Born of Legend (101 page)

But that was a different creature, a lifetime ago. A different time and place.

And when Jullien spoke, it was the simple truth that he finally, unequivocally believed and accepted. “Jullien eton Anatole is dead.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Davel and returned to their much more pressing discussion. “The guards also kept spare weapons and ammunitions near a cafeteria in back. We might be able to find some spare ammo. Maybe even some rations that haven't expired. And medical supplies.”

Kelsei finally spoke. “What is this place?”

Tylie nodded. “Yeah. How did you know this was here? I've never seen it before. Cairie? Have you?”

“No, and it was concealed in my closet. I had no idea there was a hidden door that opened into anything. It's terrifying, actually, to think someone could have accessed my room and I'd have never known it.” She looked back at Jullien. “Did my mother show this to you?”

A sudden wave of fury blinded Jullien at her question, and ignorance of something they both should have known about. Had either of them taken five minutes out of their self-absorbed, useless days to remove their heads from their asses, they'd have seen what their mother was doing to others right under their stuck-up noses.

Not just to him, but to dozens of other innocents.

His breathing turned ragged. “You want to know what this is? Fine.” He walked backward toward a cell door that was covered by years of neglect, cobwebs, and rust. Grimacing against both his mental and physical pain, he used his bloody sleeve and fist to rub the filth off the nameplate and room number so that it could be read: TAHRS JUNKIE ASSWIPE.

He pulled out his blaster and shot the hinges off the steel door, then kicked it in so that it showed the tiny cell that doubled as an
interrogation
and
education
room. His blood still stained the wall and filthy thin mattress on the rusted, narrow steel bed. “While you lay upstairs in your drugged stupor under Galene's tender loving care, Matarra, with your guards to watch over and protect
you
from harm in your opulent luxury, this was where I was brutalized during my youth. Every time you ran to your mother, Tylie, and told her stories about how sorry I was as an Androkyn, or how I embarrassed you and Andaria, this was where I was sent to be reeducated and punished. When
you,
Father, refused to come get me or demanded that I go to rehab over the drugs my family was injecting in me against my will, this was where I usually ended up. Thank you all for my happy childhood memories.
Really.
They've only been surpassed by the diligent love and care you've given me these last few years after you exiled me and allowed the Thrill-Kill warrant on my life to stand uncontested and every assassin in the Nine Worlds to hunt me to the corners of the universe, where I've had absolutely no amnesty or haven whatsoever.”

Jullien didn't bother to look inside the room. He knew every fucking inch of the cell where he'd once used his clawed nails to carve his name over and over into the walls. After a while, he'd grown bored with that and had started carving
INDURARI
to remind himself to hold on, that his days in that cell couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, he'd outlive the bitch holding him in captivity.

That had been the only thing that had allowed him to survive his childhood in this hell.

Putting it out of his mind, he went down the hall to the warden's office to look for a way to contact Ushara and the others to let them know they hadn't died in the bombing.

Luckily, the rusted-out door was unlocked and still capable of opening.

Thrāix followed him inside the spartan office. “You okay?”

“You know the answer. Not like you can't read my mind.” Not that it wasn't really obvious, given the way he was slamming objects around like a two-year-old while he searched for something they could use.

He was deeply hurt and pissed.

Mostly pissed that he was allowing his birth family to continue to hurt him. He didn't want those people back inside his head. He'd spent too many years purging them, and it wasn't fair that they were here and dredging this shit up again. All he'd wanted to do was even a score he felt he needed to by saving Nyk's kids and wife, and get out before anything reopened old mental damage.

Too late now.

No good deed goes unpunished.

He should have known the gods would screw him over somehow. They always did.

With a grimace at the filthy desk, Jullien pulled the scarf from around his neck and used it to clean off the decades of dust and decay. Sitting in the chair, he let out a frustrated breath before he began working on the communications equipment. Given how many years it'd been left sitting up, unused, it actually didn't look too bad. “I think we can get this back online. It's older than shit, but—”

“You're a
minsid
genius. I have all faith in you.”

