by Libby Doyle
“Thank you, commander,” Barakiel said, his head still bowed.
“Hold your head up, warrior! And stop calling me commander. Sometimes you are so strange, Barakiel! If you want to be punished, I will punish you, but I am your friend and I know who you are.”
Barakiel raised his head and held Remiel’s fierce black eyes so she would know he understood.
Philadelphia
As Zan drove through the evening traffic, part of her wished she had an excuse to stay at work so she could keep her mind off Rainer. He’d been gone for ten days and she hadn’t heard a word. She cursed herself for agreeing to house sit. It was worse, waiting surrounded by his things. During the day, she managed to keep herself together, but at night she felt his absence like a sickness. She barely slept, convinced that something horrible had happened. She needed him close again. She pulled into the compound and contemplated driving right back out.
I could call the guys in the band. We could practice.
Anger pinned Zan to the driver’s seat when Rainer walked out the front door. He stood some distance away, staring at her. She got out and glared for a few seconds before her words poured out in a rush.
“Okay, I know you had no way to communicate, but why didn’t you call me as soon as you got home? What the fuck? What. The. Fuck? You can’t ever do that to me again. I was worried sick and I missed you. You were depressed and I worried and I missed you and it’s not fair. You can’t just leave me here not knowing what’s happening with you. It was too hard, you can’t do that to me—”
“Zan. Zan, stop.” He rushed over to take her face between his hands. “Look at me. Look at me!” She stopped talking.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I wanted to surprise you. I’m better, Zan. I’m better.”
Your eyes. You’re happy. You’re more than happy.
Rainer put his face close to her cheek and breathed in before he crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss so filled with longing it made her dizzy.
“My love.”
“Don’t ever leave me like that again.”
“No,” he whispered. He picked her up and carried her through the door, up the stairs and to the back balcony, where the light had taken on the tinge of sunset. He sat down with her on his lap and ran his hands over her face, his lips close to her skin. He kissed her, again and again, sometimes pausing with his lips held against her, not moving, just breathing. He unbuttoned her shirt, slowly, spreading the fabric aside as he went, exploring her shoulders, licking the furrows in her flesh. He wound his arms behind her, his hands spread wide to hold her.
He stood up and took off her clothes, then his, gazing at her with grateful eyes. The slight, warm breeze felt luxurious against her skin.
I don’t understand, but I feel grateful, too.
When they were both naked, he pressed her against the railing with his body, stroking and caressing. She swore she could still feel his touch after he had moved his beautiful hands to a different spot, as if she could remember his touch like it was a fact or a figure.
“Mmmmm, Zan.” He sucked on her neck and rolled his hips against her, as hard as she was wet. As she was hungry.
“I love you,” he said. “I was so afraid I had nothing left to give you.”
A soft chirp escaped her, but she couldn’t form any words. Rainer perched her on the railing. He gently pushed into her, his hands on her ass, her arms around his neck. When he’d filled her, he pressed her closer and circled within her, ever so slowly, his mouth on hers. She felt like she was inside Rainer as he was inside her, her perception thick and gauzy. She felt like his full, soft lips were asking her a question. She didn’t know what the question was, but she wanted to say yes anyway.
Yes yes yes yes yes.
Her orgasm unfolded like a slow bloom. For the longest time, she felt sweetness pouring out of her as she murmured love in his ear. He didn’t stop. He kept moving within her, bringing her to climax over and over until the sun had set and Zan felt so relaxed that she laid her head against him and fell asleep.
The moonlight falling on your face as you sleep stirs something deep within me, a feeling of reaching toward perfection and knowing that one day, I will understand it. One day, I will understand how you came for me. How you protected me from him. How you Balance me.
Everything I am resonates with the power of my love for you. I want to tell you what I am, but I do not know if it is right. Would it be selfish for me to tell you? Dangerous? What if everything Pellus says is true? My dishonesty has robbed you of your choices. It may make you a target, yet I cannot stop. I do not want to stop. Every instinct I have tells me I should not walk away from such a love.
I want to give you everything. I want to take you to my world and kiss you beneath a tapestry of a billion stars. I want to fill you with my energy.
But I am afraid. I have lied to you. So many lies. Will you find me incomprehensible?
I just want to love you. We are happy. May I love you now? For a little while? The poison filled me such a short time ago. I need you. You cleanse me.
I will tell you. Soon. Once I am sure that I can keep you safe. Be patient with me. Please do not be angry with me, my love.
CHAPTER 11
Covalent City
THE ANTEROOM OUTSIDE the Nexus echoed with the footsteps of Covalent who walked through the Keep. As Barakiel waited for the high commanders to call him inside, he imagined the footsteps were paired with furtive tales of how Barakiel let Kemuel die and nearly killed the Realm’s greatest adept with his failure.
During the last blissful week with Zan, I could almost forget. Almost.
He had not seen or heard from Pellus since he left him with the Sylvan Three. He had not asked about Pellus as Roan escorted him through the rift. He was thinking he would rather hear it from the commanders when Remiel opened the door.
“Barakiel, please come in.”
