Marked (17 page)

A hero who knew what he wanted would never be nervous. Which meant only one thing: he wasn’t being honest.

The sexual fuzz cleared from her brain, and she brought her chin up in defiance. “Nice try. Fortunately, I’m not stupid enough to fall for that twice in this lifetime.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, I think it’s time you answered some of my questions.”

He let out a long, weary sigh and dropped his arm. “What else do you want to know?”

That was easy. Careful.
She tipped her head. “What exactly is an Argonaut? Nick said you were a guardian. Is that like a general?”

“Do you know the story of the original Argonauts?”

“From Greek mythology? Sure. They were the band of heroes who sailed with Jason on the
Argo
in search of the Golden Fleece. There were fifty, if I remember correctly.”

“Fifty-five. They are, technically, the founders of our race. Mostly men. Some women, though there were other heroes who didn’t sail with Jason but who also fell into that category. Their offspring became known as Argoleans, named after the realm the gods granted us when it became evident the heroes were reproducing.” Casey eased down into a chair as he spoke. “The original strongest seven—Heracles, Achilles, Theseus, Odysseus, Perseus, Jason and Bellerophon—were chosen as the race’s guardians and were therefore granted the title Argonaut. In every generation, one from the original seven bloodlines is chosen to continue the guardian tradition. My line goes back to Heracles.” A wry smile curled his mouth. “Or as you Americans prefer to call him, Hercules.”

“The greatest of the heroes,” she said, thinking back to what she knew of them. “That’s why you’re the leader?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t the ship Jason’s?”

He shrugged. “Minor technicality.”

A look she couldn’t define passed over his eyes, making her suspect there was more he wasn’t saying, but other questions burned. “So there are seven of you now?”

“Yes. My kin. Brothers in battle. We each have a different power, which is generally linked back to our ancestors. Mine is great strength. All Argoleans have powers of some type, but those of the Argonauts are magnified.”

She chewed over that answer as she said, “And what do you do…you and your brothers?”

“We protect the race,” he said flatly.

“By hunting daemons?”

“Among other things.”

“But you do more than that, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “We do.”

She waited for him to explain, and when seconds passed and he didn’t, she realized she’d hit a dead end. Tucking her feet under her, she tried another tactic. “So how old are you?”

“Two hundred and two.”

Her mouth fell open, and only when she realized how stupid she must look did she close it. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“How long do you live?”

He shrugged. “Argonauts and those of the royal family live roughly seven hundred years. Some a bit longer. We are the strongest of the race.”

“Wow.” Casey couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her brow wrinkled. Or wait…maybe she could. “How long will I live?”

“Most Argoleans live about five hundred years. I would
guess the half-breeds—Misos,” he corrected before she could do it for him, “live about the same.”

Okay, there was definite disgust in that answer. Did he think he was superior to humans? That was just…bigoted. Not that she cared. He could believe whatever he wanted. She still needed answers.

She refocused on what he’d told her. And thought of Jill’s phone call yesterday and the battery of tests awaiting her. Five hundred years. She was only twenty-seven. If she had the same cancer as her grandmother…

A lump formed in her throat. “Can you die before then?”

“Do you mean are we mortal?”

She nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “We are mortal. We can be killed just like humans. But our resistance to disease and our ability to heal are amplified.”

Thank God. She let out a relieved breath.

“I’d venture to guess that’s not the case for the Misos though.”

And there went her relief. No, she wouldn’t be that lucky, would she?

“Well,” she said with a frown, “I guess that explains your miraculous healing back at my house.” But it didn’t explain the vision he’d projected to her when he’d been asleep.

Brow creased, she said, “If that’s true, then why couldn’t your father be healed?”

“What?” For the first time since he’d opened his eyes and shot sparks across the room that had been lighting her up like a Christmas tree ever since, he looked dazed.

“Your father. Why couldn’t he heal from that gunshot wound? I watched you heal from something almost as bad. Was he too old?”

His dark eyebrows drew together in confusion. “How…do you know about his death?”

“You showed me.” When he only stared at her like
she’d sprouted snakes in her hair, she added, “When you were asleep. I saw the daemons you were hunting and the boy across the river. He didn’t mean to shoot your father, did he? He’d tried to shoot the beast you both were fighting.”

