13. Chapter Thirteen: Luka

Luka knows something is wrong the moment he wakes up that morning.

First, Theo has left him. He always waited on the rare days that Luka slept in, warming two cups of horse milk and preparing the Ravage board for their usual game, backlit by the sunrise. Though the milk disgusted Luka, there was something so heartwarming about the picture of his Kiteran, warmed by the golden rays of the new day, tending the fire and setting the game.

But today, Luka wakes alone.

Second, the fire is dead. Autumn clenches the air with its icy fist. Luka shudders, dreading emerging from his blankets.

Before Luka can contemplate the third thing – for there is definitely a third thing wrong, too – Theo enters the tent.

An odd array of expressions plays across Theo’s face when his eyes land on Luka, cocooned in furs and shivering. Expressions that Luka desperately doesn’t want to read into. He doesn’t want to see the way the hard planes of Theo’s face soften with a gentle smile, the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, or the way his entire body leans toward Luka like a flower does the sun. No, Luka has practice in ignoring those things now that he knows what few tidbits of information he allowed to leak past his lips led to dead Siacchians. Siacchians who might as well have been killed at Luka’s own hand.

Just as quickly as Theo softens, he shakes himself, and the furrow between his brows takes up residence once more.

“Get up,” he says. “I need to speak with you.”

Luka stifles a groan of protest as he drags himself from the covers and gathers his clothes. Once dressed, Theo hands him a mug of steaming horse milk. Luka rolls the clay cup between his hands to warm his fingers.

“You will tell me what I need to know today,” Theo says after he takes a sip from his own mug. “And I will finally end this siege. Tell me where your leaders are located – where your Council Member Dawls is. Where your mother is. Tell me of their defenses and how I can pass them, without violence. You can be the end of this, you realize. There are people inside the walls of your city that are suffering now, likely starving. How many resources was Cesscounthe able to stockpile before we arrived, Evland?”

As always, hearing the name Evland on Theo’s lips is like a slap to the face. Luka hides his grimace by taking a sip of his warm drink. The milk is sweet with a slight nutty aftertaste, though it tangles on his tongue with each swallow.

When Theo doesn’t continue his attempts to intimidate, Luka says, “We aren’t even playing yet, Theo. I don’t believe you’ve earned the answer to that question.”

Theo shakes his head, and the milk sours on Luka’s lips. “The time for games has passed, Evland. You will answer me now, or you will answer me later. Things will be much more pleasant if you answer me now.” Muscles bunch in Theo’s jaw. His eyes flicker as his wolf darts through them, paling to a moon-like amber.

Luka’s heart presses against his chest. “What have you done?”

When Theo does not reply, Luka says again, “What have you done, Theo?”

Theo hangs his head. “I should have never let you call me that,” he mutters. He stares at his fingers for what is likely only a few seconds, but feels like hours as his lashes flutter, grazing his cheeks. Finally, he says, “I have your friends.”

Luka’s stomach drops. “What?”

Fear clouds his thoughts as terrible images hound him; Xyla, bound and gagged, Xyla bruised and bleeding, Xyla – dead. But logic cuts through just as swiftly.

His friends. They must be Evland Childes’ friends.

They don’t have her.

Luka hasn’t reacted quickly enough to cover the terror on his face, so instead he reigns it in carefully, allowing for the fear to rip through before hurriedly stuffing it away. It’s the kind of reaction Evland Childes should have.

He needs to say something. He can’t just simply stare.

“How?” Luka forces the word through his lips. Best to get Theo to talk.

Best to pull Luka away from the terrible emotions welling. Emotions that feel as sharp and painful as heartbreak. Emotions that he has no right to experience.

“You mentioned a name. I worked from there,” Theo says. He can only hold Luka’s gaze for a second before he looks away.

Something wet slips down Luka’s cheek and he realizes he is crying. His heart is aching. Oh, it’s such a terrible feeling, like someone has gripped his chest with great claws and squeezed, rending his lungs to bits. He struggles to breathe, staring at this damned man, and it’s only when he focuses on the smooth ridges of his cup, on the weak morning sunlight filtering through the walls of the tent, that he’s finally able to inhale.

“From a name alone?” Luka scoffs. The noise is so distant. It’s as if he’s been ripped from his body and he’s watching his limbs and lips operate on their own. “I don’t believe you.”

“This isn’t a game, Evland,” Theo says, words heated at the start of the sentence and then a weak whisper by the end. He still isn’t looking at him. “Tell me what I need to know to take down Cesscounthe.”

Luka sets his jaw. “I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Luka spits each word. “I don’t believe you’ve captured anyone. I think you just rolled out of bed this morning and decided your new method of interrogation is going to be lies instead of truth. And I don’t believe you – I don’t believe this.” He presses his lips together, fighting to keep the last words inside. But they slip out despite himself: “I should have never believed in any of this.”

