Twenty-six

Although Bane did not expect to see Talia that night, she appeared outside his veranda doors an hour after he returned to his room. The doors, of course, were not locked, so she slipped soundlessly inside. As in the past for their rendezvouses, she was dressed darkly, but the night was far too hot to allow the usual cloak.

“Habibati,” he said, taking her in his arms for a brief embrace. “You shouldn’t be here; you should be sleeping. You didn’t have to come. You must think of yourself first.”

“I can’t sleep. And, besides, I wanted to give you something.” She freed herself of a small bag slung across her shoulder.

“You should have waited until tomorrow to give it to me.”

“No. I don’t want Jiddah to know. Not yet anyway. I will tell her later.”

This piqued his curiosity, and he followed her as she carried the bag to his rumpled bed. As she reached inside, he drew closer but not too close, for he did not want to assume she had come here for anything other than her stated purpose.

Talia slowly withdrew the article from the bag, a smile blooming, returning some color to her drawn cheeks. Bane’s breath caught. He dared not believe what he saw. She turned to him, holding out a precisely folded blanket—Melisande’s blanket.

“Talia,” he barely found his voice, her name almost inaudible from behind the mask. “No—”

“It’s yours now, Bane.” She pressed it to his chest, but still he did not take it from her. “I want you to keep it.”

“No. Your mother would want it to stay with you.”

“She would want me to do with it whatever I wish.”

“But your father—”

Her smile had died with his protests. “Papa can no longer deny you this, or anything. It’s for me to say now.”

“I can’t accept it, Talia. It should remain with you. I want you to keep it.”

The hint of a pout darkened her eyes as she unfolded the blanket, the fabric brushing down the front of his tight-fitting tank top. Talia’s scent was heavy upon it, and he closed his eyes to steel himself. He felt her reaching up, coming in close so she could drape the blanket around his shoulders.

“But I want you to keep it, habibi.”

“No.”

She waited for him to open his eyes before she took a step back. A shadow of her smile had returned. “Then if you will not accept it as a gift, I simply ask that you keep it for me, so it remains safe and preserved.”

Afraid the blanket would slip to the floor, he anchored it with one hand. The familiar feel of the faded brown fabric made his heart swell, just as his heart used to swell when he would return to the mountains after a mission and come within sight of the monastery. A warm welcome, the pleasant sensation of being home. He told himself to hand the blanket back to Talia, but he found now that it touched him, he could not. Instead he caressed the colorful patterns of flowers, remembered seeing it for the first time with Melisande, how it matched the golden brown of her skin before the prison’s darkness had pale her complexion. He thought of the comfort it had given him and Talia after her death, the one thing that remained of her.

When his eyes at last raised from the beloved blanket, he realized his vision had misted, but he did not attempt to hide his emotions from Talia, for he could see how pleased she was by his reaction. “Very well, little mouse. I will keep it for you. It will travel with me always.” He smiled, his fingers twitching with desire to touch her, his erection painful in the confines of his pants. To distract himself, he carefully began to fold the blanket.

Smoothly she drew it back before he got far in his efforts. “No,” she said. “You must use it, just as I have since we left our mountain home. It’s comforted us both over the years. It should continue to do so.” She lovingly spread it on his bed. “There. That’s where it truly belongs.”

With a will of its own, his hand gently took hold of her long, single braid, the silken strands precisely woven. As she straightened from the bed, he brought the braid forward across her shoulder. He trailed his fingers to the end where it rested upon her breast. It took all his skills of self-control to contain himself.

“You must get some rest, habibati,” he hoarsely said. “I can tell you have slept little since your father’s passing.”

“I don’t want to go back to my room. I don’t want to be alone.”

He frowned, searched her face for some glimmer of desire, but her grief had engulfed even that. His heart broke for her.

“Then you will stay here. Come.” He stepped around her and drew back Melisande’s blanket. “I will fetch something to help you sleep, then I will wake you before sunrise so you can return to your room before your absence is discovered.”

He was surprised by her immediate acceptance of his plan, and this capitulation told him much about her emotional state. She sat dutifully upon the bed, and he knelt to remove her shoes as he used to do in their prison cell before retiring for the night. But he went no further in his efforts to undress her. Instead he turned to his bag to retrieve a dose of morphine while she disrobed lethargically and freed her dark mane from the braid.

Once she was settled beneath her mother’s blanket, Bane injected the morphine.

“It won’t take long,” he promised. “Just a few minutes.”

She watched him cap the needle. “Does the drug still work well for you?”

“Well enough.” He forced a smile and hoped she was convinced. The truth of the matter was he required not only stronger doses of morphine when he removed the mask to eat but also a stronger formula for the crystalized cocktail of drugs that fed the mask. But he would never tell her this. One day, though, he knew she would stop believing his dismissive responses to her inquiries.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked softly, again with a complete absence of sensuality.

“I will, after you fall asleep.”

Talia gave him a weary, sheepish smile and shifted onto her side, facing him, as he drew a chair beside the bed. “I’m sorry, habibi. I’m not much fun tonight, am I?”

“There’s no need to apologize, my sleepy little dove. Simply having you here is enough for me.”

Her smile grew pensive. “Thank you.” She reached out to him, and he leaned slightly forward so their hands could rest together on the bed. “What did you and Jiddah talk about?”

“I asked her if our brothers can come here to meet with us.”

Her eyes brightened. “What a good idea. What did she say?”

“She agreed, though of course she is not happy about the League’s interest in you.”

“It’s hard for her to understand. I talked to her about it a bit before you arrived.”

“Considering who your grandfather was, I have a feeling it’s more a matter of concern for your safety and happiness than it is an inability to understand. After all, she’s spent most of her life surrounded by men who live dangerous, violent lives. Her exterior is soft, but we both know she is as strong as a rock.”

Talia smiled with pride. “I admire her so much.”

“As do I.” Though self-conscious about revealing his feelings, he added, “She told me I am like a son to her.”

“What a wonderful thing to say. But of course she would feel that way. How could she not? We both know how much she wanted to give grandfather a son when they were first married, and she wanted so many more children than just Mama. To have others would have perhaps made it easier for her to bear Mama’s situation.” She squeezed his hand. “You’ve made us both very proud, habibi.”

Embarrassed by her praise, he busied himself with drawing Melisande’s blanket over her naked shoulder, successfully hiding her tempting breasts from view. His fingers lingered upon the blanket’s rustic weave, savoring the feel of it, smoothing the fabric against Talia’s curves.

