For a Pixie in Blue (The Adventures of Blue Faust Book 4)

by Cecilia Randell

  She grabbed Mo’ata’s hand, needing the connection.

  Later that night she sent out a message to everyone. Discussion and notes had flown all afternoon, rehashing events and speculating whether this incident was more than a mere accident and what it meant that clan representatives were gathering. Even Levi had not known the answer to that one; the audiences being held with the Chief Elder were private, and only her personal guards attended them. What he didn’t say, but what she could gather, was that Levi was not trusted for some reason, though he had been sent out into the worlds by these same elders and done the job none of the other guards had been selected to do. And she suspected it was because of her.

  Her frustration had finally boiled over. They were watching and evaluating and playing by the rules. She sent another message to the entire group. Trevon wouldn’t get his until he arrived back from his Conference in a few days, but she included him still.

  Blue: Teapot.

  Forrest: I’ll bring the honey and milk.

  She smiled. Breakfast tea with a bit of milk and honey—the only way she would drink it.

  Blue: Goof.

  Felix: Go to your window.

  Blue: Are you being sneaky?

  Mo’ata: Yes, he is.

  Her smile morphed into a grin. What were they up to?

  Jason: Window.

  Blue rose and hit the scrambler. Pushing aside the curtain, she peered out into the dark of the plains. The moons gave off enough light to illuminate the waving stalks of grass. Her comm pinged.

  Felix: Down.

  On the sill sat another figurine. This one was a piquet, crouched and ready to spring. She cracked the window and retrieved it. As with the quorin, the detail was fantastic, and…

  Blue: Is this Garfield?

  Felix: Yes. I saved it for when you needed it.

  Blue: It’s beautiful.

  Levi: Window.

  Huh? She looked again out the window then down at the sill. A new object lay there, square and covered in silver foil.

  Blue: Where are you guys?

  A faint chuckle carried to her, but she still didn’t see them. Then two heads popped up in front of her. Forrest and Felix, grinning at her. A hand came into view from the left and yanked Forrest away and down, leaving Felix. Another hand, this one dark, gripped the mercenary’s collar and pulled, but the giant didn’t move.

  “Is chocolate. Trevon send. We try. Is good. Almost not leave any for you,” he said. The hand tugged again, and Felix let himself be pulled away.

  Her comm pinged.

  Jason: Ignore them. Feel better.

  Mo’ata: Goodnight, shopa.

  Forrest: Night, pixie. Ignore Jason. He’s a party pooper.

  Blue: I’m ignoring all of you and eating my chocolate.

  Soft snickers and the scuff of leather on stone filtered in through the window. She waited a minute or so, but it seemed the goofs were done.

  The smile didn’t leave her as she lay back in bed, nibbling her chocolate. She’d called teapot, and they’d answered.

  Chapter 12

  TREVON

  With a soft whoosh of air, Trevon Zeynar’s shuttle set down in the landing area. Around him other shuttles also arrived for the Conference carrying the heads of each Family plus two guards. It was a small group, but this was how they had always done it to suppress any unfair advantages.

  Eight Families, each governing their subordinates. All jockeying for supremacy and a hold over different areas of trade and commerce.

  His own specialized in exports from Earth. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to Blue. He admired her outlook on life, and that outlook was informed by her time on the planet. He had met other women there whom he also could have cared for, but none of the potential relationships had been feasible nor had he cared enough to go through the inconvenience of bringing them fully into his life, let alone wrestle with gaining his Family’s acceptance of her.

  Blue though... Well, he was apparently willing to start a war for her.

  He grinned as he waited for the docking locks to engage on the landing feet.

  “Sir.” Prin, his First Guard for this conference, stood and gestured to the shuttle door. The second of his guards, Duri, was already there and he nodded, indicating he had made his sweep.

  Prin was always his first choice for a guard. He’d done well in Firik. It was a shame they had lost Killian, but if Trevon was honest with himself, they’d made out much better then he’d thought they would.

