by Isis Rushdan
“That was quite a performance.” She glided toward him, her shimmering rust-colored dress rustling as she drew closer.
“There’s plenty more where that came from. I was just warming up.”
“I’m sure.” She stopped in front of him and cupped his cheek. “Do you know why I stood by you after your mother’s death?”
“It was tragic, but it wasn’t my fault.”
A rueful smile tugged at his heart. “In terms of cause and effect, you have culpability, but it was Lysandra who took my sister’s life. The reason I spoke up for you then, will always defend you even to your father, is because when I look at you I see Gaea. My little sister’s fire and spirit and potential. You are the best of us, Cyrus.”
He turned from her, the words chipping at the bedrock of his plan. “Dominicus speaks of me?”
“Sometimes, in the darkness, in my arms. He still loves you.”
“But he hates me more.”
She didn’t deny it as she came to stand in front of him again. “We held that dinner in your honor to announce our decision to send you with our blessing to find Serenity.”
Too easy. Too convenient. Then he remembered how cunning Leta could be, the sharpness of her guile. “What’s the catch, dear aunt?”
“You shall formally accept your call to serve Herut and replace Constantine on the Council before you leave. We wanted a lavish ceremony on an auspicious day and had chosen the first day of the season of Peret, but you’ve made it clear you will not wait. We’ll hold a private ceremony tonight.”
His heart stuttered. Their fear of losing him had driven them to desperation. Constantine might have been old, but he had many good years of service left. In a way, it was cruel to retire a bull when it still had the vigor to impale.
To accept the call, a sacred blood vow of duty, was to bind oneself in the deepest way. This would ensure their hold on him for the rest of his days. In all matters, all decisions, Herut would have to come first. Above all else.
“It’s good to see sorrow in your eyes, Cyrus. It means you understand the gravity of accepting the call. Your life will no longer be your own, but you may go after your kabashem with our full support to bring her home to us.”
In his heart, he knew he’d never be free of them. He just thought he’d have more time before giving them his soul.
He set the smartphone on the desk, and a heavy weight encamped in his chest.
Following the path chosen for him at birth was a darker burden than he imagined. But reuniting with his mate without shaming his House was worth this sacrifice, even if it would haunt him forever. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Twenty
Soren rushed into the library from the walkway as Argyle flew past the historian workstations into Neith’s office. The door closed and speculation buzzed.
Serenity turned back to the laptop, longing for Adriel’s smile and someone to chat with besides Nakia at dinner. He’d only been gone three days. It shamed her how she missed him to the point of distraction.
Unnatural tether.
When the office door opened, Soren and Argyle left in the same hurried manner. A strange energy, one mixed of alarm and anticipation, crackled in the air.
“Mira,” Neith said from the doorway, “take Serenity to the ancient archives. It’s time for her to see the Book of Destiny. Be helpful with translations she may require.”
Serenity’s heart fluttered like a startled bird’s. The sudden change wasn’t good.
“The time has come for you to learn why I call you a firebird.” Neith led the way to the old archives, past the bookcases filled with papyrus scrolls. Detailed etchings lined the borders of four barenpetium doors at the back of the room. Neith entered a digital code and one of the heavy doors opened with a groan. Stale air wafted out.
Mira entered the room and lights flickered on.
In the distance outside, the faint whooping sound of…helicopters disrupted the usual tranquility in the air, but it couldn’t be. “Do you hear that?” Serenity asked.
Canting her head to the side, Neith listened. “What?”
Serenity closed her eyes and strained her ears. The sound was gone. “Nothing.”
“I’ll leave you in Mira’s capable hands,” Neith said. When she departed the archives, the heavy door sealed shut.
Mira pulled a wheeled ladder to the back wall. As she stopped in front of a glass case, it illuminated. She climbed the ladder, slits in the back of her tunic waved like flags declaring her a warrior. Mira’s meek demeanor contradicted the nature of every other warrior she’d met. If it weren’t for slits in her top there’d be no evidence of her ingenium at all.
