Chapter 15
“Desmond! Desmond!”
Desmond sat up with a start, the pounding on his door coming into focus. He recognized Nathaniel's voice at once and leapt out of bed before his mind even fully processed what was happening. He pulled open the door to find Nathaniel looking frantic.
“The palace just contacted me. There's a cousin of Eliza's on one of the rebel planets, living a quiet life, or so they claim. We need to go, and we need to go now.”
“On the rebel planet?” Desmond tried to get his bearings. “We'll never make it there with our ship. We'll have to get another.”
“We can get one not far from here,” Nathaniel said. “We have to go, though, before he gets word that we are looking for him.”
“What time is it?” Desmond asked.
“Almost four a.m. The sun will be up in an hour or two. Come on.”
“Get Sienna,” Desmond said, taking stock of the situation. “Make sure she has everything she needs. I will pack our stuff and notify the Jurors as to our movements.”
“Right,” Nathaniel turned and promptly slipped.
Desmond grabbed him before his face hit the floor, but it was a shock for both of them. Nathaniel was always light on his feet and was used to moving swiftly through dark hallways. That was basic warrior training.
“Ow,” Nathaniel managed as he righted himself. “Thanks.”
He went to bang on Sienna's door, while Desmond took a second look at him.
“Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” Nathaniel said.
“Then don't move so fast. It doesn't do us any good,” Desmond said. “Be cautious, Nathaniel, or everything could be ruined.”
“Can we just go?” Nathaniel begged, and Desmond headed back into his room. He hadn't had a chance to unpack at all, so it was easy to pick up his rucksack and grab his com-link. His stomach growled, ready for breakfast, but there was no time. He resigned himself to being hungry as they made their way to the ship.
Sienna was quiet, sleep still in her eyes, and she curled up against Desmond in the back. He put a hand on her small back, counting her breaths as Nathaniel gunned the engine. Everything was moving so fast that Desmond only had time to ensure she was fine before Nathaniel gunned the engine.
They all flew back, and Sienna snapped awake as she screeched.
Nathaniel shifted gears rapidly, pushing them forward. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Desmond repeated his warning.
“Slow down,” he said, as Nathaniel passed the speed limit, his eyes straight ahead.
“There is no time to slow down,” Nathaniel repeated, his tone harsh. “They will kill her to get to the throne. They will torture her; they swill…”
It was the speech that alerted Desmond. His head snapped forward as he heard the slur in his former Tiro's words.
“Nathaniel,” he said with a growl in his voice. “Are you drunk?”
“I'm fine,” Nathaniel answered, but Desmond was not taking his words at face value. He reached into Nathaniel's mind with the type of magic he reserved for intense interrogations and desperate strategy. He pushed so hard that Nathaniel actually howled in pain. Overpowering him, Desmond took over the controls and ground the ship to a halt. It was an exhausting process, and Desmond felt drained. That didn't used to happen, a part of his brain noted. Once, he could handle such effort all the time. Now, fighting his own Tiro whose mind he knew inside and out was a struggle.
His energy was refueled by anger as he pushed open the door of the ship. Before Nathaniel could even react, Desmond had hauled him out of the driver's seat, and practically threw him to the ground.
Sienna squeaked, but he put a hand out to her. This was one of the harshest lessons a Tiro would have to learn, and he touched her so that she understood every moment. Her little hand rested in his as he glared at Nathaniel.
“Do you know what kind of danger you could have put us in?” Desmond asked. “You could have killed all three of us, never mind the other people in the air. This is reckless and unacceptable, Nathaniel. To put your Maestro at risk is one thing. That is almost your job. To harm a colleague, another witch, is unforgivable. To recklessly put your Tiro in harm's way – the one you swore to protect and guard – that is a whole other circle of hell.”
“The one you swore I would protect,” Nathaniel practically screamed at him. “And she may get Eliza killed if we keep having to cater to her.”
“No!” Desmond dropped Sienna's hand, grabbing Nathaniel by the shoulders. “You will not speak that way ever again! Do you hear me? It is time to grow up, Nathaniel. It is time to realize that your love for Eliza must come last in this world. Don't you think I knew what this could be like? How it could tear at your heart? You are a witch; you have chosen a life for yourself. So, unless you are choosing differently and walking away now, you will serve the magic first, your Tiro second, and the universe third. And if Eliza is in there, fine. But she is not your priority. Is that much clear?”
“Desmond, you don't even know…” Nathaniel started, and Desmond saw tears in his eyes. He quickly checked to make sure that he wasn't hurting him, but the only pain his former Tiro held was emotional.
