The old seer chuckled, giving her a real smile.
“My dear, you are incorrigible. How can I possibly discipline you?” Still clicking in amusement, he laughed again. “…You risk our whole operation with this move of yours and yet, somehow, you give us an incalculable gift in the process. I try to scold you and you only speak my own words back at me. I worry you are putting your brother in danger needlessly, and you profess to be looking out for him, and he for you. I should punish you, but instead I find I want to compliment your initiative and reward you. How is it that you do that?”
She grinned with full, red-lipsticked lips. “I’m ridiculously charming.”
“That you are.” Clicking ruefully that time, he quirked an eyebrow, his pale gold eyes more serious. “A little too charming at times. But I must caution you not to underestimate our quarry, dear heart. Your brother and sister are both quite adept at appearing to be far less strategic and observant than they actually are. Particularly your sister, the Bridge.”
Cass frowned, twirling the knife, her eyes half-focused.
Tossing back the newly-dyed scarlet ends of her jet black hair, she flipped the bone-handled knife over again, catching it easily.
“But her sight’s crap now, right?” she said, still frowning. “You said she couldn’t see for shit. That there’s a window now.”
“There is,” he agreed. “But we have some time yet. It is best not to act too impulsively in these things, War Cassandra. There are a number of conditions I would like to see aligned first, to ensure our success.” Pausing, he added,
“Luckily for us, I strongly suspect they will underestimate you, as well. Still, we mustn’t assume they will. In fact, we must proceed under the assumption both are operating at full capacity. Your brother, Syrimne, is quite shrewd, and has a good military mind. He always has. No matter how off-balance he might be at the moment, he likely will already be calculating approaches we might try. And your sister, the Bridge…”
His lip curled in revulsion, even as his voice carried a grudging respect.
“…She may be an actual prescient. Not like brother Feigran, of course, or the other one. Even so, the Bridge has abilities––abilities that may or may not be affected by her current condition. She may see us coming, knowingly or not. In fact, it is best not to focus your light towards her in any way right now, or that possibility grows even more likely. The more we can operate in her blind spots, the better.”
Pausing again, he looked over his shoulder at her, adding, “They have other assets, as well. Brother Wreg. Brother Balidor. And the old woman… Adhipan’s teacher.”
“Tarsi,” Cass muttered. She flipped the knife, frowning down at the dark red carpet. “Why didn’t you eliminate her, when you went after Vash?”
The old seer shrugged. “We did not have the option to wait for her arrival in New York. We needed the old monk dead prior to our operation in Argentina, and it was cutting things too close.” He shrugged gently. “Wreg is also preoccupied at the moment. I worry most about brother Balidor, truthfully.”
His gold eyes flashed in the firelight as he looked at her again.
“He is connected to you, dear heart… almost as much as Alyson herself, and the Sword. It makes him dangerous.”
“Connected to me.” Cass frowned, flipping the knife. “You’re going to kill Balidor?”
The old seer looked at her, turning away from the window altogether, his hands still clasped at the base of his spine. His eyes held a denser scrutiny as he studied her face.
“It would certainly be better for us if he did not survive this.” He paused, still watching her. “This bothers you, War Cassandra?”
Cass sighed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.
“No. I mean… he was my friend.” Her voice grew harder. “Well, until he started fucking Allie, he was my friend. He turned into a dick after that.” Pausing, she stared at the floor, remembering their first conversation at that rooftop cafe in Seertown.
“He was one of the only seers who was nice to me,” she admitted. “Who didn’t treat me like some animal because I wasn’t seer. Who treated me with respect.”
The old man nodded, his face expressionless.
“Could he be converted?” he asked politely.
Jumping a little, she looked up, startled. “Converted?”
The old seer made a yes gesture with one hand. “If you think this is even a remote possibility, please tell me, dear heart.” He frowned, still watching her shrewdly. “I would happily change my views regarding his future. Particularly in light of your obvious fondness for him.”
When Cass frowned harder, opening her mouth to protest, he held up a hand, smiling more gently.
“Do not deny it, my dear. There is no need. I would be highly amenable to trying that option, before being forced to deal with him more drastically. Truthfully, I feel a little foolish for not considering it before now. Brother Balidor is a valuable seer. It is always a great pity to kill those among our race who are so valuable.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled with a faint knowing.
“Perhaps you could use such a seer yourself, War Cassandra? Among your advisors?” The smile in his eyes touched his lips. “…Perhaps in more ways than one? It is to be noted, he is quite handsome, as brother seers go.”
Looking over, Cass let out a low snort, rolling her eyes.
“If you like old men,” she said, smiling and clicking.
“Many of our sisters do like more mature seers. Are you not among them?”
When she glanced up, giving him a half-incredulous look, his smile widened.
“Something about their proficiency with light, I’m told,” he said, making a graceful gesture with one hand. “What it does for their abilities, in regards to those skills related to physical intimacy. I’ve heard a good number of our sisters wax quite eloquent on the subject.”
Cass let out an open laugh, shaking her head. Pointing her knife at him, she grinned wider.
