Silk Over Razor Blades
***
Gasping, Lenina jerked free of the memory. She stared at Tristen and shivered as the last traces of Saar’s scorn faded. ‘It wasn’t you. It was Mosi. He wasn’t angry with you.’
Tristen bit his bottom lip. In that moment he looked far more like the broken man from Saar’s memory. Almost childlike. ‘You saw?’
She nodded.
‘Then you know. It doesn’t matter who he was angry with, you saw how little he cared. Nothing mattered but his own goals. I had no immediate use so he left me to die.’
‘But Mosi—’
‘—wanted me dead.’ Spittle flew from Tristen’s mouth. The lost look vanished. The skin around his cheeks and neck reddened. ‘He wanted all God-Touched dead. He spent years tracking and killing the others and I was the last of his line. He hunted me down to finish the job.’
Though this insight into Tristen’s life was new, Lenina found herself remembering details. Details only Saar and Mosi themselves might know.
‘1809, September 29. He took me and made me believe it was what I wanted. Mosi stole everything: my life, my family . . . I had a wife! But he used me to travel around the world, finding his other children while she grew old waiting for me. When they were dead, he turned to me.’
‘But you got away. How?’
Tristen’s knuckles whitened. Another lost expression crossed his face before he tamped it down. When he looked up again, calm filled his features. He wiped his face with the flat of his hand. ‘You don’t need to know.’
She closed her eyes. ‘I see smoke. Fire. Gunpowder. It’s muddy. Guns firing. Men are screaming.’
‘Mosi used Wellington to battle Saar just like he did with Octavian. They both died in 1815.’ He gave a bitter chuckle. ‘Though I’ll give Mosi credit for a job well done. He was very good at picking the winning side. Lucky for the rest of us. If Saar had won that day . . .’ Sweat glistened on his upper lip. ‘I’m glad he’s gone. Both of them.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I?’ With that, Tristen opened his mind to her.
She felt a space in her mind bend, then give under the force of Tristen’s entry. Her legs buckled. Slumping to the floor, she gasped and struggled to think past the sheer weight of his hate. It filled her senses, clogging her throat, stuffing her nose until the air itself became too thick to breathe.
She gagged. ‘Stop it!’
‘I don’t mean it?’ Tristen threw back his shoulders. White light filled his eyes again. ‘How would you know? What do you know about running for your life? Scared to step outside because someone you love wants to kill you?’
Lenina choked. Clutched her chest. ‘How can you do this? I’m not linked to you.’
‘Of course we’re linked,’ he snapped.
And through the gagging sensation of hate, Lenina felt lust. Her fingertips itched with the need to touch his face, and deep between her legs, an answering tingle. Peppermint scented the air. She whimpered and closed her eyes. She shook her head from side to side as the truth became clear. ‘That’s why you slept with me. You needed a way in.’
‘An old trick, but it works. My skill in Shalat is unparalleled. If it makes you feel better, you’re not the first to fall for it. You’re so young; you may as well be human.’ Having made his point, Tristen tilted his chin. The white glow faded from his eyes. The weight of crushing hate vanished.
Slumping against the wall, Lenina clutched her chest. As her breathing steadied, she watched his face. She saw the struggle in his eyes as he stared back.
‘Two hundred years we’ve been safe. Red Fang searched but they couldn’t find anything.’ He pointed at her. ‘And now you’re in my living room. Tearing the scabs off old wounds.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘Of course not, but this time you’re right, it’s not your fault. It’s in your blood.’
She touched the raw wound on her cheek.
Jason shifted. ‘Sorry, Tristen. I know what this means to you but—’
‘You don’t know! I’ve always looked after you even if I don’t love you. When I Kissed you it was because you asked. I’m better than either of them. Mosi Kissed me for money and convenience. Saar did everything he could to find strength and power. You do know Bonaparte was god-touched, don’t you?’
His expression said he clearly didn’t. Neither did Lenina, though as she lingered on the idea, she saw hazy images of a slim, sandy-haired man in red military uniform licking his blood-caked lips.
‘It could still be a mistake,’ she murmured.
Tristen glared at her and began to recite, ‘“The Vessel will be marked with blood, by blood. From blood comes all power. Born from one of The Blood, the Vessel will awaken Saar and guide his children to ultimate glory in the new world”. It’s not a mistake.’
In her mind’s eye, Lenina saw the underground temple again, and Kazemde’s twisted, furry body speaking similar damning words. ‘I don’t want this. It’s not fair. Don’t I get a say in this?’
‘No, you were chosen.’
‘By what? Who? Why me? How can you stand there and expect me to just accept this?’
‘I don’t expect anything from you.’ His upper lip curled back into a snarl. ‘The facts haven’t changed. You’re the Vessel. From the moment that dagger cut your face.’
‘I’m a museum curator.’
‘Not any more.’
She sniffed, brushing her eyes as tears threatened to spill forth. ‘Please, I don’t know anything about blood and God-Touched. My dad’s a bus driver. I won’t want this.’
‘Saar’s family were slaves before his mother enlisted him to the army. I grew up on the streets as a filthy street-rat, stealing bread and drinking from gutters to survive. It doesn’t mean anything.’
She backed away, groping the air behind her until her fingers touched the dining table. Two long steps put it between herself and Tristen. ‘But you hate Saar. What does this mean? What are you going to do?’
A smile. ‘Red Fang can’t know about you. They can’t see you. One look at your face and they’ll know who you are and everything we’ve built since Saar died will be torn down.’
Lenina waited, tensing her muscles.
‘Fortunately, I know exactly what to do.’ He lifted the dagger.
Chapter Twenty-Seven