Shards of Hope

Chapter 44

EIGHT HOURS AFTER waking in Aden’s arms, Zaira went to the valley to speak to Nerida about more soldiers to add to the rotation on watch over the saboteurs. Even with the two extra people Nerida had already sent in, Zaira’s crew was stretched—she didn’t want them burning out, especially since they had to be prepared to strike should a higher-level target or targets present themselves.

She was heading into the main complex when she ran into a teenage trainee.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The girl snapped into an at-attention pose.

“Not your fault,” Zaira replied and was about to walk on when she realized she’d never seen this trainee at any of the sessions she led. “What’s your name?”

“Beatrice Gault.” The girl swallowed.

“Why haven’t you attended the senior martial arts sessions?”

“I have, sir. In the back row.”

Zaira stared at Beatrice’s face, trying to remember. In the end, all she got was a vague recollection of a trainee who’d been wholly unmemorable. Beatrice had made no mistakes, needed no correction, but she’d also not been the best of the best. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Zaira would be taking the session again.

“Yes, sir.”

Walking into the building, she told Nerida her needs and the other woman said she’d organize the extra personnel. “Do you want Arrows who’ve worked or lived in Venice previously?”

“If you can spare them, yes,” Zaira said, aware that her city had unique pitfalls newcomers might not understand.

Nerida scanned current placements and operations assignments on her organizer. “I may have to throw in one or two who haven’t had experience there.”

“That should be fine. I’ll partner each newcomer with someone familiar with Venice.” Leaving Nerida, she went to head out to catch her teleport back to Venice, hesitated.

After a moment’s thought, she turned and made her way to the room where she knew Walker and Cris were going over personnel files and holding interviews so they could match up children with compatible adult Arrows. Flexibility was to be built in, in case of serious clashes, but the squad had to start somewhere.

Cris looked up as soon as Zaira entered, tawny brown eyes pinning her in place as the experienced Arrow had so often done when Zaira was one of her trainees. “Zaira—I thought you were dealing with the situation in Venice.”

“I am.” Zaira hesitated again because this wasn’t her area of expertise . . . but something about Beatrice had triggered an echo in her. “Are you assigning the older teenagers and those in their early twenties to family groups?”

Cris gave her a considering look at what had to be an unexpected question coming from her. “Our focus is on the children,” she said. “However, we are placing teenagers up to age sixteen. Anyone older will in all probability prefer independent accommodations.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t need families.” Zaira had always had Aden. It had been enough to keep her sane, remind her she had value beyond being a cog in the Arrow machine.

Zaira’s instincts said Beatrice might have no one who reminded her of the same.

Leaning back, Walker Lauren frowned. “You’re right. Children return to a healthy family unit throughout their lives.” He ran a hand through his hair before nodding. “We need to make sure every Arrow has a home to return to, regardless of age.”

Zaira should’ve left then, her point made, but she couldn’t forget Beatrice’s voice—so flat and with an edge of defeat, as if she was used to not being remembered. Zaira knew what it was like to feel so alone, to feel that no one in the world knew of her existence. Sometimes, while she’d been trapped in the cell created by her parents, she’d screamed and screamed just to see if anyone would come.

No one ever had.

“Assign Beatrice Gault to me,” she said.

Walker looked at her, careful and with the same intense quietness to him that was such an indelible part of Aden. “All right,” he said at last, as if she’d passed some silent test. “The smallest children take priority, so it may take up to seventy-two hours for the assignment to be made. We’ll have to speak to her first.”

“Understood.” Leaving the room, she reached for Aden’s mind.

Her breath caught.

He’d left their private telepathic pathway open as if in invitation and as she slipped in, it felt like coming home. The rage wanted to curl around him like a wild pet, affectionate and sure of its welcome. Never had he rejected her. Never. Her emotions for him a primal pulse within her, she said, It wasn’t your fault.

He’d accepted blame for her nightmares, but she was the one who carried darkness in her blood, not Aden. Somehow, he’d survived his childhood and come through Arrow training with his spirit intact. Not only intact but strong enough, generous enough, to embrace each and every broken soul in his care. Thank you for holding me.

Come find me so I can do it again.

She’d realized this morning that there was no going back. The idea of sleeping without him, of not having his mind open to her own, it hurt more than anything had ever before hurt in her life. If there was a chance she hadn’t inherited the madness, that she could control her rages, then Zaira wasn’t going to be a coward.

She would do this. After all, she belonged to him, always had. There was only one thing she needed before she could surrender to her craving to possess the extraordinary man who saw the shadows of her and found them beautiful. Don’t let me become a monster, Aden, she said. If I go mad, promise me you’ll give the execution order. She wouldn’t ask him to do the actual execution himself; he cared about her, would be destroyed by it. Don’t let me become my parents’ shadow mirror.

You won’t, Aden said as his face came into view, the two of them having been walking toward each other from opposite ends of the valley compound.

His faith in her made her soar, but she was too pragmatic, too aware of what lay beneath the thin shell of control. I need the promise.

No. A hard jaw, an unwavering expression.

Zaira had a raw moment of insight, of understanding. Giving the order would break him, too. Aden was incapable of harming her—and that knowledge, it made her heart ache. She’d thought the organ too stunted to feel with such passionate agony. But it did.

Because this beautiful, powerful, incredible man saw her as precious.

As if she was his shiny, sparkling treasure. One he’d permit no one to take from him . . . not even her. “You are a stubborn man,” she said, her voice husky.

“Only about things that matter.”

He kept giving her more gifts, kept making her heart struggle to beat and giving strength to the tiny flame of hope inside her, the one that whispered she wasn’t insane, just a little broken. That was okay. Vasic was a little broken and Ivy loved him. Aden had broken pieces inside and they fit into the astonishing tapestry of him.

Most of all, her lover wasn’t scared of imperfection. “I’ll wait for you in Venice,” she said, brushing her fingers over his as another Arrow called out to him and her teleport spotted her. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

They separated but the telepathic pathway between them, it remained open until the teleport took her far out of range.