“Enough talk,” he chided. “Close your eyes and let the drug take you away. Close your mind to all negative energy. Think of our old home, of sitting by the fire with your hot chocolate and a good book.”

Obediently she closed her eyes, his imagery drawing a smile to her beautiful lips. “Remember how you used to read to me and Mama?” she said in a voice growing heavy from the morphine. “I loved to close my eyes and listen to your voice as I imagined things from the stories. It would take me far away from the pit.” Her grip upon his hand began to relax.

To lull her into a relaxed state, he used small strokes of his thumb against the back of her hand. His other hand gently brushed the hair back from her oval face. She smiled dreamily at his touch, and within another minute she gave a small sigh and drifted into a deep sleep.

For half an hour he remained in the chair, happily watching her, his hand still holding hers. The sight of her here in his bed, in his possession and no one else’s, brought contentment and relaxation at last, and sleep began to overcome him. Carefully he withdrew his hand and silently removed his clothes. Then he edged his way into the large bed without disturbing her and just as solicitously lay on his side behind her, close, the edge of the blanket beneath him. With equal care, he slipped his arms around Talia, drew her against him as he used to do in prison. Then he lay with the mask close to her hair, breathing in the clean scent of her. With a happy sigh, he at last closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him.

###

The air conditioning in Bane’s room kept the summer heat of Rajasthan at bay. Hisham had brought additional chairs to accommodate Bane’s guests. Daichi Sao, Finn Donnell, and Guy Giroux sat uneasily amidst the guesthouse’s opulence, men used to being in the field, not a palace. They were the League’s regional commanders—Donnell in North America, Giroux in Europe, and Sao in Asia. They had avoided the carnage that Bruce Wayne had wreaked upon the League’s Himalayan headquarters by being at their posts at the time, a fortunate circumstance considering the number of vital men who had been lost in that single, tragic instance.

Talia was seated on Bane’s left in their impromptu conference circle. A week had passed since the death of Rā’s al Ghūl, but the shadows of his passing remained heavily upon Talia, reflected in her black attire. Indeed, since her father’s death, Bane could see an emotional and physical transformation, the response of someone who was born to lead, just as her father had been. He admired her fortitude and used it to bolster his own spirits.

“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” Talia began, smoothing her long skirt. She spoke in French, as would everyone in this meeting to ensure Hisham or anyone else in the guesthouse could not understand their conversation. “It is a difficult time for all of us. I know how much my father meant to you, and it’s a comfort to share my grief. Finn was in Gotham, of course, so he had the unenviable task of reporting my father’s death to me. I want to say, in front of everyone here, how much I appreciate your efforts in Gotham and in serving my father during the operations.”

The sharp-eyed Irishman bowed his head in acknowledgement, but his expression remained unreadable. He was a small man with deceivingly benign features, pale of skin and dark of eye. Finn had been with the League many years, and Bane had worked with him on a couple of operations, so he knew him well. A fierce fighter and a commander his men could admire and follow easily. His roots were firmly in the Irish Republican Army, an organization for which his father and brother had given their lives.

Guy Giroux spoke to Talia with a small smile, “All of our brothers extend their condolences to you, and they have pledged to avenge your father’s death in any capacity that may serve you.”

“Thank you, Guy,” she returned the smile with warmth.

Bane’s fingers twitched. Giroux had always been a charmer with women. He often used those skills in the line of duty, though Bane wondered if sometimes his liaisons were all as necessary as Giroux claimed.

“As you know,” Talia continued, “I had…separated myself from my father these past few years. I regret that now, of course, as I will for the rest of my life.”

Bane gave a soft growl and started to chastise her, though he knew he should not in front of the others. But Talia raised her hand to hold his comments at bay, no doubt thinking the same as to her assumed authority here.

“And because of my estrangement and time away, I’m afraid I might not be able to serve the League in a manner worthy of my father.”

Bane’s fingers twitched again, and he had to bite his tongue not to protest her self-deprecation.

“Your father would disagree,” Finn said in his worn-down Dublin accent. “I can tell you that in all honesty. In fact, he predicted you would feel this way and told me to caution you against it, should you still be estranged when he relinquished command.”

“The estrangement,” Bane rumbled, “is my fault. Our brothers don’t hold it against you, Talia.”

“Bane is right,” Sao said. “No one has ever spoken against you.”

Giroux smiled with understanding. “We were all young once, Talia. We know how emotions often drive someone of your age. But, having said that, we also know you are mature enough to understand the importance of the legacy your father has left you.”

“Aye,” Finn said. “As we discussed last week, the three of us talked to as many of our brothers as we could reach before coming here. They offer overwhelming support to you and whomever you appointment as your second in command.”

Color pinked Talia’s sculpted cheekbones, and she looked down at her hands in her lap. She wore a simple leather bracelet that her father had given her, set with a single sapphire that matched her eyes. Rā’s had presented it to her when she had been a mere child, but the bracelet still easily fit. She had worn it always, until Bane’s excommunication. The fact that she had not completely discarded it those years ago told Bane that she had indeed still loved her father.

“Thank you all,” Talia said softly to the attentive men. “Your loyalty and confidence in me is flattering and humbling. But the fact remains that I have much to learn about the day-to-day operations of the League. Because of that I feel my second-in-command must be someone I am completely comfortable with, someone who can step into a role that will require much of him until I am more capable of taking on greater responsibility.”

“Of course,” Finn said, his eyes flicking toward Bane. No doubt he and the others here fully expected what was coming next.

“If I am to assume my father’s position,” Talia continued, expression set with resolve, “I will reinstate Bane to the League. This is nonnegotiable and an absolute necessity. Though Bane has been away from the League for some time, I know he will have no trouble assimilating back into our ranks. As you know, his work since leaving the League has been demanding and dangerous, and it has augmented the leadership skills he already displayed while in the League. He will be nothing but an asset to us all.” She paused long enough to touch her father’s bracelet. “We both understand that some of our brothers—perhaps even you—may have some reservations because of the circumstances surrounding Bane’s excommunication.”

“Chase’s death,” Bane rumbled his clarification, again wanting to deflect any possible blame from Talia.

“True, there are some who might have a moment’s pause over it,” Sao allowed. “But, as you know, a man’s personal opinion is secondary to his allegiance to the League. All of our brothers will uphold any of your decisions, Talia. I am confident of that.”

Finn and Giroux nodded.

