Updrift (34 page)

The decision gave him instant relief. Methodically and with calm purpose, he removed his shirt and tossed it on a chair. Kate tilted her head uncertainly, and he smiled bitterly in response. He grabbed the tether containing his dagger and tied it around his waist.

She frowned. “That knife was Peter’s. Why do you have it?”

“It was a gift.” Not quite the truth, but close enough.

“You’re taking it swimming?”

He didn’t answer her. He was so tired of this pretense. He briefly considered telling her everything, and the idea appealed so much he drew a breath to speak. But the trust on her face decided him against the impulse; she struggled already, and depending on the outcome of his next interaction with Gabe, he might need his disguise to win her. He could almost laugh his predicament, how he was off to fight—and probably kill—the man to whom she was truly bonded and he had to mimic his victim. The man who had come to take Kate away from him.

Raw jealousy burst inside him in a white-hot explosion, leaving no trace of the rationalism for which he was so well known. Why? Why was this simplest of life’s experiences, a wife and a family, continually denied to him? The usual arguments no longer held any merit: privilege carried responsibility, his higher call to office—he disparaged these excuses quickly, decisively. He’d rather live in a hut with a woman who loved him, would eke out a living in remote seclusion instead of shouldering these beliefs any longer.

He went to her. “Kiss me goodbye, Kate.” She hesitated but stretched up to comply, and in a gesture he found heartbreaking, attempted to send him her empathy and goodwill. He kissed her with all the passion and frustration he’d hid from her, holding her uncomfortably tight until she squirmed and shoved him away.

“Gabe, what is
wrong
with you?”

His laugh was humorless. “My darling, you are about to find out. I’ll be in the central pool,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

* * * *

In the corridor outside the royal offices, Gabe heard Peter’s challenge from the central pool. He stated his accusation strongly enough to reach everyone in the palace.

Peter Loughlin kidnapped my wife, my bonded mate. I’ve come to fight him and get her back.

His words permeated every corner of the castle, crept like vapor under doorways and saturated both air and water with a truth that burned like lava. He raced to the water.

Dozens of others had gathered to bear witness by this time, although they stayed at the periphery. They’d agreed Gabe deserved a chance at public redress for what Peter had done—Gabe felt their permission—but he had no illusions about how far their loyalty went; if he intended deceit, and they would collectively and individually know this, they would step in.

Peter was somewhere in the central pool, but he cloaked so masterfully, Gabe could not find him at first. He darted randomly, blindingly, from one point to another, cloaking as effectively as he ever had as he worked to ascertain Peter’s position. Peter, he knew, was unfamiliar with his new abilities, which he hoped would give him an advantage, because he needed one. But he searched the pool without success…and he acknowledged no matter how much he had practiced these past weeks, Peter had cloaked a lot longer. The man was ridiculously, astonishingly powerful.

Gabe had nothing to lose and months of built-up determination driving him, however. The adrenaline rush he experienced now sharpened him, his already honed senses further heightened until his intuition caught, not on emotional output from Peter himself but the seeking feelers he radiated around him. Sensing them, he tracked their emanation back to their source.

He
saw
Peter before he was noticed, and he frantically scanned for points of entry, for the chinks in Peter’s armor where he could attack. Peter appeared as a ghost to him, not to his eyes, which could not see him, but to another sense almost like sight. He perceived Peter’s blurred form as if it was outlined in smoke, with a faint light glowing where his torso would be. Gabe closed his eyes, knowing they would deceive him now. Something in the downward tilt of Peter’s head gave him an idea, and he struck.

Peter sensed him before he could finish his attack and retreated at the last second. He caught Gabe’s fluke with his knife to draw first blood, however. Gabe ignored the cut since it was superficial, and he would only suffer a small loss in agility. Both he and Peter disappeared into themselves again, circling each other and making several, semi-successful attempts to maneuver or engage the other to individual advantage. He was dimly aware Kate had joined the crowd at the outer edge of the pool, as had Kenna. Guards formed a barrier in front of them

Peter surprised him from behind grabbing him across the chest with one arm while he maneuvered his knife in his other hand. Gabe broke the hold just before Peter pierced his kidney. Without pause, he charged back to make his own offensive strike.