“Feeling pretty stupid right now for getting everyone into this. You were right. I shouldn't have come. Damn sure shouldn't have dragged the rest of you from your families. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking about your brother … like you always do.”

“Yeah, but I should have been thinking about my brothers who have stood at my back and not the one who doesn't give a shit about me. Blood doesn't always make family.”

“True, but it's hard to break that bond. Like it or not, so long as they're alive, there's always a part of you tied to them by those genes. It's hard to let it go.”

“Yeah, but maybe it's time I finally did.”

*   *   *

Darling swallowed hard as he took in the prison cell that had clearly been reserved for Jullien. He wasn't sure what part of it sickened him more. Having been kept in a similar situation on Caron before he'd found the courage to rise up and kill his uncle over it, he felt for Jullien more than he would have ever thought possible.

Meanwhile, they'd all thought Jullien the spoiled, pampered Andarion heir. Of all people, Darling should have known that you couldn't tell what was really happening in someone's life or home by simply looking at them. He'd spent years living complicated lies and keeping silent secrets from even his closest friends.

And you damn sure couldn't tell what was in someone's heart or head. How could they have misjudged Jullien so badly? He felt like shit over it.

He met Shahara's haunted gaze as she saw the busted drawers of barbaric torture devices and restraints they'd used on Jullien. “Did you know about any of this?”

She shook her head. “I hauled him in for warrants a few times. Now that I think back on it, I should have suspected something was up. He was always getting into trouble away from home, and then trying to bribe me to keep him in lockup on Gondara and not transfer him back to Andaria. I stupidly thought it was because he didn't want to be embarrassed by their media.”

Cairistiona picked up the bloodstained pillow that chronicled her child's silent nightmares. She wouldn't even look at the restraints. “There's no blanket in here?”

Darling shook his head.

A tear fell down Aros's cheek as he ran his hand over the gouged-out marks in the wall where Jullien had chronicled his name and days, trying to stay sane. The depth of them told just how frustrated and angry the boy had been. “All the times he begged to come stay with me because he didn't want to be here, and I coldly turned him down.… Told him to suck it up and act like a man.”

Tylie let out a bitter, angry laugh. “You? You don't want to know the cruel things I've said to him. How many times I blamed him for Nykyrian being gone and for Cairie's condition. I had no idea he was in this kind of pain. He never said anything.”

“We didn't listen,” Cairie whispered. “He was acting out, trying to get our attention. And we ignored him, utterly.” She swallowed hard as she met her sister's gaze. “And I have a bad feeling that he was the mysterious
War Hauk
who saved us from those assassins when Kiara was pregnant with the twins.”

Tylie winced. “Had he been coming out from down here that day … it makes sense. Dear gods, Cairie. What have we done to him?”

Sick to his stomach, Darling left the cell to find that Jullien had returned. He was outside in the larger area with Kiara and her twin sons, who'd been crying nonstop with their two older brothers since they'd been awakened and rushed to flee with their nurse and big sister.

Jullien smiled patiently at the dark-haired twins, who were dressed in matching footed pajamas. “You're what? Four?”

With his curly hair tousled around his head, Taryn nodded and sniffed.

“I have twin daughters who are almost the same exact age you are. Want to see them?”

Sniffing, too, and rubbing his eyes, Tiernan sat forward. “You do?”

“I do.” Jullien pulled his link out and turned it on. “They're named Mira and Viv.”

Tiernan gasped. “They look like us!”

“I know, right? What's your name?”

“I'm Tiernan, and this is my brother Taryn.”

“Taryn? That's the name of my Mira's favorite doll.”

Taryn finally stopped crying. “It is?”

“Yeah, she's holding him in her picture. See?”

Taryn smiled at the picture.

“And you know what else? My girls and my son are what we Tavali call Fetchyns. Have you ever heard that term?”

They, and their brothers Adron and Jayce, who'd crawled closer to listen, shook their heads.

