by Isis Rushdan
“I’ll shave you first.” Aditya stroked his cheek with years of familiarity built over two human lifetimes. “And after your bath, I think you could use a massage with warm oil.”
The sweet perfume of her skin tickled his nose.
She glanced at the flat screen computer monitor. “Are you ready for me to bathe you? Or do you need more time to work?”
He appreciated her services over the lonely years and infrequent occasions when he came back to House Herut. The comfort she brought, which stopped short of sex—barely—had been an indulgence he once reveled in. One of many perks of nobility. Aditya was four hundred, but only looked a few years older than him. She had lost her mate almost two centuries ago. If Cyrus had asked or even alluded to interest in more, she would’ve gladly given her body for his pleasure, despite Herut’s laws to preserve spiritual purity.
And the Council would’ve turned a blind eye to his indiscretion.
“Aditya,” Cyrus said, rising from his leather chair and moving to the opposite side of the room. “You’ve been dutiful to me. I’m grateful for your service.” When her mouth curved up in adoring warmth, her cheeks reddening, he poured a drink. “But I’m afraid you can’t serve me anymore. From now on, I want a male attendant.”
“Wh-what have I done wrong?”
As she stepped toward him, he circled away.
“Nothing.”
“I must have for you to dismiss me. My lord, please.” She dropped to her knees. “Don’t send me away. My family has served yours for eons. To be your attendant is a great honor. I wouldn’t be able to show my face if you replaced me.”
After he chugged his cognac, he lifted her to her feet. “Aditya, my kabashem would be…most displeased to know you are my personal attendant.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, chin trembling. “Why? I always serve you when you come home. Have I not done a good job?”
“You are exceptional in dedication, attention to detail…” And beauty, which was the problem. “It’s hard to explain. If my mate knew I had a female attendant, especially one who gives me massages and routinely sees me naked—”
“This is our way. Years of tradition—”
“But it’s not her way. It’s best if I have a male attendant for basic things from now on. Perhaps one from your family.”
A knock at the door halted further protests.
“Come in.” The door opened. Sighing with relief, Cyrus was never so happy to see Abbadon.
“That will be all, Aditya.” He guided her to the door, grabbing the brocade outer shell of her dress and helped her to put it on. “Thank you for your service. I’ll ensure Minerva gives you a distinguished position. No disgrace shall befall you.”
A sob broke from her mouth, tears overflowed, and she ran from his room.
Cyrus sat back down and hit refresh on his email. “You have perfect timing,” he said to Abbadon. No new emails. He double-checked to make sure the Internet was up and slapped the keyboard. It was working just fine.
At the uncharacteristic silence from his friend, Cyrus glanced over his shoulder. The male stood mute with an inscrutable look.
“What is it?” Cyrus turned back to the computer and hit refresh.
“Spero called.”
His spinal ligaments stiffened. “Spero?” Not Serenity. Cyrus glanced at his smartphone and swiveled to face Abbadon. “Why didn’t he call my private cell?”
“He couldn’t bear to call you himself. They arrived in Iceland, but Serenity didn’t make it inside House Aten.”
Every muscle fiber in his back grew taut as a guitar string, niggling at his buried wings. “What do you mean?” He sprang to his feet. “Speak plainly and quickly.”
“They were attacked. Serenity was taken. He thinks by a Paladin.”
Taken. His vision blurred, his head spun, and the bottom fell out of his world. “Why is Spero still breathing? Why wasn’t he killed trying to protect her if it was a Paladin?”
“The attacker used poisoned darts to immobilize everyone.”
Cyrus crossed the room, grabbed a duffel bag and began stuffing clothes inside.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to Iceland to look for her.”
“Surely the Paladin has fled Iceland with her by now.”
Cyrus threw weapons in the bag, a few ball buster grenades and a fulcrix—a barenpetium whip with sharpened ridges. “Then I’ll try to pick up the trail.”
“Spero has already done that.” Abbadon approached slowly.
“Well, I’ll do it again! I’ll question Seshata face to face.” He zipped the bag and headed to the door. “She must’ve told Sekhem that Serenity was coming or someone else in her House.”
Abbadon blocked the door. “You won’t make it. The Council has tightened security, doubled the battle-guard at all entry points and issued a lockdown.”
The bag hit the floor and Cyrus grabbed Abbadon by the shirt. “You went to the Council before you came to me?”
“No brother, the moment you left their chamber they gave the order. I haven’t told them about the call from Spero yet. They know your heart, your soul.”
Cyrus shoved Abbadon away. “I can’t squander time, sitting idle while she’s unprotected.” He picked up his bag. “She’s alive. If she were dead, I’d know it. I’ll find her.”
“They could do far worse than kill her.”
Cyrus shot an icy glare of contempt. “They can take her ovaries and cut out her uterus, so long as they keep her alive.”
“Redemption—”
“If you give me some sanctimonious speech about salvation, I swear, I’ll shove my fist down your throat to silence you.”
“Careful, brother. The walls have ears.”
“To hell with the Council! To hell with Herut! And to hell with you if she dies.” He pushed Abbadon out of his way and grabbed the doorknob.
