“She can’t be bothered right now,” Jemin let them know instead of ‘good morning,’ or any acknowledgement of how grateful he was that the Ambassador would join them on their mission to rescue Corey. “She has business with her fiancé.” He caught himself expressing his frustration blatantly in his tone and wrestled his inner shifter turmoil back so he could at least attempt to appear sane to the rest of the world. Had he been able to hide his feelings for Maray to the rest of the court, her father knew, and so did Pia, who so luckily spent every day with her, and was unluckily peppered with Jemin’s questions about Maray whenever they got a moment alone at the safe house.
“It’s okay,” Pia murmured silently.
“I need to get away from here,” Jemin replied, equally silent, leaving the Ambassador oblivious to their exchange.
“Seri knows you’re on your way,” Pia informed him at normal volume. “Why don’t you go ahead and wait at the main gate?”
Jemin considered for a moment, but when he met Maray’s father’s gaze, he came back to his senses. Who was he to behave like a child in front of one of the most important men in the realm? It was beyond embarrassing that his emotions were frequently dictating him since he’d transformed into a Yutu-shifter—which was okay when he was among his own kind, with his pack, where everyone understood. But when it began affecting his reputation at court, then he had to get himself under control and his heart under lock and key.
He released the air from his lungs in a gust. Then slowed his pace and met Ambassador Johnson with a half-smile. “No, Pia,” he said to his pack-mate over the man’s shoulder. “I’ll be good to wait here. Maray needs us.” With a couple of quick strides, he crossed to the hallway and leaned on the windowsill across from Maray’s chamber doors.
The Ambassador followed suit and leaned beside him, giving him a knowing look. “You know, I couldn’t care less if she ever marries anyone,” he murmured.
His unexpected words claimed Jemin’s full attention, and he looked up from the checkered stone floor.
“What?” it spilled out of him, and he disguised his word in a cough, wondering if his eyes were popping out of his face.
“If it weren’t for those ugly traditions—‘no coronation without the prospect of an heir, no heir without the prospect of marriage, no marriage…’—anyway, it’s cruel and entirely outdated.”
“It secures the line of the Cornay family,” Jemin said absently, wondering what the Ambassador was trying to say.
“Does it, really?” he responded, his face wrinkling with doubt. “What if it is an unhappy union? What if the choice of husband—or wife, for that matter, if it’s a male Cornay—leaves the couple depressed, moody, unable to make good decisions?”
Jemin raised an eyebrow. He had never thought about it this way. For him, his duty to the crown had been everything… until he had met Maray. His morals had gone downhill from that moment. He smothered a dark chuckle.
“If it were up to me, Maray doesn’t need a husband as long as she is happy.”
Jemin eyed him, feeling his own face twist. “So you’d rather have her be happy than a queen?”
“Does one really exclude the other?” the Ambassador questioned. He glanced at the closed, carved doors which were the only veil between whatever Maray and Heck were discussing and the official life of court.
Jemin didn’t need to follow his motion. He could hear the muffled sounds of their voices through the walls with his shifter senses—so low that he couldn’t understand a word, but they were animatedly talking.
“I am a father first, Jemin,” the Ambassador said with a twinkle in his eye, disturbing the forming frown on Jemin’s forehead. “If it were up to me, Maray would be with whomever she wants.”
“Even if that someone wasn’t technically worthy in the eye of the council?” Jemin asked before he could think it through, but the Ambassador didn’t seem offended. Instead, he gave him a conspiring grin.
“Even if that someone fashioned fangs and claws on occasion.” He placed a hand on Jemin’s shoulder as they sat side by side, and for a mere second, it seemed everything might be possible.
Pia had kept her distance, overhearing every word Gerwin and Jemin had spoken, and once there was no more coming concerning the topic of Maray’s love life, she approached them, offering more details about the forsaken night of Gan Krai’s visit. The Ambassador gave his opinion of the dangers in approaching the Shalleyn in their hideout and the potential for running into Gan Krai himself.
