Page 73 of Swords of Soul and Shadow (Gate Chronicles #3)

A HANDSHAKE

Jove

JOVE WASN’T REALLY A SHACKLEY. His father had been adopted. The family legacy felt like a lie, so it was no wonder Jove was destined to fail. He’d risen to one of the highest offices in the land partly based on his merit and more importantly, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, his family name.

But that was a sham.

It was probably a good thing he’d thrown that all away.

However, that wasn’t the most troubling part.

Harlan had lost his entire family, had seen the massacre that had been Ravenhelm and had been the one to stop it at the mere age of twelve.

It was a miracle he was as sane as he was.

Cold and cruel, yes, but Jove didn’t know if he would have survived at all if he’d been dealt his father’s hand.

Jove had lost a sister to a fire his youngest brother started. He’d sent his best friend to die on the other side of the world, and he’d turned to alcohol to numb the pain.

Now what would become of Jove?

He had to find Clara. She was the only one who could keep him from spiraling. He just hoped that he survived long enough to get himself out of this hole, literally and figuratively.

But if he found that she and Samuel hadn’t survived the attack on the capital…

He prayed to Clara’s God and begged for her to be okay, because if she was gone, Jove hoped they never rescued him from the depths.

He prayed for days.

Maybe that was an answer. They’d been down here so long Jove was starting to question his sanity.

His mother had fallen into a fitful sleep, curled up on the jagged stone beside him.

He’d made her take his jacket for a pillow.

He shivered. Anderson still hadn’t awoken, but at least he still had a pulse.

Jove bit his nails. He’d worn down the ones on his right hand in the time they’d been down here without any cigarettes to calm his nerves.

The lack of smokes only made him more anxious.

It didn’t help that one of his friends was probably dying before his eyes, and he couldn’t do anything.

If the Yalv with the magic healing powers couldn’t fix him, then who could?

Kainadr sat on the other side of the cavern, murmuring to himself after throwing pinches of his dust in the air.

“I’d say you’re wasting that dust of yours.” Jove wasn’t trying to be unkind, but he winced at the gruff tone. “Best to save it for light. I don’t trust that crystal.”

The malevolent-looking thing in the middle of the room writhed with darkness at that. Jove wasn’t sure if it was coincidence or if the thing heard him. Turned out he was too cold and too worn down to care either way.

The Yalv turned slightly, his face a reflection of Jove’s feelings—haggard and losing hope. “What good is being named after the greatest Yalven warrior only to be relegated to minor healings? I’m useless.”

Not this again.

Jove looked over at his mother and then back at the other man. He did owe the man his life. Civility was the least he could muster. “I wouldn’t say useless. You healed my mother and myself.”

“But not the other one.”

Jove glanced at his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was the odd light from the crystal or his own imagination, but Anderson’s skin had a grayish cast to it. Even though his chest rose and fell, Anderson appeared as good as dead. Jove felt helpless.

A loud clattering like rocks falling in one of the tunnels echoed and interrupted the conversation. His mother woke with a sharp inhale of breath. Jove rubbed where his head had hit the wall.

The rumbles weren’t uncommon; they’d heard plenty in the time they’d been down there. More collapses. One of them sounded more like a bombing to his ears, but down as deep as they were, it was hard to tell the difference, if there even was one.

But this one definitely sounded different. Almost too close.

“Stay here,” Jove said once the quakes had passed. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

He inspected the small cavern they’d been holed up in for a sizable rock, but only found a few shards of the crystal that had somehow broken off. One was half the length of Jove’s forearm. It would do.

“Dear, I’m sure it was another collapse.” His mother folded his jacket over her arm and stood.

Jove shook his head. “If it is, then there might be others who need help.”

“Then why do you need a weapon?”

“Might need it if it’s a Cerl. Or Stradat Loffler.”

He looked back at Anderson. The shard was a crude weapon, but hopefully it would be enough to finish Loffler…that is, if he didn’t use that weird lightning power of his. Though without Anderson to complete the power, Jove might be okay.

He headed back the way they had come days ago, passing by the other tunnel to the underground stream they’d been using for water and cave fish for food.

He tried not to grip the shard too tightly, lest he cut himself on the jagged edges.

