Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Do you think it wise to deceive him?”
Libraean scowled, pointing at him with an angry, gnarled finger. “Don’t you dare imply I have anything less than his best interest at heart. It’s not wise to upset him so soon after his revival, so it would do us all good if you could put this blasted love affair behind you until we reach Africa.”
Lucius prepared to retort, but thought of Morrigan alone and broken-hearted in her bed. Again, the urge to go to her washed over him, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself still. He realized that as intense his dislike for David, his unwillingness to upset her overruled. “Agreed.” He gave a curt nod and left a very surprised Libraean behind him. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the lower hold.”
“Wait.”
Lucius paused. He turned to observe pain in the old man’s face that he hadn’t noticed before, hanging onto the corners of his eyes. Lucius frowned, crossing his arms. “What is it?”
“Jacob,” Libraean replied simply. He rose to his feet. “He desires words with you.”
“Well, tell him to come out here.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” Libraean sighed as shuffled back to his room.
Thoroughly confused, Lucius’s curiosity pushed him to follow.
The room was a mess, a swirling pool of chipped wood, soaked parchment, and dead candles swishing around their feet. The human lay in bed under a heap of blankets, his eyes closed, his leathered skin sunken at the cheeks. Lucius could hear his heartbeat thumping weakly in his chest, its faintness alarming.
“He hasn’t seemed right to me since we left London,” Libraean explained. “He had a low rumbling cough in his chest, which he assured me was common for him in the cold. Regardless, I had my suspicions and begged him to rest. As soon as David went up to help Cahira, he collapsed. I put him to bed, but he kept repeating how important it was that he speak to you.”
Lucius peered at the human, examining his pallor while maintaining a respectful distance, not wanting to tempt his pallet. He was still a blood drinker, after all, and though he didn’t dislike the man, he was reaching his limit of tempering instincts. He noted the beads of sweat collecting in the wrinkles of the human’s forehead, though the room was quite cold. “He has a fever,” Lucius deduced. He shook his head. “It was foolish to bring a human on this ship at the dawn of winter. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten that mortals grow ill?”
“Would you have left Morrigan?” Libraean snapped, moving to sit beside his bedridden lover.
Lucius did not respond.
Libraean fell next to him, sweeping away a few stray white hairs out of his eyes. “Gabriel, I have brought him to you. Say what you need to before I lose my temper.”
The old man coughed, weakly prying open his eyes. They were dry and shot with blood. “Lucifer?”
Libraean stared at him blankly. “No, it’s Lucius, David’s brother. You wanted me to bring him here—you insisted that you had something to tell him.”
“Leave us,” Jacob told him, resting his hand on his arm.
“Absolutely not,” Libraean protested. “He is a predator—he will surely kill you.”
Jacob shook his head, revealing a sweat-soaked pillow. “No, he won’t drink blood tainted with sickness.”
Libraean shot Lucius a look that dripped with loathing. “How positively chivalrous of him.”
“Libraean, please,” Jacob pleaded, the exertion causing him to cough. It was a thick, wet sound as if his lungs were teeming with fluid.
Lucius frowned. The old man was clearly dying. It would be a slow, feverish death quite similar to the sensation of drowning, a very unpleasant way to pass. “I will not harm him,” he promised.
“You had better not,” Libraean growled as he rose to his feet, glaring at him with his variant eyes. “Or I will kill you myself.”
Lucius did not reply, simply watched him storm out, and rose to shut the door behind him. “You should take off some of those blankets to draw down the fever,” he told Jacob, turning upright the floating stool that accompanied the desk so he could sit across from him.
“I am dying and I want to die warm.” Jacob whispered his reply, folding his hands across his chest. “I know I’m dying because Jesus has already visited me.”
“Is that right,” Lucius said flatly.
“Yes,” the old man croaked. “He will be taking me to his Heaven, a serene haven for souls to rest. But first, I must deliver you a message.”
Lucius raised his eyebrow.
“I have your memories, the ones you are missing.”
He was stunned. “How could you have my memories?”
“They are not just yours.” Jacob’s voice shook. “There are others who have witnessed what I am about to reveal to you, including the One who is omniscient. These memories come from them. You must take my blood and remember.”
“Absolutely not.” Lucius rose to his feet. “The halfling will have my head. They are all looking for an excuse to be rid of me, and killing you would provide them with just that.”
“Lucius, please.” He could tell the man struggled to breathe. “It is merciful to end a creature’s suffering, not cruel. The rest of them do not understand these things, but you do.”
Lucius could not argue. He knew the man would suffer miserably over the next few days, his death inevitable. It was cruel to stand by and watch his agony, but he doubted any of the do-gooding immortals he was occupying space with would have the heart to do it. Especially not David. And he did want the memories back that he’d lost, convinced they had more information on his past with Discordia. He winced, however, when he envisioned Morrigan reacting to the news that he’d killed one of them. Would she believe it was the man’s own wishes or would she assume the worst?
“Take it from my arm,” Jacob whispered. “They won’t know.”
Lucius sighed. “Don’t you want your lover here when you pass?” he asked.
“I will find him again in another life, in another realm. I have never done well with goodbyes.” Jacob lifted up his arm, trembling so hard, Lucius took it to steady him.
He searched the man’s soft blue eyes, observing nothing but steel resolve. He had seen the look reflected in the eyes of many—he was ready to die. Lucius took a deep, tentative breath. She had to believe in him now—he’d proven himself to her time and time again. The others couldn’t hate him more than they already did, and perhaps Cahira would understand. She seemed to burn with the same temper that swam in his veins, the type that knew hard decisions often had to be made. Perhaps she would even help convince them.
He looked down at the weak, blue vein barely circulating blood, robbed of precious air as the human labored to keep his organs alive. It was merciful what Lucius did—saving him from the hell that is drowning in one’s own lungs. He focused on the huge blank spot in his mind, eager to have his earliest memories restored. Then he pictured Morrigan’s sky blue eyes before he closed his and bit. TARTARUS, THE ANCIENT WORLD
