The Wishing Hour

by J. Adams

  My eyes fall on a small shelf that sits a little ways from the bed filled with towels, cloths, oils, herbs, extra gowns, baby blankets and clothes, and other things I will need for the birth. A large vase of water sits next to it. Sebastian will deliver the baby and has made sure we have everything we will need. Though neither of us have ever had any experience in this area, Sebastian is confident he can do what needs to be done, and though delivery will not be painful like it is for women on the surface, it will still be exhausting work. I'll take exhaustion over pain any day.

  Are you well, beloved?

  I adjust my head to look into his eyes. I'm all right. But I don't think it will be long. I can feel the change in my body, like it's readying itself. Your mother told me it would be like that, that I would know.

  I feel the change in you as well. I feel a new strength in you. He smiles. The healer said our women are at their most vulnerable when carrying a child, but You are not like the rest. You are far more gifted.

  I smile back. Do you think?

  I do.

  I sigh, placing a hand on his solid chest over his heart. He puts his hand over mine, holding it there, and I feel the calm rhythm beating against my palm. I snuggle closer.

  Tell me more about when you were a boy.

  * * *

  Sebastian shifts a little and places his free hand behind his head and stares up at the jagged cave ceiling as a number of memories flowed through his mind at once. His childhood had been a happy one filled with love, laughter, and some hard-learned lessons that he wouldn't trade for anything.

  “When I was ten, there were a couple of boys at my school who were constantly trying to provoke a fight with me. I was about five-foot-eleven and towered over all the other children at school, which made me an easy target for the two bully boys.”

  Celine whistles and he can see her visualizing his height back then. “I assume they wanted to prove their manhood and toughness by beating up the biggest kid at school?” she muses.

  “You assume correctly. It was very hard for me, not because I was afraid, but because I knew I could beat them, even hurt them permanently. My powers began to emerge at nine years old. My father tried to train me as much as he could, but I think he and Mother knew even then, that they would eventually have to bring me to Challis, not only because they would come to miss their home, but because they recognized that my powers were manifesting faster than any other child they'd seen of our people. I would need more training than Father could give me.”

  “I'm guessing The One gave you more power and strength because he knew you would be chosen to guard the Woman of Prophecy.”

  “A fact I came to know over ten years later.” He pauses and turns to her, caressing her cheek. “If I had only known then how much I would be blessed now . . .” His words are silenced as her warm mouth raises to meets his.

  Celine clears her throat loudly. “Back to the story.”

  He laughs. “All right, back to the story. One day both boys jumped me in an alley on my way home from school. They pounded away at me and it didn't hurt at all. Their punches had absolutely no affect on me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, but this made them even madder, so they kept going with no intention of stopping until they caused me at least some pain. Finally I decided that I'd had it. So, clearing all anger from my mind, I grabbed them both, holding the collar of each boy in separate hands and lifted them off the ground. I told them both to never try that again or they would be sorry. I knocked their heads together and dropped them on the ground. They were both dazed and holding there heads. Seeing that they were okay, I walked away. On the way home I began to feel guilty, and by the time I reached my front door, I was sad and afraid–sad because I allowed myself to be provoked into fighting, and afraid because I knew how disappointed my parents would be in me.”

  She softly caresses the muscles of his arm. “And were they?”

  He chuckles, a look of melancholy filling his eyes and touching his smile. “I was sure they would be, but they weren't. After I explained what happened and how sorry I was for giving in to violence, my mother simply kissed my cheek and went to the kitchen. My father sat down beside me, put his arm around me and said he was proud of me. I couldn't believe it and I asked him why. He told me that after going through half the school year being taunted and provoked, any other kid my size with even a small portion of my abilities would have squashed them both like little cockroaches. I had done my best to avoid confrontation, but a fight was inevitable, and because it was done in self defense with no anger and I truly felt sorrow afterward, I did nothing wrong and I was, at only ten years old, more of a man than they could ever hope to be.”

