18. Cav

Chapter 18

Cav

THE PUPPETEER

I peel back the edges of the bandage, wincing as it pulls away from my skin, a sticky mix of dried blood and sweat fighting to keep it attached.

The sting is sharp, hot needles dancing across my flesh, but it doesn't compare to the burn of the symbol etched into me.

In the mirror's unforgiving light, it glares back—a jagged circular mark with multiple slashes in the center that seems to mock me.

I mutter obscenities, tracing the raised skin, each line a brutal stroke of the Sovereign's artistry. It's more than a wound. It's a brand, a sign of their ownership, binding me to their will.

The door behind me crashes open with violent force. My body snaps tight, and I wince at the angry complaint from my mutilated chest, ready for another round of torment. But it isn't necessary. Axe's form fills the doorway, and my muscles slowly unfurl.

Even so … something's wrong.

Axe's face. Fuck, his face is a map of fresh havoc.

Purple bruises bloom like sinister flowers across his skin, and a vicious cut, raw and glaringly red, splits from the center of his left eyebrow and down his cheek. His left eye is nearly swollen shut, the laceration bisecting his eyebrow and cheek still weeping blood.

In the seconds it takes me to assess him, I realize I'm gaping.

The Sovereigns have never been this ostentatious, never this bold. That scar will be a flag, a declaration for all to see.

Axe steps into the room, his movements stiff, each step an effort. He shuts the door behind him.

He eventually turns back to me, and I note the pain there, the fury.

"What happened?"

My voice, usually a weapon honed by years of scheming, now betrays a hint of something dangerously akin to concern.

Axe shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. They want the Heart. We're going too slow for them."

I nod. I'd hoped we'd have more time. Time to plan, to prepare, to find that goddamn other half. Time to find a way out of this hellscape.

I return to the mirror, my reflection a stranger's face, hard and unyielding. The brand on my chest throbs in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of what I am.

"They've never marked you so visibly before," I say into the mirror, watching him in its reflection.

Axe steps further into the light, and it's even worse up close. The gash is jagged, deliberate in its cruelty, a clear message from our overlords. His one gray eye is stormy, flashing with the memory of their spite. He remains silent for a beat too long, and I know this is more than punishment. It's a warning.

Axe's jaw sets, his fingers graze the angry cut as if to confirm its reality.

"They want everyone to see," he mutters, a dark edge to his voice.

I slow my breaths in an attempt to steady the rage. "Are they truly desperate enough to carve their impatience into your face?"

My hand unconsciously touches the symbol seared into my chest.

"Seems so." Axe's gaze falls away, and for a moment, he looks lost—a side of him I'm not accustomed to seeing.

An uneasiness stirs in the pit of my stomach, like a sleeping creature's waiting there and wants to crack open an eye.

"Then we need to be quicker than their desperation," I say, wrapping a fresh bandage around my torso. The Sovereigns have played with us like pieces on a chessboard for too long. But they've underestimated us. They always have.

Axe reaches out to help, but hesitates. His hand hovers in the air before falling back to his side. We've been taught to bear our wounds with stoicism because they are deserved.

Once finished, I reach for my shirt, shoving my arms through the sleeves with a grimace as the movement stretches my raw skin. Axe watches me, his expression unreadable.

Stepping away from the mirror's accusing gaze, I move toward Axe. My hand comes up to touch his scarred cheek lightly. His skin is fever-hot beneath my fingers, but he doesn't flinch.

"We're not their slaves," I say, my voice dropping even as the conviction within me roars like a beast unleashed.

Axe nods and then winces as the motion pulls at his wound. The sight reignites that flare of rage within me.

Rage at those who had hurt him; rage at myself for being powerless to prevent it; rage at our circumstances that have robbed us of any choice.

It's the curse again. It's come for Axe through the Sovereigns' wishes, and if it's anything like what befell my ancestors, my grandfather and father … I'll lose Axe, too.

I button my shirt, each fastening a protest against my swollen skin.

"What's our next move?" Axe asks.

There's an insistent pounding at my skull—a throbbing reminder that we're not safe here anymore. None of us are until we unravel this curse clinging to our lives like a malignancy.

"We need to get out of Thornhaven," I say.