“All the same,” Talia said, “I feel I must offer some insight into that day, especially in light of what happened in Gotham last week. I know Bane has never spoken up in his own defense regarding his excommunication—”

“Nor should you now,” Bane said as gently as he could, though he wanted to growl the protest. He hoped his stare alone could convey his displeasure.

“I know my father never shared all of his plans for the League, not even with Damien Chase,” Talia continued, undaunted. “Of course anyone in his position has to guard such secrets until it’s necessary to reveal them. Well, one of them was his plan to see me wed to Bruce Wayne. This was even before my father recruited Wayne and made the fatal mistake of bringing him into our ranks.” Her words had grown clipped and veiled with hostile bitterness. “Before Bane’s final mission with the League, the one in which he and Chase were to protect Bruce Wayne in Shanghai, Bane expressed his concerns about my father’s plans for me. I think it goes without saying that my father did not take kindly to Bane’s remarks. Bane wasn’t just trying to protect me; he was trying to protect the League. He knew Wayne could never truly help us, directly or indirectly, so he felt the mission was flawed, and once things went sideways and Temujin was lost, Bane again expressed his feelings to my father about Wayne. Papa, of course, viewed Bane as dangerously insubordinate; he would not stand for it.” She turned to Bane, and her expression softened. “But I believe my father’s decision to excommunicate Bane wasn’t for the good of the League; there were personal issues involved, ones tied to my mother and our time in prison. They blinded my father to the wisdom of Bane’s concerns about Bruce Wayne.” She turned back to the three commanders. “And now here we sit today, with Bane vindicated and my father murdered.” She smiled ever so slightly. “So you can see, gentlemen, why it makes sense to reinstate our brother.”

“We anticipated your request and discussed it at length before coming here,” Finn said, “so consider this a formal consent.”

“That is,” Giroux said, “if you are indeed accepting the League’s leadership.”

Bane found himself holding his breath while Talia considered them all. An image returned to him from the monastery, a time in the Great Hall when Talia—just a child then—had sat upon her father’s large, golden chair—she called it a throne—and had declared herself queen. Bane had scolded her for sitting in the forbidden chair, and only after half-hearted threats did she relinquish her perch.

“One day you may be a queen,” Bane had said. “But not today.”

Now when he looked at Talia beside him, he saw none of the child left in her. Her father’s death had stolen the last vestiges of youthfulness. In its place was a new resolve, a hardness that almost pained him to see. But he knew it was necessary.

“I will accept my birthright,” Talia said at last, a chill in her voice. “And together we will fulfil Rā’s al Ghūl’s destiny. Gotham will be destroyed.” Her eyes darkened. “And Bruce Wayne will pay for his betrayal.”

Twenty-seven

“Something is troubling you, habibi,” Talia murmured, her finger lazily tracing his pectoral muscles, her hair—tousled from their lovemaking—spilling against him. “What is it?”

Bane grunted, staring up at the ceiling to avoid her probing gaze. She lay atop him, warm and soft beneath Melisande’s blanket. “Of course I am troubled—I must leave you today.”

“No, it’s something more than that.”

Realizing it was foolish to think he could hide anything from her, he forced a smile and gently tightened his powerful arms around her. “Old habits, my love. Nothing more. I am used to protecting you, of being the one in charge, so to speak. It seems just yesterday you were calling me Ba-ba and riding about the stepwell on my back. But now so much will fall on your shoulders, and you’re still so young. I’m simply worried about all of these changes hitting you at once.” He frowned. “You were having nightmares last night. I had to wake you twice.”

Talia rested her chin on his chest. “I’ll be fine…Ba-ba.” She grinned and winked. “I’ll have plenty of time to adjust. The transition will be slow while I finish school. And in the meantime I know things are in good hands—yours.” She kissed his nipple. “Aren’t you happy that you’ll be back with our brothers?”

“Of course. But we’re not talking about me, are we? I’m concerned about you. You are strong like your mother, like your grandmother, but you—like me—have been away from the League for so long.”

Her finger drifted across the front of his mask, distracting him. “I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t a bit afraid. I mean, it’s a great responsibility to uphold my father’s ideals and legacy. Some of our brothers are not as open-minded as Sao, Finn, and Guy. But I have a way to test myself, my strength.”

“Test?”

“Yes. I’m going to the pit prison.”

Shocked, Bane pushed himself back against his pillow. “No, Talia. We discussed this already—”

“Yes, we did discuss it, but we did not resolve it. Now, more than ever, I feel I must return there, now that I have accepted my new role.”

“Why?”

“To test my courage.”

“You’ve already passed that test, Talia—the day you climbed out of the pit.” He made no attempt to soften his voice or expression, for he wanted her to feel his anger.

“I climbed out of fear, Bane. Returning there, climbing down will take courage. I want to see if I am still afraid. If I am, then I have no right to lead our brothers.”

“You have every right.” He sat up. “We own that place now. There’s no need for you to go back there.”

Talia’s expression softened, as if he were a troublesome child. “Habibi, you went back there.”

“Yes, to punish my grandfather for what he did to my mother, to me. It is no place for a woman.”

She sat up, eyes narrowing slightly, pride flaring. “Surely you don’t think me weak simply because I am a woman.”

Caught in his blunder, Bane scowled. “Of course not.”

Her hand drifted along his hip, Melisande’s blanket slipping from her shoulders. Beyond Bane’s balcony doors, the first hint of dawn had begun to fade the night’s cloak.

“You should be heading back to the palace,” he said.

Her gaze lowered to where her hand glided along his flesh. “When I return to the pit, I will dress as a man, of course. And I can take some of Amir’s men with me for protection, but I would prefer if you came instead.”

“And what will your grandmother say about this?”

“I have no plans to tell her. It will worry her.”

“As it should. Talia, if you go there and your sex is detected—”

“Then I will die where my mother died.”

Though he knew she was merely using such words as a tactic to acquire his assistance, it pained him nevertheless to hear her talk this way, as if sharing her mother’s fate would be an honor. Of course with her father’s murder fresh upon her soul she would naturally think even more than usual about her mother’s murder.

Brusquely he captured her wandering hand, and she gave a small gasp of surprise. She did not pull away, however. Instead she balled her hand into a fist and met his eye with a challenging glint. He realized now—more than he had two days ago when they had met with their brothers—that she had changed. Her father’s death, her acceptance of her new role, and the pressure of expectations—her own as well as the League’s—had all contributed to this transformation.

