Born of Silence (The League Gen 1 #4)(11)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

How nice of her to lie…

“All right, Lise. Thanks.” Syn cut the channel.

Darling felt that stab from his mother all the way to his soul. But why was he surprised? Of course his mother couldn’t be interrupted to talk to him. A facial was a lot more important than her oldest son. What kind of fool was he to think otherwise?

Nothing had changed while he’d been out of commission. How nice of the gods to put his insignificance on display and highlight it so.

Except he now knew the truth of Zarya and her cold apathy. She was just like his mother, thinking only of herself.

Thank the gods I didn’t marry her. That was the only blessing to come out of this hell. Had the Resistance not taken him prisoner, he’d have tied his life to that whore.

Still, it hurt. Her betrayal. Their torture. His mother’s condemnation. Lise’s disfigurement.

All of it.

He wished Syn had left him in a coma. Anything would have been better than this agony that ripped him apart when there was nothing he could do except remember what he’d been through and hate himself for it. He’d lost everything that was important to him. His dignity. His body. His heart.

His soul.

All he had left inside was hatred and rage. Deeper and nastier than it’d ever been. The only thing to live for now was the day that Syn healed him enough that he could exact the revenge he’d sworn himself to.

Tired, defeated, and soul sick, Zarya sat in the same tiny spartan cell she’d occupied for countless months now. It had four tan walls, a small sink, a toilet, and one pallet on the floor with no blanket or pillow. She had no idea what had happened to her Resistance members or to her sister—something that panicked her every time she thought about it.

Please let Sorche be okay…

She didn’t know what was going to happen to her, either. Not that it really mattered. She only wanted Sorche to be safe. Whatever happened to her, she’d deal with. She always had.

Over and over, she’d begged for someone to tell her something, anything, but no one would take mercy on her.

Not that she blamed them. Not after what she’d done.

While she hadn’t participated in Darling’s kidnapping or torture, she hadn’t stopped it. And that made her every bit as guilty as the others. She wasn’t about to sugarcoat the bitter truth. It wasn’t in her to shirk responsibility. “We are all the masters of our own decisions. Right or wrong, Stupid or intelligent. Only we are to blame for our missteps and mistakes.” Her father’s words haunted her. She’d turned a blind eye to Clarion while she’d searched relentlessly for the very man they’d held.

How stupid could one person be? How cruel were the fates?

Part of her wanted to blame Darling for it. Why hadn’t he told her his identity just one day sooner?

But she knew why. His fear the last time they’d been together had said it all.

“My greatest prayer is that my face doesn’t offend you so much that you forget your promise to me. I could never bear to be rejected by the only woman who has ever held my heart.”

And what had she done?

She’d spit on him. Literally and figuratively. When he’d needed her the most, she’d been right there and done nothing to help save him from…

Her own people.

His people.

Every time she thought about it, she wanted to vomit.

After all of her promises to him, she’d done the very thing he’d feared. Not because he was scarred.

Because he was a prince.

Sickeningly ironic. Most women dreamed of a prince to come and sweep them off their feet. She’d had one and she’d spurned him. He had promised her the world and she’d slapped him in the face.

She was ill from it all. Even more so because as a child, Darling had been her hero. Before the death of her mother and sister, before his father had been murdered, they had played together. Not often. But from time to time, whenever his father had visited hers, Darling would come with him. It was something she’d forgotten about completely over the years.

Until a dream a few weeks ago.

Somehow those long buried memories of a happy childhood had come back to haunt her with a vicious vegeance. Her first memory of Darling was when she’d been five and he nine. Her cat had climbed out of her room, onto the roof after her sister had left their window open. Terrified it would die or get hurt, she’d asked her older brother Geritt for help, but the rotten little beast had refused, saying he hoped her cat jumped to its death so that it wouldn’t bite or claw him anymore.

Without hesitation and after chiding her brother for his cruelty, Darling had bravely climbed out after it, onto her steep roof. Twice he’d almost slipped off. But instead of saving himself and returning inside where he’d be safe, he’d gone the whole way to the gutter and then brought her beloved pet back to her. Even now, she could see the way he’d looked as he came back through the window with her cat cradled in his bloodied hand—her cat had clawed and bitten him the whole time he’d been rescuing it.

His short red hair had been tousled from the wind. His sleeve torn from where he’d almost fallen and his arm was scuffed and bleeding through the material. Still, his blue eyes had been shining with concern for her and her beloved pet as he handed it back to her with a smile that had only increased his boyish handsomeness and charm.

He hadn’t said a single word about his injuries. Rather, he’d closed the window and then wrapped her cat in a blanket so that it wouldn’t scratch her.

Worse, his father had loudly and very publicly castigated him when he’d seen Darling’s condition. “You’re a prince, boy, not some lowborn hooligan who can’t control himself. You have to live and breathe decorum at all times. Do you understand? When you look like this and roll around on the ground like some recumbent barbarian, you not only embarrass yourself, you embarrass me. What were you thinking? You’re too old to behave like this. I swear, Darling, it’s ridiculous that I can’t depend on you for something as simple as staying clean for an hour. What was so important to you that you had to get filthy for it, huh?”

