“Wow,” I remarked. “Politics sounds like a bloody business where you’re from.”
“Isn’t it like that everywhere?” he asked. “The sisters took up their thrones after the resistance was wiped out, and set about ruling Vysanthe as it had always been ruled—as one united nation, facilitating trading from the north to the south, allowing distribution of the varying resources that each polar continent produces. However, less than a few months into their rule, things began to deteriorate. As twins, one could hardly exert authority over the other. They each developed their own ideas for how they foresaw Vysanthe’s future. A roundtable was established to help mediate between the two sisters and come to a negotiation, but ultimately, they failed to cooperate, and a compromise was made to divide Vysanthe into two rulerships—two governments.
“Many citizens were unsettled and upset by this, at first, as it was a complete paradigm shift that hadn’t been done before in all of recorded history. Vysanthe, due to its long track record of wasting and misusing resources in general, is a planet that produces little for its own sustenance, and hence needed to be managed by one central authority to ensure even distribution of resources.
“Under the new split regime, however, it became practically each to her own. The sisters had certain agreements in place, but it quickly became clear that they were more interested in developing their queendoms individually—primarily by dragging resources from other planets.
“So, that has been the status quo for the past decade—the twin sisters ruling their queendoms separately—but… a number of us have reason to believe that the queens are growing tired of this status quo. After all, compromise means two people getting something neither actually wants—and that’s exactly what happened when they split Vysanthe in two. Both wish to be the sole ruler, and both believe they are the one most qualified to do so. One of the reasons Vysanthe has become so obsessed with material advancement—including the search for immortality—is both are engaged in a game of one-upmanship, trying to outdo the other and prove how they are the more capable, forward-thinking leader, to their populace, and the populace of the other side. Each is vying to become Empress.”
“It would sure make a great reality show,” I said, though I knew it really wasn’t anything to joke about.
“No official statement has been made yet regarding a war,” Navan continued, “or anything of that sort—at present, it is merely a feeling many of us have. We sense the rumblings of discontent from both ends of our land.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “And where would that leave you and your brothers, if there’s a war? You’d stay on Gianne’s side—or try to transfer to Brisha’s?”
“We’d have no choice but to stay on Gianne’s side. Brisha is picky about who she grants residency to in her territory, because she thinks any outsiders could be spies. My family, especially, due to its rank. In order to be allowed over to Brisha’s side, they’d have to offer something exceptionally valuable to her, to prove themselves trustworthy beyond doubt.” He threw a scowl in Ianthan’s direction. “Something I for one am not quite selfish enough to do.”
“Your family’s rank,” I repeated, distracted by his previous statement. “What is your family, exactly?”
From Navan’s expression, the question clearly made him uncomfortable. “My father is a highly valued… advisor of Queen Gianne. And my mother is a weak, silly woman who would never stand up for anything that didn’t support her husband’s status in society. That’s pretty much all you need to know about them.”
The disdain in his voice reminded me of how I regarded my own parents. Though, his tone was closer to vehemence—it seemed to be rawer, fresher, like a recently opened scar, rather than a closed one, like mine was these days (for the most part).
My thoughts returned to Ronad, and the anguished words I’d heard him speak back in his recovery room. Perhaps his tragedy was one of the reasons behind Navan’s bitterness toward his parents, though I wasn’t insensitive enough to bring up that topic now. Navan had made clear earlier that he didn’t want to talk about Ronad’s past.
“I’m sorry to hear that about your parents,” I said.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” he replied. “It’s just free will. Everyone has it.”
Free will. That term seemed to mean something to him, I realized, as I recalled his answer to a question I’d asked the day before. “Every creature in the universe is born with free will. We can choose to be different, even if we share the same anatomy.” It had struck a chord with me then, and it did again now, given that free will was the only hope I had to carve out a life for myself that was different than my parents’. Even though this man and I were from entirely different corners of the universe, it was a sentiment we both clung to, it seemed.
Though, I imagined his daily battle had to be much more difficult than mine. After all, I hadn’t been brought up to be a literal beast. He had his whole physiology to contend with, too.
It made me consider Navan’s personality in a new light, and I felt that I finally understood him better. I thought back on all the behavior I’d observed so far in him, like that first encounter when he’d shown us his fearsome true form—and how, in spite of that, he’d been insistent to the point of being fanatical that we not be harmed, and that we take the Elysium voluntarily rather than being forced to. Shortly afterward, he’d engaged in a candid negotiation with me, and agreed to my terms to give us more information. Then he’d been a gentleman and arranged for us all to be placed back in our bedroom (I couldn’t blame him for Jethro deciding to take a slurp out of me along the way). None of this behavior was characteristic of your average Vysanthian, clearly—Jethro alone had proven that, and I imagined that Jethro had to be one of the much nicer coldbloods inhabiting that world, given that Navan hung out with him. His upbeat and sometimes quirky comments, which I’d found odd at first, also made more sense now.
