In the center of the city, the car pulled up the curb next to a building on Ruby Street. Jason jumped out, shouldering his rifle, his handgun and knives hidden in his clothes.
The king led the way several blocks to a 6-story building, its red bricks climbing to a vague misty height, darkness streaked with silvery drops of rain. One streetlight flickered, illuminating the graffiti nearby as if it were a neon sign.
Roderick motioned him to the fire escape, and they climbed up and up toward the faint, all-encompassing glow of light pollution. When they reached the roof, they hunched down and rushed across, their boots sloshing in shallow puddles. Nearing the other side, the king lowered to a crawl and Jason followed suit, then stopped at the edge of the low brick walls. There was a gap made by a few missing bricks, like a makeshift turret. Jason knelt and unzipped the gun bag. Tilted his rifle carefully against the gap, hoping it wouldn't glint too noticeably.
Below, an empty street, the cobblestones gleaming in the rain. On the opposite building, a faded black number, 655. Some soaked paper limped down the street in the wind, along with a crumpled can. A dog barked, the sound muffled.
A figure appeared, walking down the sidewalk. He looked around, then stopped when he reached 655 and stood, then nervously paced.
Jason's heart leaped. James.
Jason glanced at his watch. 9:30 sharp. Maybe they had time to go get him—
Movement from the other end of the street. Dark figures matching the shadows. They slid along the edge of the buildings, disappearing in doorways before emerging again, their movements deliberate and confident. Finally, one detached from the others and glided up to James. James stopped in his tracks, his body rigid.
The man held out his hand; James kept his arms at his sides. The man withdrew his hand without apparent offense and spoke. In the wind and rain, Jason couldn't catch what he said. Slowly, James nodded, his shoulders sagging, rain dripping off of his hair and clothes.
The man clasped a hand to James's shoulder; he startled, stepping back. The man grasped James' shoulders and guided him forward.
Roderick tensed at Jason's side. Jason glanced at him; he nodded.
Jason's finger inched to the trigger.
From several doorways down, two figures dragged another figure forward, her dark hair straggling in front of her face. They brought her toward James; he stepped toward her, reaching out to her, but the man beside him stopped him, shaking his head.
The two men holding her swept her drenched hair back, showing her face. Luna. She looked barely conscious.
"What have you done to her!" came James' anguished voice.
"Don't worry, she's just drugged," came the man's voice, just audible, his tone one of calm reassurance.
"Let her go!"
"Come with us, no fuss."
"Can I just—say goodbye?"
The man laughed. "Not part of the deal." He motioned swiftly at the other two men, and they let Luna drop to the ground.
James cried out and ran to her. Cradled her in his arms, caressing her face as if trying to wake her.
His shoulders set indignantly, the dealer stepped toward James.
Jason aimed at a broken cobblestone and squeezed the trigger.
Boom!
The brick shattered.
The dealer whipped around, searching for the direction of the shot. The others glided back into the shadows.
James tugged Luna onto the sidewalk, shielding her with his body.
The king tapped a few words on his phone, then began to climb to his feet.
Jason grabbed his arm, yanked him down. "What are you doing?"
"Ordering them to let them go."
"I'll do it."
"Jason—"
"I'm a lot more expendable than you are. Besides, the agents are coming." Jason's heart flipped over; he wished he could be sure of that. A vague sense of déjà vu swept over him. Another thought jabbed him—what if Yavesh had a lot more agents hidden in the shadows, in the buildings, perhaps this one. Perhaps they were climbing the stairs at the moment – he couldn't see the other two men—
The dealer slowly withdrew a gun from his jacket, but Jason called, "Don't move. Or I'll shoot—this time, I won't miss."
"Ah, Jason!" called the dealer. "So it is you. Don't you know we're always prepared for any contingency? Or haven't you learned your lesson. If you shoot, the children are dead."
A gunshot boomed from further down the street. The number 6 spun and its twisted metal remnants clanged to the sidewalk. James huddled down then pulled Luna away from the direction of the bullet.
"So you see, you can't cover all of us." He drew his gun, twirled it in a flourish, then aimed it at James.
"Stop!" The king stood.
"What are you doing?" whispered Jason.
"Backup is on its way." The sound of a helicopter in the distance punctuated his words.
"You will tell them to stand down. Or—" The dealer scuttled toward James, grabbed a handful of his hair, and pressed the gun to his forehead, pulling him in front of himself.
Roderick hesitated. Then he called the head agent. "Stand down. For now."
"Copy, sir," came the reply, sounding a little chagrined.