She’d held her breath in fear that Darling would tell their fathers that she was to blame for his dishabille. While his father’s setdown had been bad, hers would have been much worse. To have endangered their heir…

That was a crime punishable by death, and while Arturo wouldn’t enforce that law to protect Darling, his father would have.

Not to mention, her father would have killed her for letting Darling take the blame for something that was her fault, and not speaking up to defend him.

But she’d been too petrified of the consequences to say a single word.

To Darling’s credit, he’d kept his spine straight as he stoically took his father’s berating. He didn’t speak until his father had asked him what he had to say for himself.

Her eyes filled with tears, Zarya had held her breath, waiting for Darling to denounce her like her brother would have done in a heartbeat.

Instead, Darling had met his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I shall endeavor to do better and not shame you again.” He’d inclined his head to her father. “Please forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect to you or your family by being unkempt in your home. I hope I haven’t offended you overmuch.”

His father had sighed heavily, then looked at her. “I swear, Zalan, he is a good boy. I hope you won’t hold it against him.”

“No harm done, Your Majesty.”

Still, the fury on the governor’s face said that Darling would be punished later for saving her cat.

But rather than being angry at her for getting him into trouble, Darling had looked up to where she was peeping through the staircase spindles on the landing above him and winked at her. Then, after making sure his father wasn’t watching, he’d smiled and given her a military salute.

He’d been her hero that day.

More than that, he’d kept her brother from mocking her anytime Darling was around. Darling had a problem with anyone picking on or belittling another. It was something that had gone against his grain as a child…

And as an adult. Kere had zero tolerance for cruelty of any kind. Physical or verbal.

On another visit, when she’d been seven and he was eleven… just months before his father had died, she’d wanted to play ball with them, but Geritt had adamantly refused to have her join them. So she’d followed behind them in what she thought was stealth mode. Geritt had caught her and shoved her away, telling her that girls had no business playing boy games.

Darling had stepped between her and her older brother. “She’s your sister, Geritt. You’re supposed to protect her, not hurt her.” He’d picked her up from the ground, then taken her back to the house. Instead of playing ball with her brother, he’d spent the entire afternoon drinking imaginary tea with her and her dolls.

How could she have let her blind hatred for his uncle rob her of those wonderful memories of his kindness when they’d been kids?

Darling had never been anything but gentle with her. And the worst part of it all was the knowledge that he, being older, would have remembered those childhood visits even better than she did.

Yet he’d never once mentioned them.

Her door slid up.

She froze, wanting it to be Darling there so that she could finally apologize and beg him to forgive her.

It wasn’t. Rather a very tall, athletic woman and a short, round man. The woman stayed in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest while the man came forward to examine Zarya.

“Open your mouth.”

She arched a brow at his sharp order. “Excuse me?”

He grabbed her jaw and forced her to obey.

Zarya tried to fight him, but he appeared to be used to that. It was like trying to swat away a combat fighter with a shoe.

“So what do you think?” the woman asked as he stepped back.

Grimacing at Zarya, he shrugged. “She’s not the most beautiful, but she’s not hideous. Teeth are good. She’s mid-twenties, which isn’t quite too old yet, though she’s getting there. You said she’s not a virgin, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Too bad… Unused women always go for more. Still, we might get a decent profit on her, if I hold her back and put her with slim pickings. But it won’t make us rich.”

Were they discussing what she thought they were?

Surely not.

“What’s going on?” she asked them.

The woman looked at her coldly. “Darling wants nothing to do with you. Said he never wants to lay eyes on you again. Since he doesn’t care what we do with you, I decided to sell you off to a concubine dealer. After all, it’s what a whore like you deserves.”

Horrified, Zarya started to speak, but before she could, the man clapped a choker around her neck.

An instant later, she was fully aware of everything surrounding her, but incapable of responding in any way. Not a single sound came out of her mouth. She couldn’t even open it.

The man pushed a button and she stood up as if he controlled her completely.

No! She’d heard of things like this, but she’d always thought they were lying about them.

Why would Darling do this to her?

Why do you think? Could he really hate her so much that he’d let this become her fate?

Her heart shattered as the truth stared her straight in the eyes. In the end, he was an aristo. Buying and selling people like her came naturally to him.

With a satisfied smirk, the man forced her to walk out of the cell. “I’ll send your credits to you after the auction.”

“Thanks.”

Once they were alone, the man stopped Zarya so that he could touch her hair and smell it. “Too bad the prince is gay. Sometimes I can get a lot more money for a prince’s whore. Male plebs like to take possession of something they know was used by a blue blood. It makes them feel important.”

If she’d been able to, she’d have laughed at his words. Darling wasn’t gay. Not by a long shot.

But who would ever believe her?

The man’s eyes softened as he released her hair. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you a worthy master.”

You’re not going to find me anything. She’d kill herself before she allowed him to sell her.

And as he forced her to walk in front of him, she realized that death was the only outcome she could have.