“Were you born here?”
“Yes. My parents were record-keepers.” Mira opened the case and pulled out a tome. “They never came back from an assignment. Neith raised me.”
Mira, the only warrior to be made an historian, the only warrior who lacked the liquid metal the others seemed to have pumping in their veins. Yet, she wasn’t weak of mind or body. Her soul had the mettle of a saint.
The thick book hit one of the archive tables in a thud.
“Lights bright.”
The illumination from the panels brightened to replicate sunlight.
Serenity sat in front of the Book of Destiny.
A copper sun blazed at the top of the midnight-blue leather cover. A metal bird of grace and power with colorful plumage in gold and scarlet surrounded by flames adorned the middle.
“The phoenix is a mythical, sacred firebird that has a one thousand year life-cycle, quite similar to our own,” Mira said, opening the book. “At the end of its life, when it’s time to die, it’ll build a nest of myrrh and ignite it. The nest and bird burn together. From the ashes it’s reborn and arises into its next life.”
Mira turned the pages. “I believe I know what Neith wanted you to see.”
Unease snaked in Serenity’s belly.
Mira fingered through the middle of the ancient book and finally stopped. At the top of the page was Cyrus and Serenity’s shared birthmark, penned beautifully in black and gold. Underneath it read, Julius & Bellona.
Her heart skipped a beat. Cyrus had read her poetry from the translated scrolls of Julius, who had written the poems after he lost his kabashem, and shortly before he killed himself. “Is this common knowledge amongst Kindred, who we were in past lives?”
“No, this is the only record of it. Neith has only permitted five historians to read select archives such as this and none of the record-keepers.”
“Why doesn’t she share it if she says we keep repeating the same mistakes?”
Mira looked down. “Neith mentioned that she interfered once by warning one of the Blessed unions about their past lives. The male was cut down as a child. She believes her effort to assist only hastened the worst.”
“Then why does she want me to see this?”
“I don’t know.”
If meddling with the Book of Destiny had hastened disaster before, Serenity wouldn’t read a word of it. She slammed the book closed. “I don’t want to know.”
To know a past life, have details worming in the mind, might act as some self-fulfilling prophecy. She and Cyrus were in control of their own fate. “Have you read about your past life?”
“Only the Fallen are reborn. Neith tracked the birthmarks for nearly a millennium. Only the souls of the Fallen return.”
“But the others believe we’re all eventually reincarnated. Why does she allow the myth to persist?”
The door swung open, and Sothis stood in the doorway, sporting her team leader blue. After Neith finished squeezing her for information, she never came to the library.
“How did you get in?” Mira asked. “The door was locked.”
“Few locks can keep me out,” Sothis said. Her gaze flew to Serenity. “Cyrus is here.”
A thousand sparklers burst inside Serenity, showering fiery flecks of elation. She pushed away from the table and ran to the door.<
br />
Sothis snagged her arm in a steel fist. “Nakia saw his party coming with her ingenium.”
“I don’t understand. She saw Cyrus coming?”
“She saw danger coming.”
Serenity looked down at the iron grip on her arm. “Let me go.” Danger or not, nothing would keep her from her kabashem.
Her mother stepped aside.
In the library, all of the fresh air outlets had been sealed off by barenpetium shutters. Artificial illumination cast an eerie daytime light.
Cyrus. Nothing else mattered as she sprinted from the archives down the spiral walkway past the Kindred littered along the railing.
Once she cleared the dormitory level, she picked up speed, dashing to the first floor. She pulled the elastic band from her hair, shaking it free of its ponytail, and raced across the main hall under the sealed dome to the side doors leading to the foyer.
Nakia stood looking around expectantly. When their eyes met, she held out her hands. “Your Cyrus has come.”
“I know.”
“Someone bad has also come with him, but I don’t know who. This way.” Nakia pushed through the throng of Kindred and made a path to the front.