"That's better," said the dealer. He spun his gun into its holster. "Let's get back to our deal. James—" He held out his hand.
James stared at it, as if uncomprehending. Then, he kissed Luna's forehead. She stirred, reached weakly for him. He took it and cradled her face.
The two other men peeled away from the shadows and grabbed him, dragging him away from Luna.
"Stop! Don't take him!" called Roderick.
"His life for hers. I do think we're getting the better deal."
"What do you want him for?"
"He'll fetch the highest price ever."
"Maybe not."
"What are you implying?" The man's sly tone hinted he suspected what Roderick meant. Jason didn't want to guess.
"I can…think of one person who would be worth more."
"Quite a bit more. You are a bit old… we can think of other uses. More creative ones."
"Then that's the better deal for the both of us. Take me instead."
"Dad, no!" cried James.
"I will not have you bound one second in slavery. I'd spare you any sort of pain in a heartbeat."
The dealer gestured. "Come on down."
The king held out his hand to Jason. Jason took it, his heart slamming hard against his chest. "You can't do this."
"I was going to abdicate anyway. This… is just earlier than I planned."
"There has to be another way."
"I can't let James go to untold horrors. My people will go to every length to get me out. This will energize the whole country. It would with James too, but… better me than him."
"Your country needs you. Darya… the triplets… James… Marija—"
Anguish wracked the king's face. "I'm doing this for them. They…always come first. The country will…be fine without me." He turned, rain splattering onto his back.
"Wait!" Jason's heart was a small, clenched fist, sharp pains shooting through it, making it hard to breathe.
The king turned, looked at him expectantly. His jaw outlined nobly by the streetlight's glaze.
I'll go instead.
The words stuck in his throat.
What was he thinking? Go into unbearable pain—again?
No, he'd vowed that would never happen.
He'd find a way to help the king. Help his family through this. Be there for Connie.
Safe. In the place he was meant to be, away from the front lines. Even this was too close… they still might come after him… he had to lie low.
"Just… I'll do everything I can to get you back." Everything in my power. Which means—not getting seared by the flames. Staying close to Connie, out of danger. Away from situations that could reasonably result in my capture.
The king nodded sadly and turned away. In a moment he disappeared, drowned in darkness.
Jason knelt in the cold, rain drenching his hair and shirt. He grasped the rifle, tilting it haphazardly against the gap, his fingertips numb.
I should do something….
There is nothing I can do. Shooting will just sign their death warrant.
I should just get out of here. Before they come after me. Samar said they'd get to me, sooner or later—
What I should really do is go back to the US. I can do nothing here. Even this—ended in futility. I'll only put myself and Connie in danger.
But leave the king here?
He'll have a whole nation looking for him, as he said. Who am I against the backdrop of that. The Hero of Muldavia?
He almost laughed. Huddling here, shivering in the rain…. Impotent to stop disaster from happening…
There is something you can do, said a small voice.
He'd learned to recognize that voice— his conscience, a deep, innate part of himself. God often spoke through that voice. He'd learned to listen to it more often… still, less than he should… at least he heard it more now….
You can go instead, it continued with simple earnestness. You can be the hero Muldavia needs.
It is true, emerged another, darker, part of himself, I am not worth much at all—considering, so… it would hardly be any disaster if I was gone. In the scheme of things.
You are worth—infinitely much. It's just that –
Yes?
It's the right thing to do.
Maddeningly simple, his conscience was.
Did it truly align with what God wanted? Was sacrifice all that his life was worth? In the end, was he only meant for endless pain and horror?
Dear God. Have you been preparing me for this all this time… giving me tastes of what's to come—so I … know what I'm stepping into?
Knowing it—only makes it harder.
I can't. I can't leave Connie.
He reached for her in his mind, and she smiled at him and held out her hand, glowing in the light, and he stepped into glorious brightness, the brilliance of paradise…
The paradise here is only a faint echo of the paradise to come.
Jason wasn't sure whose voice this was.
I know this world is tangled up in pain and darkness… But…. Do I have to step into pain and fear… if I have a chance to get out of it?
How can I…. choose what I know full well is in store.
Torture.
The word burned across his back.
Stabbed into his cheek.
And more. Humiliation and slavery, constant pressure, oppressive darkness…
To be trapped… to never see Connie again…
Perhaps there would be a way out.
This would be a perfect intel-gathering opportunity….
One way to get inside….
Despite himself, his heart leaped at this prospect. To be in the heart of the organization…
Could anyone ever escape. They claim to be all-powerful. Perhaps…. I would be trapped forever… or…
Like in Connie's dream.
