Vaxa’an seemed to realize the same thing in that moment. Vaxa’an had then asked, “And how does Erin fit into all this?”
And that question was the one haunting him presently. Vaxa’an was gone now, left to speak with the council, and all Jaxor had was his thoughts, his regrets, and his dread.
Jaxor couldn’t stand the soft cot he sat on, so he rose, pacing the floor just as his brother had done during their conversation. His wrists were still shackled, but at least Jaxor wasn’t being kept in the dungeons below the command center. Instead, Vaxa’an had led him into one of the empty quarters—warrior barracks—and locked him in. The space was bare. There was a small washroom attached. But nothing that Jaxor could use to get the shackles off, which Vaxa’an had probably already thought of.
I should get used to them, Jaxor thought. Because after this, it was very likely he would be wearing them until his death.
Before Vaxa’an had left to meet with the council, he’d looked at Jaxor and said, “Even if we manage to get to Erin in time, even if we manage to take Tavar into our custody and kill Po’grak and get the vaccine…even if everything goes perfectly right,” Jaxor had closed his eyes, imagining that very situation, knowing that it was too good to be true, “you will still go to trial before the council and the elders. Even I will not be able to pardon you.”
“Would you, though?” Jaxor had asked quietly. “Pardon me if you could?”
“You are my brother,” Vaxa’an had said, his tone final. And then he’d left, but Jaxor still wasn’t quite sure what he’d meant.
Did he mean that Jaxor, who shared the Prime Leader’s blood, was not above their laws? Or that Vaxa’an would undoubtedly do anything he could to save him?
On top of it all, Jaxor kept trying to search for Erin. As if they had blood bonded, as if they had performed the fellixix. Jaxor cursed himself for it now. If they had performed their ravraxia, their mating ceremony, under the eyes of the Fates, he would be able to feel her. To sense her.
But all he felt was a dark emptiness, as if she should have been in his mind, but had already gone.
He punched the wall of his prison at the thought, wondering for the thousandth time whether he’d made the right decision in coming to the Golden City instead of straight to the Caves of the Pevrallix.
Jaxor could’ve reached her by now. His brother, on the other hand, was chained by responsibilities, by plans. He had the lives of his warriors to think of, whereas Jaxor only had his own. And he would undoubtedly give it up, if it only meant Erin was safe.
He punched the wall again, cursing softly at the agony coursing its way through his body. His Instinct was restless. He felt all wrong, not having her close, not knowing that she was safe. They were wasting time. They should have already started their journey towards the Caves—
The door to his quarters opened and his brother stepped back inside, followed by Kirov. Seeing him, Jaxor paused, his brow furrowing. How long had it been already? Kirov wasn’t supposed to be in the Golden City until later that night.
Had the hours passed without Jaxor knowing?
Immediately, Jaxor asked him, “You checked that there were no Jetutian vessels on the planet’s surface? You ran your scans?”
“Tev,” Kirov replied, inclining his head, though he never took his gaze away. “The surface is clear.”
Relief, however brief.
Vaxa’an said, “We need you to come to the war room.”
Jaxor was already approaching the door. Vaxa’an stopped him with a firm grip on his upper arm. He had something in his hand and when he held it up, Jaxor knew it was the key for the shackles.
He knew what Vaxa’an asked. Gaze narrowed, Jaxor said, “You think I would risk her life and try to flee now?”
Vaxa’an studied him. Kirov studied him. Jaxor could feel those eyes sizing him up, trying to see something that even Jaxor couldn’t. Kirov had always been that way. Too intelligent, too observant, too knowing, perhaps even for his own good.
“The council wishes to speak with you. We need information on the Mevirax base, information only you can give,” Vaxa’an told him, unclasping the shackles that bound his wrists. Jaxor rubbed them, the skin raw, but when he tried to step past his brother, Vaxa’an squeezed his shoulder, keeping him in the