Sea of Darkness Page 4

  Her fingers itched. She wanted to flatten wrinkles on her dress that did not exist. Instead, she clamped her hands tightly together, resting them on her lap.

  Except, she was not able to cry now. Not with Rycroft staring at her expectantly. She almost forced herself to say something just so he would stop looking at her that way, but she could not bring herself to. Blankly, she matched his stare with one of her own.

  “Are you all right?” Rycroft finally asked.

  Kelia clenched her jaw so hard she could feel it pop. Her fingers curled into fists, and her nails dug into her palms. “Of course I am not all right,” she snapped. She had tried to control her temper but could not. She knew Rycroft would not like it. But she did not exactly like to hear about how her father was dead, either. “My father is dead, Handler Rycroft. Or so you say.”

  His eyebrows shot up at. “Do you suggest I lie?” he asked. There was a warning to his tone, a hint that said his patience was already being tested and he was not willing to suffer any more of it.

  “No,” Kelia said quickly, dropping her gaze. “I just…I just saw my father two hours ago at the docks. I…” She let her voice trail off, not quite sure how to put her emotions into words—still not sure if there even was a way to explain such a feeling of emptiness.

  “Oh, yes,” Rycroft said.

  Kelia narrowed her eyes as she regarded him, tilting her head to the side.

  “You’re in shock, my dear. However, I am afraid that what Mr. Snow said is true. Your father is dead. We found his body in his chambers minutes before you returned from your, uh, outing?”

  Another question about her whereabouts. Kelia almost wanted to ask why he was so interested in where she went on her own time. Instead, she began to tap her foot on the wooden floor beneath her, but lightly so it would not make a sound. The small movement allowed her to exert pent-up energy built up in her system.

  Kelia refrained from speaking. She knew he was baiting her, trying to get her to tell him why she had left the fortress even though she technically had not done anything wrong. She hadn’t missed her curfew, and heading into town was not against the rules, even for ladies without a chaperone, not even when it was pouring rain. Kelia understood it had probably seemed a tad suspicious, but she did not owe him any explanation.

  If her instincts weren’t telling her not to, she’d tell him she’d left to meet her father, but he’d told her not to tell anyone. And now he was dead. It seemed even more important to heed that warning now.

  Kelia knew the minute her handler realized she would not answer his unasked question; he cleared his throat and slid his spectacles up his nose. Kelia watched him with sharp clarity. As great as Rycroft’s position was at The Society, he was still just a man who did not know how to respond to someone unfamiliar with bending to his will, even if it was simple suggestion. It was a relief to know he was not as powerful as he seemed.

  “Right,” he pushed on, tapping his fingers on the desk. There were no parchments there now, but the ruby ring glistened in the candlelight. “May I ask, my dear… Was your father behaving… differently?”

  Kelia scrunched her nose, cocking her head to the side. “Differently?” she asked. Her foot started tapping faster. “What do you mean?”

  “Certainly you know what it means to act differently,” Rycroft said, and Kelia almost sneered at the condescending tone. But she knew well enough not to let her emotions reach her face. “Was he acting strange to you? Different? Odd? Out of the norm?”

  Kelia pressed down with her foot, forcing her mouth to stay closed, and gave his question serious consideration. She wanted to respond with a resounding no. However, she remembered the way he acted when she came back from obtaining that Infant. He was haunted by something. At least, his eyes had appeared haunted. The way they’d stared at Rycroft. They looked at everyone but her.

  He needed to tell her something. Her father had always been a direct person. If he had something to say, he typically said it. Yet, he wanted to meet at the tavern to get away from The Society.

  She was not sure if she would classify his behavior as strange because she did not think her father would act in such a way unless it was called for. Which meant he had information regarding The Society that he wanted to tell her, information they might not want him to know.

  But what information could that possibly be?

  “No strange behavior that I’m aware of,” Kelia finally said, enunciating every word.

  She did not want Rycroft to misconstrue what she said, but she also wanted to buy herself time and decipher his motive for asking these questions. If her father was dead, why worry about her father’s behavior before his death? It almost seemed like Rycroft was blaming her father for his own death, which made no sense.

  “Do you know if he was perhaps ill, and did not want anyone in The Society to find out?” Rycroft asked. “Even you?”

  “My father was not ill,” Kelia snapped, though her voice was not as sharp as it should have been. If anything, it was cautious. Perhaps even curious.

  “Did he miss your mother?”

  That question came out like a hard slap against Kelia’s face. What did her mother have to do with her father’s death? Why bring her mother up at all?

  “He missed my mother every day since she died,” Kelia said with gritted teeth. “I’m not quite sure what my father’s death has to do with her.”

  Rycroft sighed through his nose, glancing down at the small journal at the corner of his desk. Kelia hadn’t even noticed it was there. He made a quick note in it using his quill before glancing up at Kelia once more. There was an expectance on his face, as if the reason was obvious and she should see it.

  Except, as Kelia continued to study Rycroft, she genuinely did not understand what he was trying to insinuate, and she did not appreciate that her ignorance made her feel stupid.

