Fire Pearl (Beyond Ontariese 5)

by Cyndi Friberg

  She opened her eyes and looked at Betaul. Three months ago, much to her surprise, he’d detected the barriers meticulously encasing his power source. She hadn’t constructed the barriers, but she maintained them, preventing him from accessing his abilities. Betaul was one of a kind, a volatile combination of ancient Mystic and genetic manipulation. There was no way of predicting which abilities he would manifest or how powerful he would become. Which was why so many in the NRS had feared him.

  “When you’re stronger, you’ll be taught how to control your power,” she reminded him, even though it was unlikely he’d forgotten because the last time she’d told him was yesterday.

  “I’m strong enough now.”

  “I think we should let him try.”

  She looked up and found Lord Drakkin standing a short distance back from the action. She wasn’t sure when he’d arrived or how he’d known about the crisis, but he’d obviously heard Betaul’s complaint. Drakkin was one of the most powerful Bilarrians alive. Indric might have signaled him telepathically, but it was just as likely that Drakkin had simply sensed the disruption. Drakkin’s abilities were legendary. He was the one who had constructed the barriers around Betaul’s power source.

  “Are the perimeter shields intact?” She motioned toward the hedgerow. “How did this happen?”

  Drakkin moved closer, his stride light, as if his feet didn’t quite touch the ground. His dark hair just brushed his shoulders and the rings separating his irises from his pupils were red rather than gold. Even so, there was a striking similarity between his appearance and Indric’s. They each had inherent nobility in their features, as well as a good deal of arrogance.

  “You’ll have to ask the guards how. I wasn’t here when the weapon was fired.” He paused as his intense gaze swept their surroundings. Unlike the men of San Adrin, Drakkin was clean-shaven, and his intricately tooled leather pants and long-sleeved shirt indicated that he was used to a far cooler climate. “I sense a small tear in the shields over there.” He pointed to the back corner of the yard where the hedgerow ended. “But it should have set off an alarm.”

  “Then I think it’s unwise to indulge him.”

  “I disagree. Indric will scan while I repair the shield. Let the boy feel his power.” Drakkin was one of the few people who could give Indric orders without starting an argument. And Cinarra had learned a long time ago that it was a waste of time to argue with Drakkin.

  Someone had torn back Betaul’s pant leg, exposing the wound in his calf. The plasma ball had burned a deep furrow across his flesh rather than drilling straight through. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Both wounds seemed gruesome to her.

  “I’ll release my hold slowly,” she told Betaul. “As soon as you feel the energy start to flow, guide it into your leg.”

  He licked his lips then closed his eyes. “I’m ready.”

  He is not, Drakkin told her, but he needs to learn this for himself.

  I understand. I’ll just give him a taste. She created a tiny puncture in the barrier and let energy trickle out. Betaul gasped and his muscles twitched. She placed her hand on his leg, well above the injury. “Feel the warmth of my fingers. Use it to direct the flow.”

  “This is harder…” He gasped again and his thigh tensed beneath her hand. “It hurts.” He shuddered violently. “Does it always hurt like this?”

  “You will learn to minimize the pain, but there is always discomfort.” Drakkin spoke to the boy then continued telepathically with her. It must be his decision to return control to you. Expand the flow.

  The last thing she wanted was to cause Betaul more pain, but Drakkin’s strategy made sense. It was hard for a student to learn if he resented his teacher. Still, Betaul was so much more than a student to her. He was blood of her blood. Though most believed she was his mother, she was actually his grandmother. Betaul was all that remained of her precious daughter Belle.

  “Concentrate, Betaul.” She made sure her knees weren’t digging into his side and moved her hands to her thighs. The fewer distractions he had, the faster this lesson would progress. “The energy stream is still scattering before it reaches the wound. You must try harder.”