Being in the Watch meant he’d undergone some combat training after he’d graduated from the decoding department and before he took the role as Watch Captain of the upper quarter, but he was certain all that training had fallen to the wayside in the past year as High Guardsman, much to Harlan’s chagrin—only one of many disappointments.

He stepped through the opening and into the darker corridor beyond. Probably not the best call. He turned to go back and ask if Kainadr could lend him one of his magical fireballs when something caught in the corner of his eye. A light.

Jove whipped his head around. There it was. The visage was grainy and blurry at once. It wore a pristine soldier’s jacket. Its hair was short on the sides, longer and smoothed back on top. A demure smile graced its lips.

Zeke. It was Zeke. A sob escaped Jove’s lips. He stumbled forward just as his brother disappeared into the rock wall.

Jove let out a shuddering gasp, splaying his hands against the wall. No Zeke. No evidence that he’d been there. Just an unyielding rock wall layered with grime.

Why? Why couldn’t Zeke stay? Why was he gone? Jove never got to say goodbye. Not really. He’d only given his brother a handshake and a muttered good luck .

Why had he done that? He’d known he was sending him on a mission that could very well have ended in him dying. He’d known that.

He hadn’t embraced him. He hadn’t said goodbye.

Jove should’ve gone instead. Zeke was the one who deserved to live. He’d always been the good one.

He let out a frustrated shout and slammed the fist with the shard into the wall. The water they’d been drinking must’ve been laced with something that caused hallucinations. Pain erupted in his hand, followed by warmth trickling down his wrist.

He leaned his head against the wall, watching the blood run down his forearm, disappearing into the dirty sleeves of his once-fine dress shirt. He pounded the wall again, tears flowing freely and uncontrollably. His palm was on fire.

Hands grabbed him from behind. Loffler.

Jove swung around, the now-bloody crystal shard with him, but the person ducked. The outline of a woman with bedraggled curly hair stood behind him.

His mother. Jove dropped the shard.

“Zeke. I saw Zeke,” he gasped.

Hallucination or not, his body and mind couldn’t handle it.

His mother didn’t say anything, didn’t call him crazy or remind him that it was impossible for her son to be there. Instead, she pulled him close and embraced him. She held him as she once did when he was a child, and that was the final straw.

His grief crashed in like a tidal wave, battering him senselessly. He clung to his mother and lost himself to the drowning abyss full of loss, frustration, and guilt. Jove didn’t realize he had so many tears built up, but they flowed like a river through a burst dam.

His mother held him and stroked his hair. “I know. Just let it out.”

His body was weak from lack of proper nutrition and sitting around waiting for rescue day after day. He no longer had the strength to do anything but sob.

He was nearly twenty-six, for stars-sake. He was a man. He shouldn’t be spilling his emotions like this.

He couldn’t help it. And now that it’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop it.

Because at the end of the day, there was only one person he could blame. Himself.

He didn’t know just how long they stood there, him soaking his mother’s shoulder, but it was so long that he finally cried himself dry. His eyes physically hurt from producing so many tears.

His mother had stood there the entire time, holding him, rubbing his back, her own tears staining his shirt, though hers had been more subdued and ladylike.

She clasped his upper arms and pulled back. “It’s going to be okay.” Jove shook his head, but his mother squeezed his arms tight. “It will be. I refuse to let it not be.”

“But—”

His mother shook her head back at him. “I’ve been a prisoner of grief before, and that blinded me to…things. I’ve learned my lesson, and I will not allow you to fall into the same trap I did…or your father.”

She swallowed hard before giving his arms another squeeze and pressing her right hand to his cheek. “We’ll get through this together.”

More sounds came from around the corner, and Jove stood straight, wiping his eyes and nose on his already dirty sleeves. He didn’t say anything, only retrieved the fallen shard and placed himself in front of his mother.

Could it really be Loffler? Someone else? A rescue? Or another hallucination?

Seconds later, a light appeared, followed by a man covered in dirt and dressed in a ragged military uniform underneath some sort of harness. He froze when he saw Jove and Les.

“Lady Shackley!” he exclaimed. “You’re alive!” He turned back the way he’d come and shouted, “I found them! Bring the medic!”

Jove and his mother stood still. He was unsure whether he was seeing and hearing things correctly. He’d pretty much accepted the fact there was a very good chance they wouldn’t be rescued, that they would die in the cave.