  “My dear,” he said, “your father was very attached to your mother. After she died, he was not the same man he once was. You did see that, did you not? Or were you too young to know the difference?”

  Another snide comment, but Kelia could not be certain if this one was intentional or not.

  “So,” she said, trying to understand his rationale. She started tapping her foot once more to try to ground her impatience. “You believe that my father was still upset over my mother’s death…” She glared. Any hope of trying to maintain her composure vanished as the realization hit her hard. Her foot stomped on the ground, preventing any tapping from resuming. “Do you believe he committed suicide?” Before Rycroft could answer, Kelia continued. “Why would you think my father committed suicide? My father did not commit suicide. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “Ms. Starling,” Rycroft said. “I understand this is a difficult time for you, but I must insist you get control of your emotions.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Kelia said through gritted teeth. “But you have just informed me that not only has my father died, but you are also insinuating he has committed suicide, even though I talked to him after returning from my mission. He was in front of me, closer than you and I are now currently.” Though she was not on the verge of tears, she felt her voice waver and she needed to slow down. “And you expect me to process this under no duress?”

  “You are a Slayer,” Rycroft stated, as though that fact were more important than anything else. “Loss and death are all around us. You know this. If we are to move on, we must swallow our feelings and handle ourselves accordingly. I would expect no less from you.”

  Kelia bit her tongue to keep herself from retorting something she would later regret. Instead, she kept quiet, allowing her thoughts to settle.

  “How are you certain that he committed suicide?” she managed to get out without shrieking like a she-devil. “What evidence did you find to suggest that?”

  Rycroft peered at her with an intense expression. If Kelia had been discussing anything else, she would have been intimidated by such a stare. As it was, she was more
concerned with why they believed her father committed suicide than being afraid of her handler.

  “That is not something I wish to discuss with a young lady with your countenance,” he said, leaning back in his chair and flipping the journal closed with a flick of his wrist. Kelia opened her mouth, ready to remind him that she had just captured an Infant by herself. However, Rycroft continued, and it did not appear as though he noticed Kelia was about to speak. “You can barely walk on a ship out at sea. I would not want you to retch all over my floor. I’ve just had them cleaned.”

  Kelia’s mouth nearly hung open at what he had just said. She did not appreciate his callous tone and dismissive attitude, even if he was correct that she did not do well on the open sea. That did not mean she was not entitled to the truth of what happened to her father. If there was evidence saying he killed himself, she had a right to know what that was.

  “Whether you would like to believe it or not, Ms. Starling,” Rycroft continued, his blue eyes hard and surprisingly cold, “your father took his own life. I can only assume he did so because his grief for the loss of your mother overwhelmed him to the point where he could not take it anymore. I’m certain he wanted to ensure you returned safely from your mission.”

  And the meeting, Kelia thought, forcing her face to be as blank as she could make it. How do you account for him asking to meet with me?

  “Unfortunately,” he continued, raising his left hand to slide his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Due to the circumstances surrounding his death, there will be no funeral. There will be no celebration of life. You are entitled to mourn him until we burn his body, but after that, you must return to your lessons.”

  Kelia’s heart jumped in her throat. Burn his body? Why was there an urgency to that phrase? Why was it so important?

  “Am I allowed to say goodbye?” she asked, keeping her voice as innocent as possible. “Since I will not be able to properly grieve with a funeral?”

  Rycroft was silent for a moment. “I’m certain that can be arranged,” he finally said. “We would need to clean up the body, make sure it’s acceptable for someone of your stature to take it in. But I don’t see why that would be a problem.”

  “Thank you,” Kelia forced herself to say, keeping her gaze downcast. She hoped to seem demure, so he would not be able to read her eyes. “Is there anything else?”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Starling,” he told her.

  “As am I,” she said, standing up. She headed out the door, unable to shake the feel of his stare burning into her back.

  Regardless of how convincing Rycroft was, Kelia knew with every fiber of her being that her father did not take his own life, and she intended to prove it.

  Chapter 5

  The first task Kelia gave herself was examining her father before The Society could clean up the body, as Rycroft said. To be honest, Kelia’s body screamed in exhaustion. All she wanted to do was turn in for the evening and sleep, to pretend, just for a moment, that this was all a dream. That when she woke up the next morning, her father would be in the dining hall, breaking his fast with the instructors. But she could not do that. Not after her second meeting with Rycroft, which left her questioning things, just like the first.

  Ever since she had been sent on that mission to obtain the Infant, things felt off. There was no other way for Kelia to explain it. Somehow, the urgency of the mission called for a Slayer immediately, even in the coming storm. No time to wait for a second. And apparently, Kelia was the only Slayer they could find to dispatch? Kelia knew she was good, but there were older, more experienced agents that surpassed her in skill and intelligence. Most could board a boat without getting queasy.

  She placed her hand on her stomach, settling it. Though she was not technically on the sea right now, she was hit with nausea that caused her to stop and wait until it subsided. She took a deep breath. After another moment, she resumed walking down the hall.

