Fire Pearl (Beyond Ontariese 5)

by Cyndi Friberg

  “And had any ill befallen the child?” Legate cet Marlaque persisted.

  “That is not the point.”

  “I ask that this council appoint an investigative team to—”

  “I will never allow it,” Lilt snapped, cutting off Charlotte’s request. “This was an isolated incident, if not a false allegation. You have lured these fools to your side, manipulated them with your diplomacy. I will not subject my House to a witch hunt.” He stormed from the room and slammed the doors with a resounding bang.

  “That went well.” Charlotte shook her head.

  “The only reason he would object so vehemently is if he had something to hide. This was no isolated incident,” Legate spoke again.

  A strained silence followed. Charlotte’s greatest fear had been reigniting the Great Conflict. If all the other Houses supported her now, the situation was vastly different. Still, Aria—and everyone in the room—reflected on the similarities.

  “How did you expose the conspiracy on Bilarri?” Legate asked.

  “We pretended to be ignorant,” Drakkin replied. “The regional kings and Guild Masters were notified of the potential danger then Chae Tra Lyn Hautell publicly announced the miraculous discovery of a jumanna born of Rodyte blood. The Guild Masters offered to scan every Rodyte on Bilarri in the hopes of finding other ‘latent’ abilities. The vast majority of those who were scanned had no such abilities, but thousands of Rodytes opted to return to Rodymia rather than be scanned.”

  “I wish our situation could have been defused rather than forced to a head.” Charlotte sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. The Joint High Council was her greatest achievement. This had to be a devastating setback.

  “This has been festering since the Joint High Council was formed.” Again Legate seemed to speak for everyone. “I don’t think Lilt was ever committed to peace. He was just more deceitful than his predecessors.”

  “Be that as it may, he had one valid point,” Charlotte said. “I will not allow this to turn into a witch hunt. I want the investigation to be thorough and objective, which means I will not be directly involved.” She looked at Aria and managed to smile. “Thank you for allowing us to invade your memory.”

  “You’re welcome.” Aria wasn’t sure what else to say. With his usual protectiveness, Drakkin had insisted on transmitting her memory to the others, so he’d been the only one to actually touch her mind.

  “If you need anything else, we’ll be at the Conservatory for the next few days.” Drakkin pulled out Aria’s chair and they left the council chambers hand in hand.

  With effortless skill, Drakkin opened a transport conduit connecting the corridor outside the council chambers to a grassy hill overlooking Mystic Valley. Aria gasped, stumbling through the vortex. “Please warn me when you’re going to do that.” She swayed and he encircled her waist, steadying her as she adjusted to their new surroundings.

  “I’m sorry.” Reaching behind them, he closed the conduit with a wave of his hand. “I’m a bit distracted.”

  “That’s understandable. This has been one hell of a week.”

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair and inhaled her scent. “The Rodytes are on the run, at least for now. Charlotte must deal with a disgruntled rival, but she has the support of the other great houses. Ontarian Armed Forces have networked with the Bilarrian Militia to find the Shadow Assassins’ lair. One hell of a week indeed.”

  “Have you heard anything about Faujer? I know you sent messages to half the people on Bilarri asking about him.”

  He turned her around, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “I was going to wait until tomorrow to explain. We’ve had a full day already.”

  “Is it good or bad?”

  After a short pause he said, “Interesting.”

  “Okay. Now I’m curious. Tell me.”

  “According to a source Indric trusts, Faujer was found by his brother on Earth. Faujer’s memory had been wiped so completely that the damage is irreversible. He was also left in a hotel room naked without identification or currency.”

  She did her best not to grin, but the corners of her lips twitched. “What will happen to him now?”

  “That’s up to us. Indric knows where he is if we chose to seek revenge for his part in your captivity.”

  “I didn’t even realize I was a captive.” She shook her head. There had been a time when she wished Faujer dead. Now she was just glad he was out of her life forever. “Does he pose a danger to anyone else?”