  The boy stilled in the grass and his breathing deepened. Fighting back her own misgivings, she stretched the opening and allowed a stronger stream to escape. Betaul moaned and then shuddered. She instinctively reached for the puncture, meaning to stem the flow, but the stream concentrated and coalesced. She felt Betaul’s determination, his untutored skill working to connect the center of his chest with the wound in his calf.

  Betaul’s control came and went, creating a clumsy ebb and flow, but the energy stream gradually reached the wound. The boy anchored the steam and proceeded with more confidence.

  He’s doing it. They’d expected him to fail, but Betaul was healing himself. It was extraordinary.

  Drakkin moved to the boy’s other side and knelt. “Your body knows what to do. Just keep feeding energy into the gash.”

  Betaul nodded without opening his eyes and Cinarra watched in amazement as the deep furrow in his flesh gradually disappeared.

  “Well done, young man.” Drakkin helped Betaul sit, and when he appeared steady, he asked, “Can you stand?”

  Betaul maneuvered his legs beneath him and stood. He flexed his repaired hand and gingerly put weight on his healed leg. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

  “I suspect Indric’s command still has you good and numb. Both areas will likely be tender for a couple of days. You should rest. Healing requires a great deal of energy.”

  “But I’m not even tired.”

  “You are tired,” Indric told him. “Now go lie down.”

  Cinarra only felt a hint of heat, so the compulsion must have been mild this time. Still, Betaul fell into step beside one of the guards and headed for the house.

  Indric helped her up and she brushed the grass off her knees, feeling a bit shaky. Now that the crisis was over, the cause of the danger came back into focus. She blew out a ragged breath, refusing to think about how much worse this situation could have been. “Did your men catch whoever shot at Betaul?”

  “We don’t know that Betaul was the target,” Indric pointed out. “It could just as easily have been Dravon or someone trying to upset me.”

  Motivation would be a whole lot easier to determine if they’d apprehended the assailant. “That didn’t answer my question.”

  “They found tracks, but no shooter.”

  That was the answer she’d expected, but it didn’t lessen her frustration. “A drone wouldn’t leave tracks, so we’re dealing with a person or persons.”

  He nodded, his expression tense, clearly as frustrated as she was. “I’ve sent for my best trackers. We’ll figure out who did this and why.”

  “The alarm should have gone off as soon as they tampered with the perimeter shield,” Drakkin mused. “For that matter, why did no one sense the intruder? Aren’t all of your guards Sensitive?”

  “You know they are. Any applicant must demonstrate Class Eight abilities to be accepted as a member of my personal guard.”

  Drakkin motioned toward the house. “Can we move inside? I don’t know how you tolerate this infernal heat.”

  “A lifetime of practice.”

  Indric took her hand as they started for the back door. His fingers were long and warm, his grasp firm without being hurtful. The simple gesture sent her heart racing and she averted her face, afraid he’d see her burning cheeks. He was just being kind, comforting a traumatized friend. It was the same role he’d filled for the last nine years. Why should today be any different?

  “I’ll make sure Betaul is resting.” She tried to pull away as soon as they entered the house.

  Indric tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her toward the living room. “Ametto is with him. Relax.”

  Ametto was the only one of Indric’s guards that Cinarra knew well. The others came and went depending on the situation, but Ametto’s exclusive assig
nment was to protect Betaul and her. “All right.” She sat on the sofa and Indric sat beside her.

  Apparently too anxious to sit, Drakkin paced in front of them, hands locked behind his back. “I only saw the aftermath. How did the attack occur?”

  “The boys were playing in the yard. Cinarra and I decided to go back inside the house when a volley of plasma blasts erupted from somewhere beyond the hedge. They were not random shots; they were directed at the boys.”

  “I don’t care if it was the NRS, Eagin, or an enemy of Hautell, anyone who would intentionally harm a child is beneath contempt,” Drakkin sneered then smoothed his expression. “Most plasma weapons have nonlethal settings. Was this a sloppy assassination attempt or some sort of warning?”

  Indric extended his arm along the back of the couch. It wasn’t really an embrace, but Cinarra was inescapably aware of his nearness.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Indric said. “There have been no recent threats, no indication that trouble was brewing.”