Her threat had killed his anger, and when he spoke, the words breathed quietly through the mask, “Don’t ever say such a thing, Talia.” He freed her wrist and drew Melisande’s blanket between them. “It would break your parents’ hearts to hear, as it has mine.”

The defiance left her, replaced by shame. She hastened to sit beside him, taking his hand. “I’m sorry, habibi. But I must do this. I will do this.” She kissed his fingers, slowly. “And if you will come with me—to protect me—I promise I will never go to the prison again.”

Though he tried to make his expression harsh, it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the velvet touch of her lips and the sensual movements of her tongue. He growled and drew her back into his arms. “Perhaps your father was right—he should have matched you up with Bruce Wayne. The man would never stand a chance against you.”

“I will meet him in time, rest assured. But it will be on my terms and no one else’s. Once I’m through with my studies, I will go to Gotham. We know who Gotham’s wealthiest, most influential men are. One of our own brothers is among them, and he will be able to introduce me to their society. I will become one of them, someone they trust, someone they include.”

Bane tried to conceal his concern, his abhorrence at the thought of Talia being coveted by any of Gotham’s rich despots. “Surely you don’t mean to pursue your father’s original plan?”

“Marry Bruce Wayne?” She scoffed. “Never. Besides, since his return to Gotham, he pretends to be a disreputable playboy to help hide his Batman identity. Marrying anyone would destroy his narcissistic cover.”

Bane gave an inward sigh of relief.

“So,” she said, her finger trailing over the mask, “will you come with me to the pit?”

In frustration, he growled again, his hand tangling amidst her wild mane, closing around a fistful and pulling her head back. She smiled, the tip of her tongue caught between straight, white teeth.

“It will require more than myself,” he grumbled at last. “And not any of Amir’s men. Word might get back to your grandmother. You may wound me with your stubborn demands, my love, but I won’t let you hurt Maysam.”

Talia frowned, adequately shamed. She sighed. “Then who?”

Bane freed her hair, stroked her head once before his hand traveled downward to her shoulder, her breast. His thumb teased her nipple erect.

“Who?” she persisted, obviously wanting to seal their deal before he grew completely distracted.

His finger traveled up her neck to her chin then her lips, but she kept her mouth bolshily closed and raised an eyebrow at him.

He smiled and said, “I have a couple of men in mind.”

###

“So how’s Talia holding up?” Barsad asked as he settled into his usual chair against the wall opposite Bane’s desk.

His lieutenant looked particularly boiled by the African sun, and his eyelids were heavier than usual, belying his fatigue. But he wore a tiny smile in the corners of his thin, defined lips, revealing his relief that Bane was back. Surely Barsad had not feared that he would not return at all. While in Rajasthan, he had spoken but once to his lieutenant, and that had only been because of a pressing issue at the mine. Otherwise Barsad had respectfully left Bane alone so he could focus on Talia and the League.

“She is doing well, all things considered,” Bane said.

“Is she going to stay with Maysam the rest of the summer?”

“Yes, I did convince her of that.”

Barsad nodded, fingered the pack of cigarettes peeking from his breast pocket. “And how’s Maysam?”

“I am a bit concerned for her because of Amir and Iba. Maysam didn’t express any issues with me, but I highly doubt she would. So before I left I had a little chat with Amir.”

“Oh, shit.” Barsad grinned. “Was there any neck snapping?”

“You jest of course, brother.”

“Of course,” Barsad deadpanned.

“Overtly threatening a man like Amir might lead to ramifications for Maysam once Talia is gone. But rest assured I made it plain that Maysam is not to be harassed. She will be allowed to live peacefully in the main palace for as long as she wants.”

“And how did Amir the Snake take it?”

“He understood the subtext. Hopefully his wife will as well.”

“Ever snap a woman’s neck?” Barsad twitched an eyebrow, a gleam of hope still in his sky blue eyes.

“Not yet.”

“Ah, good—you’re not ruling it out.”

Bane could not conceal a small smile, and he realized he had missed Barsad and his smart-ass humor.

“So how did the meeting with the League go?”

Bane’s smile drifted away. “It went well.”

“And is Talia going to take her father’s place?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound too pleased. I thought you wanted her to do this.”

“I do. But, like Maysam, I’m worried about the amount of responsibility suddenly being shouldered by one so young, especially after suffering such a devastating loss. Talia feels great guilt for being estranged from her father, and I fear that guilt might drive her to recklessness.”

“I’m sure if it comes to that, she’ll listen to your metallic voice of reason, brother.”

“I’m not as confident of that as I was a short while ago.”

The lightheartedness left Barsad. “Why? Did she say something specific to you?”

“No. But I know my Talia. This has already changed her, and I fear it will continue to do so.”

“But we all change, Bane, especially someone her age, faced with what she’s faced with. Are you sure you aren’t overreacting? You are, after all, sometimes like a hen clucking over a chick with that one.”

“Brother,” Bane admonished, “there is nothing of the hen in me. What I sense is through instinct, not simply love.”

“If you say so.”

Bane allowed the moment to pass. He tossed aside a pen that he had been holding when Barsad had arrived, then he got out of his seat and lumbered to the window looking out onto the mine’s maw. In a less defensive voice, he continued, “Something else came out of the meeting with the League.”

“Yeah?”

Bane turned back to him, and the serious look from behind the mask immediately sobered Barsad even more. “Talia demanded my reinstatement in the League.”

Barsad did his best to hide his surprise. “And did they agree? Did you agree?”

“Yes.”

Barsad nodded thoughtfully, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and he looked away from Bane. “So when do you leave?”

“I will remain two more weeks here to make sure things are in order and new leadership is in place.”

“But you’re under contract to them. How will you repay the money they advanced to you when we signed on?”

“The League will take care of it.”

This ambiguous answer drew Barsad’s attention back to him. “And who’s to succeed you?”

“Would you like to make a recommendation?”

“Me? That’s your call, brother. But I can think of one man to do the job, if you can’t.” He scowled slightly.

Bane continued the game for his own amusement, “I can think of few qualified among our ranks, so to whom do you refer?”

“Jesus, Bane.” Barsad held his hands out to either side. “Me, for fuck’s sake. Are you serious?”

Now Bane allowed a chuckle, and he returned to sit behind the desk.

“What’s so God damn funny? I’ve done the job whenever you aren’t around.”

“Indeed you have, brother. And capably, I might add.”

“Then what?”

“I actually have another position in mind for you.”

“What? There’s no other position.”

“Not here, no.”

“Then—?”

The inference finally reached Barsad’s scruffy face and cleared all disgruntlement.