  “No. According to Indric’s spy Faujer is almost childlike.”

  “Then it’s over.” She turned back around and stared out across the valley. “Noll is dead and the Faujer I knew no longer exists.”

  “A wise choice.” He slipped his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers.

  They lingered on the hillside, absorbing the beauty and tranquility. With its wide gallery and majestic pillars, the Conservatory had offered refuge and instruction to Mystics for centuries. Snow-capped mountains rose in the distance and tall, leafy trees provided a sense of seclusion. A narrow brook curved through the clearing, separating the main complex from scattered outbuildings.

  “It’s lovely,” Aria whispered, unable to explain the emotions welling within her.

  “No matter how many Head Masters come and go, Vee’s spirit will always resonate here.”

  Vee had poured his heart and soul into this place. He’d been undaunted even in death. Strength and integrity surrounded her, soothed her, an echo of her father’s indelible presence. She embraced the knowledge that he was at peace, finally reunited with E’Lanna.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded. Tal was waiting for them and she was anxious to officially leave the past behind. She glanced at Drakkin and her heart filled with tenderness. “With you by my side, I’m ready for anything.”

  He pivoted to face her and she slipped her arms around his neck. “After eighteen centuries, I thought nothing could surprise me, but you fill my life with wonder. Vee entrusted you to me and I will never disappoint him. You are so precious to me.”

  “As you know, he could see the future.” She felt the gentle nudge of his being and opened her mind. “The last thing he said to me was that I could rest assured knowing I would find the happiness stolen from him in life.”

  “Your father was a very wise man.” His fingers caressed her cheek then traced her lips. “Each time we make love, your power grows,” he whispered with a mischievous smile. “It makes you stronger, more able to protect yourself.”

  She laughed. “You want to make love for my—safety?”

  “Well, that’s not the only reason.”

  “Isn’t Tal waiting for us?”

  “I haven’t announced our arrival yet.” He pressed her body against his, burying his fingers in her unbound hair. “We’ve had little time to ourselves these past few days. No one will begrudge us a few minutes alone.”

  “This better take more than a few minutes or—” She laughed as he swept her off her feet and laid her down in the fragrant grass. “What if someone sees us?”

  “We’re shielded from sight.” His gaze swept downward and her gown disappeared. Warm tingles danced across her skin. “Any other objections?”

  She raised her arms with a contented smile. “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

  Consort

  Cyndi Friberg

  Beyond Ontariese, Book Six (Series Finale): With one consuming kiss, King Indric of San Adrin convinces Cinarra that he will no longer tolerate being only her protector and trusted friend. Cinarra has longed for the day when the handsome Bilarrian will see her as more than an obligation, but she harbors secrets that could destroy their love before it even has a chance to exist.

  Indric has always put the needs of his people before his own happiness. Duty and honor have kept him from claiming Cinarra, then an assassination attempt brings everything into sharper focus. Cinarra is his one true mate and he will not rest until she surrenders
to their mutual desire and agrees to be his beloved consort.

  Two powerful enemies have joined forces; their common goal to destroy Indric. No risk is too great and no sacrifice too dear. And anyone Indric loves is a potential target for their treachery.

  Note to Readers: This book contains detailed descriptions of sizzling passion only suitable for mature readers.

  From Cyndi: Even good things must come to an end, but it was still bittersweet to write this story. Krystabel, the other royal twin from Taken by Storm, has patiently waited for her turn in the spotlight. She has spent the past nine years in hiding on Bilarri, using the name Cinarra. She is a loving mother and loyal friend, but she longs for romance and adventure. I introduced Indric in Fire Pearl and he refused to be content as a minor character. Consort is primarily a paranormal romance, but it also features scifi and mystery elements. I hope you enjoy the series finale of Beyond Ontariese!