  He rose and exited the shuttle, pausing only briefly at the door. The warm winds of the Eirran region sent his jacket flapping, and he removed it. Draping it over his arm, he descended the few steps to the ground and set off for the Eirran compound.

  The Eirrans were the only neutral Family. Designated as such thousands of years prior, they were small but powerful. They mediated disputes, hosted the Conferences, and provided the majority of security for these events.

  And charged an exorbitant fee to do so. It worked though. Everyone trusted them to keep the peace. Their livelihood depended on it, and if it was found that they had been bribed or otherwise corrupted from their purpose, the other Families would rise against them.

  Eight Families, one of them the neutral, and they’d gathered here to discuss something other than trade and who had betrayed whom.

  The wind gusted again, and clouds briefly obscured the sun. There was rain in the air, and the smell was sweet. No other world had quite this same scent to the air.

  The compound’s entrance was a small building, the old door made of steel overlaid with wood. It opened silently as he approached, well-maintained despite its age. Duri entered first, ducking a little to clear the top of the doorway. Trevon followed next, and Prin brought up the rear.

  A short corridor led to a set of stairs descending into the earth. Lined with glow lamps, the walls were a plain gray. Trevon knew that at the bottom of the stairs was another corridor, then another door with a security checkpoint and a holding room where they would be scanned. Everything was lined in turramin, and everything was monitored from the inside by both cameras and live guards.

  It was probably one of the most secure facilities on any of the worlds and would easily survive a war. In fact, all the Families had such compounds.

  When they were past the checkpoint, the final door opened, and they entered the facility proper. Lush, cream-colored carpet covered the floors, and his boots sank into it with each step. Soft music, the notes airy and soothing, threaded through the air. Light strips lined the ceiling, creating a glow so diffused it was hard to pinpoint the source.

  Halfway down the hall, Trevon stopped. “Do you have a pen on you?” he asked.

  “Of course, sir.” Prin held out a slim wand of ink. Blue ink. Though the man didn’t say anything else, there was a definite mirth in his eyes.

  Trevon took the pen and examined it. The tip was a stiff felt.

  Perfect.

  He surveyed the hall, looking for the perfect spot. Finally, he spotted a small alcove close to a bend in the corridor. It was shallow, just deep enough to hold a decorative table and a painting. He hurried to it, his strides wide. Pressing the lever to release the ink, he drew a small star on the side wall of the alcove, toward the back. Obscured in shadow as it was, you’d have to know it was there to see it. He cocked his head and studied the mark he had made.

  The mark of the Zeynar Family. A Star. And it was blue.

  His grin widened. He had promised to tell Blue what he meant by the nickname. He had a feeling she would either laugh or kick him.

  “Sir? We should continue to the Conference.” Prin stood behind him still, keeping his place as First Guard.

  Trevon stepped back into the middle of the corridor. “Of course. What was I thinking to delay? Duri, lead on.” He gestured wide with his hand.

  They wound their way along the wide halls, through rooms with lounging couches and sitting groups, past a small dining area, and then finally to the rece
ption room outside the conference area. Three other Family heads had already gathered: Eteru, Finnegan, and Oriun. He nodded to them but didn’t approach. There was an order to these things that he had to respect.

  His gaze wandered to the conference room doors. Made of solid wood, they were as old as the facility and one of the few things in the inner chambers not constantly modernized. They also must have been recently polished because the Family crests stood out starkly against the dark grain.

  The Eirrans’ sun took a place of prominence on the bottom. Then the Finnegans’ tree, the Tremus’ flower, and the Oriuns’ moon curved over the left-hand door. On top was the Eterus’ wind. On the right door stood the Formants’ waves, the Istials’ vine and, of course, his own, the Zeynars’ star.

  Within fifteen minutes, the other family heads had arrived. The conference room doors opened, and Dorian of the Eirran greeted them. “Welcome. The Conference will begin.” He stepped back, leaving the way open for them to enter.