“I want you to come with me,” Bane said.

“Come with you?” Barsad stammered. “If I’ve understood you correctly all this time, joining the League isn’t exactly like walking into a McDonald’s and asking for the privilege to flip burgers.”

Bane almost chuckled at his friend’s bewilderment. “True enough. You would need to undergo intensive training, and unfortunately that will deprive me of your services for a time, but I’m confident you would be accepted. That is, if you are interested.”

Barsad reared his head back and eyed Bane, as if suspecting this were one of their brotherly jokes. Bane often toyed with him in such a way as revenge for one of Barsad’s many annoying pranks.

“Did Talia ask you to do this?”

“Of course not.”

“Does she know you were gonna ask me?”

“No. I saw no sense in telling her. She will find out once you give me your answer. Having taken her father’s place, she will be the one to approve or disapprove any man I recruit.”

“Why would you want to recruit me? Seems to me you’re taking a big gamble.”

“I don’t look at it that way.” Bane paused. “I trust no man, Barsad, no man but you. So why do you look so shocked over my offer? Talia has made me her second in command, and I will need someone I trust to be my lieutenant.”

“I’m sure the League has men more qualified than me.”

“True, the League is comprised of extraordinary men, but we lost some of our best not long ago when our base was destroyed. And as I said, I trust no man, not completely, not even my League brethren. I have not remained alive as long as I have without that level of caution. That will never change for me.”

“Who says I’d wanna join you and your merry band of ninjas?”

A teasing bluff, of course, for Bane could see pure excited delight in his friend’s gaze. Barsad had always been intrigued by what little Bane had shared with him about the League of Shadows. And Barsad’s love of adventure would make it difficult for him to turn down the offer.

“The choice is yours, brother,” Bane said with an offering sweep of his hand. “And I’m also going to make a similar offer to Yemi.”

“Well, hell, now you’re just giving it away to anyone, huh?” Barsad grinned, getting to his feet. “I need a smoke.”

“You will give me your answer by tomorrow?”

Barsad scoffed, pulling a cigarette from the pack and letting it hang from his lips. “I’m not gonna let you go running off with that temperamental young thing all on your own. You might trip over that huge cock of yours and do something stupid. That’s why you want me there—to keep you grounded.”

“Hardly, brother.”

Barsad fumbled in a pocket for his lighter and stepped to the door. Before opening it, he lit the cigarette and took one taunting pull, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “Tell your girlfriend I’m in.”

mfw yemi

TehBatGetsBraked wrote:mfw yemi

I was hoping for that response.

yea im finally up to date

TehBatGetsBraked wrote:yea im finally up to date

Quit having a life, will ya?

Twenty-eight

Bane would take no chances with the pit prison. Instead of driving a vehicle to the site, he insisted upon a helicopter to transport himself, Talia, Barsad, and Yemi. Four men from the League would come by truck, arriving at the shaft ahead of them, making sure the area was secure before radioing Bane to tell him it was safe to land. Talia had argued against such expensive measures, but Bane would not be denied.

“If you can’t think of your personal safety,” he had told her, “then you must remember your importance to the League. Everything you do now must take that great responsibility into consideration. To lose you, especially so soon on the heels of your father’s death, would be devastating. We can take no chances.”

As the helicopter neared the prison, Bane—seated beside Talia—looked across the compartment to Barsad. His friend flashed him a confident smile and gave him a thumbs up. Bane nodded in appreciation of Barsad’s awareness of his trepidation. Even Barsad had tried to talk Talia out of returning to the pit, though Bane knew Barsad secretly longed to see the notorious prison himself after hearing Bane’s and Yemi’s stories. Perhaps, Bane had told himself, Barsad would acquire a better understanding of Talia and gain even more respect for her after seeing what she had survived.

Bane glanced at Yemi. The big man’s eyes were closed, but Bane sensed that he was not asleep. No doubt the Nigerian had his own concerns about revisiting to the pit, but he had not shared such thoughts. In fact, he had volunteered to descend into the pit with Bane, Talia, and Barsad, allowing the League’s men to remain on the surface to guard the shaft opening. Yemi’s courage validated Bane’s reasons for inviting him to join the League. Like Barsad, Yemi had agreed, and once they all climbed back out of the pit, Yemi—with Barsad—would leave with the League’s men to undergo training.

“Five minutes,” the pilot’s words rang in Bane’s headset, which pressed awkwardly against the sides of his mask.

Bane looked down at Talia. She appeared so young without make-up and with her hair—at his rueful request—cut short. She pulled from her thoughts to offer him a small smile. Yes, there was courage there—the others could recognize that—but Bane could see much more. He wanted to reach for her hand, to physically convey strength to her, but he refrained in front of the others.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said into the headset’s com.

She nodded, a slight frown of insistence creasing her forehead below her small mole, the one that mirrored a mole her mother had borne on her chin. She touched his pack on the floor between them, the one that contained Melisande’s blanket. Bane nodded his understanding, forced a smile.

When the helicopter landed, dust arose in a choking cloud. Bane wrapped a shemagh around his head, hoping to keep as much dirt as possible from the mask. He helped Talia from the helicopter then reached back to grab their gear. From there they wasted no time, marching directly up to the opening of the shaft. Talia spoke briefly to the men who would remain at the surface, guns at the ready, then she began to don her harness, never looking into the shaft.

Barsad, however, could not resist his curiosity. As he strapped on his harness, he edged over to the lip of the shaft and peered downward. Even over the whine of the helicopter’s turbines as they powered down, Bane heard Barsad draw out the words, “Jesus Christ.”

“Having second thoughts, brother?” Bane teased.

Barsad swallowed and shook his head, unconvincing.

“You may stay on the surface, if you prefer, and I shall take someone else.”

“Hell, no. I gotta see this shit.”

Bane finished with his harness and stepped over to double check Talia’s gear.

“It’s fine, Bane,” she insisted.

But he ignored her protest, gently pushing away her hands as he made certain of every strap and carabiner. “Take it from one who has fallen in the shaft, you can never be too careful of your equipment.”

She frowned, no doubt remembering how she had watched his sabotaged safety line break during his last escape attempt, sending him crashing into the stepwell’s pool, breaking his spine in multiple places. With deep regret, her eyes now touched upon his back brace and wrist brace. Bane had climbed that second time more for Talia and Melisande than himself, a reality of which Talia was very much aware, reflected now in her troubled expression and the way she avoided his eyes.