  Somehow, she managed to get the Infant into custody by herself on a dark, raging sea, with wind screaming through her hair and making it even more difficult to see. She had no help from her agents—the two loons who could sail but were apparently useless to the Slayer when the Infant had been on top of her—but she still came away successful, thanks to a bit of luck.

  Her father had acted strangely when she finally arrived back home. It almost seemed as though there was something between him and Rycroft…

  Kelia shook her head. She was probably just reading too much into things. When she’d been greeted by her father earlier that evening, she had just finished spilling the contents of her stomach out, over the dock into the sea, and had been feeling lightheaded after that. Her father had always been stoic, and Rycroft had not considered her father any differently.

  However, once Kelia had debriefed with her handler, even she had to admit he was behaving strangely, asking her strange questions, using odd diction.

  And now, her father was dead.

  It could not be a coincidence, could it?

  She didn’t like to think about it, quite honestly. What she needed was answers, and the only way she was going to get them was by examining her father’s body.

  The medical examiner’s office was located on the secluded south side of the fortress. Students kept to the main hall, where classes, dining, and training took place. Dorms were located down the east and west hallways, separated by sex. The guards were sent to patrol the vicinity of the fortress, or they were sent down to the underground prison if they had any occupants behind the silver-infused cells. This left the south side always empty—unless a meeting was called or a body was found.

  In fact, students were not allowed to the south side of the fortress unless they had explicit instructions given to them by handlers or instructors. If Kelia was caught, she could get into a lot of trouble.

  But she couldn’t wait for Rycroft to take her; she couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, but she didn’t trust him. And she wasn’t going to take any chances. She was going to see her father, one last time, by any means necessary.

  Before leaving her room, Kelia had to wait until she was certain Jennifer was asleep. Once her breathing went even, Kelia slid out of bed. After throwing on a robe that covered her shift, she grabbed one of Jennifer’s candles. She would need to relight it, but that would be the least of her problems.

  It would leave a scent of lavender trailing her, like a beacon leading someone through a dark tunnel. However, if no one was up—and Slayers rarely broke curfew—then she would have nothing to worry about.

  Kelia found a match and lit the candle, using her hand to protect the small flame. Immediately, the scent of flowers invaded her face, and she had to turn away lest she wanted a heavy headache. She slid slippers onto her feet so when she walked, she made no noise. The only thing she would have to control was her breathing. That, and the swishing of her robe and the skirt of her shift.

  To be on the safe side, she braided her hair quickly and curled it over her left shoulder. Stray strands of gold flew out of the braid, but Kelia was not seeking perfection—at least not with her hair.

  She snuck out the door and padded down the long, nearly dark hallway, keeping her ears sharp, listening for any hint of another person milling about. She wanted to rush, but if she did that, she would stumble over herself and alert someone to her presence. She had to take her time. Had to be careful.

  Once she reached the stairway, she slowly made her way down. Since the third stair from the bottom was known to be loose, she skipped over that one. The last thing she needed was that squeaky step to blare like a foghorn across the sea.

  There was a small door that led to the south side of the fortress—one that was constantly locked. Kelia reached up to her hair, then pulled out two pins. In that moment, she was grateful her father had taught her the art of picking locks at such a young age, even if she hadn’t understood the importance in that moment. Although he’d not intended the skill for situations outside of
hunting Sea Shadows, it would come in handy now.

  The lock hanging on the door was easy to pick. In less than two minutes, Kelia was back standing. She was careful with the metal chain; if people heard it slide down, it would alert them to her presence. It took longer to slip the chain from the door handles than it did to pick the lock, but Kelia did it, all while holding her breath. When she had the heavy chain and the lock in her hands, she loosed a breath and slowly pushed open the door.

  A piercing squeak filled the hallway. Kelia froze. Waited.

  When it did not seem as though anyone had heard, she dared to move again, gently closing the door behind her. Immediately, she was hit with a burst of cold and a coat of darkness.

  Her heart raced, beating hard against her chest like a beggar seeking shelter, caught in the rain and pounding on the door to a tavern, begging to be let in. She tried to steady her breathing without luck. Her right hand shook as it held the candle, but the floral scent was enough to calm her frazzled nerves, even if it did make her feel a bit queasy.

  The south section of The Society was smaller than the rest of it. There was a small staircase that led up to the dorm rooms of those who were participating in the rehabilitation program. Sightless was what everyone called them. They were agents and Slayers who were sympathetic to the Sea Shadow cause, whether they fell in love with the night creatures, had an ongoing sexual relationship, fed them their blood in exchange for favors or for the rush of endorphins, or other actions that completely went against everything Slayers and The Society stood for.

  Kelia paused. For years, she had blindly accepted everything The Society told her. Blindly accepted that Shadows were bloodthirsty monsters. Blindly accepted the Sightless were being punished for having affairs with them.

  She had been such a blind follower that she hadn’t even considered the lack of sense. How could these Sightless have had relationships with Shadows if they were nothing but untamed beasts?

  Could Shadows feel? Could they possess heart to actually care for someone else?