  “And the NRS hasn’t caused trouble in years, even on Ontariese,” Cinarra told them. “Most think they’ll eventually disband.”

  “I’m not taking chances with either of you,” Indric objected.

  “Security at your palace is far more sophisticated than what we’ve arranged here,” Drakkin pointed out. “It might be best to move Cinarra and Betaul there until we can figure out who was responsible for what just happened.”

  “I agree.”

  “And if I don’t?” She looked up at him, hoping her expression reflected how little she liked it when people made decisions for her.

  “Then I’ll camp out on this sofa.” The stubborn glint in his eyes assured her that he meant every word.

  “Did you receive your invitation to Charlotte’s celebration?” Drakkin finally sat in the chair facing them and crossed his legs, looking remarkably at home despite the modest surroundings.

  The sudden subject change wrinkled her brow. What did her sister’s gala have to do with anything? “I did, but I hadn’t planned on going.”

  Drakkin’s expression nearly mirrored hers. “Why would you hesitate? Charlotte is your sister. Of course you should go.”

  “We understand the connection, but the rest of the sector doesn’t. To outsiders I’m a common Bilarrian widow, doing her best to raise her son alone. Why would the High Queen of Ontariese invite such a person?”

  “Because you’re King Indric’s favorite mistress. It is no longer taboo for pleasure givers to be invited to such celebrations.” One of Drakkin’s brows arched, daring her to challenge the conclusion.

  “Indric is discreet whenever he comes here. I doubt people even know—” Indric’s laughter preempted the rest of her thought and she shot him an annoyed look.

  “Everyone thinks we’re lovers, and you know it. What else would keep me coming back year after year?”

  “Honor and obligation.” She was well aware of the rumors, but this was the first time they’d spoken of the misconception. They knew the truth and that was all that mattered, so they simply ignored the idle chatter. “You promised Lord Drakkin that you’d protect me and Betaul, that you’d provide us a home and security.”

  Indric looked at Drakkin and shook his head. “Is she really this naïve?”

  “I am not naïve,” she snapped. “I know many believe you’re visiting your mistress every time you come here and some even whisper that Betaul is your son. I’m not completely ignorant of what goes on around me.”

  “Ignorance is different than naïveté,” Drakkin drew her attention. “You have moved from one cage to another throughout your entire life. It was not always by choice, but each of your environments has been extremely compartmentalized.”

  “What does any of this have to do with what happened to Betaul?” She was uncomfortable with their observations, even if they were mostly true. After she’d escaped her prison on Earth, each stage of her life had been strictly ordered and insulated from most outside influences. This house was the perfect example. She knew none of her neighbors and, except for an occasional family member, Indric was her only visitor.

  “No one will be surprised if Indric moves you into the palace. We can use the public’s misconception to protect Betaul’s anonymity.” Drakkin looked deep into her eyes as he went on, “You will not be able to correct the misconception without compromising your cover. In fact, it would be wise to display affection in public, leave others no reason to doubt the conclusion they’ve drawn. Do you have a problem with people believing you’re sleeping with a king?”

  She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze to her hands. The only problem she had was that she wished it was more than a rumor. “Anything that keeps Betaul safe is fine with me.” Indric made an odd sound, part sigh, part growl and she looked at him. “Would you rather devise a different cover story? I’m open to suggestions.”

  His intense gaze searched hers for a long, silent moment then he shook his head. “The rumor has circulated for too long already. No one would believe us if we deny it now.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have realized this was reflecting badly on you.” Drakkin chuckled and she glared at him. “It’s not funny. Indric has been very kind to me. I should have realized people would think the worst of us.”

  Drakkin looked at Indric, amusement clear in his red-ringed eyes. “And you have your answer, my friend. Your ‘mistress’ is adorably naïve. Proceed accordingly.”