Bane wanted to tip her chin up, but he would not touch her in any way in front of the men. If he had his way, no one in the League would ever know of their intimacy, for he did not want to run the risk of damaging their brothers’ opinion of Talia as strong and independent, a woman above all other women.

“You don’t have to do this, Talia,” he said as quietly as possible, dust swirling about them like a tornado.

“I do.”

He frowned. “Remember what I said—we will not linger. No more than fifteen minutes. You will not speak. We will take no chances of your sex being discovered.”

Her blue gaze flashed at him once, but she said nothing as she donned her shemagh. She did not need to—the look alone warned him to expect disobedience. It took every ounce of his strength to deny the instinctive desire to forcibly carry her back to the helicopter. Instead he turned to Yemi and Barsad who stood ready beside the shaft, making final preparations with their lines.

Away from Talia’s hearing, Bane said, “You must give me your word, both of you, that if something goes wrong down there, you will see to Talia’s safety. Hers and hers alone. Any rear action that needs to be taken will be my responsibility. You will get her back up the shaft. Understand?”

They both nodded, suddenly sober and professional.

Bane put a hand on Yemi’s shoulder. “Are you certain of this, brother? There is no shame in staying here. Trust me, I will understand.”

Yemi offered a brave smile. “I am more than this place made me, Bane.”

Bane nodded his gratitude. “Then I have your word?”

“Of course,” Yemi spoke for both himself and Barsad. “Little Sister has nothing to fear.”

“Thank you.” He turned to the shaft. “Then let us go.”

For the descent into the pit, Bane had contemplated increasing the strength of the drugs coursing through his mask, for he did not want to risk any unforeseen bout of PTSD. But in the end he had decided against it, concerned that the higher dosage might impair him. Now, as he rappelled down the unending, ragged stone face of the shaft, he was relieved that he felt no anxiety, even though he vividly remembered both of his attempts to scale these walls and the agonizing failures—both physically and mentally. Before boarding the helicopter and during the flight in, he had sufficiently prepared himself through meditation.

He watched Talia closely for any signs of reluctance or apprehension, but she smoothly descended just above him, her movements confident, as if she did this every day. Of course, he had refreshed her rappelling skills prior to coming here as well as her target practice with both rifle and pistol. He smiled when he remembered her marksmanship.

Far below, prisoners watched their arrival from various vantage points in the stepwell which made up the base of the shaft, an ancient bawdi that provided the prison’s water for drinking as well as washing, a nearly stagnant, unpleasant pool. But as Bane descended ever closer, the prisoners began to trail away from the stepwell, disappearing into the corridors on different levels. They no doubt thought the rappelling men were a part of the usual contingent who resupplied the prison. Standard practice among the jailers at such times was to banish all inmates from the stepwell to ensure that they were not overpowered by the prisoners. Only cellblock captains were allowed into the bawdi, tasked with gathering the allotment of supplies for their specific cellblock.

Bane half expected to see Doctor Assad in the stepwell, as he had been when he had returned with his grandfather many years ago. But the physician was nowhere to be seen. Assad lived, though; Bane knew this from the roster of prisoners provided when he and Talia had purchased the prison.

“Son of a bitch,” Barsad breathed as his feet touched down at the top of the stepwell. Wonder and horror widened his eyes.

“Mind your surroundings, brother,” Bane admonished him as he helped Talia the final few feet. “This is no time to be a tourist.”

Yemi chuckled as he took the safety off his rifle.

“Fuck you, Yemi,” Barsad said good-naturedly. “Now I can see why you’re so ugly—spending all those years down here in the dark.”

“Yes? Then what is your excuse for your face, Deadshot?” Yemi flashed a grin in the shaft’s gray gloom.

Talia paid no mind to their banter as she disconnected her line and took up her pistol. Her gaze was like the stone around her.

Quietly Bane asked, “Are you all right?”

She cleared her throat, her focus taking in the shaft and the cells that looked out upon them. Faces there in shadow, staring with nervous curiosity. As if to herself, she murmured, “They are not the same men who killed Mama and tried to kill me.”

“All men are the same,” Bane rumbled in warning. “They would do exactly as the others did, if given the opportunity. Make no mistake. Now please, say nothing more, as we agreed. Let’s get on with this.”

She gave a terse nod, checked that her shemagh adequately covered her face, then started on her way. Bane and Barsad followed closely, guns at the ready. Yemi remained behind to guard their lines.

Talia did not falter as she made her way around the top of the bawdi, her steps as sure as if she had never left this place. From cells, prisoners watched in silence, attention upon the guns, some standing near their doors, fingers wrapped around the cold bars, others trying to remain inconspicuous in the darkness at the rear of their dwellings. Others lay in complete indifference upon their charpoys. Some called out, demanding to know where the hell the supplies were, complaining how low food and medicines were as well as fuel for their braziers. No one answered their queries.

The trio reached the two cells most familiar to Bane and Talia—the one where she and Melisande had lived and Bane’s next to it where she had dwelled after her mother’s murder. They were both occupied now, of course. Though the prison was not full, the cells closest to the shaft and its weak supply of natural light were understandably the first to be occupied. In Bane’s day, these were usually acquired only through purchase by prisoners who came to the pit either with access to funds or those who were skilled enough once inside to eventually accumulate enough wealth through gambling and theft. Bane had never learned how his mother had merited such a cell, but he suspected someone had had pity on her for being the only female prisoner at the time, and she pregnant upon her arrival. Perhaps Doctor Assad had had a hand in it. Melisande, of course, had whatever sum had been required of her. At least her odious father had allowed that much for her comfort.

Talia stood in front of her mother’s cell, and the man inside cautiously stared back at them from his charpoy, slowly sitting up.

“What do you want?” the man asked in Arabic.

“Get out,” Bane ordered, rifle aiming.

“You going to toss my cell? Go ahead. I have nothing.”

“Do as the man says,” Barsad snarled. “Or you’ll never walk out of that cell again.”

With a dark look, the Arab begrudgingly stood. As he neared the door with his key (each prisoner was the keeper of his own key, to lock himself in or to lock others out while he was away), he staggered to a halt, staring at Bane who had unwound his shemagh from around the mask. The key fell to the ground, but the inmate did not move to pick it up, as if afraid to take his eyes off the grotesque mask and the man who wore it.

Bane’s hand flashed between the bars, clamped around the inmates’ throat. “Open it. Quickly.”