Theo remains silent. He finally raises his head, soft eyes growing hard as he meets Luka’s gaze. The bunched muscles in his jaw spasm. “Fine,” he whispers. He puts down his mug and pulls away Luka’s cup. He squares his shoulders and guides Luka to the exit of the tent, placing his hand – which is so warm it burns – against the middle of Luka’s back.

“Come with me,” Theo says. “And you will see.”

The walk is painful, and certainly not because Theo keeps so close.

Luka’s thoughts snarl and trip against each other, teetering like unsteady stacks of textbooks. They captured his friends based on a name Luka let slip. This is his fault. What if they did capture Xyla? What if she was injured because of his loose tongue?

Every other step he tries to drag himself into a game of Cesse, but before he can get as far as the third move, the image of Xyla scared, Xyla afraid, Xyla hurt – it all cuts through him again. His terror only grows all the more sharper when he realizes if they have Xyla… does that mean they have Cassian?

Friends.Theo said they have Evland Childes’ friends. How much did Luka give up without noticing? How much did he allow himself to slip when caught in the gentle lull of this relationship?

How could he have been so stupid to think the heat that flushes through him when he meets Theo’s eyes – heat that looked to be reciprocated – was anything more than deception?

Luka is halfway to the newly erected tent at the far end of the camp when he realizes he is making soft, wounded noises. He clamps his lips shut to muffle the whines.

Thankfully, Theo doesn’t seem to notice. His stride only slows and then increases, his shoulders tensing as he keeps his gaze directed straight ahead. He bobs his head in acknowledgment to the soldiers milling about despite the early morning. Luka is even greeted – he has become a familiar sighting at Theo’s side.

I’m so stupid.

Luka glares at this Thought-damned Kiteran’s back. This man was supposed to be a mindless beast. He was supposed to be a fool that Luka could easily trick.

And Luka was the one to fall into his trap.

Has this all been part of Theo’s plan?

Luka’s anger chills at the thought; it must have been. Even from the beginning, the attack that forced them together, must have been intentional. Theo is far more calculating than Luka has ever realized. Luka closes his eyes as his heart wrenches again, tearing into even smaller pieces. Did Theo let Luka win those Ravage games?

Has he been toying with Luka this whole time?

Luka’s eyes burn and he inhales raggedly, the noise strangled and wet. Theo slows again, tension rippling across the muscles of his exposed arms. His hands flex into fists.

Get a hold of yourself, Luka.

Desperately, Luka reaches for the one thing that he has never sought: his own beast.

The monster is warm and eager for violence as always. Luka cuddles to it, clutching its rage close in hopes of melting the icy pain in his chest. His body shudders and fur itches beneath his skin, his teeth aching, claws extending.

Theo comes to a stop. He turns his head, and Luka both dreads and anticipates the Kiteran seeing him, on the verge of change. If Theo looks at him now, Luka won’t be able to control himself – won’t be able to control this monster inside him.

He will attack.

But Theo only shakes himself and returns to walking. Luka inhales once again, more controlled, and forces his beast away. Only this time, instead of thinking never again, Luka promises the monster not now.

Later.

If Luka cannot glean information from this man, he will at the very least gain vengeance.

Theo gestures Luka into a tent at the edge of camp. There are three guards posted on the outskirts, and they avoid eye contact as Luka enters. Luka holds his breath as he ducks beneath the flap Theo opens for him, heart shaking his ribs as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

No.

Oh, Thought. I’m so sorry.

Xyla lies not three feet from Luka’s boots, her red hair like a bloodied pool around her head. She looks up as Luka enters, her bared snarl melting into horror. “No,” she whispers, a perfect mirror to Luka’s own thoughts.

Dread makes it near impossible for Luka to look past her, at the other prone body. His mind makes it difficult, turning familiar black locks to brown curls. But a blink shatters the illusion, and Luka finds himself staring into the pond scum-colored eyes of the real Evland Childes.

Luka struggles to control himself, trying to smother the way his raw terror transforms from fear for Xyla to fear for himself.

What will they do to me when they learn I’ve been lying?

Truly, it is a miracle they haven’t yet discovered that Luka has been hiding his identity this whole time – assuming that wasn’t all part of Theo’s charade, too.

Theo’s boots crunch as he comes to stand behind Luka, his presence changed from a strange comfort to a looming threat. Luka instinctively wants to lean into his warmth, but he stands frozen, hands shaking.

“Yes, this is them,” a voice says, and Luka can’t help but jump.

He hadn’t even noticed Octavian standing in the shadows. The man emerges like a snake, lips curled in a smile. “Look at his face.”

Theo’s swallow is only audible because he stands so close. “Believe me now?” His words are a warm gust of air against the back of Luka’s neck.

“You won’t hurt he – them,” Luka says, only barely managing to correct the pronouns. Better for them to think Xyla and Evland are both important. Better for them to think Evland is more important, really – maybe they would torture him first. It would buy time for Luka and Xyla to escape somehow.

