Consort

by Cyndi Friberg

  “I know. But what do I do about it?”

  “You send Betaul home with me,” Krysta said emphatically. “If Ametto can’t be trusted, Betaul isn’t safe here.”

  Cinarra collapsed into a chair and scrubbed her hand over her face. What a mess. “What about Prince Dravon? We don’t understand the purpose for these attacks. I don’t want to leave anyone unprotected.”

  “I’ll tell Drakkin what we know and let him decide. Dravon is his grandson. He’s less likely to blow off the possible danger.”

  “That’s not fair. You make Indric sound like he doesn’t care and we both know that’s not true.”

  “I wasn’t trying to disparage your favorite king. I’m just protecting my nephew.”

  Cinarra blew out a frustrated breath. If Betaul was going with Krysta, it would have to be soon, and Indric would feel like she didn’t trust his judgment or his ability to keep Betaul safe. But Betaul was her responsibility. And she wasn’t willing to take chances.

  And what would happen to him once he reached Ontariese. Membership in the NRS had dwindled in recent years and those directly involved in the threats against Seth were either incarcerated or dead. There was little chance anyone would connect Betaul with Seth.

  “Can you keep him away from the Mystics?” Cinarra grumbled. The environment at the Conservatory was a far more glaring danger as far as she was concerned.

  The bitterness in her tone drew Krysta’s attention. “Why would that be a concern? Charlotte is joined with Head Master Tal. Surely you can trust your sister’s life mate.”

  “That’s just it. As soon as Tal finds out Betaul has accessed his powers, he’ll insist Betaul be brought to the Conservatory. I want Betaul to run and play, to laugh and cause trouble.” Her lips trembled as she added, “I want him to have the childhood I failed to give you and Belle.”

  “Oh, Mamma.” Krysta knelt on the floor in front of Cinarra’s chair and hugged her tightly. If anyone could understand the emotions tearing through Cinarra, it was Krysta. They’d both spent their formative years in a cage, at times literally. They’d been treated like specimens, freaks, never understanding why no one cared enough to attempt their rescue. “You loved me and Belle unconditionally and protected us every step of the way. You did not fail us. You taught us how to be strong enough to survive that horrible place.”

  “But Betaul is only ten,” Cinarra sobbed. “That’s much too young for them to turn him into an emotionless Mystic.”

  “I’ll fight them with everything I have, but I’m not sure they’ll take no for an answer.” Krysta eased back and looked into her mother’s eyes. “Betaul’s power is a complete unknown. He has Ontarian and Rodyte blood, which in itself is a volatile combination. Add to that whatever Hydran did to him. No one is really sure what will develop.”

  Cinarra shook her head and wiped away her tears. “Do you have to be so damn sensible? It’s not like you at all.”

  Krysta smiled too. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You have never disappointed me.” She eased back, out of her daughter’s arms, but Krysta remained on her knees in front of her.

  “So what’s our next move? Do you want to try and convince Indric that Betaul was serious or should I just take Betaul with me and com Drakkin?”

  Cinarra took a deep breath, praying to all things holy that she didn’t live to regret this decision. “Take him with you. I’ll deal with Indric.”

  * * * * *

  “It wasn’t me!”

  Fahdeal’s redundant cry was growing tiresome. The man’s wrists were shackled, arms raised above his head. He’d been stripped naked in preparation for corporeal punishment and still he persisted with the ridiculous denial.

  Ametto stood by, silently waiting for permission to add physical elements to the interrogation. Calm logic had failed to penetrate Fehdeal’s hysteria, so Indric was just about ready to turn Ametto loose.

  The subterranean dungeon, with its dismal cells, cold stone floors and iron manacles was part of the original palace built thousands of season cycles ago by Indric’s grandfather. Though considered by most to be barbaric, the dungeon was still fully functional and had the uncanny ability to discourage crimes against the crown, so neither Indric nor his father had seen a reason to modernize the facility.