Like…what I've seen. Elliot. The others in slavery.
How can I possibly help anyone if I'm there? Is that really the best use of my body and soul? Is that really all I'm good for?
Of course not. But—
I… would probably do more good than I have this whole investigation…. Do something right…
Sacrifice for the man who…was willing to be killed for me.
His mind flashed back to the day, seventeen years ago, on the scaffold. Zahl aiming the gun at him. Roderick stepping in front of it.
The bullet bursting toward his heart.
The scar that must still be there….
I can step in front of death and take it… especially if… I'm suffering anyway. But this…
Dear God. If this is what…you want….
Give me the strength to ask for strength.
It's probably already too late. Just get out of here while you can.
The street below still frozen in a tableau. James, standing; Luna, draped over the curb. The dealer half-turned, looking up toward where the king had been. The other two men casually covering James, vigilant, moving as if in slow motion.
I'm going back to the palace and cuddling up warm with Connie and forgetting about this.
But…. I could never forget.
What I did—not exchanging myself for Tasha and Saul. That Gray took their place and that they're returned doesn't negate what I did.
I should have then.
I'll regret keeping back.
More than I'll regret going with them? The worst possible thing?
No. The worst possible thing is to disobey what I know is right.
Is what's right always sacrifice! He looked upwards, into the dark, the rain streaking down in silvery fragmented dashes, straggling cold drops onto his face. Streaming down from his eyes like tears. His nails dug into his palms. The part of his palm he could feel the most wasn't that which felt pain, but that which was numb.
Pieces of me taken. Shredded apart, and some things I never got back. Never can get back.
What would happen—
How much more would be taken?
I would shield your soul. It will always be mine.
The warmth of the voice poured into his heart, burning out the cold.
He knelt with his forehead on the roof, pools of rain quivering near his eyes.
A voice came to him—from a book he'd read, perhaps.
He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose
This life—it's just a small sliver, really. A small space… a shred of filtered light and shadow, the light a dim reflection of the vast glory in store—
All life is pain compared to that.
But—there is such a thing as lesser and greater pain… it's not my life I'm giving. I'm not embracing death and glory—but a long slog of heartache, soul-crushing captivity and violence and violation…
I could keep more love, more beauty here. Rather than go into that. Taste more hints of glory and light… not go into darkness. Not turn my back on everything that I love. Dad, Odyssey, my beautiful Connie… I could easily go home, stay away from danger. Revel in our love. Raise our family. Be together, reject any more heartache.
Enough.
Is the lack of pain really mine to keep? There is no knowing what will happen in the future… I can't grasp tightly to it. A disaster can strike at any moment, even at home.
I can't decide what kind of events will shake me. I…couldn't save my son. There's no guarantee I'd have a family…that we'd always be safe…it's even an illusion I'd always be able to protect Connie, no matter how much stronger I could make myself…. How many weapons I stockpiled….
All I can do is decide what to do when those events happen.
Perhaps I'm here, now, for a reason.
To set my body between a great evil and a nation…
Dear God, please…give me strength….
Light spilled into him, filtering in edges and curves… infusing strength into him.
This is it. Do it. Now—there is no time. No hesitation. If you wait—you might rethink—it'll be too late—
He pushed himself to his feet; his head reeled, but he shook it and strode to the edge.
Below, Roderick, nearing the corner of the building near the alley.
Jason gathered his energy and plunged down the fire escape, almost slipping, grasping the slick railing.
"Wait!" he called.
Roderick turned, his face questioning, deep pain in his eyes.
Jason's boots sloshed onto the soggy ground. He jogged up to the king. Grasped his hand. Slid draggled hair out of his eyes. "Roderick—don't go. I'll will."
Surprise sparked in the king's eyes. "No, that's not your call. This is my country, my family."
"They need you."
"So do yours."
Horror almost like sickness coursed through him. To leave his family… risk never returning, or return not all in one piece...
He dragged himself back to the inner strength that had infused him. "You saved my life once. Maybe… it was for this. To save yours."
"Jason—it's more than your life. It's—"
"I know." Tremors shook him, threatening to drag him down.
Roderick shook his head. "I can't let you do that. Such a debt no one could repay."
Jason laid a hand on the king's shoulder. "You don't have to."
He grasped Jason's arm. "I'll forever admire your willingness to do this for me. For us. But…I don't think it'll work. I'm the only surefire replacement for the prince."
"I was worth two before…."
"You're worth infinitely much. But they won't see it that way. I'd better go, they may take him—" He took a step toward the alley.
Jason whipped out his gun. Aimed it at the king.