For a moment all the man could do was stare, eyes wide. Bane’s hand began to squeeze. Barsad crouched down and reached through the bars to grab the key. The prisoner started to sputter, his hands trying to pry Bane away. The inmates in the cells to either side fled in panic, not even bothering to lock their doors after them.

“No need to end his sentence early,” Barsad casually said as he unlocked the door. He could not open it, however, with Bane standing in the way. “Brother?”

Bane did not look away from his victim, but what he saw was not this faceless stranger; instead he saw men like Gola and Omar Alam, men who had been the first to rush into Melisande’s cell that horrific day. If only he could have fought them off, but instead he had pulled Talia away from the violence, she having buried a knife in Gola’s back in a desperate attempt to help Melisande. Before Gola could turn upon her, Bane had rushed her away as she kicked and screamed in protest, calling to her mother.

“Bane.” Barsad’s calm voice beside him. “Remember, we don’t have all day.”

The prisoner clawed at Bane’s arm, gasping and writhing, trying to kick through the bars. Bane’s hand flexed with one final, powerful effort, and a crunching sound preceded the life draining from the Arab’s eyes. Bane let him drop.

“Get him out of there,” he growled to Barsad.

Barsad opened the cell and dragged the body into the corridor. Bane stepped aside for Talia to enter. She moved slowly but with purpose. Halting in the center of the room, she reached into her tunic and withdrew two red roses. Gently she stroked them to restore their shape, then she kissed their petals before placing them on the stone floor, one crossed over the other. One for her mother, the other for her father. She remained there in a crouch, her back to the door.

Softly Barsad asked, “This is where Melisande lived?”

“Yes,” Bane murmured. “And also where she died.”

“Jesus,” Barsad breathed as his gaze roamed throughout the small, dank cell. “And where did you live?”

Bane pointed to the cell on the left.

“Twenty-five years,” Barsad said as if to himself. “How in God’s name did you do it, brother?”

Bane nodded toward Talia. “I could not have done it alone.” He raised his voice slightly. “We should go now.”

Talia stood and stared down a moment longer at the roses, whispered something in Arabic that Bane could not hear. When she at last turned, she met neither man’s gaze. Bane had feared that she might shed tears, tears that could hint at her sex should anyone see them, but from what he could see her eyes were dry. With set jaw she marched away from the cell, moving as if she were alone. But she did not reenter the shaft as Bane expected, and he felt cold dread crawl up his aching spine as he hurried to keep up with her as she circled the shaft.

“We cannot linger,” he forcefully reminded her, making sure she could hear the displeasure in his tone.

But Talia did not break stride or alter her course. Bane knew exactly where she was going, and if not for fear of her speaking for all to hear he would have grabbed her arm to halt her. He could tell, however, by the purpose in her strides that to try to stop her would only result in a dangerous argument.

I really love the way Talia, Barsad and Yemi have reacted to being in the pit. Talia and Yemi are returning visitors, but Barsad is a newcomer, and all react stoically. Only Bane fears his own PTSD, which is fascinating considering our brave warrior. I can't wait to discover who Talia his looking for. Could it be Dr. Assad?

batmanbane wrote:I really love the way Talia, Barsad and Yemi have reacted to being in the pit. Talia and Yemi are returning visitors, but Barsad is a newcomer, and all react stoically. Only Bane fears his own PTSD, which is fascinating considering our brave warrior. I can't wait to discover who Talia his looking for. Could it be Dr. Assad?

Find out Wednesday.

Twenty-nine

Word had passed quickly from prisoner to prisoner about Bane’s murder, so no one came near them. Inmate after inmate, however, stared with repulsed fascination at Bane’s mask from behind the safety of locked doors or the darkness of the corridors leading away from the stepwell. Fearful voices murmured in various languages.

“Where the hell are we going?” Barsad asked, but Bane said nothing, his senses alert in every direction, fingers twitching, breath coming in angry blasts through the mask.

Talia halted her march once they reached Doctor Assad’s cell, their three forms blocking the weak light from the shaft. Assad sat at the rear of his cell, facing the door, the same cell where he had lived for the past forty years of his life. He did not stir, but his head was up, listening intently. Compared to other cells, his was spacious and boasted a larger bed and more furnishings. His medical practice in the pit had allowed him favored status among his jailers and thus more plentiful supplies of food and fuel, as well as a small library that Bane had pored over until each book was dog-eared and dirty. Now the shelves looked dusty, the volumes neglected. No doubt Assad’s old morphine habit, begun after Melisande’s death, had deprived him of a desire to read.

“So the masked man has returned,” Assad spoke in Arabic, his deep voice hoarse and weaker than Bane remembered.

When Bane took a gentle but firm hold upon Talia’s arm, she flashed a rebuking glance at him.

“We did not come here for this opium-eater,” Bane growled low.

A quiet, cynical chuckle sounded from Assad. “Rest assured I have broken my old habit, Bane. I had no choice; there was a time several years back when no one in the prison could acquire my comforting friend. Since then I have gained the fortitude to deny myself.”

“You would never have acquired the taste if you had not betrayed Melisande—”

Talia’s hand upon Bane’s chest stilled his bitter words.

“You aren’t alone,” Assad observed. “I can see two shadows beside you. Why have you come? Obviously not to liberate me.”

Now Bane understood why the old man had not left his cell when they had first arrived, as he had when Bane had come with his grandfather—Assad’s eyesight was failing him.

“My reasons aren’t any of your business,” Bane said.

“You are right, Doctor,” Talia said quietly. “Bane did not come alone.”

Bane gripped her shoulder, hissed, “No.”

Talia ignored him, her fingers wrapping around the cell bars. “Melisande’s child has returned with him.”

Assad’s back straightened, and he pushed aside the old blanket that cloaked him. Stiffly—as if he had been sitting a long time on the cold stone floor—he got to his feet. The faint glow from his brazier danced against his balding head and revealed sudden hope upon his dark face. Even his slightly clouded eyes seemed to brighten.

“Will you let me in?” Talia asked.

“No,” Bane said. “We have already spent too much time here.”

“I won’t be long,” she whispered. “I promise.”

The rage Bane had experienced after learning of Assad’s part in Melisande’s death flared anew, as if only days separated him from that terrible moment. Forcibly he turned Talia toward him and said, “He is not coming with us.”

Showing nothing but calm, Talia insisted, “I’m only going to talk with him.”

“You have already talked too much. This is not what we agreed upon.”

“There is no one near to hear. You and Barsad will keep them away if they come. I won’t be long.” Her eyes softened in the small space allowed by her shemagh. “Don’t worry, Bane.”