“You were told to come alone!” The power in Neith’s voice threatened to crack the walls of the hall.
“My affairs are no longer private or personal. I requested to come alone, but the Council insisted I bring battle-guard.”
The sound of her mate’s voice gave her heart wings, but there was an unfamiliar edge in his tone.
“One or two, but not a hundred.” Neith’s tone remained hard and sharp as a blade. “You were given specific instructions.”
Serenity couldn’t see over the crowd, but she could hear him. She could feel him.
“Other than the handful I’ve brought inside, the rest remain in the helicopters to minimize any disruption. I would’ve followed your instructions…” His voice trailed off. “Serenity!”
“She is secure in another location,” Neith said triumphantly.
“No.” His tone lightened. “She’s here.”
She elbowed the others blocking her path, shoving to reach her kabashem.
“Do not let her through,” Neith commanded.
“Serenity!” Cyrus called.
Nakia shook her head. “Quiet. Cae will get you through,” she muttered, pressing past the masses.
Her energy stream reached out to answer his call, but she kept silent. Her bristling pool grazed the vibrations of every Kindred they passed, stretching over their heads, scraping around their bodies. Some glared in annoyance. Others stared with curiosity. She didn’t care.
Cyrus had come.
Nothing else mattered.
Caelius stood on the other side of the crowd, waving them forward. He took Serenity by the arm and shoved through two rows of warriors. Every sentinel of Neith’s stood present—nearly two hundred—wearing leather braces etched with ankhs on their forearms, swords strapped to their backs.
The warriors didn’t budge at first, but then they saw it was Caelius. He wiggled his fingers and they moved aside. At the front row, he touched Argyle on the shoulder.
The hulking warrior glanced at him and shook his head.
“Lift me up,” she said to Caelius, refusing to be deterred.
He lifted her under the arms and she poked her head over the broad shoulders of the muscled warriors.
Cyrus stood five feet away, scanning the crowd. He had the same rugged body she craved, the same face that turned her insides to pudding. But he was different.
Shaven, clean-cut hair, steely eyes determined yet controlled.
And something else she couldn’t name.
“Cyrus!” She reached for him.
He swiveled to face her. His eyes blazed, face aged from worry. He ran to her.
The tips of Serenity’s outstretched energy stream melded with his and sweet satisfaction oozed as they fused into one. He parted the soldiers blocking them and pulled her into his arms.
He held her with such force she worried he might snap her in two. He gripped the back of her head, fisting his fingers in her hair, kissing her cheeks and mouth. “Thank the almighty Creator, you live. I knew it even before Neith sent for me. I knew you were alive.”
“Cyrus!” Neith’s raised voice sent a shiver to the bone. “You do not understand the gravity of the situation.”
He set Serenity down. “You sent for me, I have my wife and we’ll be on our way.”
“I cannot let you leave.”
The sentinels drew their swords. A different set of swords were drawn across the hall and she noticed Abbadon, Spero, Ptolemy, Talus and another man with skin the color of nutmeg, holding weapons.
“Sheath your swords,” ordered Sothis, cutting through the warriors.
The sentinels obeyed. Neith’s face contorted in sheer horror, all color draining.
“Cyrus,” Sothis said, voice full of supplication, “if you take my daughter to Herut, she will die.”
“She’ll be cared for at Herut.” He placed Serenity behind him.
Neith approached slowly. “We have one here who can see danger coming. She saw your party.”
“Impossible,” Abbadon scoffed.
“It’s not impossible.” Nakia’s voice boomed from somewhere in the crowd. “I saw it. Therefore it is true!”
Neith turned to Sothis. “I wouldn’t break your confidence unless necessary. I will only ask two questions. Yes or no answers will suffice, but you must speak truthfully before them.”
Her mother’s jaw clenched.
“Are there those loyal to the Paladins implanted in House Herut?”
“Yes,” Sothis responded.
“Have they waited for a moment such as this to strike?”
“Yes.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Lies.”