  “Wow,” she whispers. He sends her flashes of the special memory residing in his heart and he feels her awe.

  “Even if you hadn't sent me the visual, I could still see and hear your father speaking those words to you. He's an amazing man. And you are just like him.”

  “I try to be,” he says with a sigh.

  She moves to kiss him again and he meets her half way. “Believe me, you are,” she whispers against his lips.

  He sighs again and holds her close. How he loves this woman! She is the very air he breathes, the literal life force that flows through his veins. He can literally feel her moving inside his soul, and as he takes her hand in his and twines his fingers with hers, his Ki Talimai burns with hers, sending heat racing through his entire body. He finally draws back and presses his forehead to hers, slowing his breathing. He can't mate with her now, not with the birth so close, but oh, how he wants her! And drawing back a little more, he sees the same need burning in her clear hazel eyes. He kisses her again and her thoughts flow to him, bringing him comfort.

  I love you, Sebastian. We will have our moment again.

  Twenty-five

  The young man is nervous and a little frightened as he stands before President Simon and his counselors. At only fourteen, he never dreamed anything like this would happen to him, that he would be needed to assist in an investigation into the murder of the Woman of Prophecy. He had been both saddened and shocked when his mother told him about the bomb that demolished the home of her and her brave true mate. Sebastian Giovanni had become a legend to the people of Challis, both young and old, and every young man wanted to be him.

  And now that the prophecy is no longer able to be fulfilled, what will become of his people, his world? This question has rolled through his mind over and over. And the fact that he might have helped to prevent their loss tears him up inside. After all, he has seen and heard many things.

  And he knows about the fruit basket.

  “John,” Devon says, startling him, “it's all right.” He gives the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Just tell the president what you came and told me. You will not be blamed for anything because none of this is your fault.” Devon's voice is soft and full of understanding, devoid of any of the turmoil he'd felt earlier because of his new-found knowledge that Celine and Sebastian are safe. “Just tell the truth.”

  John straightens his shoulders, raising to his full height of six-feet-eight inches, takes a deep breath and begins.

  “Trevor Walton is my best friend. If we are not at my house we are usually at his. His family is really nice, especially his Aunt Rachael. She's pretty and I like being there when she's visiting.” He pauses, realizing what he'd said and a deep blush flushes his face when a few chuckles come from the council. He cuts his eyes to Devon who is covering his mouth to conceal the grin spreading across his face. The boy clears his throat and faces the council again.

  “Anyway, the past few times she was there, I'd see her crying on her brother's shoulder. She would be telling him how much she still misses her mate and how lonely she feels sometimes. He would always tell her that one day everything would be okay. The last time I went over and she was there, she was happy and talked to Mr. and Mrs. Walton about Lady Celine and what a lovely and kind lady she was. She said sh
e wanted to do something nice for her and mentioned sending her a fruit basket.” He hesitates and looks at Devon who urges him to continue.

  “She was going to go pick out some fruit, put it in a basket, and take it to Lady Celine, but her brother . . . I mean Mr. Walton, said she should just have it delivered. Mrs. Walton asked why and Mr. Walton said Miss Rachael shouldn't go over unannounced, that it might not sit well with Lady Celine. Both ladies agreed and Miss Rachael went to buy the fruit. Mr. Walton said to bring it back there, that way they could add some fresh pears from their orchard to the basket and he would have someone else deliver it, maybe even himself. I was still there when Miss Rachael returned. John and I went up to his room to play a game of chess. A few minutes later I heard my name being called. When I went back downstairs, the basket was sitting on the kitchen table filled to the brim with fruit and the Walton's pears were mixed in.

  “Mr. Walton suggested that I deliver it. That way, it would be a surprise.” John smiles. “I was excited to get to see Lady Celine up close so I said I would take it. Because my shirt was a little dirty, Trevor let me borrow one of his good ones. Mr. Walton even let me take his car. He told me Miss Rachael wanted it to be anonymous and not to say who it was from. She agreed and I left. I delivered the basket and went back to the Walton's. A little while later we heard from a neighbor that Lady Celine had been poisoned.”