The color drained from Theron’s face, and in a quiet voice he asked, “Acacia. Have you had dreams like this before?”

“I wouldn’t call them dreams. More like, I don’t know, visions. But yeah, I guess I have.”

“When?”

His change in tone sent alarm bells off in her head. The skin on her lower back near her birthmark tingled. “The first night we met. After I stitched you up and you were sleeping. I laid down on the couch and had a vision of you and your father standing in a field overlooking a battlefield.” Her gaze locked on his. “Oh, my God. That was the Civil War, wasn’t it? I saw blue and gray coats.”

He nodded slowly and rose to his feet. “Yes. When else? What other times did you have these visions?”

Okay, the crazed look in his eye wasn’t doing anything to ease her nerves. In fact, it was kind of freaking her out. She knew he had some kind of superhuman strength, she’d seen it in action, which meant the Argonauts had powers humans could only envy. But if she was reading him right, he hadn’t projected those images onto her the way she thought at all. And that meant somehow she’d conjured them herself.

That tingling intensified. “Yesterday. When we got here. That little girl who came running up to us? I…when I held her hand I had a flash of her family and the daemons attacking her home.” Theron stiffened. Apprehensive, Casey dropped her feet to the floor. “I figured I was just hallucinating. What with everything that had happened yesterday, you know?”

He stared at her with wide and very focused eyes, but didn’t speak.

“What?” she finally asked, easing out of her chair.

“You have the gift of hindsight.”

Hindsight? Well, that didn’t sound so bad. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He didn’t answer. But a look of great confusion passed over his features before he turned and surveyed the room as if seeing it for the first time. “I need to find Nick.”

Nick, the half-breed he couldn’t stand? Oh, this wasn’t sounding good at all.

He grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and tugged it on, then his boots from the floor, and sat on the bed as he bent to lace them with swift fingers.

“Theron, what’s going on?”

A ruckus out in the hall brought both their heads up. Their eyes met briefly before he rose and jerked the door open, careful to keep her shielded from sight.

Helene rushed by. Theron grabbed her by the arm to stop her. “What happened?”

Helene looked through the doorway toward Casey. “Marissa’s missing. No one can find her. They’re talking about sending out a search party—”

“No,” Theron said fiercely.

Casey pushed past Theron to grip Helene’s hand. “Where was she last seen?”

“In her bedroom.” Fear rushed over Helene’s delicate features. “Her mother put her to bed last night, and when she got up this morning, Marissa was gone.”

Casey thought of the young girl she’d met yesterday, then of the young girl’s words:
Minnie knew he’d bring you here to save us.

She squeezed Helene’s hand. “I’ll get my coat.”

She swept back into the room, slid her feet into her shoes and grabbed her jacket, not caring that she hadn’t brushed her teeth or combed her hair or even had her morning cup of coffee. But when she turned she was very aware of the mammoth body blocking her exit.

“You’re not going anywhere, Acacia. This is none of your concern.”

None of her concern? Oh, screw that. She set her jaw. “Those are my people. That girl is one of
my
race. So don’t you dare tell me this is none of my business.” Her eyes narrowed, and the air crackled between them, but she didn’t back down. For the first time in her life, she had something to fight for.

“You can’t keep me here, Theron. One way or the other, I’m going to help find Marissa. So either move your ass out of my way, or make yourself useful and do something to help me.”

She was seriously losing it.

Isadora paced to the windows, turned and wrung her hands together as she passed the settee. Four more steps and she was near the closet door, moving by the high-backed dresser and looping around the canopy bed again. This room had always been a place of comfort and solitude for her, but not now. Not when she was ready to claw her way through stone and mortar just to get free.

She jumped at the soft knock on her door. “Yes?”

“It’s just I, my lady.” Saphira poked her head around the door. “May I come in?”

Isadora breathed a sigh of relief. She’d half expected it to be Demetrius, or one of the other Argonauts. For a group of
ándres
who couldn’t stomach the castle, they’d sure been hanging around a lot lately. Which couldn’t be good on any level. “Yes, yes, come in.”