It was obvious to me that all of this was Navan practicing. Practicing using his free will to go against his grain, defy his natural instincts. There was an undercurrent of roughness to his manner, but from what I could tell, he’d learned to control it. To become a master of his circumstances, rather than a victim of them.
He’d even gone so far as to figure out how to change himself physically, with his special heating formula, to become the virtual opposite of what he was in every respect.
All of it made me wonder if he’d been like this his whole life, or if there had been a time when he was just like the rest of his kind. And if it was the latter, what had caused him to make the change…
Whatever the case, I’d gained a newfound respect for him, because I knew how hard it was to change yourself—especially without any real support system around you. Sure, Navan had a brother and an almost-brother he was close to… and a rather questionable best friend… but the rest of the time he was surrounded by creatures who were clearly the exact opposite of what he was trying to be.
That also explained his earlier comment regarding why he wanted a ship that was better than everyone else’s—so he could get away, be in his own space, think his own thoughts. He didn’t have the luxury of two amazing adoptive parents, or access to a psychologist whenever he felt like having a chat. He’d had to struggle through this by himself. I couldn’t imagine the strength of character that must have been required. It’s what true bravery was, in my opinion. Having not only the self-awareness but the courage to recognize you ought to change, and then preparing to go to war with yourself every day to achieve it.
I only realized I’d been staring at him too long when he widened his eyes at me, as if to ask what the matter was.
I looked away, embarrassed. “I just…” I began. “I think you’re very brave, that’s all.”
He frowned at me, apparently unsure of what to make of the compliment. And quite rightly so. It sounded totally random.
“I mean,” I hurried to try and clarify, “I think the way you’re choosing to use your ‘free wil
l’ is… noble.”
“Oh, don’t get all mushy on me,” he said. “I’m not doing anything… I have a lot of bad blood to make up for. I’m not actually that stellar of a guy.”
I frowned. “I don’t think you’re so bad. You just flew me all the way to Alaska, in your arms.” I thought back to all the guys that I’d gone to high school with. Not one of them—even if they’d had the ability—would’ve done anything even close to that. “That’s pretty stellar.” I paused. “And…I feel safe with you.”
A pained expression crossed his face as he sighed. “Don’t feel too safe. I’m not a great protector.”
I would’ve thought he was just fishing for compliments, except that he seemed completely unable to accept a compliment, and that pained expression was still etched across his face.
I swallowed, not really sure what he meant by it, or how to reply. But even if his actions were driven by guilt, it still made him a better person than the rest of his kin—who apparently didn’t even seem to feel guilt, and deemed it their God-given right to exploit others.
I wasn’t quite buying his self-deprecation, but I let the topic go. As it turned out, we didn’t have much time to continue our conversation anyway.
Barely three minutes later, he cleared his throat and nodded toward a large rock protruding from the dark, icy ground. “We’ve arrived, so I suggest you hold on tighter.”
Chapter Thirteen
I realized as we were descending that we’d already passed over the glittering village I’d spotted earlier in the distance, and it was now behind us. My stomach lurched as we soared downward, dropping out of the sky faster than I was comfortable with. I held on tighter, while Navan’s arms pressed in harder around me.
I shut my eyes for the last few feet, and opened them again only when I heard Navan’s feet crunch against the snow. I was glad we’d been blackberry picking when the whole Ianthan-Jethro incident happened, since it meant I was wearing long pants and sneakers. Still, I was grateful that Navan kept holding me, since my attire was not exactly snow proof.
Ianthan’s dark figure approached.
“Over there,” Navan muttered, gesturing to the large rock protruding from the ice, some ten feet away.
He carried me in silence, until we reached it. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though; I didn’t feel the need to try to think of something to say. It felt natural, which almost made me laugh out loud—here I was, being carried in the arms of a coldblood who had just flown me from Texas to Alaska because I’d imbibed a potentially dangerous substance. Nothing about this was normal, or natural, yet being there in his arms felt exactly that.
He stopped at the rock’s base and began brushing against the snow with his boots, revealing a metal trapdoor. He put me down, though made sure I held on to his shoulder for support, because my knees were shaky. I pulled the coat closer around me, and watched as Navan pulled open the secret trapdoor, revealing a storage compartment underneath that contained a steel trunk, which was about four feet by five feet in size. He heaved it out onto the snow and opened the lid, revealing a treasure chest of countless small silver vials, sectioned into dozens of compartments with exotic names that held no meaning to me.
Navan studied the assortment of vials for a few moments, before pulling three out, along with a glass beaker. He poured the three liquids into the container and shook it before pushing it toward me.
I clutched the beaker in my hands.
“Drink it all,” he instructed firmly.
I breathed in, then nodded, before holding my nose and downing it as quickly as I could. I almost spat it back out as it burned down my throat, but somehow, I managed to force it down.
To my astonishment, the effect was almost instant. I felt the last of the mist clear from my eyes, the headache disappeared, and I felt… quite normal. Cold, but normal.
“Wow,” I said. “That really worked.”