“She is a Paladin,” Neith said. “You must believe her for the sake of your kabashem and all who strive for redemption. Serenity must stay here and you with her. Send your warriors back.”
“Cyrus,” Serenity said, clutching his arm. “My mother went to extraordinary lengths to keep me from Aten and Herut to save my life. Please believe them.”
Deep lines in his brow eased, and she knew he’d listen.
“Let the six warriors who have already protected us,” Cyrus said, “along with Talus, Abbadon and Elianus stay. I trust them all with both of our lives. I will send back the others.”
Something indecipherable flickered in Neith’s unearthly eyes. “Among them, who do you trust most?”
After a moment of contemplation, Cyrus said, “Abbadon.”
“Then he cannot stay,” Neith replied flatly.
Abbadon sheathed his sword and knelt. “I would give my life to protect them both.”
“Rise,” she said gently. Abbadon lifted his head, but remained on bent knee. “You will not stay. There are better ways for you to protect them now than standing at their side with a sword in your hand.” Neith looked out into the crowd. “Mira, fetch the Book of Pesedjet Bylaws”
Mira nodded and disappeared.
“I’ve never heard of a book of bylaws for the Great Council,” Cyrus said.
Calling for the book now seemed out of focus. The Pesedjet wouldn’t convene for another fifty years.
“There are many things you’ve never heard of. The Councils of Herut and Sekhem have not seen the book for three generations. I’m sure much has been forgotten by them, but the immortals remember it all. They helped write it.”
Abbadon stood. “How will it help me protect them?”
“We are exposed and must work against the sands of time,” Neith said. “The only way to save them and all of us now is to call for a session of the Pesedjet. You must convince them to convene out of order to raise the issue of a blood grievance.”
“What’s a blood grievance?” Serenity asked.
Terms and decisions whizzed by too quickly to grasp everything. Her mind and blood swam in the deliri
um of being reunited with her kabashem.
“When someone seeks the life of another, the aggrieved party has the right to have his complaint heard before his Council. If the grievance is between persons of different Houses, the complaint must be heard before the Pesedjet, before the Council of all three Houses. A vote is called on whether or not the life of the aggrieved should be protected and spared. It is an archaic bylaw, but it may be your only hope now.”
“I should be the one to call this blood grievance,” Cyrus said.
“No,” Neith said with razor firmness. “You must stay here. Your House may call the blood grievance on your behalf. Abbadon will return to Herut and speak for you.”
Mira returned with a book the size of an unabridged dictionary wrapped in a velvet satchel.
Neith touched Abbadon on the shoulder and gave it to him. “You must not tell anyone you have this. It will betray the fact I gave it to you. It would be a violation of my neutrality. Keep it secret for as long as you can. Create excuses for your knowledge.” She guided him to the door. “Do you know the face and name of every warrior that came with you?”
“Yes.” He held the satchel to his chest.
“Be certain you have them all before you leave. If anyone is unaccounted for, you will stay until they are found. Tell your Council Serenity wasn’t here, but I’ve agreed to help Cyrus find her. And that he must do so with a small party lest he be caught. It will be difficult—” she shot a sharp glare at Cyrus, “—but you must make them believe it.”
Neith faced Soren. “See that Ximena gives him homing pigeons to carry his messages back to us.”
Abbadon and Cyrus grasped forearms and exchanged a look.
Serenity went to her old mentor and hugged him. “Thank you for everything. Be safe and convincing.”
He squeezed her shoulder, saying more with the deep emotion in his eyes than he ever would with words. Fifty of Neith’s sentinels followed him out.
“The tension of your arrival was unfortunate,” Neith said to Cyrus, “but it’s my duty to protect all who dwell here.”
“There’s no need for an apology.”
Neith narrowed her eyes to stormy gray slits. “I did not apologize.”
As Cyrus drew in a breath, Serenity saw it in his face, in his posture. The other side of him he kept under lock and key, the groomed politician. “Thank you for your caution.”