It worked. He plunged his knife into Peter’s abdomen, which Peter clutched in surprise as Gabe twisted. The two men glared at each other, chest to chest, while Gabe grabbed Peter’s other wrist to bring it and the hand holding his knife behind his back, incapacitating his opponent’s arm from the shoulder.

Even wounded, Peter struggled mightily, and Gabe was only just strong enough to maintain his hold. He desperately searched for something else he could do, another weapon he might use to sway the struggle in his favor. He thought of Kate, and then he thought of a way to weaken Peter.

He stopped cloaking completely, releasing fully all of the anger and anguish within him, a tremendous emotional burden for any siren, and he felt Peter’s strength slacken. He replayed Kate’s death in his mind, engaging Peter in the painful memory of her abduction. As Gabe recalled the false shark attack, he was able to intuit Peter’s method of effecting it and learned the details of his plan leading up to the moment he captured his wife, including the taking of the dying old woman he projected as Kate.

Kate was not your first kidnapping, I see
, Gabe accused with another twist of his knife, and he felt Peter’s fear, knew the man understood for the first time he might die. He struggled less, his will to fight softening more with Gabe’s emotional foray than his knife could ever achieve.

Gabe continued, using Peter’s attachment to Kate against him, just as he’d used her attachment to him, Gabe, against her. He needled his way into the weakening man’s mind, searching out his motivations and revealing them for the sickness they masked. He recalled finding Kate earlier that day, reflected to Peter the oppression she felt, the strength of her attachment to her real husband despite his efforts to sublimate it. And he reflected the final resolution she’d made, how she would prefer to raise her child alone rather than pretend the life Peter envisioned was enough.

For all your efforts, she would have left you, just like your first wife
.
Here, let me show you the difference
.

Drawing on the devotion and outrage emanating from Kate herself on the sideline, Gabe combined what was between them and projected the feeling that was uniquely his and Kate’s, sharing with Peter the full depth of their union. He felt Peter’s surrender.

*

Without this stark comparison, Peter might have continued to believe he could replace the bond Kate had with Gabe, but with the evidence Gabe offered, he knew he could not. Gabe’s merciless emotional attack hit him with the force of high-speed train.

The fight bled out of him. He couldn’t win, he saw now, and he didn’t mean the fight with Gabe; he meant the fight for the life he’d tried to force with Kate. He’d thought of it all wrong. Gabe was right; Kate would not love him as she’d loved Gabe, because their bond was already made, and because, he, Peter was too compromised. He’d tried to engineer a life filled with love in the same way he negotiated professionally, and the effort was ineffective. Worse, it was pathetic, which he really could not tolerate.

Peter had not thought of consequences when he entered the pool to confront Gabe, but he thought of them now. If he survived, which, at this point, he thought he still could, he would lose all hope of constructing a normal life, even for him. In fact, chances were pretty good he’d be outcast, and he’d be denied even the insubstantial love he was used to. Of course, he would lose his crown, not that this mattered much, his mother be damned.

He looked Gabe in the eye now, a new resolve forming as he perceived the young man’s fervency and dedication. Of course he would fight for his wife and child. Of course he should ignore legal and social conventions to challenge a powerful prince. There was nothing more precious than the future Gabe had within his reach, which made Gabe’s willingness to risk his life not just understandable, but commendable.

Peter thought such a treasure might be worth his own life, as well. He regarded Gabe levelly.
I concede
, he told him. He addressed his community.
I want to confess
. As neither statement contained any deceit, Gabe released him.

