fire with a spray of sparks, startling me from my alcohol-fueled rumination. Ysabel wakes with a gasp from her place on the couch and lifts her head, glancing around the room. She finds me watching her and settles back into the couch cushions. She is asleep again in seconds.

I wish I could sleep.

The decisions I must make soon weigh heavy on my mind, and I am now forever restless. I gaze blearily into the fire. Flames roar in the fireplace, warming the cabin against the chilly rain that has halted all work in the village. I didn’t need to pray for rain for it to show up with a vengeance, completely unannounced within the following hour after thinking about it.

Now, all the rain we have needed for months decided to show up at one time. We will be lucky if the river does not flood at this rate. We have had a torrential downpour for a day and a half already. The creek is overflowing, creating a small lake at the back of the village—the likes of which I have never seen before.

Lightning cracks in the distance, followed by a violent strike of thunder that makes the cabin’s foundation rattle. Ysabel cries out, bolting upright.

“It’s just thunder,” I say tiredly.

Her light brown eyes are wild, but after a moment, she relaxes. Ysabel leans back against the couch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looks around, finding the open letter at my elbow. “Did you read it yet?” she asks.

With heavy eyes, I stare down at the letter sitting on the table next to my father’s recliner in which I have taken up residence. Luther Cain’s handwriting runs across the page in an elegant slant. And yet, the letter’s contents are nowhere near as lovely as the writing.

“Yeah,” I say sluggishly. I am acutely aware that I have had more whiskey than I should, even as I take another drink.

To put the conversation off, I light a cigarette in the candle flame. I take a long drag as I glare at the letter, and Ysabel waits patiently for me to gather my thoughts. It took me days to read it. Not out of fear necessarily, but more out of putting off added responsibility. I wish I could ignore it, and everything still turn out okay in the end.

“He apologized for what happened at the Market,” I say cautiously. I am not sure how much a young girl should be burdened with, but she is next in line to lead. I do not see myself having an heir of my own because I will never be able to replace Danny.

If only I were a worthy mentor.

Blackthorn’s only saving grace is that Ysabel is wise beyond her years. Damian undoubtedly trained her for the role in some aspects. Maybe I should let her lead, but that would be frowned upon.

Join, or risk annihilation is the gist of the contents of Luther’s letter, although he did not use those exact words—nor was he threatening. I cannot tell her that, though. I don’t want to frighten her. Ysabel watches me expectantly with those wise eyes, and part of me cannot help but feel that she already knows everything. She just wants me to speak it out.

I sigh, picking at my fingers. “Luther gave me the same offer he gave your grandfather. He insists that we would all be better off if we joined together.”

Luther believes our way of life is unsustainable. Still, he overlooks the fact that we have survived for a century the way we are. I can almost hear the pompousness in his voice through the overly stylistic script on the page. The man has superiority issues, and my first impression of him in the War Room was not flattering.

“And you believe grandpa was wrong in going along with it?” she asks conversationally, despite me withholding most of my thoughts from her.

My father may have thought it was a good idea to join, but I am convinced that it isn’t in the best interest of our people. I know how many want to fight, and the majority rules. I have already pushed enough of them away. “Not necessarily, but—”

“Then why don’t you follow through with what he was going to do?” She catches me off guard with her statement, and I cannot even reprimand her for interrupting me. Her eyes glitter in the firelight with curiosity.

She reminds me of me.

I stare at her open-mouthed for a moment before I can form coherent speech again. “Because I cannot join forces with someone I know nothing about when we can finish this mess ourselves,” I say defensively. “Luther didn’t want Jai in the meeting, so I have no way of knowing what was discussed. Luther didn’t exactly lay it all out on paper either.”

“You don’t think grandpa wrote anything down?”

I shake my head. “No, Jai was his scribe. He never wrote anything down himself, not within the last five years. His arthritis was getting too bad.”

Ysabel shrugs and stands, stretching like a cat. “It wouldn’t hurt to search through the War Room and see if he left anything that could help you,” she says.

“Yeah, I guess not,” I say softly as I watch her flit around the kitchen, hunting for food.

“You don’t have any food?” she asks after a futile search for anything edible.