“Fetchyns are young honorary Tavali. And I'm a field admiral, which means that I'm the third highest-ranking member of my Nation. And your aunt Ushara and uncle Trajen are the vice admiral and high admiral of the Gorturnum Nation. That means they're my bosses. And that gives me the authority to swear you in as Fetchyn Tavalians, so I can make
you
pirates, too. Would you like that?”

They sucked their breaths in excitedly.

“Really?” Taryn clapped his hands together. “I can be a
pirate
?”

“Yes, you can. But … here's the thing. Pirates don't cry. And you'll have to stay strong to watch over your mother, brothers, and sisters. You think you can do that?”

Taryn glanced to Shahara's son, Devyn, who was still upset that his mecha unit had been smashed when a wall came down on it, and then to his brothers. “Yes! Dev? You want to be a Tavali Fetchyn, too?”

Devyn shook his head. “No, I'm a Dagan smuggler. We don't play with Tavali.”

Jullien laughed. “Well … sometimes you do. We've been known to fly with the Dagans quite a few times, right, Kasen?”

“He's right,” his aunt concurred. “We do rely on them sometimes. They can be really important to us on our missions. And they've saved our hides a few times—like tonight.”

Jullien turned back to his nephews. “So are you in?”

“We're in!” they shouted in unison.

“Okay.” Jullien held his hand out. “Put your hands on mine. And repeat after me.… Tavali is an honor that comes with obligation. Hem me never.”

The boys repeated it.

“United in purpose. United by bond. Forever Tavali.” Jullien waited until they'd responded with those words. “Very good, my Fetchyns. It's my solemn honor to welcome you in as official Tavali youth citizens.” He pulled the patches from his sleeves and pinned one to Taryn's shirt first. “This is my personal Canting that only I have so that all The Tavali know when they see it who I am and what Nation I belong to. When you wear it, they will all know that you are my Fetchyn and that if they dare touch you or harm you in any way, they will have to answer to me.”

Davel snorted. “Yeah, and there ain't nobody who wants to be on the bad side of Dagger's temper. Ever. Believe you me. Your uncle makes the baddest of bad flinch.”

Taryn scowled at Jullien's flag. “It looks like a bug.”

Jullien grinned. “Yeah, it kind of does. Tells you what my boss thinks of me most days.” He winked at his nephew. “I'm just a big old bug up his butt, irritating him.”

They burst out laughing.

Jullien ruffled Taryn's hair. “My call sign is Dagger Ixur. But you, I dub Demonax.”

“Demonax?”

Jullien nodded. “He was the son of Nemesis, and one of the fiercest of the Kadurr. Fearless in battle.” Next, he pinned his Canting to Tiernan. “And you I shall call Daktyloi.”

He screwed his face up. “Daktyloi? Why? Is he the twin of cool-sounding name?”

“No. Daktyloi was the first armed warrior created by the gods to guard their infant son from their enemies who wanted to eat him. His job was to create a frenzied dance with his shield and sword whenever the baby cried so as to drown the sounds out and keep him hidden. And to fight to the death to protect the baby should he be found.”

Tiernan's whole face lit up as Jullien pinned the patch to his nightshirt. “Thank you for giving me my own! Nobody ever does that. Sometimes I think I'm just Taryn's spare part.”

“You're very welcome. And I know what you mean. I felt the same way when I was a kid, with your paka. It's hard to be the younger twin. And my Viv complains about that with her older sister. So we always make sure she knows that she's not.” He turned to Jayce, who appeared around six years old.

“Can I just have the patch 'cause it's cool? I'm going to grow up and be an assassin like my dad was.”

“You're not going to grow up and be an assassin,” Kiara said sharply. “I don't know why you keep saying that. It is
never
going to happen.”

Laughing, Jullien motioned for Davel to give up his patches for the kids. “Sure.”

When he went to give one to Adron, who was about two years older, the boy leaned in to whisper, “Same here. I'm going to be an assassin, too.”