  Bead's of sweat appear on John's forehead as he remembers that day and the thought that ran through his head the very moment they were told the news. He swipes an arm across his forehead.

  “Why did you not tell someone?” President Simon asks, apparently reading the boy's thoughts.

  “Because I just couldn't believe the Waltons would do anything to hurt Lady Celine, especially Miss Rachael. She was very fond of her and had even wanted to take the basket herself. She was in tears when we heard. I wondered about Mr. Walton, but I put the thought out of my mind.”

  The president nods, accepting his earnest reply. “Go on,” he says softly.

  “Well, after that, Miss Rachael and Lady Celine became friends and Miss Rachael would always check on her through her friend, who is Lady Celine's mother-in-law, but I guess you already knew the last part.” Devon smiles and pats his shoulder for him to continue. “Well, one day when I was at the Walton's I heard Miss Rachael and Mr. Walton arguing. She was telling him how grateful she was for Lady Celine and how happy she was that the lives of her ancestors had been spared so Lady Celine could be here to fulfill the prophecy. He asked her how she could be grateful that her mate is dead. Mrs. Walton told him that wasn't what Miss Rachael meant at all. Then Miss Rachael left the house crying. Mrs. Walton shook her head and left the room. Mr. Walton stood there for a minute, then left saying he had some things to take care of. Trevor and I kind of shrugged our shoulders at each other and went to my house.”

  John is quiet for a moment and watches the counselors scribble down a few notes.

  Devon squeezes John's shoulder. “Go on.”

  John nervously wipes his hands against his leggings. He doesn't want to tell them the next part, but he has no choice.

  “Well, sir . . . this morning when I went to get Trevor for classes, I heard his parents arguing. Mr. Trevor said he was tired of his sister being alone and if her mate had not been assigned to protect Lady Celine's family, he and Miss Rachael could have been bound and she would have a family of her own. Then he said one day things will be made right. We left for class after that, but I saw the look on Mr. Walton's face before we left. He looked mad, real mad.” John takes a deep breath. “And that's it. I haven't seen Trevor or his family since.”

  President Simon approaches John and clasps his hand. “Thank you for coming forward, John. You have helped us more than you know.”

  “Yes, sir.” He lowers his eyes. “I just wish I had come forward sooner.”

  “You were not convinced anything was wrong. You did not want to accuse an innocent man of murder, which is completely understandable.” The president turns to confer with his counselors.

  “You did well,” Devon whispers to John.

  “What will they do?” John asks.

  “I imagine they will have him brought in for questioning.” He sees the distressed look on John's face. “Don't worry,” he says, squeezing his shoulder again. “Your name will never be mentioned, and if he is innocent they will know.”

  Twenty-six

  Two peace keepers knock on the Walton's door while an additional eight spread out around the grounds. When the door opens, the men come face to face with Jude Walton.

  “Mr. Walton, we need you to come with us to the town hall for questioning.”

  Jude's brow furrows. “What is this about?” His voice is calm.

  “The council has strong reason to believe you were involved in the murders of Sebastian and Celine Giovanni.”

  “You cannot be serious!” Gwenyth Walton cries from behind him. “Who would make such an accusation?”

  “We are not at liberty to answer that.”

  Gwenyth's mouth begins to work, but nothing comes out.

  “Come with us, Mr. Walton.”

  “No!” Gwenyth cries. “He doesn't have to go anywhere with you!” She grabs her husband's sleeve. “Tell them you won't go!”

  Jude places a calming hand over hers. “It's all right. I will go and be back before you know it.” Saying nothing else, he leaves with the men, leaving his wife tearfully staring after him.

  * * *

  Jude is calm as he sits before the president and his counselors. He notices Devon Giovanni has joined them. If the council thinks his presence will intimidate him, they are wrong.