I look down at my glass of liquor sheepishly. I have been sustaining on whiskey and cigarettes for the most part. “I’ve been eating in the cafeteria lately.”

Ysabel opens her mouth to say something but snaps it shut with a sigh. I have not left the house since it started raining. Food has been the last thing on my mind for more than a few days now. My skin-tight pants hang looser than they should, and my wrists are bonier than usual. I try not to look in the mirror at the sunken pits that have become my eyes. I’m not looking too hot between the excessive alcohol and lack of food.

Ysabel stares out the window with disdain as her stomach growls audibly across the living room. “I’m gonna go get food. You want anything?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

She purses her lips, looking more like my mother than I thought possible. She bites back whatever words she wants to say and answers with a simple, “Okay,” before slipping into her boots. “I’m going home to find something to eat. I’m not making a trip across the village. My socks are still damp from the walk over here.”

I nod, guilty about her having to get back out in the weather. “You don’t have to come back tonight if you don’t want to. You should get some rest in your own bed.” I know how empty her home must feel, but Ysabel does not seem to be taking the current turn of events as hard as I thought she would.

“You sure?” she asks.

“I will be fine,” I say with a nonchalant hand wave. I am not very convincing, but she takes the hint. I want to be alone, but I have not had the heart to push away my niece—not after what she has done for me.

Ysabel leaves me in silence. I should follow her out into the rain and head for the War Room to sift through every journal and bound book in the place. But I cannot bring myself to do so. I don’t want to know more details because I don’t want a good enough reason to join Vesper. I don’t want anything other than to fight—to steal the last breath of as many Charon as possible and ultimately put a bullet between Carnegie’s eyes. I want to watch the light of his existence fade to nothing, knowing he will never be able to make me do anything or harm anyone I love ever again.

Before the wagon loaded with supplies, we could not match Carnegie’s firepower, forcing us into Vesper’s bosom for protection. Now we are equipped to take his army on headfirst with a genuine chance of finally putting an end to this thing before it ever truly starts—without selling out to Vesper.

So why does Luther still insist that Blackthorn may not survive unless we join forces? He could know something I do not, but he will not tell me anything like that through a letter. I’m not too fond of the idea of having to speak with the man face-to-face.

There are a few terms for joining that Luther managed to fit in the letter that caught my eye, but nowhere near lovely enough for me to drop arms by themselves. I cannot work out why my father jumped on board with the peace talks so fast. If we join Luther, there may be some useful perks, like food security and better medicine, but at what cost? It could be to sell out everything I believe in, destroying everything my family has built in the last hundred years.

I growl in frustration. Unable to sit any longer, I stand, pacing the rug in the middle of the living room. Much more of this, and I will wear a path through the aged fabric.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask no one with a stressed tug of the shawl around my shoulders. Tears burn my eyes, and in my frustration, I chuck the glass of whiskey into the fireplace with a distressed cry of outrage. The glass explodes in a hail of crystal, and the remnant of alcohol causes the fire to swell dangerously past the hearth before dying back down.

I sink to my knees, head in my hands, as I finally break down after days of ignoring the raging storm inside my mind.

Damn this rain.

If I weren’t cooped up, I might be able to continue to ignore it all with menial tasks, but no. All I have now are my thoughts for company, and they are far from hospitable.

“What do I do?” I ask again with a sob.

Join me.

Carnegie’s voice is not what I want to hear, but I have no control over it.

I laugh out loud, nearing hysterics. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say into my hands. The last thing I want is to have a conversation with Carnegie, of all people.

We can take the fight to Vesper. Who are they to show up out of nowhere? They want to take our land and enslave our people. Once we take them out, we can get back to you trying to kill me if you want.

“I would never join you for anything,” I hiss, staring at the wall as though he were standing in front of me. I can almost envision the smarmy grin on his face.

Or we could make something new.

“Destroying everything in the process,” I say through clenched teeth.

Nothing lasts forever.

I shake my head violently, trying to will away his voice in my head. “I will never join the likes of you. You will die by my hand, and I will bathe in your blood.” My threat sounds hollow, even in my ears, but I mean what I say. I can already picture that glorious day, currently and distressingly out of my reach for the moment.