As the door opened she caught a glimpse of her latest sentry, Cerek, his short dark hair and broad shoulders easily discernible in the sitting room to her chambers.

Resentment burned hot in her, but she tamped it down as Saphira closed the door with a soft click. The younger woman held a tray of food—soup, crackers, a bowl of fresh fruit. The scent of stewed chicken and vegetables made Isadora’s stomach roll. She placed a hand on her abdomen, waving away the tray and its contents with the other. “I’m not hungry.”

Saphira set the tray on a low table near the fireplace. “You must eat, my lady.”

Eating was the last thing on Isadora’s mind. And she
knew it would just come right back up if she tried. “Has Theron been back to the castle?”

Saphira glanced toward the door as if she was afraid to speak too loud. She moved closer and in a low voice said, “No, my lady. Not yet.”

Damn. Though being shackled to Theron wasn’t Isadora’s first choice, at least she knew he wouldn’t shut her in a room and forget about her, which was what her father and the rest of those mercenaries were doing to her now. “What about the king?”

“The same. Callia’s been to see him several times, but there’s no improvement.”

Isadora placed her finger to her lips and walked to the windows. The gown she wore weighed heavy on her shoulders, and not for the first time, she vowed to change the monarchy’s archaic traditions—clothing being the first—as soon as she became queen.

“Do you know where Theron is?” she asked.

Saphira’s voice held an edge of pity that gnawed on Isadora’s last nerve. “Word is he’s on an important assignment for your father. No one seems to know where he’s gone, though. And with one of the Argonauts outside your room every minute, few in the castle are speaking, let alone gossiping about what they know.”

Isadora closed her eyes. A personal favor for her father. That could only mean one thing. She had a pretty good idea where Theron had gone. And whom he was with. The question was, would he be able to convince her to come to Argolea with him? And if he did, would it be too late?

Isadora lifted bony hands and looked down at her pale skin. Even she knew she was wasting away. The way her energy was lagging lately, she guessed she had a week, maybe two, tops, before she lost the battle completely.

The prophecy flashed in her mind as she stood there. The one she’d stumbled across in her father’s books when she’d gone to sit by his side in his illness.

There shall be two in every era,

Born of god and earth and men.

One of strength and one of courage,

Two separate halves to bring the end.

And they shall be known by the markings they bear,

United in the twenty-seventh year.

Only joined will the strong survive,

To dissolve the pact and bring the end to life.

A shiver ran through Isadora at what her father was doing. But how could he know for sure what would happen? And how could he sacrifice one daughter for another?

Not for the first time, she thought about the half-breed sister she’d not known about until only days before. Would they have anything in common? If they met on the street, would they recognize each other? Would there be a connection?

She didn’t know. But one thing was clear. The ease with which her father and the Argonauts had locked her in this room made it clear they regarded her as nothing more than a pawn. Nothing but a pet to keep fed and quiet and well-groomed.

The tightness in her chest she’d been fighting the last few days came back with a vengeance. And as she eyed the courtyard below, she knew what she had to do. “Saphira, I need your help.”

“Anything, my lady.”

Isadora crossed the floor and reached for a piece of paper from the top drawer of her desk. Scribbling quickly, she said, “Find Orpheus and give him this letter.”

“Orpheus?” Saphira asked, bewildered. “But why? He’s Lucian’s nephew.”

As Lucian was the top ranking member of the Council, and very much
not
her friend, the question was warranted. But what Saphira didn’t understand was that Isadora
knew Orpheus’s darkest secrets. And he would do just about anything to make sure they never came to light.

“Because he owes me.” She reread the note quickly and, satisfied it would set the wheels in motion, signed her name, slipped the paper into an envelope and affixed her royal seal. She handed the paper to Saphira. “Deliver it right away. But take care. It goes only to Orpheus. No one else.”

Saphira nodded and slipped the envelope inside her jacket. “It will be done.”

Alone, Isadora looked out over the courtyard once more and drew a deep breath. Then thought of her sister.

Two weeks. Max. She had two weeks to put her plan in motion before they both died.

She only prayed she was doing the right thing.