Shock burned through his eyes. "Jason—"
"Treason, I know."
"Only if you were a citizen. But—I don't think you'd actually shoot."
Jason's heart thumped hard, sending shards stabbing through him. "You're right." He dashed up to him and, hating it had come to this—but he wouldn't be prosecuted for it—he slammed the gun into the king's head
He crumpled to the pavement.
The king stirred, eyes half-open, pleading, blood leaking down his temple to mix with a slurry of rain.
Jason bowed, hand on his heart. Giving him all the respect he deserved.
Knowing in that moment how right this decision was. Someone so noble should not be ground to pieces under Yavesh's boot.
He turned and strode through the sloshing water pooling in the center of the alley. Past dumpsters overflowing with garbage. Out into the weak flicker of a streetlight.
"Ah, there you are," said the dealer, striding toward him, gun at his side. "I was beginning to wonder." Then he stopped short. "It's not the king—"
"He couldn't make it."
The dealer's eyebrow raised. "You think you're worth the king?"
"You will take me instead of James and Luna."
"Luna, perhaps. But the prince…." He rubbed his chin.
"I'm worth the power of Muldavia not coming down on you. They won't come looking for me—at least, won't go all out for me."
"Let me speak to my superior." He stepped away and spoke into his phone. Then stepped back. "There are other ways to get to the royal family. And you—you are worth something to them. So you may do for some leverage. Taking you was a possible play anyway. Now—you come willingly… come to us easily… we can work with that." He gestured for Jason to come closer and, dread tugging at his heart, Jason took a few steps forward.
The dealer grasped his arm; Jason flinched. The man smirked, scanning him with his eyes. He guided Jason across the street to the others, his grip firm but not forceful.
"Let the others go," he ordered, and the two men lowered their guns.
"So he's coming instead?" said one of the men, thin, with shoulder-length black hair and sharp dark eyes.
"Not the prize we were hoping for, but this is probably for the best anyway." He glanced at Jason, a sly expression on his face, as if a labyrinth of secrets lay embedded in his mind.
The dealer held his arm while one of the others frisked him for weapons, taking his knife, his pistol. Then he tugged Jason's arm. "Let's go."
His heart heavy, Jason matched the man's steps, forcing himself not to struggle.
James looked up from the curb where he cradled Luna, who looked like she was just emerging from a deep fog, her eyes beginning to focus, her hand weakly gripping James'. "Jason—what are you doing?" said the prince.
"I can't…" His voice caught. "I can't let you or your father go. This is—" His throat tightened, threatening to cut off all words. "This is the best option."
"No! I can't let you—it's my burden—"
"You deserve to be with Luna. Take care of her. Take care of your father—he's injured."
Alarm sparked in James' eyes, and they flicked to the alley, searching.
"Tell—" Horror of it threatened to overwhelm him. Drag him to the ground, his entire body drained of blood. "Please…tell Connie… I'll be back. I…I promised. And that I love her. And tell my father—"
The dealer jerked Jason's arm. "Let's go," he said forcefully. A helicopter clacked in the distance. Perhaps the king had called it—perhaps it wasn't too late, and they'd get here and take them all down—this is the best choice because it takes the king and prince out of the line of fire—
Perhaps I'll die in a bloom of flame—and it'll be just a moment, feel like just a moment, until I see Connie again and immerse in her green eyes….
Jason walked with them; they urged him faster. James called, "I'll tell them!" and then they yanked him through a doorway, opening it as if by magic, and pulled him through a darkened shop. Through the dining area with a checkered floor, to the kitchen and then out the back. In the alley behind the restaurant stood a dark windowless van.
His heart dropped.
He couldn't move.
He shook his head, unable to make his body obey.
And so they grabbed him, dragged him to it as the door opened, and shoved him inside.
He tumbled onto a carpeted floor. Several people facing him, clad in black, holding rifles. Six on each side, as if ready for a conflict, their eyes glinting with focus. They looked down at him curiously.
One of the men who'd brought him jumped into the passenger seat while the other and the dealer climbed into the back and lifted Jason to a chair behind the driver's seat. On its armrests were handcuffs.
Lightning blazed through his mind, blinding him.
Not that.
He struggled as they wrested him into the seat.
Stall them.
The agents might find me if I stay close—if I leave—it'll be much harder—
He stood, pushing through them, but they pressed him back, yanking his arm, forcing him down without any pain, as if they'd done this a hundred times. Knew just the right pressure points to make his body comply.
He struggled against their weight, but it was futile. They forced his arm to the armrest and clasped the handcuff around it.
Cold bit his wrist.