  Read on for a peek at CONSORT

  Chapter One

  Cinarra clasped the railing and reminded herself to breathe. Betaul and Dravon faced off in the tree-lined yard behind her small house, a cometball on the grass between them. Though Dravon was thirteen and Betaul only ten, they were exactly the same height. They were both dark-haired and handsome, both highly intelligent and well educated. And both desperately in need of a friend.

  Betaul moved first. His kick sent the ball arcing off to one side, a streak of white light following in its wake. Dravon ran after the miniature comet, skillfully maneuvering it back in the other direction. They seemed evenly matched, both fast and agile.

  “How are they doing?” Indric joined her on the covered patio and her heart reacted with predictable flutters. They’d been friends for nine years and they’d never so much as kissed, so why did her body persist with these inappropriate reactions?

  “Remarkably well.” She motioned toward the yard. “See for yourself. This was a really good idea.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He moved up beside her and rested his hands on the rail, his tall body shading hers from the glaring midday sun. “Dravon’s tutors are impressed with his progress, but he’s so isolated at the palace.”

  It was the custom on Bilarri for the princes of all four regions to spend time with the other regional kings. This exposed them to every aspect of Bilarrian life, creating more balanced rulers. Dravon was from the mountainous region of Hautell with its massive fortified cities and sprawling estates. The semi-nomadic existence of the San Adrin people must seem very strange to the young prince.

  She glanced at Indric then said, “Betaul has always seemed more comfortable with adults than people his own age. I’m really hoping he’ll connect with Dravon.”

  They watched the boys for a few minutes in silence. Cinarra tried to appear relaxed, but her mind was whirling, as it often was when Indric was around. She should be used to entertaining royalty by now. Indric had visited regularly since she’d been on Bilarri. He was always polite and attentive, always the perfect gentleman, which frustrated her beyond belief.

  She’d come to Bilarri to ensure Betaul’s safety and to figure out her role in this convoluted universe. Her first objective had been far more successful than her second. Betaul was safe. There was still a radical faction on Ontariese, their homeworld, who thought Betaul’s genetic alterations made him an abomination, unworthy of life. They were called the New Reformation Sect or the NRS. The sect hadn’t disbanded, but their leader’s death had left them without a clear direction for all their hostility. Now they seemed like a group of unfocused malcontents, cursing the status quo.

  Besides, they believed Betaul died in an explosion nine years ago. He was growing more independent every day, less in need of a protector, which left her without a defined role.

  Indric reached over and squeezed her hand. The casual touch sent heat spiraling up her arm and drew her gaze back to his handsome face. His hair flowed past his shoulders in silky waves. Golden strands threaded through the dark, creating a subtle shimmer whenever he turned his head. A closely trimmed beard accented his strong jawline and the bold slash of his high cheek bones, while providing a frame for his sculpted lips. His pupils were ringed in gold and tiny golden flecks speckled his brown irises. Most Bilarrian eyes were ringed in red. Gold was unique to San Adrin’s royal family.

  Over simple white pants he wore a sleeveless tunic heavily embroidered in gold. The style was perfectly suited to the harsh, arid climate. Still, it wasn’t the immaculate cut of his clothing but the regal bearing of the man himself that announced to the world he was a king.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was deep and unusually caressing. “You seem distracted.”

  “I’m fine.” She slipped her hand out from under his and put it in the pocket of her loose, gauzy k’fal. Irrigation and sun filtering had tamed the unforgiving landscape within Camp Rabadah, but the capital city was still surrounded by vast, sandy deserts. “Just worried about Betaul.”

  “He’s only seen the seasons cycle ten times, but we both know he’s unusually mature for his age. I’m sure he’ll rise to whatever challenge life decides to throw his way.”

  She nodded. “It’s my job to worry about him. You can’t fault me for doing my job.”

  He stroked her arm, his fingers lingering against her skin. “I could never find fault with you.”

  “Then you’re not trying very hard.” She ignored the tingles stirred by his slightest touch and motioned toward the yard. “Ask Betaul. He’ll be happy to list my faults.”