Peter knew he could not atone for what he’d done. In fact, he couldn’t even feel sorry for wanting something so wholesome and good in his life. But he could acknowledge defeat gracefully, and he could try to make things easier for Kate after today. He held no love in his heart for Gabe because his jealousy left no room, but he dropped his cloak now, so everyone present could know the truth about what had happened, what he’d done. He’d been cloaking for so long at some level or another, he struggled to stop.

Kate met his gaze fearlessly, and her expression was full of questions and accusation. He assumed the image of her husband and then dropped it to appear as himself again.

I wanted what you had with Gabe and I took you. I’ve been pretending to be Gabe, projecting myself as your husband this entire time. There is no need to hide. There has been no discovery. Your family is safe
.

He faced the rest of the gathering, avoiding eye contact with his mother, whose face was a mask of horror, her hand half raised toward him.
I have felt an appalling, unbearable lack
, he began, saturating everyone there with the feelings of loneliness that had defined him since before he could walk. The poignancy of his emotions pierced each individual, and the community convulsed as they experienced first-hand their prince’s hurt. Peter continued for some time to feel and remember his deprivation until all present understood his motivations for going down the path he did.

They understood but they could not condone his actions, he acknowledged, and he felt their confusion, knew they were at a loss as to how to proceed. His suffering, his feelings of abandonment were unconscionable, unbearable even sensed as distant memories, and no one relished the prospect of inflicting more punishment on him.
You have been horribly hurt
, they apologized,
and so we have all been horribly hurt, because your wounds are ours
.

Peter’s offered them a sickly smile, little enjoying this attribute of his community, so adept at sharing his pain and seeking to comfort him while placing him in a position he had never been able to tolerate, a position that had caused his misery in the first place. He saw no way out, graceful or otherwise. In fact, he had no desire to recover from his self-orchestrated tragedy, something they all felt and saw. He was tired of it all. Tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of wanting what he never could have.

*

Kate knew what Peter was thinking before the rest of the community did. She was upset enough to hope for the worst but not before she’d had her own confrontation. He owed her that, she believed. She placed a hand on her nearest guard to gain his attention.
Let me go to them
, she demanded. The guards all studied her intentions before accompanying her to where Peter and Gabe were floating.

Kate clasped hands with Gabe, reveling in the sense of homecoming and unity despite her hurt and outrage. Her confidence, her belief in a happy future, were restored, showing her how far from the truth Peter had tried to take her. Peter observed their clasped hands, her defiant expression, and he seemed to shrivel. She almost didn’t care. Every lie he’d told her for every hour of every day during the past several weeks, every part of her he’d tried to undo, had meant nothing, and she wanted him to see her resilience.

She’d intended to state her accusations, but his expression showed her she already had. And she didn’t relish hurting someone in pain, even someone who had behaved as monstrously as Peter. Worst of all, he bled awareness, of how each and every part of this disaster was his fault, the result of shortcomings he had no hope of fixing. He was without the comfort of even a single rationalization, had no sense of denial over what had happened to him. She glanced at the hungry, gaping crowd waiting for him to act, and she pitied him.

You don’t have to give up
, she told him.

*

She didn’t know what she was saying, Peter believed, but she was sincere, and he felt some small relief from her effort. And here she was, vital and aware in a way she had never been in his company. He wondered if he would feel so steady if their roles were reversed and decided he wouldn’t. Which meant her undeserved encouragement touched his very center, released a knot in his chest, and freed him to do what he knew he must.

Thank you, Kate
.

Peter gestured to his guards, ostensibly to remand himself to them. He paused halfway to them, causing some small confusion as he lifted his face toward the surface and spread his arms. His shape shimmered, the edges of him blurring into the water around him. Instantly, everyone understood what was happening, that he wished to let go of his life and had the strength to do so on his own. Rather than stop him, everyone sang a song expressing their sorrow and love for him. They told him they forgave him and wanted him to be happy. In almost no time, Peter released himself, his dissolution a beautiful burst of light. All the angst and grief he’d imparted with his confession disappeared with him.