At least, I want to mean what I say, but part of me doesn’t believe that I can beat Carnegie. Not after what I witnessed on the roof of the Market. He wields some unnatural power that I fear nothing, not even my need for revenge, can overpower.

I am the lesser of two evils, my love. Don’t forget that.

I do not have the energy to yell at him. “You’re a liar. Go away,” I whisper, but it is enough.

Have it your way, then. But don’t say I never offered. Carnegie’s weighty presence in my mind disappears, and resolve settles on me.

A gentle knock sounds on the cabin door, and I freeze, my heart pounding. I take a deep breath, composing myself as I wipe away a stray tear that manages to escape. I stand, smoothing down my shirt.

“Come in,” I say breathlessly.

I turn as the door opens, and Jai steps in. Every problem fades upon finding him in the doorway, and I dart toward him, wrapping him in a desperate hug.

He is real. He is alive. He is okay.

Jai grunts in discomfort, and I let him go, stepping away to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. I lost myself in the ocean of responsibility thrust onto me, and I never got a chance to visit. I came to rely on Alec’s updates to keep me afloat.

But to see him—God, I missed seeing his smiling face.

Jai’s meek smile fades to a frown upon seeing my frazzled face and the dark circles under my gaunt eyes. Fear darts through me that he might have overheard my side of the conversation with Carnegie. I really should have kept it all in my head.

“You okay?” he asks before I can speak.

I swallow the torrent of things I want to say and shake my head, hoping he heard nothing. “No, I’m not,” I answer honestly. I turn and walk into the kitchen to grab another glass. “You want a drink?” I ask.

Jai shakes his head, sinking into the couch with a sigh. “Not a good idea. Doc has me on some fancy pain pills Vesper sent. She explicitly warned against booze.”

I shrug and pull out a double-shot glass, filling it to the brim. I gulp it down in two swallows and slam the glass down on the bar, refilling it before returning to my chair.

“How much whiskey have you had?” Jai asks with a glance at the glass in my hand.

I pause, looking at the fifth of whiskey on the counter with pursed lips. “That bottle might have been full last night,” I say, wincing at the nearly empty bottle. Trying to divert attention away from the severity of my drinking, I add, “Did you hear about the desertion?” as if it justifies my behavior.

Jai nods quietly, watching me with concern on his usually stoic face. “What are you going to do now?”

I tuck my legs under me and peer over the rim of the glass at him. ”We are going to fight. Blackthorn doesn’t back down,” I say with determination. “Vesper sent guns, and I intend to use them to solve our Charon problem without selling out to Vesper.”

“Do you believe going to war is the wisest decision?” Jai asks quietly, falling into the adviser role he fulfilled for my father out of habit. He is not technically an adviser anymore unless I formally offer him the position, but he cannot help himself. It is all he knows, besides acting as my shrink over the years. I would be an idiot to deny him to continue in his position, but now is not the time to talk about such things. Not when I have had this much to drink. It seems unprofessional.

I look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Carnegie has to die for what he has done. You cannot deny that.” Doubt clouds my expression and waters down my resolve. Jai can surely pick up on the slight uncertainty in my voice.

“Maybe not, but throwing ourselves into all-out war will probably kill more of us than not.”

I grit my teeth. “It’s either that or bow down to a strange power I do not wish to serve. There are no strings attached to what Vesper has already sent. I do not intend to ask for more that will carry a price. We have to finish this now.”

Jai picks at his thumbnail. “That may be so.” He turns his gaze to the window in thought.

I watch him quietly, but he makes no move to continue speaking. “That’s all you have to say? You aren’t going to argue with me?” I ask, astounded by his surface-level acceptance despite his brief questioning.

“Why would I argue with you when I know you have already made up your mind?” he asks.

I let out a genuine chuckle. “It’s what you do,” I say, but the slight grin that appears does not reach my eyes.

His eyes meet mine. “Is it?”

I hold his gaze, making my decision. “If you want.” A small smile appears on his lips. “Will you fill the same position for me as you did for my father?” I ask, almost shy about it.

Jai holds my gaze for a moment longer, trying to read me in his offhand way. He must find something he can agree with because he nods his head. “I would be honored to advise you.“He pauses with a smirk. “Not that I expect you to listen.”