Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #34 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

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Down the hall, Gemma wailed, obviously understanding the truth of her situation, while Jet paced, and Lucida dressed herself, and did her own hair, pinning up her curls, putting jewels about her throat, painting her face.

“We should speak with her,” Jet said. “Figure out why–”

“Let her sit,” Lucida said, pursing her lips. “You and I must speak at length. We must — where is your Secta? Is he well?” She looked worried for him, turning away from the mirror and reaching to take Jet’s hand.

Jet, for his part, blushed, and had the grace to look abashed as he said, “I sent him on an errand, but I hope he has the good sense to not be transparent about it, as I was hastier, earlier, than I had sense to be.”

“Speak plainly, caro.” Lucida crossed her arms, looking suspicious.

“I want to promise her to Acer. He wants her, and I want her gone,” Jet said bluntly.

To her credit, Lucida did not flinch, but instead closed her eyes and breathed in, long and slow, sighing quietly. “Gemma has been at my side for over twenty years, caro. She has held my heart for nearly as long. As angry as I am. As hurt as I am? I do not know how to punish her without punishing myself.”

Jet nodded, saying “I do not want you hurt worse in all of this, it–”

A knock came, at the door, and Secta looked in, saying, “Forgive me, please, for the interruption, but I have sent for Plaga, Master. My Queen, my Guardian, is there anything else I may do for you?”

“Come here,” Lucida ordered, pointing at her feet.

Secta came in immediately, looking wide-eyed and worried. He complied without complaint, and knelt at Lucida’s feet, keeping his head bowed. “Yes, majesty?” he whispered. “How may I serve you?”

In the space of a heartbeat, Lucida had curled herself around Secta, and was pressing a knife to his throat.

Stunned, Jet saw the blood welling at Secta’s flesh, where the black glass bit in, but before he could react, Secta calmly lifted a hand to stay him.

The servant swallowed against the blade, and a thin runnel of blood ran down his neck, over his collarbone, and began to soak into the white of his robes.

“Why should I believe you?” Lucida hissed. “What if you drugged all of us, and made Gemma behave in that way? What if it was someone else entirely and we acted on the thought that it was Gemma who betrayed us?”

“Lucy,” Jet said, his hands clenched, his jaw clenched, his whole body tense as he watched her.

“I would rather die than have you believe I have betrayed you,” Secta said, his voice low, and grave. “If you do not trust me, my Queen,” he whispered, reaching to touch her wrist, and slide his fingers around it, “Strike true.” He did not use his touch to stay her hand, or try to stop her, but instead, he leaned in against the blade, and let it begin to cut his flesh, to slice into him, the blood flowing more quickly.

Lucida held Secta tightly, but it wasn’t necessary; he didn’t even try to escape. “I do not want to trust you,” she whispered. “I want Gemma to not have betrayed me.”

“I will give you my life, my Queen,” Secta said, closing his eyes. “Because I cannot give you that.”

Furious, Lucida flung the knife to the floor, near Secta, and looked at the wound she’d caused. Her dark eyes held to Secta, angry and proud, haunted and miserable. “Listen well to me, famulo. If you should ever betray our Guardian–”

“I would sooner die,” Secta said softly. “If you think I shall ever betray him. Or you, my Queen, I ask you to spare me, spare us all, that indignity, that misery, and end me now. I could not bear it, knowing that such a breaking of promises was bound to happen,” he said, retrieving the knife and handing it right back to her.

Her hand trembled as she watched him press the point of it to his chest, twisting it so that it would pass between the ribs and pierce his heart.

“I will die, I would rather die, I must die, my Queen, than betray him, or betray you,” Secta begged.

Lucida’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “And if this is only a trick? A ploy? Your blood is fire now, too, is it not? What does killing you do, if you will breathe again, hmm?”