Navan nodded, then took the bottle back from me. He wiped it with a cloth that had been tucked into one corner of the trunk, and then replaced it, closing the lid of the trunk.
He moved closer to me, and pulled out a tiny flashlight from the bag around his shoulder, which he shone into my eyes. “Seems to have worked—for now at least…” He hesitated.
“What?” I asked.
He sighed, and that same look of guilt I’d detected in him earlier when he’d talked about my ordeal returned. “I’ve been reluctant to say it, but… you ought to know that you will likely feel the consequences of drinking that silver root for the rest of your life.”
I stared at him. “Wh-What? What do you mean?”
“Silver root is strong. It can have a negative impact on even a coldblood’s brain if he or she consumes too much. A known side effect of overconsumption, aside from nausea, is increased susceptibility to stimulants in general, as it weakens resistance levels. Being a human, you only needed a small dose to be severely affected by it, and as a result, I would advise you to be very careful when consuming anything with addictive qualities in the future… Even food could become a problem, if you allow yourself to overeat.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you switched the two vials like that without me noticing.”
My lips parted as I absorbed his words. It felt as if he’d punched me in the gut. Thanks to my dear parents, I had no desire to ingest anything remotely intoxicating, now or in the future, but the thought that this entire ordeal had left me more susceptible, more vulnerable than I already was, played on an insecurity that was already so raw in my heart and mind, it was hard to stop my hands from shaking. My confidence was already fragile, a timid thing that I worked hard every day to nourish and protect. The idea that even food could end up becoming a vice if I wasn’t careful was frightening.
“I’m sorry,” Navan said. “It was good you caught Jethro and Ianthan, but… I wish you had just taken the Elysium like I wanted you to.”
Despite the shock and the whirlwind of emotions I was struggling under, I managed to find a thread of reassurance in his empathetic gaze, and reel my mind back in. I got the uncanny sense that he understood what I was going through, but more than that, his presence reminded me of what I had just been thinking about, barely a few minutes ago—if he could maintain his character in spite of all the massive obstacles he faced, then there was no reason why I couldn’t.
The thought calmed me. “Okay.”
Navan took a breath, then nodded, switching his focus to a patch of snow six feet ahead of us, further around the side of the rock. “Let’s keep moving,” he said softly. “This was just a storage cupboard.”
I kept hold of his arm as we approached the patch of ground his eyes were set on, where another trap door lay hidden in the ground.
He exhaled sharply as we reached it, his arm muscles tensing. The snow had already been cleared away from the door.
“That’s not possible,” Navan breathed.
He swooped down and yanked open the door, shining his flashlight to reveal a much larger space beneath—an actual room.
He withdrew his wings into his back and dropped through the hole, followed swiftly by Ianthan, and I found myself crouching, staring down after them. It was… empty.
“Where is all of my stuff? How could anyone have known about this?” he exclaimed. “Everything’s gone. Every last damn thing!”
“There’s a light!” Ianthan said suddenly, pointing to a door in the far corner of the room. Indeed, light was shining through the cracks—dim and warm, like candlelight.
Navan fell silent and rushed to the door, but before he could grab the handle, it swung open, spilling light into the main room. An old man with a long, bedraggled white beard and a grubby once-beige coat emerged in the doorframe, a gin bottle hanging in one hand. He looked just as surprised as Navan. Barking ensued, and a husky dog came padding out of the room, stopping beside the man.
“Who are you?” the old man slurred. “Is there a party I didn’t know about?” He raised his bottle like he was making a toa
st, sloshing liquid down his arm. He didn’t appear to notice. Nor did he appear to notice Navan and Ianthan’s grayish skin.
“Party? No, there’s no party!” Navan grabbed the old man by his collar. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What did you do with all of my things?”
“Things? Are there things down here?” The man tried to twist around but couldn’t escape Navan’s grip.
Navan gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing down here anymore.”
“I got no home to call my own, you see. Found this lil old hole in the ground—door was open and I climbed right inside!” He grinned, looking pleased with himself at the discovery, before taking a gluttonous swig from his bottle. “Thought it was my lucky day. I don’t have too many of those, you can probably tell.”
Navan let go. It was obvious this man, who could barely stand on his own two feet, was not the thief. “Maybe it is your lucky day,” Navan said. “Why don’t you take off.”
“I think I will, seeing as I’m not welcome here no more,” the old man mumbled, shuffling over to the ladder and climbing up it. He swayed dangerously, and I was afraid he was going to fall before he made it to the top, but he managed, and I moved aside to let him pass. He cast one lazy glance over me in the gloom, before turning back around to call down, “Mind passing Charlie up, would you?”
Navan had disappeared into the second room, but Ianthan passed the husky up to the guy, and with that, he headed off into the snow, his dog trotting along by his side, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’d just been in close quarters with a couple of vampires. At least we didn’t have to bother with Elysium with him—he had his own bottled version.
I stared after the retreating silhouettes for a moment, hoping he’d make it to the nearby town before freezing to death, but I couldn’t dwell on his well-being for long; we had bigger things to worry about right now.