Page 6 of Prior Claim
Present
“Jun.” Ellisandre said the diminutive of Gang Junseo’s personal name with a level of familiarity that made it clear they’d already met. Of course they had. The Reevesworth circle in which Ellisandre stood was a close one, according to all accounts. And Gang Junseo’s lover, the infamous Damian Sathers, was Richard Reevesworth’s protégé. “They want Junseo.”
Sevastyan dipped his chin in a confirmation, saying nothing. Let Ellisandre put together as much or little as they would.
Ellisandre’s lips thinned. “They can’t have him.” They walked forward into a new hall dominated by the bust of a massive black bull, it’s head bent toward the entrance.
And yet you let them have me.
Damn Ellisandre and her respect for free will in a world that had none. Had they learned in the last decade of their new life that there were no free choices?
Did they not remember that bulls were often used as sacrifices to the gods?
Ellisandre’s gaze stayed straight ahead, a little steel entering their gaze. “The Merchari know better than to come for mine. They can be reminded again.”
Sevastyan’s chest ached. Too many prior claims. Or perhaps just a few that had sunk too deep. The gospel of his father’s lips was ringing hollow. There was always going to be the underground, the mafia, the criminals. Perhaps Ellisandre had been right to die when she had, choosing her altar before another could select it for her. “There are new players on the block. The Merchari of today do not remember you. Not like the old ones.”
“I’m not going back, Vast.” For the first time, Ellisandre sounded almost soft.
“You won’t have to,” Sevastyan said. He swallowed. “They’ll be coming to you.” It wasn’t a threat. It was regret. Failure. His failure. In the end, he was going to be alone. Not good enough for anyone to stay for. Not good enough to make wrongs right.
It was too much. He couldn’t make his mouth form the words he needed to say. He’d thought he would be been able to. But in the end, he was evil.
If he couldn’t have his goddess, at least he would have his caged bird. Just a little longer.
There were lies he could tell himself. Excuses. That’s all they were. If he told Ellisandre the truth, he would be alone. Gang Junseo would claim what was his. Damian Sathers would protect Gang Junseo. Ellisandre would wrap Sathers and Gang and the Reevesworth clan in their wings of war. He, Sevastyan, would be left in the cold once more, holding a phone, listening to explosions take his reason for existing.
There was one long hall toward the foyer. He took it, almost blindly, moving past glass cases filled with pottery.
He barely remembered turning toward the small side room to the left for his coat, desperate for the doors. Somewhere, beyond this place of hallowed remains, was a sky. A blue sky, saturated with color by the frozen air.
Ellisandre
Ellisandre watched Sevastyan storm away like a man hunted. Ten years. He was as beautiful angry as he was calm. Was this going to be nothing more than a phantom dream? A visit from a ghost of the past?
Prior claim. Sevastyan’s mission wasn’t complete. The Merchari’s continued existence was proof. What did it mean that he’d called for them to meet him here, at the gates of Assyria, beneath the lamassu, giant protectors of the ancient world, still half shrouded in secrets and myth?
Ellisandre followed Sevastyan’s retreat from the hall. Their heartbeat pounded in their chest. The last time they had let Sevastyan go. His fate had been unchangeable then.
Ten years could change a fate. Ten years could change everything. Or nothing at all.
Ellisandre pushed through the heavy doors to the atrium. Sevastyan was just ahead, coming out of the side room with his coat.
“Vast,” Ellisandre called.
Sevastyan paused, one arm shoved into the sleeve, still in the middle of the foyer space, a stone staircase framing him from behind with roaring beast heads on either side, end-capping the railings.
Ellisandre let the heavy doors to the exhibit hall close behind them. “You left something unsaid.”
The academic at the counter by the door looked between the two of them. Sevastyan was frozen in place, face turned away. Ellisandre motioned to the attendant, nodding toward their own coat. The attendant retrieved it as Sevastyan moved toward the door. His palm trembled against the wood, but he didn’t push.
Ellisandre pulled five twenties from their wallet and slapped them down on the counter. “I think there might be some pop cans left on one of the pharaohs in the exhibit hall,” they said to the attendant.
The attendant looked between the two of them. “I’ll check it out. Thanks.” He hurried into the exhibit hall, leaving Ellisandre and Sevastyan alone.
Ellisandre shrugged their long coat on over their suit.
Sevastyan pressed his forehead to the exterior door. Then he turned.
