Chapter 218
Jackson hugs me tight against his chest and falls back against the wall outside the interview room, sighing deeply as he does. I tuck my head against his shoulder, letting him hold me, going almost completely limp against him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “That was intense. And they shouldn’t have sprung it on us like that.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair, giving a little shrug. “They just…care. I don’t mind and I’ve got nothing to hide.”
I pull my head up a little bit, studying him, running a hand through his dark hair. “I love you too, you know.”
Jackson bursts into a deep grin. “What?”
“When dad said you were in love with me? And you didn’t deny it?” I look at him steadily. “I want you to know it. I’m in love with you, Jackson. And I’ll fight for you and die for you too if I need to. Our allegiances are the same.”
Jackson exhales, long and slow, before he closes his eyes and presses his forehead gently to mine. “I love you too, Ariel Sinclair. I always will.”
I murmur his name like a prayer, raising a hand to his cheek and letting my thumb drift over his cheekbone. Jackson raises his chin and kisses me, swift and desperate, and I can feel down the bond how incredibly much it means to him to hear me say that – and then to say it back. We stay like that for a long time – connecting with each other, passing love and faith and devotion up and down the bond.
But Jackson breaks away what feels like too soon, glancing down the hall, clearly more aware than I am that we are indeed back in the Academy – that we’ve got to be more discreet than this. After all, I just promised the Captain that no one would know I’m a girl, and even if most of the other Cadets aren’t here yet, if anyone sees us like this?
Yeah. It’s going to raise questions.
“Also,” Jackson says, returning his eyes to mine when he’s assured that we’re alone. “No more of this talk of dying for each other, all right? Neither of us is dying for a long, long time. So. Let’s just go hang out with your brother and your cousin and put that out of our minds.”
“Okay,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Jackson holds me tight for a second before lowering me to the ground. And then, even if it is a little less discreet than we’ve ever been at school, we walk back to my room hand-in-hand.
Back in the chamber, Hank, Ella, and Sinclair watch as Ariel and Jackson leave, the door closing softly behind them. All three are quiet for a long moment.
“So,” Sinclair says, his voice low. “What do you really think, Hank?”
Ella squeaks in protest, her head spinning to stare at her mate. “You can’t possibly disbelieve a word that boy said, Dominic!”
Sinclair laughs, turning to his wife. “I didn’t say what I thought, Ella,” he says, grinning at her. “I’m just asking Hank for his professional opinion.”
“It’s not a professional opinion,” Hank murmurs, still studying the door, “I’m a doctor not a…I don’t know. Whatever kind of person is in charge of interrogating people who were raised in violent cults.”
“So?” Sinclair asks, Ella moving to his side and wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning against him, her eyes on Hank the whole time.
Hank sighs and turns towards the two of them as Sinclair wraps his arms around Ella in kind. “I think that boy’s been fucking through hell. I think he’s lucky to have found his mate, to have a kind of…north star as his entire knowledge of the world falls apart and he struggles to rebuild it.”
Sinclair nods, accepting this. “And?”
“And I’m inclined to believe and trust him,” Hank says, giving a little shrug even as he crosses his arms. “I don’t think he’s faking it. I don’t think that anyone could pretend to be that passionately in love. He is…very dedicated to your daughter.”
Ella and Sinclair grin, looking at each other, a silent communication passing between them before they look back at Hank. “We think so too,” Ella says, clearly pleased.
“I’ll never get used to this,” Hank murmurs, gesturing between them. “The whole…mindspeak thing.”
Ella grins and Sinclair just laughs.
But Hank twists his mouth to the side, looking off into the distance, his eyes unfocusing as he does.
“What is it?” Sinclair asks, his smile fading.
“I trust Jackson,” Hank murmurs, still lost in his thoughts. “But I…do not think that the Community is done with him.” He blinks and looks at his sovereigns, shaking his head with worry. “A boy like that – an incredible physical specimen? They will be angry to have lost him. I’m not a gambler, but if I were it’d be a pretty sure bet to say that they’re going to try to get him back.”
“Get him back,” Ella says with a frown, “how would they do that?”
“I don’t know,” Hank says with a shrug. “Come and…snatch him, or something?”
Ella just laughs, shaking her head and glancing up at her mate, the only person who is a rival for Jackson in terms of sheer physical prowess. “Trust me, Hank,” she says, dry, “no one is making Jackson do anything he doesn’t want to do. Except maybe Ariel.”
“Or you,” Sinclair murmurs, stroking a hand down the length of Ella’s hair. “He’s very devoted to you too, love.”
Ella shrugs, not denying it but focusing on Hank.
“Either way,” Hank says. “He is not…free of the Community by any means. I have long suspected that the Community has…unique and objectionable practices when it comes to children – it’s good to have Jackson confirm that so we have grounds on which to make a move against them. Still…”
He hesitates and Sinclair raises his chin at his friend, urging him to continue.
“I would suspect,” Hank says, feeling a little awkward about it, “that someone like Jackson has been…planned. That his height, his sheer physical prowess, his intelligence, and his abilities – his magic, if he has it – is the result of generations of careful…breeding, for lack of a better word.”
Ella stands straighter at this, a little horrified. “Breeding? Like…stock? Cows and horses?”
“Yes,” Hank murmurs, his eyes going far-off again. “The Community obviously doesn’t get new kids by a result of love matches, but instead likely through very careful planned pairings. It’s a eugenic practice and completely objectionable but…” he sighs, looking back at Ella and Sinclair, “the Community is not going to be happy about losing its prime specimen. They won’t let him go easily, whenever it is that they figure out he’s defected.”
Ella and Sinclair glance anxiously at each other. “It seems,” Sinclair murmurs, “that the Community’s one major mistake was sending a Cadet clever enough to figure out how much he’d been brainwashed his entire life in the three months before he joined the Academy. If they’d sent someone a bit dimmer…perhaps it would have worked.”
“Dominic,” Hank says, his eyes moving swiftly to Sinclair’s, “we have no reason to think they didn’t.”
“What?” Ella gasps.
Hank shrugs. “If Jackson knew that another Cadet at the Academy was from the Community he would have told us, surely. But the Community is spread out on purpose – to prevent precisely the kinds of allegiances and affinities that Jackson was mentioning. Only those in the highest realms of power know how many people are there, and what they look like, and where they are. It’s entirely possible that another – or several other – Cadets are here as Academy spies.”
“God damn it,” Sinclair murmurs, his mind moving quickly through the fairly lax admission standards they use for Candidates so that those from refugee or immigrant communities can enter even if they’d lost their birth certificates and other identification in their move.
“If that’s true,” Ella says, speaking aloud the thoughts they’re all thinking. “Then the Community might very well be getting the information that Jackson was sent to find.”
“And if my theories of connections to Atalaxia are likewise true,” Hank murmurs, “then that information might be going directly into Atalaxian hands.”
“Shit…” Dominic says, hanging his head for a second before taking a deep breath and looking between his mate and his friend. “Looks like this is going to need a great deal more of our attention. We’ll have to get Cora and Roger involved too – we can trust them and we need more hands.”
“Oh,” Hank says, a little sarcasm undertoning his words as he crosses his arms and looks between Ella and Sinclair. “What fun for me.”
“Cora likes you,” Ella says, grinning at Hank.
“It’s not Cora I’m worried about,” Hank murmurs, heaving another sigh.