  “If it wasn’t you, how do you explain the knife in your hand and your proximity to my guests?” Indric circled the trembling man, feeling like a bully. Fahdeal had already pissed himself and now he was sniveling like a terrified child. “Why’d you leave your post? Weren’t you ordered to remain by the door?”

  “I’m sorry, Sire.” He bowed his head, hard sobs shaking he shoulders.

  “Why use a knife instead of your pistol? Did you want to be caught?”

  “I only know I didn’t do it.”

  With an exasperated curse, Indric turned and left the cell.

  Ametto followed him out and one of the others locked the iron-banded door.

  “Would you like me to see if he responds any better to pain?”

  An odd catch in Ametto’s tone made Indric look at him. His features were tense, his eyes clouded with emotion. He didn’t appear resigned to an unpleasant task, he seemed…desperate.

  If it hadn’t been for Betaul’s bizarre claim, Indric wouldn’t have thought anything of Fahdeal’s behavior or Ametto’s reaction. But none of this felt right. Ametto was loyal and highly protective of both Betaul and Cinarra. Why wasn’t he angrier? The pieces just didn’t fit.

  Unwilling to ignore the signs, however subtle, Indric grabbed the front of Ametto’s tunic and dragged him into an empty cell. The larger man didn’t struggle, didn’t seem surprised by Indric’s aggression, which made Indric even more suspicious.

  “I will ask this one time and I expect an honest answer. How did this happen?”

  They just stared at each other as Ametto’s gaze became more and more tormented. “I cannot tell you, Sire.”

  Using his voice to force his will on others was an ongoing temptation, one he resisted with every fiber of his being. His grandfather had possessed the gift as well and warned him that the darkness released by such misuse would quickly consume his character. His grandfather had given in to the power and nearly been destroyed by it. Indric had heeded the warning. He only used his gift when the person he influenced benefitted from the compulsion. This was a gray area. Ametto would not benefit from being forced to reveal what he knew. But his knowledge would likely give Indric what he needed to end these attacks on those he cared about.

  “I know you’re responsible for this attack.” He took a deep breath and infused his next words with the burning need to answer. “Why are you trying to harm those I love?”

  Ametto closed his eyes and tears trailed down his cheeks. He shook, hands clenched at his sides. “She has my daughter,” anguish propelled the admission and then he turned his face away. “I was not involved in the first attack. That was Fahdeal. He damaged the shield so Eagin’s shooter could slip into position without setting off the alarm.”

  “So you compelled Fahdeal into action, so you could rescue Cinarra?” Compulsion wasn’t necessary now. Ametto’s spirit was broken. His shoulders slumped and his expression revealed his regret and helplessness.

  “I never would have let him hurt her. That’s why I made him pull his knife. I just needed you to mistrust him, to deny him access to…anyone of importance.”

  The claim rang true. Ametto had always been loyal, one of Indric’s best. There had to be outside influences forcing his hand. “Who is ‘she’ and why have you denied your abilities?”

  Ametto glanced at Indric, composure returning by degrees. “Would you have selected me if you had known I could launch compulsions?”

  “No.”

  “It is extremely hard for me to do and the results are unpredictable, so I don’t generally attempt to influence others.”

  “And who has your daughter?”

  Ametto passed his hand over his bald scalp and
shook his head. “I’d rather not say, Sire. She will sense that I’ve betrayed her.”

  It might work to his advantage to leave Ametto’s cover in place, so he allowed the evasion—for now. “Do you know where the child is being held?”

  A cruel smile parted Ametto’s lips. “This wouldn’t be a problem if I did.”

  Good point. “Is this woman working for Eagin or are they partners in this?”

  “I’m not sure. She doesn’t trust him, but they seem to be working toward similar goals.”

  “The throne of San Adrin?” Ametto didn’t respond and Indric didn’t push him. Enough had been revealed for Indric to have a pretty good idea of what he was facing. He hadn’t doubted Eagin’s involvement. In fact, he would have been floored if his half-brother hadn’t been involved. And there were only a handful of women with enough power to attract Eagin’s notice. “I will figure out who the woman is on my own, but I expect you to keep me informed of any new developments.”