“You are a dirty old man.”
He returned her smile with a wry one of his own.
“Only looking out for my favorite niece, I assure you.” He held up his hands, his expression rippling in the flickering candlelight. “For what good am I, dear heart, if I cannot keep my beautiful War Cassandra happy?”
She clicked again, sharper that time, but also with amusement.
Gazing out the window at the city, she frowned a moment later, watching lightning flash and illuminate the dark clouds, reflecting off the skyscraper windows.
“You want to make me happy?” She scowled, her eyes still fixed on the darkened skyline. “Let me go, uncle. Let me be the one to do it. That would make me happy.”
There was a silence.
In it, the old seer only looked at her, his pale gold eyes thoughtful.
He didn’t answer her words.
Even so, something in his expression convinced her he was thinking about them.
Flipping the knife over deftly in her fingers, she kicked her boot heel against the base of the couch, watching the old man’s face, listening to the swish of her leather pants as her leg swung.
For now, she told herself, him thinking about it was enough.
19
PENTHOUSE
I WRITHED IN his arms, trying to get free, but he only tightened his hold.
“You can put me down now,” I informed him, exhaling in annoyance as I folded my arms across my chest. “I think it’s safe to assume no one will be following us after that little display.”
He looked at me, that regal look still on his face.
“No,” he said.
“No?” I smiled, in spite of myself. “Seriously? People are staring, husband,” I said, glancing around.
He clicked at me reproachfully, a mock frown on his lips.
We’d already made it most of the way to the elevators, so I gave in, doing my best to ignore the stares from seers and humans as we passed. When we reached the bank of elevators, Revi
k nodded a greeting at a passing human who’d stopped to stare as well, his face holding an open shock once he recognized ours.
Revik motioned his head towards the elevator call button.
“Do you mind, cousin?” he said politely, as if carrying a dirty woman in combat armor and mud-encrusted boots was an everyday occurrence for him.
A little wide-eyed, the man hesitated a full second before he jerked forward, mashing down the button with a forefinger.
“Thanks,” Revik said, giving another polite bow of his head.
That time I couldn’t help it. I burst out in a laugh.
The human looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns, but only stepped back, still staring.
Revik remained deadpan as we walked through the first set of opening doors.
Once inside the elevator car, he angled his arms around where he held me, leaning me down towards the numbered buttons on the wall, waiting for me to push the button for the sixty-third floor. I managed to find it, even halfway upside down and over my own shoulder.
I punched it with a finger.
When the security panel lit up, I pressed my thumb on it. I knew they’d tightened security for the scanners, too. Not only would it read my DNA and my thumbprint, the scanner now also verified I was alive, conscious and “not in a state of considerable distress.” The checking to see if I was alive struck me as sort of morbidly funny (and brought images to mind of my severed thumb being carted around in someone’s pocket). I had to hope they didn’t have the settings notched so sensitive that an elevated heart rate on its own would set it off.
When the light clicked off, the doors closed and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Revik pulled me back up to his chest.
I slung my arms around his neck, looking at his face. I found myself studying his expression when he didn’t return my gaze, until his skin was flushing, his light coiling around me in tighter rings as he reacted to my stare.
“Wreg’s not completely wrong,” I told him. “You are a bit of a barbarian. Maybe you should grow your hair longer.” I tugged on it, kissing his jaw. “Start wearing necklaces made of human teeth.”
He winced, giving me a disbelieving look, then laughed when he saw my expression.
“No,” he said, kissing me. “I need it short. Camouflage.”
“It’s not working,” I informed him.
I kissed his throat, tasting salt, sucking gently when I felt his light react. His aleimi coiled around me, nearly physical when I didn’t stop. He kissed my mouth as soon as I raised my head, his arms holding me tight enough to squeeze my ribs against his chest.
We made out for most of the remaining floors.
I could feel his light changing, even as I fought to breathe between kisses. His arms remained tense where he held me, but the rest of him relaxed, until he was leaning against the back wall of the elevator car, letting out a low groan when we kissed harder.
By the end, I found myself gripping the back wall of the car, pressing against him as my other arm tightened around his neck. When the tone finally went off for the correct floor, my skin was hot, and so was his.
“What’s up with you?” I murmured, as the doors opened.
He didn’t answer, but gripped me tighter as he walked down the corridor with long strides. I could feel him restraining his light, even as images skated through his mind, along with harder flushes of pain. I felt him remembering when we’d woken up from that week-long hibernation, and his pain abruptly worsened.
I felt him consider stopping right there, in the corridor, but instead he increased his pace, closing the gap to the door of our room.
“Seriously.” I touched his forehead with my fingers, thrown by the heat coming off his skin. “Are you all right? I haven’t been depriving you that much, have I?”
“Yes,” he said.
His smile was taut when he glanced at my face, his fingers fumbling with his coat until he found the card key. I hadn’t seen him stop at the reception desk, so that threw me, too.
“Bardo gave it to me,” he explained. “…the waiter. I asked him for it.”