“Whatever you do,” he cautioned them, “be aware that they have apparently corrupted thirteen spies and made them hosts to disguise themselves in. Be sure not to be negative or angry. They feed off of that negativity. It would be a shame if either of you ended up as a dead, Shalleyn-filled shell.”
As they waited, their hushed conversation filling the corridors, Maray’s door sprang open, and Heck strolled out, an unreadable expression on his face. When he spotted the three of them leaning by the window, he smoothed over his face with one swift hand then joined them, not remotely ready to meet Jemin’s eyes.
“Thanks for coming.” Heck gave the uniformed man a half-smile, and the Ambassador patted Heck’s shoulder in return.
“Anytime.”
Jemin’s stomach knotted at their familiar exchange. Was that what it was like to become part of Maray’s family—whatever was left of it? Being treated like a son? Had the Ambassador truly meant what he had said, or had it been Jemin’s wishful thinking that had interpreted more than was actually there.
“Ready?” Heck finally managed a glance at Jemin whose muscles twitched in his shoulders as he felt the sudden urge to tuck Heck’s head under his arm and squeeze whatever Maray had said to him out of there.
Jemin took a steadying breath. Was he? Ready? Truly? If he couldn’t keep a clear thought when it came to Maray, how was he supposed to fight the Shalleyn? How was he supposed to fight at Heck’s side the way they used to long before Maray had ever caused turmoil in their friendship? And what choice did he have? He had promised to himself that even if he couldn’t have her—damn his Yutu-nature, which compelled him to find a mate—he would be there to keep her safe.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he answered truthfully and earned a raised eyebrow from the Ambassador.
“Good luck,” Pia called after the three of them as together, they walked down the marble hallway, followed by the gazes of dozens of lapis-lazuli eyes in portraits of the Cornay family which lined their path down to the main entrance.
“Good luck,” the Ambassador repeated.
“Aren’t you coming?” Heck asked surprised.
“I have a daughter to take care of,” the Ambassador explained. “If you ever are lucky enough to have kids, you will understand that no matter how old they get, when they have nightmares, you want to be there for them—especially when those nightmares turn into reality. Besides, there will be hell coming loose in the council once word spreads of the missing court warlock.” He turned around with a polite bow. “Go, slay the monsters, Jemin, Heck.” And then he rushed across the hallway, Pia at his heels, to Maray’s door, his hand lifted for a soft knock.
As they had vanished into Maray’s room, Jemin pushed away from the windowsill. “Don’t worry,” he said to Heck with a grin and started walking. “The Ambassador has already given his opinion on everything that matters.” On his face, he felt a smile at his own joke.
A few minutes later, Seri’s face brightened when Jemin and Heck joined her in the courtyard. She held up a stack of metal, flashing a grin at the three men. “Just in case you didn’t bring your A-game,” she remarked without formalities. It didn’t surprise Jemin. Nobody seemed to expect manners from Seri the way they did from him. She had always been a rebel at heart, and even though she knew court protocol better than most and was well able to curtsey, nobody seemed to care when she didn’t. Her skills and expertise as a warrior seemed to be more important to anyone at court than her curves and her ladyli
keness.
Jemin ran his hand over his weapons belt. He knew the exact number and position of armament he had stored in various places along his body, and yet, one or two loops on his belt held room for a couple more knives and swords.
“Thanks.” He picked up a short curved blade and shoved it into his belt with a smile. The prospect of fighting, of actually doing something, made him feel better, and with another glance at Seri, whose lips curved in understanding, he smoothed out the armor-shirt under his cloak, readying himself for their mission. “We start at Corey’s.” He glanced at Heck as he walked toward the warlock quarters and sniffed the morning air. The icy cold of winter had given way to a humidity that was uncommon for mid-February. Smoke from the palace chimneys hung heavy above them, layering over other scents, making it difficult for him to distinguish. Heck returned his gaze, unwavering, and Seri, who had raised her face the same way as Jemin, her thin eyebrows furrowed, shot him a look that meant that the hunt had started.