  Once the Family heads were seated, their guards in place behind them, Dorian placed a small cube on the table and pressed the center. A small, yellow glow indicated that there were no recording devices operating.

  “A Conference has been called by four of the families. The Oriuns, the Tremus, the Istials, and the Finnegans have expressed concerns over the way the Alliance has dealt with the situation caused by the Crystals of Shardon and the Padilra. It is my understanding that the Zeynars also do not agree with the Alliance’s handling, though no formal protest has been made.”

  “So made,” Trevon said. Of course no formal complaint was made. You wouldn’t reply to my messages.

  “Noted.” Dorian nodded to him. “Now, the matter at hand seems to be what action to take regarding the crystals.”

  Trevon tensed. Dorian had said with the crystals, not with the Alliance or the Prizzoli. There was more going on here then he had realized. And he suspected the neutral Family was no longer any such thing.

  Five hours later, Trevon was ready to walk out and go his own way. It had always been his flaw, his lack of patience with others’ dithering. Well, his father had called it a flaw. He called it cutting through the bullshit.

  “Honestly, I’m more interested in figuring out how to harness the properties of these crystals.” The head of the Formant Family, Ivan, set his glass of water down in the resulting silence. He looked in turn at each of the men gathered. “You cannot tell me you haven’t at least thought of it.”

  “No.” Trevon’s voice was only slightly louder than Ian Finnegan’s. They exchanged a glance, and Trevon sat back, indicating for Ian to take the lead. Finally, they’d come to the point. This was what the Conference had been called for. Interesting that it was Formant who brought it up.

  “No,” Ian said again. “I cannot tell you I have not thought of it. But I can tell you that my father did more than think of it. He bought the use of one of them. It is an unnatural thing, and I will not support that.”

  “But the benefits—”

  “Are overshadowed by the abuses,” Trevon cut in. “You know the law. In fact, this goes deeper than mere law. It is the ethics of it. The rest of the Alliance thinks we’re amoral monsters half the time, but this even we would not stand for. It flies in the face of the natural order.” He looked at each of them. “Remember your vows.”

  When the other Families said nothing, neither in protest nor in agreement, he let out a low growl.

  Robsson of Istial was the first to speak. “Trevon, your father—”

  The condescension in his tone merely sent Trevon’s impatience into anger. But the anger was cold, so cold. “Do not speak of him. He made his choice. His passing was an honorable death in the end. I made it so. And each of you agreed.” He twisted to face Ivan Formant. “Now you have had time to think. And now you think that maybe these crystals are not so bad, that you can contain them, learn from my father’s mistakes. Well, I have seen what they do. The Prizzoli have a very carefully crafted system of checks and balances in place. They still failed. Are failing. Can you guarantee there will not be another Phillip?” Another Shardon, he added.

  Silence was his answer.

  “No, you cannot. But you are willing to entertain the idea so that you may gain, what, a few more years of life?” His eye’s narrowed, and he leaned forward. “Or is it more than that, Ivan? Do you seek to cheat death indefinitely?”

  “Trev, boy, I—”

  “Stop.” Trevon didn’t stand and lunge for the other man as he wanted to. No, cold anger was often more effective than hot. “I am not a boy, nor have I given you permission to address me so informally. I am head of my Family and you will afford me the same respect you give every single other member of this conference.” He picked up his water and took a sip, setting it back down in precisely the same place. He studied the cut glass. Actually, it was crystal imported from Earth, but it didn’t seem appropriate to use the word at the moment, even in his head.

  His attention moved to Dorian Eirran. His face was lined, and his hair was silver. Green eyes glinted under a heavy brow. Behind him stood his guards, one of whom had the same eyes. Direct family then.

  Eirran, Formant, Istial. All the family heads were approaching their later years. Tremu as well. Finnegan and Oriun had been on the list of families to call together the Conference, but this did not mean they would support the use of the crystals. As Trevon knew, not all things were on the surface.

  Sometimes they should be.