His voice grew more of an accent as he stared at the lock. He blinked, frowning, and I realized his irises were glowing.
“He brought it over while you were talking to Junte. That’s why you didn’t see.” He thrust the card into my hands, making another low sound. “…Open the fucking door, Allie.”
I took it from him, still faintly worried as I studied his face, fighting to concentrate when he started kissing my neck. Inserting the card into the security slot to the right of the door, I put my thumb on that security panel, too.
After a few seconds’ pause, there was a click. The light turned green and I pushed down on the handle, shoving at the door.
“You could put me down, you know,” I said, catching the door before it could close again. “…It would’ve been faster.”
He shook his head, kicking open the door as he carried me over the threshold.
“No. I never did this… that night. I was supposed to, yes? I don’t think I did… I was mak rik’ali from those cakes Tarsi made.”
I laughed, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck.
Mak rik’ali translated roughly as “a crazy fucker” from Prexci to English.
It occurred to me he was talking about the human tradition––the one about carrying the bride over the threshold. Clicking at him humorously, I smiled.
“Old fashioned,” I murmured, tugging his hair.
I glanced around the suite, blown away by how perfect everything looked. Unlike the two lobbies downstairs, the penthouse apartment appeared almost identical to how I remembered it before we’d left for San Francisco.
Someone had obviously been in here to clean recently, though.
I was pretty sure we’d eaten breakfast up here on our last morning before we got on the plane for California. Also, a large bouquet of fresh flowers stood on the center table, an odd, seer-like combination of sunflowers, dark green ferns, willow fronds, and white roses.
The drapes had been opened, too, revealing a view of stormy skies and driving rain that nearly obliterated the view to the park.
When I glanced at Revik, he was looking only at me. His face was flushed, his eyes sparking strangely with gold-green light, brighter in the darkness through the windows.
“Don’t you want me, Allie?” he said.
Pain shocked my light. I felt like he’d hit me.
Remembering the Menlim thing, what happened in that construct in Argentina, I clutched him tighter. “Baby, seriously… you’re starting to scare me. Are you okay?”
I scanned his light as I said it, checking him for any kind of tap, any resonance in his light that I didn’t recognize, anything that didn’t come from him. I didn’t find anything, and he opened, letting me look, even as he sent me a pulse of reassurance.
“I’m fine.” He kissed my cheek, then my throat. “I’m fine, Allie. Promise.”
When I clicked out, he was already walking me over to the couch. He set me back on my feet in front of it, placing himself between me and the fireplace.
Someone had lit the fireplace, too.
Revik was staring at me again, his eyes glowing in those odd pulses.
I glanced at the couch, then back at him, feeling his intent. Walking up to him, I curled my arms around his waist, pressing against him. “Don’t you want to take a shower first? I’m pretty sure I stink… even beyond the vomit bus.”
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Allie… take off your clothes.”
Hesitating for less than a full breath, I started to unhook the last few remaining catches on the armored vest I wore. Shrugging it off, I dropped it to the floor. Without waiting, I started on my shirt, unhooking the buttons without looking away from him.
Whatever was going on with him, it was affecting me, too… a lot, I realized, as soon as I stopped trying to distract myself from his light.
I’d bee
n trying to calm my own light to compensate, or maybe just to slow him down. Now that I was really looking at him, and looking at his light, I found myself wondering if maybe that was the wrong approach––for both of us.
I started unbuckling my belt on the military grade pants, and his light let off another pulse of heat. I slid the belt out of the loops around my waist and his fingers slid into my hair, tugging at it, even as he wrapped his other hand around the back of my head, pulling out the band I wore to keep it in a braided ponytail. Once he had the band off, he started unraveling the braid.
“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” I asked, soft.
He continued to work on my hair as I unbuckled the front of my pants.
“No.” He looked at my face. “I want you to do it, Allie.”
Feeling another stab of reaction in my light, I pushed down the armored pants along with my underwear, then tugged the longer shirt I wore up over my head. He let go of me long enough for me to get it off, then caught hold of my hips as I dropped that to the floor, too.
By the time I was unhooking my bra and adding that to the pile, I could barely see through the pain coming off him. It seemed to strangle my light, surrounding me like a physical force.
Feeling the aggression there, woven in with the rest, I wondered why he was taking the passive role, in spite of that. When the feeling intensified, it crossed my mind that maybe that was the reason. Knowing him, he didn’t trust himself.
Maybe he was worried he might hurt me.
“Yes,” he said, gruff. He pulled me closer by the hips. “Wreg and Balidor––they were right. They were right about what I was doing.” He looked down at me, his jaw clenching briefly. “I think you’d better do this. The first time, anyway.”
I nodded, fighting a reaction to another coil of his light. I started unbuckling his vest, my fingers clumsy, but seemingly all working in roughly the same direction.
“You want to do this on the couch?” I asked, my voice soft.
His eyes glazed more. “Yes.” His fingers tightened on my hip. His other hand rose back to my hair, wrapping into it harder.
War: Bridge & Sword: Apocalypse (Bridge & Sword Series Book 6) Page 24