It’s all right. At least in death, she’d be with her family again.

Darling stared at the scars on his face. After all the surgeries and pain…

He looked even more like a twisted freak than he had before.

It’d been bad enough when only half his face was scarred. But this was revolting. They had literally butchered him. There wasn’t an unmarked inch left anywhere on his face or neck.

“You’re going to remember us. Every time you look in a mirror, Your Putrid Highness, you’re going to think back and know that your family is the one to blame for your deformity. They wouldn’t pay two creds to save you. You’re going to wear their cruelty on your face the way we wear it in our hearts.” Pip’s voice rang in his ears. His only wish was that his friends had saved Pip for him. That heartless bastard was the one he’d wanted to rip to shreds the most.

Then again, he had a long list. Not everyone who’d attacked him had been there when the Sentella had freed him.

But soon they would meet again. And this time, he wasn’t chained…

He looked down at his hand where Syn had attached a cybernetic finger to replace the one Pip had cut off. At least it looked natural.

Unlike his face.

But what did it matter, really?

After what the Resistance had repeatedly done to him, he had no intention of ever touching or being touched by another human being again. He was sick of it.

Then again, he was sick. Period.

And now that his physical therapy was done and he could use his body again, he had an appointment to keep. One that was a long time past due.

This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.

It wouldn’t bother him at all. Not even a little.

No, it wouldn’t give him peace, but he was going to clean the gene pool—one dreg at a time. And this way, he knew they’d never victimize another helpless being.

It was part vengeance. Part housekeeping.

But mostly it was justice. If they would do it to him, they would do it to anyone.

Darling picked the mask up that he’d made for himself, and covered his face with it. Shaped from solid gold, it held a blank expression—justice took neither pleasure nor pain from punishment. It just was. Frigid, unfeeling, and swift.

The only part of him the mask didn’t conceal was his scarred mouth and his eyes. Eyes that were now as cold as the rest of him.

I am retribution.

For the first time in well over a year, he headed home to his father’s Winter Palace. The palace where Darling had been born.

The one where his father had died.

It took him several hours to get there. Time enough for his temper to ignite to an even higher level. His link buzzed almost constantly as Maris, Syn, Nyk, Nero, Caillen, Hauk, and the others tried to reach him.

He ignored them all.

They weren’t going to stop him. This wasn’t the time for reason or rationale.

It was time for ruthless action. A time to bathe in blood.

Payback’s a bitch…

And today her name was his.

As soon as he was docked at the palace, Darling made his way inside and walked straight to his uncle’s study.

Unfortunately, the bastard wasn’t there.

Figures. With his luck, his uncle might have known he was coming for him and had gone into hiding.

But just in case, Darling methodically searched the rooms.

He was about to give up when he finally found Arturo in the back courtyard where he was pawing some poor servant he’d trapped there. No older than fifteen, the girl was whimpering and crying, begging him not to dishonor her.

Darling saw red as old memories tore through him, and the beast inside him roared to life at the prospect of being set loose.

He could already smell the blood.

“Let her go.”

His uncle turned, then frowned at the mask on his face. “Darling? Is that you?”

Without responding, Darling pulled the girl off Arturo’s lap. “Run.”

She didn’t hesitate to obey.

Indignant, Arturo came to his feet with a feral snarl.

When he went to hit Darling, Darling dodged and then punched him with seventeen years of repressed fury. He felt his uncle’s cheekbone shatter underneath his fist. The blow twisted Arturo around and sent him straight to the ground.

Arturo went pale as the night fog as he stared in horror at the blood pouring from his lips and nose. His face a mask of utter disbelief, he gaped at Darling.

“That’s right, you bastard. I don’t just take a punch. I can give one.” He pulled Arturo up like a rag doll and held his uncle in front of him. “And more than that, I can kill.”

The old familiar smug contempt returned to his uncle’s eyes. “You can’t kill me and you know it. If you do, you and your family die with me.”

Darling let out an evil laugh. “There, you’re wrong, old man. I finally thought of another way out. Too bad you won’t be around to see it.” He drove his blade straight into Arturo’s heart where it would keep him alive, but in pain for a few minutes longer. Let’s hear it for all the years you forced me to study human anatomy. It’d made him a much more proficient killer. “That’s for my father.” He pulled the knife out and then cut Arturo’s throat, again with a wound that wouldn’t kill him immediately.

Rather, suffering in pain, he’d bleed out at Darling’s feet before help could arrive. “And that was for me.”

Guards came running from all directions as Arturo reached for them, trying to get to help.

But it was too late for that.

Kicking his uncle back, Darling dropped his long coat to the ground to let the guards see that his entire body was wired with enough explosives to take out them, the palace, and everything that was within three miles of it. One shot anywhere near him with a blaster’s charge, and they’d all go to hell together.

The guards hesitated, forming a circle around him.

“Who wants to die with me tonight?” Darling taunted them.

As expected, there were no volunteers.

No heroes.

Like the coward they’d served, the guards shrank back to protect their own asses. However, it was too late for most of them…