Assad had drifted close to the door but not within Bane’s reach. With a tremulous smile, he asked, “How old are you now, child? I have lost track of time, and I can no longer see clearly.”

“Can you let me in? We can talk more quietly then.”

“Of course.” Assad fumbled inside his tunic for his key.

Barsad stepped close to Talia, still facing outward, gun always at the ready. “You should listen to Bane. We shouldn’t dick around here. We’re making Yemi nervous.”

Talia gave him a small, sly smile. “Are you sure it’s Yemi who’s nervous?”

“Yemi?” Assad echoed. “Surely you aren’t talking about the Yemi who escaped with you?” His key rattled in the lock.

“The same,” Barsad said, as if to keep Talia from talking any more than necessary.

The hinges of the door complained loudly as it opened. “But he is not with you,” Assad said.

“No,” Barsad replied. “He’s in the shaft, guarding our lines.”

“Enough,” Bane growled, turning away from Talia to watch their flanks. “Five minutes. I will carry you out of that cell myself if you remain a second longer.”

Talia slipped inside, and Assad closed the door. Though Bane did not want to hear their conversation, he would not move another foot away from Talia.

“Here,” Assad said to her. “Sit on my bed.”

“Sit beside me,” she invited. “So we don’t have to talk louder.”

“How are you, child? Why did you come back here?”

“I just…it was something I needed to do.”

“How is your father? Are you still with him?”

Bane growled deep in his throat, and Talia hesitated before answering, “My father died recently.”

“Oh…I’m very sorry to hear that. But you are still with Bane.”

“Yes.”

“He protects you still.”

“Yes.”

“I am glad. I have worried about you over the years, both of you. I’m pleased that you still have one another.”

“Me, too.”

“And how is the world of light treating you otherwise?”

“I have been fortunate in many ways.”

“And Bane?”

“Things have not been as easy for him, but he endures. He is a rock.”

“Yes, he always has been.”

“Here…I brought this for you.”

Surprised, Bane glanced over his shoulder to see her placing a small leather pouch in Assad’s hands.

“I can’t take you away from here,” she said, “but I can help you at least in this way. You must spend it wisely, though. I will trust your words that you are no longer an addict.”

“I would not lie to you, sweet child.” He smiled sadly. “Thank you.” He secreted the pouch beneath the blankets on the bed. “But my jailers might wonder how I can suddenly afford luxuries. Since my eyes have begun to dim I can no longer practice medicine, and thus my value to them has diminished as has my compensation.”

“You have no need to worry about your old jailers. They are no more. The prison has changed hands.”

“Talia,” Bane reproved.

“How do you know this?” Assad asked.

“Because the prison is now Bane’s.”

Though Bane was relieved she had not implicated herself, he still disapproved of her divulgence.

“I see,” Assad murmured thoughtfully.

“I will make sure you are taken care of here.”

“Surely my new jailer will object.”

“He will, but he loves me and knows what I’m doing is only just. We differ on few things, but this is one of them. Perhaps one day I will change his mind, and you will be able to finish out your life in a better place.”

“You have your mother’s kind heart.”

“No,” Talia said ruefully. “I am very different from her in most ways because I grew up here. It has left its mark, even after all this time.”

“It must have if you came back here today. It was a great risk, one I wager Bane did not willingly agree to.”

“And that’s why it’s time we leave,” Bane grumbled.

“He is right,” Assad said. “Thank you for visiting me. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made this old blind fool. Just to hear your voice again and know you are well. Your mother would be proud of you.” His voice broke slightly. “Your poor mother…”

“You shouldn’t still mourn her. She has forgiven you, I’m sure. She would not want you to suffer still. I don’t.”

Tears shimmered in the corners of his eyes, and his hand reached to touch her face through her shemagh. Bane shifted his weight slightly to watch closer, fingers twitching against the rifle. Talia sat patiently as Assad’s fingers explored her features, his clouded gaze seeking.

“I can tell you have your mother’s beauty as well.”

“Thank you,” Talia whispered, her voice growing thin.

Assad sat back, sighed with a contented smile. “But you must go now, child. You must listen to Bane. This is no place for you. You must never come back.”

“I have promised him that I won’t.”

“Very good.”

Talia faltered, held his hands in hers for a long moment, a wistful smile trembling on her lips, then she got to her feet. Assad stood as well, holding out his key to her as a sign of complete trust. Slowly she took it from him, whispered, “Good-bye, old friend,” and embraced him.

Assad held her close, his eyes pressed shut, then he forced himself to step back. “Go, child. And bless you for coming to me. It means more to me than any sum you could give me.”

She nodded, lips tight together. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. You least of all. I understand.” He smiled, whispered, “Good-bye.”

She let herself out of the cell, locking the door behind her and handing the key back through the bars to Assad’s waiting palm. Then she hastily wiped her eyes with her shemagh and led the way back to Yemi.

The climb up the shaft was smooth and quick. Bane never looked back. Instead he kept his attention on Talia above him, his mind and body relaxing with each meter she ascended, taking her forever away from the pit. This feeling of relief overrode his displeasure over her disobedience and stubbornness moments ago. Secretly he smiled at her determination to speak with Assad. Of course she had not told him of her plans ahead of time; she was too wise for that. Though her compassion for the doctor did not offend him—in fact it gave him hope that her father’s death had not completely hardened her—he could not understand her compulsion to treat the man with such deference. But, he reminded himself, she had been only five years old when her mother had died, so her viewpoint of Assad would be much different than his before the man’s opium addiction. She had often lamented how Assad would never have been in her mother’s cell that day if she had not pretended to have a stomach ache just to get attention. Bane, however, would allow her to accept none of the blame for Melisande’s death.

When they climbed out of the shaft and back into the blazing desert heat, Barsad dusted himself off and said, “Well, I’m glad I saw it with my own eyes, but—fuck—I don’t ever want to see it again. Like living in your own coffin.”

Bane removed his equipment, standing beside Talia who seemed lost in thought, a slight furrow to her brow. Once she had removed her harness, she stepped back to the opening of the shaft. Impulsively Bane took hold of her elbow. She glanced up at him, as if realizing his presence for the first time, then she leaned over to look far down the shaft a final time.

“This is where he will die,” she said. “Just like your grandfather.”

Bane frowned. “Who, habibati? Assad?”

“No.” Talia straightened and turned to him, her gaze bone-chillingly cold. One eyebrow twitched with malice as she said, “Bruce Wayne.”