  “Of course, Sire.” He released one last shuddering breath then squared his shoulders. “I was supposed to kill Fahdeal. My tormentor will not be happy, but she will have no choice but to accept the outcome. If I fail her again, she will use my daughter to punish me.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll have to kill Fahdeal, so she’ll have no reason to doubt your loyalty.”

  “Sire?”

  He seemed genuinely shocked and Indric laughed. “I have a few more options than the average man. If you had trusted me from the beginning, your daughter would likely be in your arms right now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Indric walked into his private dining room later that night and Cinarra’s heart lodged in her throat. He hadn’t changed his clothes since she’d seen him on the rooftop, which was a pretty good indicator that the rest of his day had been as hectic as the morning.

  “You look exhausted,” she hadn’t meant to speak the thought, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

  His gaze swept over her bare shoulders and the dipping neckline that seemed unavoidable with Bilarrian fashions. “And you look…tasty.” He seemed to struggle for the perfect word. “Did Krysta make it to the spaceport without incident?”

  Well, that depended if he considered Betaul joining her on the trip to Ontariese an incident or not. Indric obviously needed some time to decompress, so she decided to postpone the revelation until a bit later in the meal. “I really enjoyed seeing her. Thanks for arranging the visit. It was sweet.”

  Rather than reply, he made an impatient sound and told the servers to begin. The first course had been cleared before either of them spoke again. He attacked each dish with surprising aggression, wielding his fork like a miniature spear. He had no reason to be angry with her, unless he’d found out about Betaul, but he still seemed reluctant to speak.

  “One of my stylists mentioned a trade agreement with the Rodytes. Is that what has you so distracted?”

  “You really want to hear about a trade agreement that’s being negotiated on my behalf?”

  Wow, he really was in a mood. Then she realized the question hadn’t been sarcastic. He really was surprised by her interest. “Yes. I’d love to hear about your day. Unless it’s the last thing you want to think about, of course. Then you can explain cometball tournament rules to me. My stylists were chattering about that as well.”

  He paused for a long sip of wine then began to relax as he recounted the various events of his afternoon. “Huko, the Rodyte ambassador, is being needlessly difficult.”

  “Isn’t that his job?” She smiled, hoping to further lighten his mood.

  “It is, but he enjoys it just a little too much.”

  “And this young administrator,” she paused as she struggled to remember his name.

  “Bakar,” Indric supplied.

  “Would it make more sense to replace him with someone who’s dealt with Rodytes before?”

  “No. Bakar is smart and tenacious. I have confidence that he’ll pull this off.”

  “Then why are you still worrying about it?”

  A smile teased the corners of his mouth and he pushed his plate aside. “Damn good question.” One of the servers hurried away with the empty plate and Indric crooked his finger. “Come here.”

  She quickly washed down her last bite with a drink of wine then rounded the table and stood at his side. He scooted back from the table and pulled her onto his lap, burying his face in her neck. “My days never seemed so long before, but now I know you’re waiting for me.”

  Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Ever heard of a nooner?”

  He chuckled and kissed his way up her neck to nip her earlobe. “Minx.” After a quick yet thorough kiss, he sat back in his chair and said, “Betaul was right. Ametto was responsible for the attack.”

  She was so shocked by his casual statement that she had to look away. “I didn’t think you believed him.”

  “I didn’t, but he planted the seed of doubt and everything that happened in the dungeon reinforced Betaul’s claim.”

  “You have a dungeon?” It was a ridiculous evasion, but she had no idea how to tell him what she’d done without infuriating him. He hadn’t blown her off. He’d been understandably skeptical, but took Betaul’s claim into consideration as he questioned Fahdeal. Shit!

  Apparently her antics didn’t fool him. He turned her face back around and asked, “What’s the matter? I thought this would please you.”