Axe breathes out a single, determined word, "Elara."

"Yes. We'll take her with us."

I haven't forgotten what Elara sacrificed to bring me back from madness, the way she sheathed my body and soul, guiding me to her light rather than raving in the dark. If we leave her anywhere other than by our side, we risk her dying next. But if I put her in our corner, fighting alongside us, the curse might find her, too…

"If we fail to bring the Sovereigns the Heart the next time we're summoned," I continue, staring hard over Axe's shoulder, at nothing, at everything, "They'll have our souls next."

Axe's forehead wrinkles, the gash on his face becoming more prominent and violent. "They can't actually take our souls."

"Yes, they can. The curse—" I pause when Axe pulls his phone from his pocket and searches for the relevant note to remind him of what I'm talking about.

I know he finds it when his forehead smooths and an emotion close to pity obscures his working gray eye.

"Don't," I snap. "I've already heard it from Kaspian and Wilder. But none of you are me. You're not in my head. You don't know what they've put there."

Rather than argue the existence of an ancient Anderton curse because I don't fucking need to, I stride to the storage trunk at the foot of my bed and throw the lid open. My fingers curl around the hilt of my favorite dagger, the engraved nightshade flower, my family's symbol, cold against my palm. I sheathe it at my hip, the movement practiced and quick.

Axe follows suit, his movements slower and more labored. He reaches for a .32 derringer and its ankle holster, then a Karambit, a curved hawk blade he can hide at the small of his back.

We continue to pocket any and all weapons that can fit to our body: push daggers for our coat sleeves, garrote wire, lockpick set, laser breach tool.

The more I strap to my body, the further Axe's expression settles into one of understanding. We're not coming back to Thornhaven until the matter of the broken Heart is settled. Permanently.

His lips pull into a humorless smile as he answers what doesn't need to be said. "It won't be easy."

My voice is low and fierce. "Nothing worth doing ever is."

I shoulder my pack. The brand on my chest burns, a constant reminder of my growing hatred.

Axe moves to the door, his hand on the latch.

I nod for him to open it.

Axe wrenches it open, and if it weren't for our honed reflexes, we would've slashed our weapons right into Kaspian.

He arches a brow after giving Axe the once-over. "Going somewhere?"

If he has a reaction to the state of Axe's face, Kaspian keeps it close to his chest where it will never come to light.

And as if it's not obvious , I say with a frown, "We can't live under the Sovereigns' thumb and search for the broken Heart at the same time. We've become too accessible."

"They summon us, we answer," Wilder says with a drawl as he appears beside Kaspian. "Even if it's by text."

"Then maybe we should ignore it," I challenge. "Unless you want to be under the Sovereign's surgical scalpel next."

It's subtle, but Axe shudders under all his weaponry. "If there's a good time to avoid them, it's now. It's the last semester before summer. They'll be busy culling the initiates before summer trials."

My stare cuts to Axe. I study his profile on closer inspection. Is that where he got the new scar? Helping to separate the strong from the weak in Thornhaven's basement?

It would make sense. Axe is often utilized for the culling because he's able to remain stone-faced throughout the thinning out.

"It's worse now," Axe confesses, though his face betrays no emotion. "They've added branding this year. On the inner bicep."

"Of what?" Kaspian asks dubiously.

Axe points at my torso.

"Jesus," Wilder says.

"But a smaller version, I take it," I say with a sardonic edge.

Axe nods, a hint of grimness tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Smaller, yes. But the pain ... still excruciating."

"They're getting serious with the devil worship shit," Wilder says.

Kaspian levels his shoulders. "Where do you propose we go?"

"To Elara's," I say. "Her estate, not her dorms. With her mother gone, it could become our fortress. We'll be safe there for a time."

Confidence stains my voice, spreading its unyielding belief that Elara is the key to all this, to our rebellion against the Sovereigns, to breaking my curse, to our quest for the ruby Heart.

Kaspian isn't capable of expressing shame, remorse, or even apprehension. Yet his expression is tinged with … chagrin?

No fucking way.

"We may have a problem with that," he says while tonguing his cheek. "I doubt she'll welcome us with open arms."