  “Fine. I’m naïve.” Cinarra crossed her arms over her chest and scooted away from Indric. They didn’t need to make her feel like an idiot simply because she’d lived a “compartmentalized” life. “Can we please move on? Why did you bring up Charlotte’s celebration?”

  “I think the wisest course at this point is to proceed as if nothing happened,” Drakkin told her. “The security measures here failed, so we must move you to a new location, but a cover story is already in place to explain your presence at Indric’s palace.”

  And in Indric’s bed. The naughty thought sent heat cascading from her chest to her abdomen. If only… “So we move to the palace. Then what?”

  “We spend time together and reinforce the illusion that we’re lovers.” Indric’s voice sounded tight and rough, but she couldn’t interpret his expression. “Then I escort you to the gala on Ontariese and introduce you to some of my friends. That way if you choose to visit them at some point in the future, we’ve established a connection that has nothing to do with Betaul’s true identity.”

  “That makes sense.” She sighed. Spending time with him was always pleasant, but touching him and being touched by him would be torturous if it was only to reinforce an illusion. “Charlotte and I speak frequently on the metaphysical plane, but it will be wonderful to see her in person for a change.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Drakkin pushed to his feet. “I’ll leave the details to you.”

  “What about Dravon?” Indric asked, standing as well. “Would it be wiser to send him home? There is a slim possibility that he was the target.”

  “Let’s leave things as they are for now. I’ll let Givon know what happened and that we’re exploring every possibility.”

  Givon was Drakkin’s oldest son, Dravon’s father, and current king of the mountain region of Hautell. Cinarra had never met him, but his reputation as a wise leader and devoted family man was impressive.

  “I appreciate your assistance. As always.” They clasped arms, Drakkin smiled at Cinarra, and then flashed out of sight.

  Still stinging from all the talk about her naïveté, Cinarra stood and tried to brush past Indric. He caught her elbow and pulled her around to face him.

  Tension moved across his features and the rings in his eyes gleamed. “Do you honestly believe that’s all this is? Obligation?”

  Her heart leapt in her breast and heat crept up along her neck. In the beginning she’d allowed herself to imagine that he cared for her, felt more than rudimentary responsibility for her and Betaul. But the fant
asy only shined a light on her isolation and made her feel even lonelier.

  “We’re friends.” When that didn’t seem to please him, she said, “Good friends.”

  He shifted his hands to her upper arms as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her or shake some sense into her. “I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you. Never doubt my desire.”

  “But you never… Why wait until now to let me know?”

  “When Drakkin brought you here, you were traumatized and confused.” His fingers gradually relaxed and he sighed. “And I had a wife.”

  “I could never trust a man who would cheat on his wife. I’m glad you didn’t betray your vows to Talya.”

  His arm closed around her and he pushed one of his hands into her hair, splaying his fingers against the back of her head. “Talya no longer stands between us, so I’ll make this perfectly clear. I’m tired of pretending you’re my mistress. It’s my intention to court you.”

  Before she could react to the shocking claim, his mouth covered hers, the kiss firm yet patient. His lips caressed hers, coxed and seduced as he deepened the kiss. Her head spun and her body melted into the embrace. This couldn’t be happening. She must have slipped into a fevered dream.

  His tongue eased past her lips and explored the interior of her mouth, determined yet tender. He tilted his head, fitting his mouth more comfortably over hers. She concentrated on the sensual slide of his tongue against and around hers, savoring his scent with each deep breath.

  He pulled back with obvious reluctance and looked into her eyes. “If you don’t have feelings for me, tell me now. It will not compromise our friendship.”

  Her self-consciousness returned as the sensual haze faded and he lowered his hands to his sides. A relationship with Indric would be complicated and amazing, but she was scarred and broken. He knew she was a refugee, that she’d been held prisoner most of her life, but he had no idea all she’d suffered or the extraordinary lengths that had been necessary for her escape. She wasn’t even sure she was capable of trusting someone enough to open her heart. Indric deserved more than she’d ever be able to give him.