After he entered and bowed, he took his seat on Remiel’s right hand at the enormous black table. The commanders regarded him solemnly. All except Galizur, who smirked.
“We are here to discuss your duties going forward,” Remiel said.
“Yes, commander.”
“Although your tours of duty will remain random they will be more frequent. You will continue to fight for Osmadiel’s battalion as well as mine.”
It was as he’d suspected. Remiel’s punishment was not a punishment at all.
They will see what I can do when I am graced with Balance.
“I fail to see why we want this warrior to fight even more,” Galizur said. “Are you still blinded by his reputation, now revealed to be undeserved? Not only did he fail to kill a single Corrupted in his last battle, his lack of skill caused the death of a valuable warrior. I, for one, will never submit to his presence in my battalion.” Galizur glanced smugly at Barakiel. “The mighty Barakiel ends his battle curled in a ball, and needs his traveler to save him.”
Barakiel lowered his eyes to the table. Galizur’s words were a reminder of his shame, but they did not make it any worse.
I will burn this ridicule away.
Osmadiel expelled a disdainful noise. “I seem to remember Abraxos hauling you and your severed limb from the battlefield, Galizur,” she said. “And you were not confronted by twenty Corrupted single-mindedly trying to kill you.”
The smugness disappeared from Galizur’s face, replaced by a mute fury. Barakiel raised his head to address Osmadiel. He dared not let himself smile.
“Your understanding is more than I deserve, high commander. Please give me the chance to redeem myself.”
“By all means,” Osmadiel said. “I expected more from you, but you should throw off this shame. If you did not fight well, you fought bravely. The Corrupted were so intent on your slaughter they left themselves with no escape. My warriors surrounded them and took their heads. We emerged from that battle with much to show for the price we paid.”
Her lucent green eyes focused on Camael. “We did not wat
ch our comrades fall merely holding a line,” she continued. “We watched them fall with their swords held high, blackened with the blood of our enemies.”
“Yes, Barakiel,” Camael said. “If I remember correctly, such strategic use of your presence was one reason the Council allowed you to fight from exile in the first place. I see no reason to question your value to us. What we question, or should I say what the Council questions, is the value to the Realm of your relationship with the adept, Pellus. He shows more devotion to you than he does to Covalent Law or his own safety.”
“Pellus only sought to do his duty by preserving me, high commander.”
“No adept has such a duty,” Camael said with a scowl. “Pellus appeared before the Council last turn. He was stripped of his rank and he will serve as your traveler no more. The Council has left his further punishment to the Travelers’ Guild.”
Barakiel wanted to pound his fists on the table. “Thank you for informing me, high commander.”
“Roan can continue to shuttle you,” Remiel said. “When the equinox approaches, we will revisit your situation. You may take your leave now. Return to the Earthly Realm and complete your recovery. You will fight for Osmadiel at the next phase of the Stream.”
“Yes, commander. Thank you.” Barakiel rose and bowed low before his exit.
The Wasteland
When the three Covalent emerged onto the barren plain behind the city, Pellus was reminded of the service Warriors of the Rising performed for the Realm besides wielding their swords. Here in the Wasteland, outside the protective barrier formed with the warriors’ pounding energy, travelers would struggle to survive. The oxygen-poor air made it hard to breathe. Pellus and Roan had to concentrate to gather the life-giving molecules into their lungs. They could not withstand the bitter cold for long and they felt the crushing gravity in their bones.
Tariel seemed completely impervious, of course. She told Pellus that Remiel used this plain to train her battalion, to turn their muscles to steel as they worked against the great forces that weighed upon them. Tariel was used to being there, but Roan seemed to be in even more discomfort than Pellus.
When they had reached the far edge of the rust-colored plain, Barakiel bounded down from the foothills to meet them. He barreled toward them so quickly that the travelers nearly jumped out of the way, but then he pulled up and stared at Pellus with troubled eyes. Tariel and Roan moved away so Pellus and Barakiel could speak privately.
Go ahead, warrior. Tell me how you are not worthy of my sacrifice, as if my love for you would allow me to do anything less.
“Please forgive me, Pellus,” Barakiel said, his head bowed. “I did not mean for you to lose anything. To be stripped of your rank because of my transgression? I am ashamed.”
“I am getting sick of your shame, quite frankly,” Pellus said. Barakiel raised his head, all wide eyes. Pellus laughed.
“Barakiel, my friend. The Three informed me that without your great power they would not have been able to rescue me from my own mind. They told me they informed you of the danger and you showed not a moment’s hesitation, that you were willing to give everything you had. I would expect no less from you. Why should you expect less from me?”
“But your rank! We need your leadership, Pellus. This is not about what either of us expects.”
“The Council’s action is an empty gesture. I can imagine Ravellen hiding a smile as they voted to leave my punishment to the Guild.” Pellus shifted his weight and looked off toward the city.
“I did something no traveler has ever done. I imposed my will upon the energy of the Turning. For this, they tell me I am not an adept? It is meaningless. The Guild has taken no measure to punish me at all. The other adepts want nothing so much as to ask me what the experience was like, to study it. They surmise that with more time, I would have been able to accomplish the same thing without getting lost in complexity.”