  It was time to use his newest bit of gossip and see what stirred to the surface. “There is one other thing to consider,” he said, his voice still cold. His gaze zeroed in on Alexander Tremu. “How’s your daughter?”

  “Muriel?” The man’s eyes widened. “She’s fine. What has that to do with anything?” Alexander’s brows drew together in puzzlement, with just the right touch of indignation that Trevon would bring up something which had nothing to do with the talks.

  It was well played. But Trevon was better.

  “Oh, I must have mixed her up with another girl. She didn’t go in for another treatment?” He kept his tone light, musing, but the message got across. Finnegan’s gaze locked on the other man, and Formant leaned away from him. Dorian Eirran’s fingers twitched on the tabletop, and Reynaul Eteru grimaced. Oriun and Istial both locked down, their expressions going blank.

  Reynaul Eteru, the only one whose views he had not been able to pin down, cleared his throat. The man was in his middle years with two heirs in their early adolescence. His blond hair was well groomed, his shirt collar stiff, and his face weary. “It is my understanding that you are also not entirely objective in this, Trevon. The girl. She was the one held by your family, yes?”

  “For a brief time. The boy had—has—an obsession with her. It is how he was caught.”

  “And what of you?” The question was casual, as if Reynaul hoped to lure him to misspeak.

  “What of me?” Trevon’s tone matched the other man’s.

  “What of you and the girl? I believe she is a Faust. I also hear you once gave her a very expensive bottle of perfume.”

  Damn Ian Finnegan. He must have made the connection from their meeting at the scent shop. Ah, well, that’s what I get for poaching on his territory.

  He shot Ian a grin and bowed his head. Ian snorted but returned the gesture.

  Time to keep them off balance. Sometimes you had to play it close, and sometimes you just had to tell the truth.

  “It was a good one too. Nya had just gotten it in. Even the color of the bottle was perfect. Tell me, gentlemen, do you believe in fate?”

  Alexander Tremu snorted. “No.”

  “Good.” Trevon’s tone was cold, though his grin was still firmly in place. “Neither do I. Which means that I have absolutely no problem with destroying you if you mess with her.”

  “You’re showing your hand, boy,” Formant said, leaning back in his seat.

  “And I told you to show me the respect I am due. So tell me, w
hen did you forget your vows? Recite them for me, if you would. I’d like to hear the ones you took. I’m beginning to wonder if they are different from the ones I did.” Trevon cocked his head. “No?”

  “You are telling me”—Alexander Tremu rapped on the table—“that if this girl were sick or mortally injured that you would still not use the crystal if you could? Even if you would destroy us for harming her?”

  The challenge was clear. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I would not. Because, unlike some, I hold to the honor of my family. One life, and a man may do with it what he will.”

  “And now you just talk in circles. You don’t believe in fate.”

  “No, I don’t. But I believe in what I have been taught my whole life. There is a cycle to life. It’s in the vows you refuse to recite. And you refuse because you know that I am correct. What you propose would violate everything our society is built upon.”

  “I propose nothing,” Alexander stated.

  Trevon raised a brow. “Don’t you though? Oh, that’s right, you had nothing to do with this Conference. Nothing to do with swaying the neutral, nothing to do with attempting to bribe Finnegan with new contracts.”

  Ian let out a short laugh at that and sat back in his seat. His head tilted slightly, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying this as much as Trevon.

  They’d had a good talk last week, and they had already sorted out the issues with Sirisa Shipping and the Faust family. Trevon was giving him a cut of the cranberry trade from Earth. It worked well for everyone.

  “Liar.” Tremu locked his gaze with Trevon’s. “I call you a liar. You are here today to talk of forcing the Alliance’s hand in this matter to defy Padilra’s demands—in essence starting a war—all because of this girl. Yet you would not do all in your power to heal her if she were sick? I call you a liar, a braggart, and a posturing fool.”

  The room narrowed down to just the two men, the two Families of Tremu and Zeynar. The older man’s words should have angered him, but instead they calmed Trevon. They clarified for him exactly who he was, and he answered the challenge with more truth.