“The Council gave the battle-guard explicit instructions you’re to be detained by any means necessary short of killing you or severing a limb. To attempt to leave will be to declare war on your own people. In the end, you’ll lose this battle.”
The thought of harming or killing a Herut warrior sickened him, but he’d do anything, absolutely anything to get Serenity back. “I have to try.”
He opened the door, but Abbadon slammed it shut.
“The battle-guard number in the hundreds. You are one. They’ll bring you to your knees, drag you through the halls and clip your wings. And if by some miracle you do make it out, you’ll need Herut’s help against Paladins.”
The bitter sting of truth left him shaking with a fearsome rage that had no outlet.
Defeat, hot as acid, sizzled his brain, crackling through his veins.
Half his heart, half his soul was out there somewhere in the hands of Paladins while he was trapped in a prison, condemned to a slow death until his mate was back in his arms.
Chapter Fifteen
A gurgling growl from Serenity’s empty stomach demanded she rise from bed. Digging fingernails into the mattress, she sat up on the edge. A crushing headache exploded, shooting daggers into her eye sockets, threatening to crack her skull.
She waited for the first onslaught to pass.
“Lights.” She squinted against the brash illumination highlighting the austere room. White walls should’ve brightened the small space, but combined with the uncomfortable, utilitarian furniture, the room was devoid of warmth.
There was no bounce to the mattress as she rose. It lacked the downy fluffiness Cyrus had spoiled her with at home.
Cyrus, I’m alive and safe. There had to be a way for them to be reunited sooner rather than later. She still felt him on a visceral level in the recesses of her heart and the deep flutters of her core. If he had a Whitescape when she entered the world, surely one of them would have an equally profound experience the moment the other moved on to the afterlife.
She trudged to the dresser to get a piece of fruit she’d snagged from breakfast.
She bit into an apple, trying to shake the memory of her mother’s baked Macintoshes: the smell of cinnamon, a glossy brown sugar coating. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind.
Sweet blackness obliterated everything until her focus slipped. Now all she could see was her father handcuffed to a chair and her mother down on her knees.
Every restored memory, every childhood snapshot, reverberated with piercing clarity and the ache of a fresh wound. Time of years gone by didn’t act as buffer to filter the gut-wrenching pain. The love of her mother’s kiss, the tenderness of her father’s embrace, the enchantment of an afternoon at the zoo flooded her, but it was in the merciless anguish of having it all ripped away that she drowned in.
She staggered to the bed and sank down. The apple rolled from her hand as another resurrected memory crashed into her mind.
Her riding on her father’s back as he pretended to be a horse while her mother watched, laughing from the sofa.
She braced herself to die a little more inside. She stared straight ahead at the wall, but only saw her mother convulsing on the floor, body twisted as she screamed.
The daggers in her skull twisted. She rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms.
A tangled weave, all knotted with the vicious tragedy of that one day. The gift of remembrance couldn’t be separated from its curse.
Her head ached from the rush of memories, a brutal assault without end. She shut her eyes and saw Sothis bathing her. Her mother hummed a haunting tune. A dizzying swish, and Arabelle stood behind her father, gun pointed to the back of his head. The gun went off, vivid as a movie without the distance of a screen.
Temples throbbing, energy stream churning, she longed for Cyrus. To be held by her mate, comforted by the feel of his stream connected to hers.
Footsteps in the hall stopped in front of her room. Someone slid a piece of paper under the door. She went over and picked it up. There was a poorly drawn smiley face, followed by a neutral face, a frown and finally a deranged face with electric bolts for hair.
Along the bottom it read: If you stay in your room too long, the walls will close in. Don’t get islanditis. Come out to play.
Chuckling quietly, she opened the door.
Adriel leaned against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. “Neith sent me to drag you up to the library. You have centuries of history to learn and not a moment longer to waste.”
“I can’t go to the library.” She sighed, rubbing her head. “Not if Sothis is there.”
He pushed off the wall, pivoting on his heel. “So you’re that kind of woman, huh?”
His face was staid, but his tone had been too light to be serious.
“And what kind would that be?”
“A troublemaker,” he crooned, amber eyes sparkling. “I tell you I was given an order and your response is that you won’t comply.” He placed his hand on her back, eased her out of the room and closed the door. “But I could use a little trouble. Don’t get much of it around here.” He led her down the walkway.
“Where are we going?”
“Outside to get you fresh air.”
His hand remained on her mid-back as he ushered her through the main doors of the building into the landscaped garden. Bright light agitated her headache, sending sharp nails through her frontal lobe, and she winced.
“You don’t look well,” he said, stopping in front of a fountain with a large metal sphere in the middle.
“Horrible headache that won’t go away since my memories were restored.”
“Let’s see what I can do about that.” He placed his palms on her face, covering her temples and cheeks.
She closed her eyes. Her father’s head slumped forward, blood pooling to the floor.
Vibrating heat coursed through her. After a moment, the image and pain faded.
“Better?”
“Thank you.”
He walked to a nearby bench made of bamboo, facing a hedge of flowering bushes. Grateful for the alleviation from the pain, she smiled and sat beside him.