As they approached the side buildings, Corey’s scent pushed to the front of the canvas of smells. She was everywhere: traces of her crossed the courtyard, her scent in the archways, at the door to the warlock quarters, the hallways, and naturally all over Feris’ study and her room.
“Anything?” Heck asked as they made their way through the study. He picked up random books as if hoping to find Corey under one of their leather covers. “I find it highly disturbing that the door was unlocked,” he commented, a nervousness in his voice giving Jemin the impression Heck was uncomfortable being around two shifters all by himself. “Corey never leaves her doors unlocked when she leaves.”
But there weren’t any signs of violence in the room. No pushed over shelves, no splintered furniture, no hastily dropped equipment. Corey’s desk was neat with nothing but a couple of clean flasks sitting there to dry.
Jemin and Seri exchanged a look. This wasn’t going to be as straight forward as Maray had imagined. But Jemin didn’t intend to disappoint her.
He made his way back out of the warlock quarters, followed by Seri who obviously shared his assessment that they weren’t going to find any hints or traces there. At least none that would indicate Corey had left unwillingly. All tracks of her scent that Jemin smelled were several days old, and it was impossible to tell which one was the freshest. They led toward the castle or the palace gardens, all directions Corey frequently walked when she was on errands.
Behind him, Heck’s footsteps appeared as he gave up his own inspection of Corey’s rooms.
“We need to increase the perimeter to pick something up.” Seri gave them the bad news, and Heck fashioned a look that was unfamiliar. It was the way he eyed her as she spoke.
“Take the lead, then,” he suggested, fidgeting as he waited, one hand pulling up the hood of his cloak.
Jemin knew what needed to be done. He had done it as a guard of dimensions a couple of times when he had lost track of something he’d been hunting. Now he had his extra senses, which allowed him to be far more efficient at his task. He followed Seri, who was moving outward from the warlock quarters toward the main gate to the palace grounds. Together, they peeked through the wrought iron fence at the still-asleep city as the first signs of dawn spilled onto the cobbled streets. The nearby stream that connected the outskirts of the capital to the center was audible to his sensitive ears. Besides that, there was no living soul within earshot.
“Whoever took her surely didn’t walk her through the gardens,” Seri stated and gave Jemin a significant look. Then, with an effortless leap, she lifted herself up to the top of the fence and swung over it.
“You know there is a gate you can open right here,” Heck commented from behind Jemin, triggering his need to heave himself across the fence the same way Seri had—just because he could. “Showoff,” Heck called after him as he gave in to the urge and flung himself upward, one hand grabbing the double-man-height, twirled iron, and swung over the pointed tips, leaving just an inch between his hips and the danger as he glided down on the other side. His feet touched the ground beside Seri, who was watching him with the smirk he recalled from their training days.
“You coming?” He gestured at Heck with the weird satisfaction of having outshone an opponent, then turned to open the gate right beside him, a bow coming as naturally as if he had been a servant all his life.
“Thank you, Jem.” Heck seemed to be fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at him as Jemin’s head snapped up from the bow, and yet again, Jemin smiled to himself, thoroughly amused.
Seri grabbed Jemin’s forearm, pulling him upright and indicating with a tiny shake of her head that it was time to stop mocking Heck, who marched through the gap without another look at Jemin, the tension between them almost tangible.
While Seri and Jemin moved ahead, each of them screening one quarter-circle originating from the gate, Heck walked in a straight line north toward the stream, the obvious third wheel of the party. A flood of city-smells filled Jemin’s nose as he turned his head from side to side, wondering if the motion looked to the others like a hound sniffing for game.
It hit him as though he had run into a concrete wall: Corey’s scent as he crossed a trampled path leading down to the water. Jemin stopped in his tracks, turning sideways to figure out the direction she’d come from. It was clearly from the palace, but not from the main gate; it was from the exit close to the pack’s safe house.