“You do not know what it is to die,” Secta said quietly, his eyes flicking to Jet. Something in the dark of his gaze shifted, smoldered quietly, embers only banked and far from cold. He looked back to Lucida, solemn. “You do not know, Majesty, and may you never, or you would not say such a thing. But I say to you, my Queen, kill me. And kill me again, as I breathe again. And again. And again,” he whispered. “Kill me, and know that I am ever your servant, as I am his. I will rise from the floor and kneel at your feet each time.”

Lucida stared Secta down, her heart in her throat, broken and raging. She finally returned the knife to where laid strapped against her skin, and looked to Jet, saying, “May he never do as she has done, caro. May he love you more than that.” She rose, and moved to leave the room in a whorl of skirts and gems.

“Meabella, Lucida, please,” Jet called, reaching her, laying a hand to her shoulder as she put her hand to the doorknob. “You should not speak to her alone. Your body may be safe in her presence, but–”

“–but my heart will never be,” Lucida said, shaking her head, tears in her eyes. “Please, Jet. Please let me go. I do not wish to speak to her alone. I do not wish to speak to her again, at all. Ever. You may do with her as you please, but I do not wish to look upon her face, or be near her, ever again.”

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This is Issue #33 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

The amount of drink Jet had been given was far more than what Lucida had taken, but all the same, her body did not purge it, as his had; she was out like a light, somewhere between dreaming and awake, her body limp and still. Instead of moving her, he detangled the still-drunk, still-high handmaidens who had been coerced by Gemma to do her bidding. He sent them on their way, gently; he didn’t know how many of them had behaved this way out of love or fear or simple stupidity, but he would punish Gemma for now, and worry about the rest for later.

When he got to Gemma, laid against the bed, he was careful with her, as well. He lifted her up and took her to her chamber down the hall. On the way, he spoke to one of the guards, saying, “She isn’t to leave her room. Not for any reason. If you let her, I will end your life without question. Do not harm her, but do not let her leave.”

The man nodded firmly, and gave orders to his men, who immediately moved to post guards both inside and outside her room, at all windows and doors. They had no idea why the Guardian would give such a command, but neither did they care. They obeyed with love and honor.

When Jet returned to Lucida, she was still sprawled on the bed, the sheet stuck to her, her hair in disarray. He swallowed back the hate he felt for Gemma, and went to draw his wife a bath.

As he laid her in the tub, and began to carefully wash the sweat and oil from her, he wept.

It was to this strange circumstance that Lucida woke fully, groggy and confused. “Caro?” At first, she half-smiled at him, though her brows knitted as she looked him over. What he was doing felt pleasant enough — she did love a hot bath — but he was obviously upset. She rubbed her eyes and pulled back, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Jet, what has happened?” She reached out to touch his hand, and her expression was somewhere between frightened and concerned.

“Gemma drugged us, Lucida,” Jet said quietly, looking to her, pained.

“What?”

“We were drugged, and coerced into bedding one another. It was Gemma who did it. This… This is not the first time, I think,” he said. Though his voice was low, and golden eyes glanced away, the words came out in a tumbled rush, spilling over one another, in an effort to escape.

“Caro, you must not say such things,” Lucida said, moving to get up, to get out of the water. “It is not funny,” she hissed, staggering, still not quite herself as she nearly fell out of the tub. Tears came to her eyes as she pointed an angry finger at him. “I do not mock you for Secta. I did not rage when it was clear you had been hiding your love with my brother,” she said, breathless with fury. “You must stop this unreasona–”

“I woke up in this bed with you,” Jet said, closing his eyes against the memory. “Still …inside you, meabella. Gemma and a half dozen of your handmaids were with us. I sent them out. I put Gemma in her room, under guard. The guards could tell you who left, but not why. No one knows but myself and Secta.”

“Secta?” Lucida hissed, looking betrayed further.

“He saved us. He found out. He tried to stop it, but Gemma tried to silence him. It was only–” Jet’s voice caught, and he shook his head.

“What? What is it?” Lucida wondered, her eyes narrowed as she stared at Jet. “You will tell me the whole thing and spare me the worry for my poor reaction, yes?”

