by Devi Mara
“I’m sorry? She’s not what?” She saw Candace shift from the corner of her eye.
“She’s not Candace Johnson.”
Abby snorted. “What are you talking about? Of course, she is.” She shook her head and turned to face the other woman. “Tell him, Candace.”
Candace did not stop glaring at Edric. “For all intents and purposes I am Candace Johnson.” Her voice took on a strange accent, the inflection a little off.
Abby narrowed her eyes. “And that means what, exactly?”
She did not answer, simply shrugging off her coat the rest of the way and hanging it in the closet just inside the front door. “I don’t have to explain myself in my own house.” Abby noticed the accent was absent.
“Are you allied with the Dorn?”
Candace whipped her head around to glare at Edric. “Of course not. They are foul, loathsome creatures.”
Abby considered mentioning Edric’s parentage, but thought better of it. “The president?” she asked instead.
Candace closed the closet door harder than necessary. “No.”
“What proof do you have?” Edric asked, staring at her hard.
Candace’s gaze moved from Edric to Abby. “What proof do you have? That you have her best interests at heart?” She gave him a humorless smile. “Exactly.”
Abby crossed her arms over her chest. This conversation was going nowhere. She sighed to herself and stepped between the two of them.
“I think you should go, Edric.”
His eyes flew to meet hers. “Abby.” He looked at Candace. “I would rather not leave you here.”
“With me,” Candace finished sarcastically.
Edric tensed and gave the other woman a smile that looked more like a snarl. “Fine. I would rather she not stay with you.”
Candace sneered.
Abby interrupted before they could get going again. “If she wanted to murder me, she would have done it already.” She saw Candace smirk from the corner of her eye.
Edric winced. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, Abby.”
She sighed. “I’ll be fine. Whether her name is Candace or not, I doubt she’s suddenly going to go berserk on me.” She glanced at Candace to see her giving Edric a satisfied smile.
Edric returned her smug expression with a dark look. “I will be at the White House tomorrow,” he said, as if it were a threat, before he turned back to Abby. “I will see you then.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
He looked pained, but he nodded. “Have a good evening.” He bowed formally and walked to the door.
Abby raised her eyebrows. He could not think he was leaving like that. As he pulled open the door, she hurried across the room and pressed her palm flat against the door to push it closed. He slowly turned to face her, a question in his eyes.
“Forget something?” she murmured.
She rose onto her toes to brush her lips against his and felt the same sizzle of electricity she felt the first time. She smiled when his hands settled on her hips. It was only the loud clearing of Candace’s throat that broke them apart. Her face felt hot when she pulled back to meet his gaze.
He slowly released her. “See you tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded and watched him open the door and cross the threshold. She started to reply when Candace pushed the door shut firmly. She sighed. Nice. She raised one eyebrow at the other woman.
“Honestly?”
Candace flipped the lock on the door with a resounding click. “Yes.”
“Whatever. He’s gone, so what’s the deal?”
The dark-skinned woman visibly sighed. “Wine?”
Abby shrugged. “Sure.”
She followed Candace into the kitchen and watched her open a bottle of a wine, pouring a healthy amount in each glass.
“Well?” she asked when they were both seated at the small dining room table.
Candace sighed and took a gulp of her wine. “It’s not what you think.”
Abby snorted and took a sip of wine. “What is it, then?” She watched the woman drain her glass and pour a second.
“I knew your mother,” Candace said after she drank half of the second glass of wine. Liquid courage, Abby assumed.
“No, you didn’t.”
Candace looked at her. “Excuse me?”
Abby sat straighter in her chair. “I’d never seen you before I started work at the White House. You did not know my mother.”
Candace suddenly smiled ruefully. “You mean your adopted mother.” She shook her head and took another gulp of wine. “No, I never had the pleasure.”
Abby frowned at her. “Then…” she trailed off as the realization hit her. Her eyes widened. “My birth mother?”
“Can’t even get drunk,” she thought she heard Candace mutter to herself. “Yes. Your birth mother.”
Abby slumped in her seat. “Oh.”
Candace polished off her second glass of wine. “Exactly.”
…
“Again!”
Five members of his sparing team attacked at once, the younger ones unaware of his speed in battle. He swung the practice sword in a wide arc, effortlessly knocking aside two of them. The remaining three tossed aside their swords to bodily tackle him to the dirt floor. He heard the crowd cheering over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
With a vicious right cross, he took down the guard closest to him. He let the other two drag him to the ground. One managed to get in a good hit, knuckles scraping his sharp cheekbone. He smiled fiercely and shifted his weight. The guard fell to his left and a hard strike to his ribs kept him down.
The only remaining guard leapt to his feet and circled him slowly. His opponent was young, only a few years past one hundred, but he made up for it with speed and agility. Unfortunately, Edric had experience on his side. He knelt on the ground until the mistake came. The guard came a bit too close and he surged forward to grab his leg, lifting him and slamming him to the ground.