“What am I to do with you, troublemaker?” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Well,” he said through a deep exhale, “if I can’t bring you to the library, I suppose I’ll just have to bring the library to you.”
“How?”
Arm propped on the back of the bench, he twisted to face her. He leaned in and looked around as if he was going to reveal a great secret. “The laptops are portable. Hadn’t you noticed?”
Laughing, she turned away.
“And I guess I have no choice but to bring down one for myself as well. I couldn’t have you out here lost with a question and no one to provide an answer,” he said in his breezy accent.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” His chin lifted and eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “I haven’t even brought you the laptop yet.”
“For your kindness.”
“No need for thanks between a brother and sister.” He rubbed her leg. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” His combination of genuine warmth and playful innocence was enchanting.
“Now, I promised we’d play if you came out and I do my best to keep my word, but first there’s something I have to know,” he said seriously.
She stared at him apprehensively, wondering what he’d ask.
“Are you hungry?”
A laugh bubbled out. “I thought food wasn’t available in between meals.”
“Technically it’s not, but as I’ve said, it’s good to have a friend in the kitchen.”
Unable to endure the noise and crowd at dinner, she’d only eaten fruit for the last several days. “Then I could use a little something. With substance.”
“Good girl.” He winked. “You wouldn’t be much of a troublemaker if you didn’t want to break the rules.” He put his hand on her forearm. “Wait here.”
She nodded and he dashed threw the garden.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep inhale and relished the fragrant air, recalling the time her father brought home a bouquet of peonies for Sothis. Her father pulled one from the bundle and gave it to Serenity as he handed the rest to her mother.
The smell had been so beautiful, so strong she’d crushed it in her face and pressed it all over her clothes. Sothis had grimaced at the mess, but her father laughed.
The memory faded, as it came, softly. She cringed, anticipating what might follow, but as she opened her eyes there was only a spectacular garden in her sight.
No vile, painful image or nasty side effect.
She stretched and walked to the fountain. Sitting on the edge, she dipped her hand into the cool water. A breeze blew a refreshing spray across her skin.
The colossal white building shimmered in the sunlight. On the roof near solar panels, five sentinels patrolled, swords strapped to their backs. Off in the distance on the other side of the island, five more shifted warriors flew high in the sky.
She wondered if they had a view of the outdoor showers. Surely they did. It was good she’d taken to late evening showers. Not that the sentinels had any reason to spy, when there was a sea of beauty in the open bay showers every morning.
“Let’s go,” Adriel said, a bit winded.
Wearing a nylon backpack, he took her hand, curling his fingers around hers. They headed through the expansive garden. A sentinel patrolled a couple of hundred feet away near a cluster of palm trees, but glanced at them with indifference.
They trudged through bushes and shrubs, making their way toward a part of the island where no sentinels flew overhead. Adriel helped her cross a quarter mile of slippery rock adjacent to the shore, never letting her out of arm’s reach.
It must’ve been divine intervention to be graced with a new brother as wonderful as Adriel. Her faith in the Creator hung in question, but she had no other explanation for getting two brothers in a row with the power to heal. First Cassian, and now one extraordinarily powerful because he was Blessed.
They came to a cliff with a jagged side
on a gentle incline. The rock formation along the slope provided natural steps.
At the top, she caught her breath. Adriel plopped down cross-legged in the middle of a grassy meadow facing the ocean. She walked to the edge of the cliff and peered over the side. A sharp drop led to the ocean crashing on the rock wall below.
“This is one place where Neith can’t see us.”
“You make it sound as if Neith has eyes everywhere. Is that her ingenium? Some kind of super vision?” She sat next to Adriel.
He handed her utensils, unleavened bread, an avocado, tomato and figs from the backpack. “That would be kind of cool, but no.”
In one hand Adriel held up a rectangular box with loose pieces that rattled inside. In the other, a square box with a black-and-white checkered lid. “Senet or chess?”
“I don’t know how to play either.”
“Any Kindred worth their salt should know how to play Senet.” He put the rectangular box away, confusing her. “But knowing how to play chess will serve you better. Neith is a master at the game.”
As he laid out the pieces, she made a tomato and avocado sandwich. He kept stealing glances at her, mouth open like he wanted to say something.
“What is it?”
“Your eyes. When we met, they were stunning—” he lowered his gaze as if embarrassed, “—but in the light…” He cleared his throat.
“With chess,” he continued, “you have to know the importance of each piece. How it can move before you learn how to play.” He held up a white piece with a crown. “The objective is to capture your opponent’s king, but—” he handed her a different one, “—your queen is the most powerful piece on the board. Without her, it’s virtually impossible to win.”
“It’s all about strategy.”
“And understanding your opponent. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they play. The strategy one uses in the game is the same one uses in life.”
“What kind of player is Neith?”
A devilish smile curled on his face. “Cunning, decisive and patient. No one can beat her. I’m too emotional,” he said, twirling a horse-shaped piece in his fingers. “It pains me to lose any of my pieces. I want to preserve them, especially my favorites, and win, but that’s impossible.”