“The blood, Lucida. His novo. What I did to him — it changed him like Immanis did, to me. Gemma had one of the maids strike Secta down. She killed him.”

Lucida stared at Jet in absolute disbelief.

“He returned, as I return,” Jet said softly. “He couldn’t stop it — he was slain before it began, and only woke after. But then he came and found us, and he woke me, just a short time ago. I crawled out, and he explained to me what happened. The drink you’d given to me, from Gemma. It isn’t something to help us sleep. It was something to make us do what she wanted,” he explained.

“She’s been wanting you to get me with your child for some time now,” Lucida said after a moment, her expression gone blank. Her eyes flicked back up to Jet, and she swallowed as though she might be gagging. “Did she really do this, my Black Stone? Was it… Was it really my Gemma?”

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” Jet whispered, sitting back, looking at her, apologetic, hopeless.

Lucida put her hands over her mouth and bowed her head. The mass of her dark curls spilled over her shoulders, covering her face, obscuring her, their ends dipping in to the warm water in which she sat, small and miserable. Her shoulders began to shake, and finally, the tears came, great sobs — but only for a moment. She bit them back and moved to stand up, wiping her eyes and struggling to keep herself calm.

Jet sat there for a moment, his eyes wide, his heart beating painfully in his chest. He offered out his arms tentatively, and when she laid herself against him, he held her tightly, cradling her against his body, letting her return to sobbing.

“How could she?” Lucida wondered bitterly. “How could she?” In his arms, his wife, Lucida Venator, Sister to Immanis, Daughter of A Thousand Suns, Queen Venator, wept for some time — until she suddenly stopped, freezing.

Jet pulled back, carefully, watching her with his golden eyes. “What is it, Lucibella?”

“Let me speak to her.” Lucida’s expression held a mixture of white-hot rage and agony.

“Lucida, I’m not certain–”

“Let me speak to her, now, caro, or I will flay you as you will wish my brother had, when I am done with you. In this, do not defy me. Do not,” Lucida panted, clenching her fists.

“I am your loyal servant, Lucy,” Jet whispered, cupping her face in his hands. “It is only that I do not wish you to be alone with her — if she was willing to do such a thing, and claim love of you, of us both, how much more terrible might she be? I wish for your safety, not to defy you. Please, my love,” he said quietly, leaning to kiss her lips. “Please. Let us think together on how best to handle this.”

Furious, frustrated, Lucida looked up at Jet, her eyes still shining with tears; when she opened her mouth to argue, a wailing sound came from down the hall, and gave them both pause.

Gemma had awakened, and knew she had been discovered.

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This is Issue #32 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“Gemma?” Jet repeated, stunned, looking back at Secta. “What? How?”

“This,” Secta said, lifting up the glass from Lucida’s bedside. “It is an elixir of sonoria radices — dreaming roots. It makes the victim sedate. Pliant and without inhibition. They will do as asked or told, but remember little, later.”

“I’ve been drinking that for a week,” Jet said, stunned. “Those dreams–”

“They were not dreams, my Master. Whatever visions you had–”

Jet closed his eyes as his cheeks flushed hot. The blush of shame was burned away by a welling rage. His hands clenched into tight fists; when he opened his eyes he saw Secta mirroring his expression, and saw the rage and pain on his face. It shook him, and he stepped forward to touch Secta’s cheek, to turn his face to the side. He saw the blood, the bone chips, the ash, and his eyes widened as he recognized the beast that lay curled within Secta, biding its time.

The same fire that lived within his own heart.

“Secta,” he said quietly. “Forgive me–”

“Do not–” Secta hissed, looking shocked at his own daring. He laughed darkly, shaking his head, looking back at Jet, and there, for a moment, was a flash of the Secta Jet knew, the Secta that was shy, was quiet, was servile and hopeful and kind and sweet. “Do not, for an instant, regret what you have done. It saved my life. When I discovered what Gemma had done, I went to confront her. The murderous canicula had one of the other maids dash my brains in,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“I will end her,” Jet hissed.