The crowd roared their approval. It had been years since he had indulged in a good fight. It was only his concern over Abby that reminded him of its stress-relieving effect. He smiled and bent to help the guard to his feet, clasping the younger man on the shoulder.
“Well done, Thanin.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. It was an honor to spar with you.”
Edric nodded. “Same to you. Help your fellows.”
He watched the guard begin to help the others from the ground and smiled to himself. A good distraction. He turned to walk away and paused to stare at the figure standing to his mother’s left. The smile faded from his face as if it had never been. His father, Gol, stared back at him.
Clenching his fists, he stalked through the crowd toward his mother’s throne. He may hold no love for his father, but he could not disrespect his queen. He reached his parents and knelt in front of his mother, making it very obvious his deference was to her and not the man at her side.
“An entertaining fight, my son,” Loreet said.
He raised his head to meet her gaze. “Thank you, my queen.”
He slowly stood and nonchalantly wiped the blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. He could put it off no longer. Enough of the crowd was still present to witness his uncouth behavior if he shunned his father. He turned to face Gol and gave him a shallow bow.
“King Gol. It is interesting to see you here.”
“Is it?” The man’s aquamarine gaze fell on him heavily.
Edric did not bother to answer. He met the man’s gaze for the first time in decades. His appearance had not changed. King Gol was tall even by Dorn standards, towering over Queen Loreet and Edric himself. His mixed heritage, half Dorn and half Ghadrikan, made his skin tan but rough as tree bark. Most of his features were Ghadrikan, but his teeth were the sharp fangs of the Dorn.
“As always,” Edric finally answered. He turned back to his mother. “If you will excuse me?” At her nod, he turned
and strode away.
The elation of the fight had faded and the appearance of his father only reminded him of Caern. One of the many dangers to his future mate. He looked around him when he reached the edge of the sporting grounds. Konani and Limek stood off to his right, the former watching him carefully.
“You did not discover the identity of the woman living with your arammu.”
It was not a question, so he did not answer.
“Should I send guards?” Limek asked.
Edric paused. Abby would not appreciate him ignoring her request to have the evening to work things out with the woman calling herself Candace. He sighed, but shook his head.
“Any word of the Dorn plans?”
Limek’s eyes smiled even thought his face did not. “And the Raena, as well.”
Edric glanced at him. “What of them?”
The Raena, while seemingly fascinated by humanity, never involved themselves in Earth’s affairs. Their technology was far advanced of anything the Ghadrik or Dorn could produce, but war was of no interest to them. They were an oddity, but a harmless one.
“They have increased their numbers on Earth. In the past month, their numbers have gone from one hundred thousand to nearly four million.”
He frowned at Limek. “Why?”
“I am unsure, Your Majesty.”
“I see. And what of the Dorn?”
“The uprising in Eastern Europe continues,” Konani answered. “The Dorn have given the local rebels enough nuclear weaponry to destroy the continent.”
Abby would not be pleased. “What is the Russian government doing about it?”
“The president has sent a small group into the bordering country, but with the weapons…”
“What has the queen said on the topic?”
Konani and Limek exchanged a meaningful look, before Limek answered. “The queen has washed her hands of this. She has stated that inciting war among the humans does not fall under breach of contract.”
He nodded. Of course. He could see his father’s influence all over the situation. If he did not know his mother so well, he would call her cowed.
“I see. And the identity of my future arammu has no bearing on her decision?”
Their silence was enough of an answer.
“Thank you. That will be all.” He turned away before he took his anger out on his faithful guards.
The stones crunched under their feet, the sound slowly fading until he stood alone on the edge of the sporting grounds. There was nothing to be done about Caern’s treachery as long as he had the support of his king and an intact peace treaty. Edric clenched his fists until he felt something snap.
The sharp pain centered in the back of his right hand, no doubt one of the metacarpals. He watched as a purple bruise crept across the skin slowly. In a matter of minutes, the discolored patch shrank and finally vanished all together. He grit his teeth, as the bone snapped back into alignment.
The stones crunched softly, fleet footsteps approaching from his right. He glanced over his shoulder to see Desta striding toward him with a pleased glint in her eye. She usually saved that particular grin for the death of her enemies. He turned to face her with a raised eyebrow.
“Gibil Desta,” he acknowledged.
She dropped into a low bow. “Your Highness. It’s finished.”
He frowned in confusion.
“Your mate’s armor,” she clarified, her grin fading. Her eyes took on a concerned edge. “Are you well?”
“Of course,” he said. True, were he not consumed with his thoughts of Abby. He gave her a curt nod. “I would be pleased to see this work of yours.”
The smile was back. “The enlil is just there.” She turned away and he fell into step with her. “When will your mate be here, again? I would like to have her try the chest plate so I can make any necessary changes before she needs it for royal affairs.”
He nodded, but his mind had caught on the mention of royal affairs. The thought of her at his side in armor that matched his own was enough to derail his thought processes. How beautiful his huntress would look in the golden metal.
“Your Highness?”