  “You look flushed.” He nodded toward the door leading into the house. “Let’s go inside.”

  Guards were discretely stationed at each corner of the yard, so there really wasn’t a need to stand there and watch the boys. They would likely bond faster with a smaller audience anyway. At least that was her hope.

  Indric opened the door and tension gathered in the pit of her stomach. Her house was small and unassuming, cozy even. She’d been a prisoner on Earth the majority of her life, so anything without containment fields and continual surveillance was sufficient for her needs. But Indric was King of San Adrin, the second largest region on Bilarri. He was used to magnificent palaces, lavishly furnished with every imaginable luxury.

  And yet he kept coming back to her tiny house.

  She took a step toward the doorway and the cometball whizzed past her face slamming into the back of the house. Her startled cry turned to a laugh as she reached down and retrieved the stray ball.

  “Sorry,” Dravon called, holding up his arms with obvious expectation.

  Hoping the adrenaline rush would increase her range, she took aim and threw as hard as she could. The ball flew toward Dravon’s waiting hands then muffled popping sounds drew her attention toward the high hedgerow on the left side of the yard. Greenish balls of light arced toward the boys and Cinarra screamed.

  “Get down!” one of the guards shouted as Cinarra bolted toward the stairs leading to the backyard.

  Guards scattered in every direction, some racing toward the boys, others sprinting toward the hedgerow. Betaul dove for Dravon, arm extended, palm out, as if he could ward off the projectile shower. One of the incandescent balls drilled through his hand and Cinarra screamed even louder than Betaul. Helpless despite her frantic pace, she watched in horror as another ball burned into his calf. The rest of the shower sputtered out harmlessly against the damp grass.

  Indric caught up to her as she reached the boys. One of the guards had already pulled Betaul off Dravon and was attempting to minimize Betaul’s movements as he writhed, mindless from the pain. Another guard quickly checked the prince for injuries.

  “He’s clear,” Dravon’s guard announced, so Cinarra focused entirely on Betaul.

  “You feel no pain.” Indric’s voice washed over her with intoxicating heat and she wasn’t surprised when Betaul stopped thrashing. He still cradled his injured hand against his chest, but pain’s haze gradually cleared from his bright green eyes.

  “How
did he do that?” Betaul sounded dazed.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled and brushed the hair back from his face. “Let me see your hand. The pain is blocked, but the wound is still there.” Her sister had warned her that Indric could influence people with his voice. Still, she’d had no idea how easily or completely he could wield the power. Would she have sensed the same strange tingling if he ever tried to compel her?

  Betaul unfolded his arm and held out his hand. Cinarra fought hard to remain calm and keep her expression gentle. A thumb-thick hole had been seared through the boy’s palm. Someone gasped and another muttered something she didn’t understand, but Betaul seemed oblivious to the seriousness of his injuries.

  Indric motioned to Dravon’s guard. “Take him in the house and do not let him out of your sight.”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  Cinarra guided Betaul’s hand into her lap and placed her palm over his, close to but not touching his charred flesh. It had been nine years since she used her abilities to do anything other than communicate. The risk of discovery was simply too great. Uncertainty twisted inside her, turning her belly cold.

  Indric wrapped his arm around her and gently squeezed. “I can flash him to a healer. I know it’s been a long time for you.”

  “No. I’ll do it.” She accepted the comfort of Indric’s embrace and carefully channeled energy into Betaul’s hand. Her skin tingled and warmed as a steady stream flowed from the center of her chest, down her arm and into the boy. She closed her eyes and allowed Mystic sight to reveal the progress taking place beneath her palm. His tissue began to knit and regenerate, drawing the outer edges of the wound closer and closer until the newly formed biological fibers spanned the opening. She continued the steady stream of energy until all that remained of the wound was a slightly pink circle.

  “I could have done that myself,” Betaul grumbled, “if you’d let me.”