  Before the questioning begins, Jude closes his mind completely, preventing his thoughts from being read in any way. He stares at the men sitting around the table, forming an arch. He steels himself against the coming onslaught of questions, determined not to be intimidated at all. He will show no weakness. Let them do what they may with him. It really doesn't matter anymore.

  President Simon leans forward. “Mr. Walton, let me start with a blunt question. Do you or have you ever blamed Lady Celine for the death of your sister's true mate?”

  Jude says nothing. He focuses on a painting high on the wall behind the council and keeps his eyes there.

  “Have you had any contact at all with anyone on the surface?”

  Again he says nothing.

  “Did you have anything to do with the death of the Woman of Prophecy and her mate?”

  Nothing.

  “Do you know anything about the poisoned fruit delivered to Lady Celine's home?”

  Nothing.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  Nothing.

  “Will you not cooperate at all?”

  Nothing.

  Jude finally drops his eyes to the counselors as they speak softly to one another. They have no proof, no evidence. So he will continue to say nothing. He knows they will most likely hold him for a day or two, then they will have no choice but to let him go. He will just bide his time.

  Feeling a set of eyes on him, he turns and meets the piercing gaze of Devon Giovanni. The man isn't participating in the conversation with the council, or even paying attention to them for that matter. Jude tries to look away but is unable to for a moment. It is finally Devon who looks away, but there is something different in his expression, something that puts Jude on edge, though he masks it well.

  “President, may I have a private word with you, please?” Devon asks, standing.

  “Certainly.” The two men exit the room.

  Jude remains expressionless as he watches them leave. His face is still a mask of calm, belying what he feels inside, but he continues to shield his thoughts.

  There is nothing to worry about, he affirms. They know nothing, and they will get nothing from me.

  Both men are expressionless when they return. They quietly take their seats at the table. President Simon begins questioning again.

 
; “Mr. Walton, do you know of anyone else who has ill feelings toward Lady Celine?”

  Jude says nothing. His eyes have returned to the painting, though there is a slight twitch in his brow as he does so. The reaction does not go unnoticed.

  The president sighs. “You are protecting someone, aren't you? Someone close.”

  Still nothing, but there is another twitch.

  “Who are you protecting, Mr. Walton?”

  Still nothing, but there is a quick clinch of the jaw.

  The president leans back in his chair and stares at him quietly for one, two, three, four, five minutes. During this time the only sound in the room is the ticking of the clock on the wall behind Jude.

  Jude continues to stare at the painting, but he can feel himself wavering a bit. The longer the president stares at him, the more unsettled he becomes. He feels his shield beginning to slip but promptly locks it in place again.

  The brief slip is all the president needs. He finally sits forward again and rests his clasped hands on the table.

  “I apologize for the strained silence,” he begins. “A period of silence is good for the soul, you see. It helps a person think better, and I have come to some conclusions of my own. Shall I share them with you?” Not waiting for or expecting a reply, he forges ahead. “You are indeed protecting someone, Mr. Walton, but the question is who are you protecting? Now, one guess is completely obvious.”

  Jude still says nothing.

  “It is no secret that your sister Rachael was deeply hurt when her true mate, James was killed while protecting Lady Celine's ancestors. They hadn't been able to complete their bonding and your sister has been alone ever since. She still struggles sometimes, does she not?”

  Unconsciously balling his hands into fists, Jude continues to stare at the painting.

  “It would be hard not to blame Lady Celine. If James hadn't been assigned to protect her ancestors, he would still be alive and he and Rachael would have completed their bonding. It would be difficult not to be bitter, wouldn't it? She could have easily taking her revenge out on Lady Celine, poisoned her and somehow acquired the parts and ingredients to make a bomb, or even employed someone else to do it. All her cheeriness and friendliness could have been an act. She would be the obvious culprit . . . but she isn't.”