  “It does, but…”

  “But what? Ametto knows he’s caught and he’s agreed to help draw the others out.”

  “Others? There is more than one person involved?” More pointless questions. She was such a coward. She just needed to tell him.

  He cupped her chin and tilted her head back, staring deep into her eyes. “You’re white as a sheet. What’s the matter?”

  “I didn’t think you were taking the threat seriously so I…” He remained silent, but his gaze demanded a full explanation. “I let Krysta take Betaul to Ontariese with her.”

  “Betaul is on his way to Ontariese right now?” he sounded more disbelieving than angry. Was that a good sign? “Where is Prince Dravon?”

  “Lord Drakkin took him home.”

  His fingers dug into her waist as he lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet. He pushed back his chair and stood. Each movement was precise and restrained. She’d never seen him so close to losing control.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  He cut her off with an infuriated snarl. “You didn’t trust me to protect those in my care. Worse, you made me look incompetent in the eyes of my mentor.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to protect Betaul.”

  “As was I.” Without another word he flashed out of sight, leaving her alone in the dining room.

  * * * * *

  Indric felt himself losing control and flashed to his bedroom. The last thing he wanted was to frighten Cinarra. He’d fought too hard, brought her along gradually so she’d accept him as a man before he revealed the power available to a Bilarrian king. She might have lived on this planet for the past nine season cycles, but she had only a rudimentary understanding of Bilarrian ways.

  Wind whipped around his body, tossing about the contents of his room like a miniature tornado. Fueled by his emotions, the storm spun faster. He channeled his anger and frustration into the swirling currents and lightning arched from his fingertips. The blinding pulses zigzagged through the room and danced along every metal surface, sizzling with energy. Rather than resisting the storm’s raw power, he embraced it, encouraged it to flow through him and invigorate him. The San Adrin honored Air and he was the physical manifestation of San Adrin’s internal spirit, the mortal vessel through which Air flowed.

  And Cinarra didn’t trust him.

  A crack of thunder punctuated the realization and Indric closed his eyes. Calm. He must find balance within the storm. He pictured Cinarra’s lovely face, the warmth of her silver-blue eyes.
He absorbed the energy and focused on the tenderness and joy he’d known since she entered his life. She was brave and noble, protective and fierce whenever she felt Betaul was threatened.

  The storm began to abate as his thoughts overshadowed his emotions. Betaul had been attacked because of Indric’s half-brother, with the assistance of people he had handpicked for Betaul’s protection. And then Cinarra had been the target of a similar attack on the rooftop of his palace. Was her mistrust really so surprising?

  He drew the final churning wisps back into his body, allowing the crackling energy to soothe him. Cinarra’s doubt might be understandable, but they could not build a future without trust. And he wanted a long and happy future with Cinarra.

  Which meant she had to learn to trust him.

  As if summoned by his troubled thoughts, someone tapped on his bedroom door. He knew it was her, felt the hunger in his body escalate in response to her nearness. He released controlled bursts of Air and returned his room to order. He didn’t want her thinking he’d thrown a temper tantrum, even if that was more or less what had happened. Once the room was restored, he straightened his tunic and released the lock with a mental command. He paused for another moment to make sure his expression was calm and then pulled the door open.

  Her dress was simple by Bilarrian standards, but it suited her. The rich blue material created an intriguing contrast to her pale gold hair and light blue eyes. Keeping her on the other side of the doorway, he let his gaze bore into hers. “Do you understand my frustration?” He wasn’t willing to soften his attitude tonight. They needed to be able to work through disagreements not just want each other enough to pretend the conflict didn’t exist.

  “Of course I understand, but do you see why I did what I did?”

  “Yes.” He grasped the frame with both hands, spanning the doorway. “You don’t trust me.” She sighed, the fullness of her breasts swelling farther into view for one tantalizing moment. He was chastising her. How could he allow himself to be distracted by her cleavage? Didn’t he have more control over his lust than that? He pulled his gaze back to her face and stubbornly kept it there.