Pellus grinned. Little did Barakiel know how the adepts cherished their secrets.
“Outside of the Guild representatives and Ravellen, who loves me fiercely, no member of the Council understands the adepts,” he said. “They will honor me, even if they have to keep it to themselves.”
“Well. I can see a few turns with Jeduthan have you ready to tell the Council to shut up and do as it is told.”
They laughed uproariously.
“Obviously, I am happy to hear this,” Barakiel said. “But I do not like you in those brown robes.” He gestured to the vestments of a navigen traveler.
Pellus raised one arm and regarded the folds of fabric. “I think I look good in brown.”
Philadelphia
Zan burned her tongue on her coffee, cursed vociferously, then grasped the edge of her desk. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. She didn’t really need the coffee, despite the early hour. She was all revved up, about to start a secure video conference with Martin Grenat, the FBI’s legal attaché in Paris to whom she’d sent one of the daggers about a month previous. Her relentless harassment of him by telephone had finally paid off.
She opened the application, clicked the link, and Grenat appeared before her. His handsome, angular face was crowned with a pompadour of thick brown hair. She was surprised. She had pictured a sour, pudgy guy. Judging from his expression, he was surprised by her appearance as well.
“Hello, Agent Grenat. Thank you for making yourself available.”
“My pleasure, Agent O'Gara. It’s nice to put a face to the voice.”
“Yes, a video conference was a good idea.” She noticed the natural light surrounding him, and the wooden window frames. “Your office is nicer than my office,” she added.
“Thank you.” Grenat nodded. “One reason I like it here. But let’s get to business. I have good news for you. The people at the auction house know who made the dagger. His name is Philippe Archibaud, a mètallier in Aix en Provence.”
“That’s fantastic. They knew right away?”
“Yes, much to my surprise. I guess his work is distinctive. High quality.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Zan said. “So, what's next? What do I need to do?”
“Nothing but wait. We’ll send the knife to the Police Nationale down in Provence. They’ll question Archibaud. I’ll email them the photos of the body. When you sent those to me, they brought home the gravity of the situation.”
“Yes. We need to get these people off the street, wherever that street may be.”
Grenat smiled, a bit too flirtatiously for Zan’s taste.
“Your contact will be Inspecteur Général Marie Joselet,” he said. “She speaks excellent English. I’ll email you her contact info. You’ll no doubt want to give her all the details before she talks to Archibaud, but I’d wait a week or so before reaching out. And please, let me know what happens.”
“I will, Agent Grenat. I can’t even tell you how grateful I am. I hope I can return the favor someday.”
“You’re welcome, Agent O’Gara.” Grenat looked pleased. “I hope I get the chance to work with you in person. If you ever come to Paris, be sure to look me up.”
Right. For a month, he gave me a hard time. Now he likes me.
After zooming down Rainer’s driveway so fast that she skidded to a stop, Zan ran to the door. She couldn’t wait to tell him Grenat had identified the man who made the daggers. He was going to band practice with her that night, as he often did, to sit in with his electric violin. She looked forward to it, with both of them in high spirits.
He’ll be so happy he was able to help me.
Rainer was setting the table when she entered.
“I got us Indian food, my love. I know how you like it.”
“I love it. Thank you, honey.” She kissed and squeezed him for a few seconds, then grinned to split her face.
“What is it?”
“You did it.”
“Did what?”
“Led me to the man who made the daggers. Charlotte Emory’s advice to ask the auction hou
se in Paris was dead on. They knew the artisan right way. His name is Philippe Archibaud. It might take a while, but the French police are going to question him.”
“That’s wonderful. All your hard work has finally paid off.”
His face lost all expression. When Zan frowned, her brows knitted, he grabbed her and kissed her in the way he usually reserved for nights when their only plan was to stay home and tire each other out. He untucked her shirt and caressed her back.
“Uh, sorry honey, but I have band practice, remember? We don’t have much time to eat, let alone for our righteous sex.”
“Yes, of course.” He went to get silverware. Zan stared at his back. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t asking her any questions. She couldn’t believe he didn’t seem happy or excited.
He got his poker face. What the hell?
When Rainer came back with the forks and the food, he commenced serving without looking at Zan.
“Okay, Rainer. What the hell is wrong with you?’
“Nothing. What do you mean?”
“Every time we talk about the daggers you act wacky. Don’t tell me you’re still embarrassed by your mistake.”
“No.” He stopped what he was doing to face her.
“Then why aren’t you more excited? Or at least curious?”
“I’m sorry to be so blasé, but I expected this. I knew you would find him. I knew you wouldn’t stop until you found him, with or without my help.”
Zan crossed her arms and stared at him for a second or two.
“So what is it? Now you feel bad that I didn’t really need your help? I thought this would make you happy.”
Rainer uncrossed her arms. He set her hands on his hips then kissed her on the forehead.
“I don’t have it in me to be enthusiastic at the moment. I have a lot on my mind. My business trip next week is going to be challenging. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
She gently pushed at him to lean on the table so she could rub his shoulders. She kissed his neck. “It’s okay. I can’t expect you to be as excited as I am.”