He blinked and realized Desta was already seated in the enlil, the door ajar as she waited for him. She watched him enter the craft, but did not speak. The enlil rose the moment he closed the door. Clearly, she was eager to show him her creation.
Desta had started the work in secret once she saw the dagger he was offering to Abby. She had spent her nights in the royal armory with nothing but a hammer and anvil as company. The woman refused to speak of her progress, leaving her own mate, Roshan, as much in the dark as the rest of the guard. The quiet physician had seemed more amused by her behavior than concerned.
“Are you pleased with how it turned out?” He asked, as the enlil landed in front of a long, low building.
“Yes. I can only hope you are as pleased,” she said. She let him help her from the craft and led the way into the royal armory.
The building smelled as he remembered. Hot metal and ash. The wall appeared to be aflame from the dozens of forges, metal working being one of the few times Ghadrik used fire to heat. The lean woman wound her way between the half-finished projects with ease that came from daily repetition.
He paused next to a large metal sphere and called her back. “What is this?”
She turned to glance first at him, then the weapon currently being worked on by several armorers. She smirked.
“Duru.”
He raised his eyebrows. The weapon his mother had designed. It would create an impenetrable barrier around itself. From what he understood, it was intended to be placed at a base camp or city center. He glanced at Desta.
“Is it functional?”
“Preliminary tests are positive.”
“What of the litum?” His eyes strayed from her to scan the other projects.
Her smile became feral. “Complete and fully functional.”
He considered asking her how she knew, but thought better of it. The device created flash black holes, lasting just long enough to swallow anything within several miles. Almost beautiful in its simplicity. It was the creation of his mother’s lead scientific advisor.
“It’s this way, just outside my office.” When he raised an eyebrow, she smiled faintly. “It find it soothing to look at.”
He gestured for her to lead the way. As they moved closer to the main forge, the air shimmered with the heat of the flames. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine before soaking into the fabric of his sparing pants. Off to his left, one of the junior armorers paused in her work to stare at him.
He frowned and looked down at himself. His bare chest was still splattered with blood from the fight, every inch of skin above his low slung pants covered in the crimson smears. The sight of blood should not be enough to draw such an avid gaze. As he returned his gaze to the armorer, Desta appeared at his right. He looked at her in time to see her eyes narrow on the other woman.
“You would like to meet His Highness’ arammu?” she asked in a low tone.
The junior armorer’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Then, I suggest you continue your work.”
The other woman’s head dropped immediately. The interaction made very little sense to him, but the threat in Desta’s tone was abundantly clear. He wondered when meeting Abby had become a threat. Desta gave him a quick nod and gestured toward her office.
“Shall we?”
He followed her to the doorway, the two of them pausing just outside long enough for her to point out the unassuming black box that was capable of generating black holes. It was no larger than his hand, but able to swallow a city. He smiled. How interesting.
“But better than the litum…” Desta trailed off and gave the door her voiceprint.
He followed her into the spacious, oval shaped room. The roof had been retracted over her work space to let the daylight glint off the armor on the stand in the center of the space. As he c
onsidered it, he moved closer. Desta stepped out of the way to lean against the wall and let him study her work.
It was made of the same gold metal as his own, light as cloth and nearly indestructible. He stopped a few feet away and took in the delicate details. Desta had laid hundreds of paper-thin layers in the mold to create the chest plate. The top most layer was inlaid with silver scrollwork. The loops and swirls over the left side formed a stylized capital ‘A’.
He started to turn and praise his armorer when he realized Abby’s first initial was interlocked with a bold ‘E’. It was usual for a woman to have her own name on her armor, but to have her mate’s was rare. He frowned. It would mark her as his, as much as he was hers.
“I think she will be pleased,” his mother said from the direction of the door.
He turned to find her just inside the room, watching him. Thankfully, his father was absent. He bowed to her, as she approached.
“I apologize, my queen. I did not see you there.”
She glanced at him. “I know.”
“What brings you to the armory?” he asked, watching her circle the stand to look at Abby’s armor from every angle.
She stopped where she began and answered without turning to look at him. “I heard a rumor that Abigail’s dagger would soon have company.”
He looked at Desta to see her frown in confusion. “Oh?”
His mother finally turned to look at him. She stared at him a moment, before she turned her head to regard the silent Desta.
“Please excuse us.”
Desta bowed and walked swiftly from the room. The door closed behind her with a quiet thud.
He raised his eyebrows. “Company?”
His mother nodded. “I did not tell you before, because there never seemed to be a good time.”
He stayed silent while she pulled the sword from the scabbard at her side. The royal blade shone in the bright light. It wasn’t until she turned the hilt to face him that he noticed the difference. Where it had been pure silver, gold had been added to match Abby’s armor.
Edric frowned. “Why?”
Her lips quirked. “You are the only child of a Ghadrikan queen, my son. Who do you think will take the throne when I step down?”
“Step down?” He took a step toward her. “Is Gol forcing you—”