His lungs tightened. He couldn't breathe. Tried to struggle weakly but they thrust his other arm down and then they had him crushed to the seat. For good measure, they bound his legs.
A tear streaked down his face; he hoped the raindrops covered for him.
Although—how could he show more weakness than he already had. They'd maneuvered him in place as if he were a child.
Like abusive parents binding their child to a chair—
"Why?" he asked. "I came willingly."
The dealer smirked as he buckled into the seat opposite him, while the other man sat in the spare seat at the end of the van. "We can't take any chances." He turned to the driver. "Ready."
The van squealed out into the alley; out the front window, Jason could just make out the brick buildings in the dark, their windows streaked with rain.
Raindrops dripped off his hair onto his nose. He longed to wipe them off but there was nothing he could do. More drops slid down the back of his neck. He shivered—only a fraction of it because of the cold.
He was in shock, but he welcomed it, in a way—he didn't want to think.
Didn't want to feel.
Wanted to get this over with.
But he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to escape it for a long time.
The world closed in on him. He forced himself to breathe, but his chest was impossibly tight as if a fist was squeezing it, pressing tighter and tighter—
My PTSD will make this even harder, he realized. How will I endure this….
"Where are you taking me," he asked to distract himself, breathless.
"You'll see," said the dealer. "I'm Martin, by the way. You can call me Mar. I'm one of the high-level go-betweens, trusted to find valuable targets. You may see me from time to time."
"How long will it take?"
"Would you like a drug to make the time pass more quickly? We have zyx…"
Jason shook his head. He longed for oblivion, but he also wanted to be aware. Didn't want to be any more incapacitated than he was.
Perhaps I can learn some intel….
Despair dragged at him. They were getting further away…. Out toward the outskirts of Rakima… the chance diminishing that he'd be found with each mile.
His heart wouldn't stop sinking.
But he forced himself to focus. To not panic. Linger on details in case he'd need them later…. Hang onto shreds of hope that he'd be able to get out and tell these details and bring Yavesh down…
Even if it in reality wasn't likely. He had to pretend it was. To not collapse totally into darkness.
Constantly praying for strength for whatever was in store.
To continue to do what was right—it still mattered. He could be the one who brought light here… to a place where only evil existed…
No matter how hard it would try to snuff out the light.
The van stopped and they dragged him out onto a gravel road where a red sports car sat. A young man peeled away from the car he'd been leaning on and waved. He had blond hair and wore a sleek, expensive-looking sports jacket over a white shirt, open at the collar. He shook Mar's hand, then Mar turned and gestured to Jason.
"My, my, my. Not the prince. But a princely figure nonetheless." His eyes flickered over Jason appreciatively. "Quite the catch." He glided closer and touched Jason's shirt, grasping the fabric, and drawing him closer, inspecting him. Jason glared at him, then looked away. He wasn't going to let on how much being manhandled bothered him.
The young man cupped Jason's jaw, traced his lower lip with his thumb. He slid his other hand down over Jason's collarbone, rubbing the damp skin. He leaned in, whispered, "You like that, don't you."
No! Jason wanted to shout. Get your hands off me.
But he was frozen.
All agency had fled from him, knowing how deeply he was in their power.
Yet—he could make a run for it—
Gather your strength—get out of here—
The hand slid lower, caressing his chest.
There was one thing he would fight, no matter what—
"Now, now," said Mar. "He doesn't belong to you." He pulled on the young man's shoulder, and he reluctantly stepped back, his eyes lingering on Jason.
"What's wrong with taking just a taste?"
"Maybe later. If the boss lets you. But until then, unless explicitly noted otherwise, he belongs to only one. Besides, I promised I'd get him back unscathed."
"Does he look scathed to you?"
Mar smiled tightly, indulgently. "Let's move to the next phase."
The young man nodded and slid into the driver's seat.
The others dragged Jason to the back of the car and gestured to the trunk.
Jason backed up. "I can't."
"You will, one way or another," said Mar. "Perhaps you want the zyx now?"
Jason couldn't stand the thought of being trapped in the trunk, who knew how long. There wasn't much he could discover there, either.
His heart rebelled against taking the drug, being incapacitated… but then… perhaps he did need rest. This might be the last time he would get it for a while. And he'd need rest in order to figure out what to do, how to spy on them, how to endure—whatever the next phase was.
He nodded.
As they plunged the needle into his neck, he thought, perhaps I made a mistake… He struggled against the fog, but it roiled up into his mind, pushing him down… after a moment, he wondered, why am I struggling…to sleep, to rest, would be much better….
And then,
Nothingness.