I suck in a deep inhale, hold, then let it out slowly so as not to lose my shit. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

In answer, Kaspian raises a beat-up, softbound leather book that he must've had behind his back, its delicate ties dancing in an invisible wind. "She and I found the missing flash drive as well as this logbook in the hidden office at her grandmother's mansion. It contains a lot of Anderton references."

Right.

I inwardly curse. Axe shows up in my room, his face gouged and bleeding, and I lose all remembrance that we'd sent Kaspian and Elara on a mission to find Maverick's last clue.

Wilder pushes out his lower lip in thought. "That's good news, bro. Where's the issue?"

"What's on it?" I ask at the same time. Then I clarify, "The flash drive."

"I was on my way to my room but stopped here to update you."

"You're deflecting, Kas," Axe observes under his breath, but it carries a bite. "What the fuck did you do to Elara?"

My attention whips to Kaspian.

His mouth curves into a bitter smile, devoid of humor or warmth.

"Nothing fatal," he assures us with an offhanded wave of his hand. "But she will be pissed as hell when we show up at her door."

Teeth grinding, I glower at Kaspian. "Did you harm her?"

Kaspian snorts. His smirk only adds fire to that rage swelling inside me.

"A harmless lesson, that's all," he explains with a dismissive shrug.

My mind whirls with unanswered questions and possibilities, images of Elara's terrified face flashing before my eyes. A visceral snarl bubbles up into my throat as I trespass into his comfort zone, our matching muscular frames going toe-to-toe.

Axe and Wilder make no move to intervene, their expressions intrigued as they watch the tense interaction between Kaspian and myself unfold.

"Elara is ours," I remind Kaspian with a curled upper lip. "You're supposed to protect her, not alienate her."

The Sovereigns always pitted me and Kaspian against each other to win their ear. They recognized us for what we were—feral, wild, broken leaders who could cage fight and almost kill each other, yet still recognize the other as a brother. A defender.

Kaspian usually went for deceit—underhanded maneuvers that would indicate one thing while he did another. He used false tells to convince me he favored his left side, only to unleash a blistering right spinning heel kick. I manipulated the fight choreography to lure Kaspian into over-committing, then capitalized with a savage shots.

After endless draws, I won the position of Consul by a hair, becoming the Sovereigns' second-in-command in Titan Falls.

I thrust a finger into Kaspian's chest, pressing him back against the wall. "You forget your place. She's not one of your mindless fucks."

Kaspian grins insolently but holds his tongue. He knows better than to challenge me further when I'm like this—hollow, triggered, and barely maintaining control.

His motives make sense to me in this state, and that's not a comfort.

I'm consumed by an image of Elara under me, soft whispers and pleading eyes begging for mercy I'm not sure I can grant her. Teaching her what it feels like to be at my mercy, held captive until she splinters, is a dirty, relentless fantasy of mine.

But first thing's first. We need to find out what's on that damn flash drive and make sense of this new logbook.

Dragging my gaze back to Kaspian, I growl out my final warning, "Don't ever forget who you answer to."

His grin falters, replaced by thin-lipped resentment.

"It's too risky to continue our research at Thornhaven. Gather all the weapons and equipment you can carry. Our first priority is protecting Elara until we figure out what all this black magic has to do with the Heart."

"If we're doing it your way," Kaspian emphasizes, "then we should head to Farrow Manor. Big Brother conveniently encoded this drive so it only works on his computer. Mrs. Wraithwood is institutionalized, leaving the house—and its family history—wide open. Elara will be safe at the dorms a while longer."

I stare at Kaspian sidelong in an attempt to figure out whether he thinks Farrow Manor is indeed the best course of action, or if he just wants more time before facing Elara and the consequences of whatever the hell he did to her.

Wilder comes to the same conclusion, cocking his head at Kaspian's tone, too.

Kaspian's face, so easy to read when it comes to our competitiveness, is always blank in terms of his intentions toward Elara.

"Fine," I say. "But we keep the search specific to Maverick's computer and whatever may be in his bedroom."

Before they can question my command, I turn on my heel and stalk down the hallway.

Cavernous thoughts swirl in my mind as I contemplate our next moves and leaving the Sovereigns' domain, but the largest, most commanding worry isn't fear of the consequences. It's how to plot the most effective way to protect Elara from our powerful enemies...

… and us.