“I don't know?” Desmond asked. “Really? Is that what you think?”
Nathaniel kept his mouth closed, but his chest heaved, and Desmond could see his face turn an odd shade of pale. He let go of Nathaniel long enough to let him bend over, and he stepped back.
The younger witch emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground with a splash. Desmond was not impressed to hear that it was mostly liquid, but he knew scolding him further would not make a difference at this point. He took another step back, turning to Sienna.
To his surprise, she wasn't upset. She was digging in her rucksack, looking frantically for something.
At last, she came up with a water bottle and hopped out of the ship. She approached Nathaniel as he stopped heaving, and her thin arm held out the cool, crisp water.
No one said anything for a long moment. Desmond watched with curiosity as the child waited patiently.
Finally, Nathaniel took the water bottle, unscrewing it and taking a long drink.
“Slowly,” Sienna said softly. “Otherwise…”
Nathaniel looked down to her, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“I suppose throwing up is an area you're an expert in,” he said. “I should listen to you.”
Sienna turned back to Desmond for translation who shook his head with a smile.
“You don't need to know that,” he said.
She took a step forward, avoiding the puddle Nathaniel had left and touching his shoulder gently.
‘You are ill?’
‘Only in my head,’ he responded, and she wrapped herself around his strong arm. Nathaniel looked up to Desmond who shrugged.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” he said, and Nathaniel sighed.
“You should drive.”
“You think?” Desmond said as he reached over for the keys that had been dropped. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel answered. “A wicked hangover by dawn, I imagine, but that's it.”
“Good luck translating that for Sienna,” Desmond answered, and Nathaniel straightened up.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's sit in the back.”
“Input the coordinates,” Desmond said as they got back into the ship. There was still tension in the air, but it was rapidly disappearing. Desmond had rarely yelled at Nathaniel, and when he did, Nathaniel got the point right away. Desmond was not one to raise his voice unless there was a matter that required attention right away, which this one certainly did. “I can take us there.”
“Here,” Nathaniel started to move forward, and then stopped. “On second thought, Sienna, you should learn.”
It took a few moments more, but Sienna got them in, and Desmond soon gunned the engine, taking them in the right direction.
It was silent on the ship within a few minutes, and he glanced back to see both of them slumped against each other, their eyes closed. That was the advantage to not driving, he thought as he steered.
It had been a very long time since he had been behind the wheel of a ship for any length of time. He remembered it quite easily. But, he thought, it must have been ten years since he had driven on a quest. Nathaniel had been a protégé at piloting as he was at most things, and had taken over driving at fifteen.
The same age he met Eliza, Desmond noted. He wondered if the two events had anything to do with each other. After a moment of reflection, though, he realized it was in his best interest to not know what Nathaniel was doing when he said he was running a quick errand.
How had it been ten years? He glanced in the mirror to see his own face looking back at him. There was grey in his hair, and his eyes had lines around them. They looked tired, weary of the world. If there was one benefit to Mariah being blind, it was that she didn't have to see him age.
Would she still find him as attractive now as when she last saw him? It didn't matter to him what she looked like; he was in love with her soul. She always looked lovely, in his eyes. But would she reach for his hand less if she saw that he was no longer the handsome witch in his prime?
He smiled, shaking his head. It didn't matter. She loved him, and he knew that. Speculation was not going to solve anything.
He got to the shipyard in record time, realizing sheepishly that he had been speeding. He parked, and the silence of the engine brought the passengers out of their sleep.
“That was fast,” Nathaniel said, as Desmond got out, pulling the door open. He gave Nathaniel's arm a little yank, helping him up, and Nathaniel gave him a weary grin. “Thanks.”
Desmond nodded, helping Sienna out as well.
“Are you all right, little one?” he asked as she spun around. Sienna nodded, but her head was cocked as she felt out her surroundings Magic danced on her fingers, and Desmond caught it quickly, snapping her on the wrist. “Don't waste it. You'll need it soon enough.”
“But…” She put her hand on the tarmac. The cement was still cool in dawn light, and it was dark, as if it were freshly laid. “Life.”
Desmond's brow furrowed.
“That's tarmac,” he said. “If anything is living under there, it's minimal. Organisms, bugs, nothing more.”
“No,” she said. Her magic was clear; it was reacting like when there was an apple. However, it was going into the ground. “Life.”
“What's going on?” Nathaniel asked, confused, as he came back to them. He had moved a few steps ahead, but quickly noticed they had not followed.
“Eliza,” Sienna said, and his head snapped to her.
“What?”
“Eliza,” Sienna remained kneeling on the ground. “Eliza. Life.”