The girl could only feel fear, but the stench of it softened. Rom and Roland were almost here, two blocks from the fallen Dark Blood. Behind them, just entering the street from alley, four others came at them at full sprint.
Jordin touched Jonathan’s shoulder. “There’s more coming.”
He ignored her. “Please tell me your name.”
“Kaya,” the girl whispered.
“Kaya,” Jonathan repeated. “A beautiful name. Where are they taking you, Kaya?”
Tears flooded the girl’s eyes and broke down her face. “To die,” she whispered.
Jonathan’s hands began to shake on the cold metal bars. “My blood can bring you to life.”
“I have to be brave,” she said.
Jonathan glanced down at the heavy lock on the door. There would be no breaking it.
He looked up again. “Then we have to be brave together, Kaya. I’m afraid too.” He reached a hand toward her through the bars. “We have to be brave together. Take my hand.”
His tears snaked down his mouth to his jaw.
Rom was yelling now, racing toward them. “To the horses! Hurry, Jordin!”
“Jonathan, we have to go!”
“Take my hand. Please!” And in that moment, Jordin wasn’t sure who he did it for-the girl… or for himself.
The girl looked from Jonathan to his outstretched hand and then slowly reached out, touching the tips of her fingers to his. He reached in, took her frail fingers in his, and held her hand.
The world seemed to stall. Her vision swam, distorted-whether by the tears blurring it or the vivid sight of her Mortality as danger approached, she didn’t know. Only that something changed in that moment as she watched the exchange between Jonathan and the doomed girl.
“Run!” Rom cried, running past the fallen Dark Blood now. “Move, now!”
“I’ll find you, Kaya,” Jonathan said. “Remember me, when I bring my new kingdom!”
The girl nodded, holding tight to his hand with both of hers.
“Now!” Roland shouted.
Jordin took his elbow. “Jonathan, please!”
He let go of the girl’s hands like one tearing himself away. He turned to Jordin. “Don’t tell anyone what you saw.”
“I-”
“No one.”
“I won’t,” she whispered.
“Where are the horses?”
She swallowed the knot of thick emotion in her throat. “Follow me.”
Then they were running for the back of the basilica, and Rom and Roland were with them.
Jonathan was safe for now.
But Jordin also knew that Jonathan would never be truly safe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FEYN HEARD THE FOOTFALL on the same stair by which Rom had fled an hour earlier. The sound of a boot that made no effort to mute itself, heavy as it landed on the flagstone of the chamber.
She spun, half-expecting to see Rom returned. But it was Saric, now tying the curtain to one side with the heavy bullion cord tied to a ring in the ancient stone wall. He had shed his long velvet coat and wore only a simple pair of black trousers, his boots, and a dark shirt with sleeves rolled away from forearms far stronger than she remembered them.
“My Lord,” she said.
Silence.
She paused, still unacquainted with this new Saric. He was so different from the impetuous half brother who had pushed for power with seething indignation. This man was far more controlled, far more affectionate, and far more strangely alluring. Her Maker.
She wasn’t a concubine to come bounding after him, to come begging for his approval, though there was indeed the strange compulsion to go to him, if only to win that approval and hear again his words of love.
When he turned and looked at her at last, she smiled.
He did not.
“I understand you had visitors,” he said, walking toward her.
“Yes. The guard told you, then?”
“Yes. The guard told me.”
He stood over her, less than an arm’s length away, nostrils flaring slightly as he released a measured breath. His lips twitched-a slight smile.
“Did you think?” Saric asked, gently drawing back a strand of hair from her cheek with tender fingers. “To tell me?”
“I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“And so you let them come… and you let them go.”
“I thought your guard would stop them. Surely-they have, haven’t they?”
His eyes, so startlingly dark, searched hers.
“Tell me about them.”
She glanced away, trying to subdue the strange sense of need-to clasp his hand to ask forgiveness for something, to thank him, to ask him to stay. Strange reactions to this man, her brother. But oddly beautiful.
This new life was disconcerting. No wonder they had called it Chaos…
“Rom Sebastian came to see me,” she said.
“And was he alone?”
Surely he knew the answers already.
“No. He came with the Nomadic Prince, a man named Roland. And…”
Why did she feel the urge to hesitate?
“And?”
“And the boy. Jonathan.”
Saric stepped past her and walked to the large arching window to stare out at the night beyond.
“And how is Rom Sebastian?”
“He’s changed.”
“In what way?”
“He’s their leader-the ones who’ve come to find life though Jonathan’s blood.”
“To find life,” he echoed softly.
She hesitated. “They call themselves Mortals.”
“Mortals. How quaint.” Saric turned around to face her. “Tell me about Jonathan. What did he say?”
“That he was sorry for what I did. They tried to give me his blood.”
Saric stood as though carved of stone. “And?”
“And I refused it. They thought I needed saving.”
“And?”
“And I said those at the Authority of Passing would be better served than me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because they’re dead. I am not.”
He dipped his head slowly, his first gesture of any approval. She found herself instantly eager for more.
“The boy’s blood… Did they say anything about it?”
“Only that it brings them to life.”
“So the boy is a Maker. He tried to make you?”
“They wanted me to take the boy’s blood. Or any of theirs.”
“What do you mean?”