“Seri,” he whispered and crouched down to examine the ground before his feet. There were footprints—countless footprints of servants who took that shortcut to follow the stream in and out of the city. But while most of them were in the deeper, still frozen layers of soil, there were two distinguished shapes of footsteps, which were relatively fresh.
Seri lowered her face toward the ground, eyes on Jemin. “I smell Corey, and there is another familiar scent right there with her.”
Jemin dropped down beside her.
“Do you smell it?”
He nodded. It was obvious, and how he despised that scent. “Gerenhoff.”
“You found something?” Heck called from near the wide bridge which crossed the water.
“He’s going to wake up the whole neighborhood with his screaming,” Jemin muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Seri.
“It’s not his fault he ended up at Maray’s side,” Seri scolded him wistfully, face still an inch from the dirt beneath them. But there was something there in her eyes that gave away that she shared Jemin’s reproach for the entire situation.
“One day, you’re going to tell me what’s going on with you,” Jemin challenged without waiting for a response, pushing himself up, eyes following the direction where the scent of Corey and Gerenhoff led. “They went this way,” he added a little more loudly for Heck. Then, he followed the trail down to the stream and sniffed again as if he was following an invisible thread woven from the smell of herbs and fire and the disgustingly manly scent of Oliver Gerenhoff.
“Who was with her?” Heck wanted to know.
“Gerenhoff,” Jemin growled without looking back.
Heck rushed forward, trying to keep pace with Jemin. “What could Oliver Gerenhoff potentially want with Corey?”
Jemin bestowed him with a frown, which should warn him to leave Jemin alone and ask those questions to someone who knew the answers. But Heck insisted until Jemin slowed and eventually stopped, but not triggered by Heck’s annoying presence but by the sudden end of the trail of Corey’s and Oliver’s scents. Jemin looked around and found Seri fashioning an expression of equal unease.
“They hopped the border,” Jemin concluded before Seri could, and together they turned, trying to figure out if they had missed anything, while Heck stood like the left-out boy in the playground, frustration brewing on his dark features.
“So we do the same,” Heck suggested after a while, earning a frown from Jemin and a nod from Seri.
“If we want to follow them,” Seri added and grabbed Heck’s arm, lifting
it to check for his bracelet. “Great. None of you will get stuck at the other side of the border.” She let go of him and disappeared in a white haze.
Jemin followed and found Heck beside him where he had been standing in Allinan.
“New world, new luck,” Seri said and gazed at the dawning horizon. A thin gilded line was forming over the roofs of the historic city center in the east. The rails in the corridor parallel to the stream, which existed exclusively in the Vienna of this world, muffling the sound of a by-rattling metro. Way up above the water, the sound of cars filled the air, their exhaust dulling Jemin’s sense of smell. But even with the sensory overload of this dimension, Corey’s and Gerenhoff’s scents stood out like beacons, so different from anything this world had to offer. They wound along the soft curves of the stream, and Jemin led the party forward at a steady pace that wouldn’t exhaust Heck while Seri let herself fall behind. Even if Jemin had accepted that Heck was going to marry Maray one day, he had been clinging to that lunatic hope that something might tip the odds in his favor. And the Ambassador’s words had done the trick and kindled that flame of hope. He bit his lip and grasped the hilt of his sword, just to have something to do as he kept moving forward.
Behind him, Heck and Seri were having an animated conversation about how different the two worlds were, about the advantages of Thaotine as armor, the environmental impact of public transportation in comparison to individual traffic, and then they ended at housing. All the while, Jemin remained a couple of paces ahead, just far enough that he wasn’t exposed to Heck’s delightful face. But his mind wandered back to Allinan where he had left Maray at the palace in Pia’s capable hands. He wondered if she had gotten more sleep, if she would be able to sit tight until they returned from their mission, or if she would start wandering off again, attempting to solve all problems on her own. So stubborn, so adorable, so proud, and so strong.
Maray
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