His gaze drops to Xyla again. He claws his way through his thoughts, somehow trying to convey to her through an urgent look alone that he will get them out of this – they’ll both figure a way out. Together, surely they can escape.

“Of course not,” Octavian says. He approaches Evland and pokes at the man with the toe of his boot. “We don’t need to hurt them. Because you’re going to tell us everything you know, Siacchian.”

“My father will pay!” Evland blubbers, and Luka feels a pang of satisfaction that he at least correctly performed Evland’s character upon his capture. The satisfaction wilts when he realizes that Evland is in near hysterics, his face ruddy and wet with tears and snot, turning the dirt beneath his cheeks to mud.

“Can you believe this man? He looks like a discount version of your prisoner, Theodori,” Octavian says. When Evland attempts to speak more, Octavian raises a finger. “Hush, your betters are speaking.”

“They don’t want money,” Xyla says, voice hoarse but words steady. “They want to end this siege. They want power.”

“As I expected, the hopiar is smart,” Octavian says and Luka tenses. They already know Xyla is an impyassus. That eliminates one plan of escape.

Evland sniffs. “That beast?” he hisses, face twisting. “She’s barely even human – it’s a miracle she can even compete with us civilized beings –”

“Beast?” Theo’s words are no louder than a whisper, but the occupants of the tent fall silent when he speaks. Luka can feel him moving, placing himself so he’s between Luka and Evland. “Please explain. How do you, a human, consider yourself to be her better?”

Evland wets his lips. “A-all impyassi struggle with rational thought – this is a known fact.” His eyes dart back and forth between Octavian and Theo. “Any information provided by something like her will be of little value to you. But me? I received a perfect score on the Bombani Exam. You want Cesscounthe’s leaders? I know them. I can get you them. I even won the annual Cesse competition –”

“ – and he’s also willing to tell you anything he thinks you want to hear should it guarantee his life,” Luka says. He schools his expression and shoots Evland a look. “Hush. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Evland’s lips curl. “Locke –”

Luka continues, inhaling sharply as the first part of his family name emerges from Evland’s lips, “I don’t want you to hurt them. Take me back to your tent, Theo. Tell me what you want to know.”

Theo braces his shoulders, his back to Luka.

“Theo?” Octavian spits.

Luka closes his eyes, cursing the slip. He has been so careful to hide the way he addresses Theo. He can practically feel the anger radiating from Octavian.

“Why is he calling you that?” Octavian hisses.

“You really want to talk about this now?” Theo says.

“Well, since you seem so determined to avoid it every other time I bring it up, maybe the captive audience will pressure you into answers!”

“You don’t get to pressure me into anything.” Theo turns, his shoulders hunched as if he wishes to pull Luka into his chest. But no – no, Luka isn’t allowed to think those things anymore. He is just projecting his own twisted desires. “Evland,” Theo says softly, as if the name is a prayer. Alarm shoots through Luka. “You will speak your truths here. Where we can test them against your friends.”

“Evland?” Evland repeats. “Friends?”

Luka grits his teeth. This has gone so wrong so quickly. His eyes dart to Theo; surely now, now, Theo will realize that Luka has been lying this whole time. Theo is too smart to miss such a thing.

Unless,whispers a tiny voice in the back of Luka’s head, Theo wants to ignore the truth because he wants to keep you close to him.

Theo gestures and Evland squeaks as Octavian presses his boot against the middle of the Siacchian’s back. “Remain quiet unless you’ve been asked to speak,” Octavian says.

Theo’s eyes are beseeching but determined. His gaze cradles Luka. “Tell me how to get to the leaders of Cesscounthe.”

“Linne Lockehart won the election,” Xyla bursts out.

“Linne Lockehart?” Octavian repeats, eyes widening.

“She won?” Luka whispers and then shakes himself. He shoots Xyla a pained glance, but she doesn’t meet his gaze as she glares at Theo’s turned back.

Xyla clears her throat. “Linne Lockehart should be the one you wish to target. She is the one who is gathering the current war efforts, but should you… persuade her, you will be able to take the city with as little bloodshed as possible.”

Theo faces her. “Xyla Mobiele. Who would have thought you would be so useful, little sister?”

Xyla bares her teeth. “I am not your sister.”

Theo chuckles, the noise dry and humorless. “All hopiar are descendants of the great Wolf Mother. You are our sister, whether you like it or not.” His gaze shifts to Evland, who wiggles beneath Octavian’s boot like a worm on a hook. “That’s right, Luka Lockehart. We’re all monsters here.”

“Luka Lockehart?” Evland rasps, eyes bulging as he looks from Theo to Luka. His fear transforms to hysterical laughter, giggles wheezing out of him as he shakes. “You think I’m –”

“I told you, it would be best if you kept silent, Luka,” Luka says to Evland, shooting the man an urgent look. He needs to keep Evland quiet. “Xyla and I already know of your cowardice, but it would do little for you to impress your captors with it.”

“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.”