“It would break Lucida’s heart,” Secta said, shuddering. “They have been all to one another for so long; I’ve learned much from Gemma, and above all, there is little she would not do, to make the Princess happy. She was doing this for her, somehow. She felt she had to.”

“I don’t care. Sit,” Jet said softly, trying to lead his famulo to rest, but the younger man would not move.

Secta’s flesh and bones seemed to ripple beneath his skin. He shifted, hugging himself, and stood up straight, panting, looking at Jet, determination gritting his teeth together. “How do you stand this?”

“You’re — you’re shaking,” Jet whispered. He reached out and put his hands on Secta’s shoulders.

“I cannot contain this,” Secta murmured whispered. “This thing inside me, Master. It is too much,” he said, closing his eyes, his face crumpling up as he sagged against the taller man, crying out, “Jet, it hurts! I cannot take it!”

A horrible nostalgia swept through Jet, as he remembered Kieron sobbing those same words, coming out of a slip. He remembered the pale, slim form of his long-ago love–

Is he alive? Is he still alive? Is he safe? Where are you, Kieron?

–as he writhed in bed next to him, the fevered heat of him, the desperation in his voice.

The next day, Kieron had taunted Hoyt, who had struck him, Jet remembered. His parents were called, and Key had gone away to the institution, leaving Jet behind.

That night, however, the night before things had begun to take a turn for the worse, Kieron had collapsed in Jet’s arms, and Jet had pulled him into bed and carefully gotten him out of his uniform, wet his lips with a cool cloth, and brought out a clean basin, for after.

But it had taken so long, and Kieron had simply lain, glassy-eyed and trembling, a seizure passing through him, etching terror over his eyes, rather than blankness.

When Kieron came around, snapping back to the moment he’d slipped, Jet had to wrap himself around the boy, muffling his sobs as much as possible, holding him as the spasms passed, and then moving to let him void himself of the blood and bile that came up every time, after.

Coming back to the present, Jet wrapped his arms around Secta, gripping him tightly. “Shh. I’ve got you. Shh, it’ll be all right,” he promised, tears in his own eyes. “I’m so sorry, Secta. I’m so sorry — I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking as he held the man against his body, wishing he could take the fire back from where he’d lit it somewhere within his famulo.

“Don’t be sorry,” Secta pled. “Forgive me. Forgive me; I must be stronger. I must be.” He pulled back, looking up at Jet, tears in his eyes.

“No,” Jet said quietly, “No, you don’t have to be any stronger than you are, my Secta.” He laid his fingertips to the man’s brow and cheek.

“This is once. It was just once,” he said, laughing darkly at himself. “You have died for Ilona again and again–”

Jet remembered the feel of Kieron’s skin at his fingertips as he traced the ugly wound around Kieron’s eye, the way his heart leapt as he recognized him, the way it felt like thunder in his chest.

Secta reached to lay a hand against Jet’s chest, feeling the hammering of his pulse, while Jet laid his palm against Secta’s chest, and felt the same rhythm, the same blood driving the beat of their hearts. Slowly, Secta’s trembling subsided, and finally he seemed more or less at peace.

Jet put one hand over Secta’s, and looked down at their fingers, touching. “What a monster am I, to do such violence to those I l–”

Secta’s free hand pressed over Jet’s mouth, silencing him. “Please,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “I will never be worthy of your gift, Master. I could never imagine being worthy of more.”

Jet frowned, looking away, distressed, but did not press the issue. Instead he said, “Clean up, and then summon Acer. I’m going to go rescue my wife from waking amidst a pile of priestesses she won’t remember inviting to her bed chambers.” He released his famulo and moved to pull on braccae, and a robe, and head back for the doors that would lead to Lucida’s chambers.

“Acer?” Secta said, looking baffled. “What is it you’ll want with Plaga?”

“It’s simple, Secta,” Jet said. “I want an army.”

Sectga still looked confused as he questioned, “…and?”

Jet’s expression turned an odd combination of smug and grim. “He wants a wife.”

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