I listen as a squeal of pain comes from the soldier on the ground behind me. Rock salt. It’s loaded with rock salt, I think.
“Kyon!” Chandrum yells. He moves closer to Kyon, but Kyon fends him off with one hand, shoving Chandrum away. When Chandrum comes at him again, Kyon swings the muzzle of the Mossberg in his direction. Racking the weapon, a red shell casing pops out of it. Chandrum stops and backs up.
Kyon’s voice is controlled and deadly calm, “They touched her. No one has a right to touch her but me.”
Chandrum holds out his hand cautiously. “Has there been a Claiming Ceremony?”
Kyon doesn’t lower the Mossberg. “She belongs to me!”
Chandrum tries a placating tone. “We haven’t had the Claiming Ceremony yet. They’re Excelsior’s men!” Chandrum waves his hand in our direction. “They’re here on official business. Technically, the Brotherhood still owns her.”
“Technically,” Kyon says, “I shoot anyone who touches her without my permission.” Extending his arm straight out, he swings the barrel of the gun away from Chandrum, aiming at the soldier who now looks as if he’s seeing the devil before him.
The blond-headed soldier puts up both his hands, but it does no good. Boom! The soldier is lifted off his feet, thrown backward from the force of the shot. My hair stirs and my ears ring. Even though I knew it was coming—could see the intent on Kyon’s face—the noise still makes me jump. The smell of blood and spent shells assaults me, but I can’t move. I stare straight ahead at Kyon. It’s like I’m not here, though. For a moment, I’m back in the ballroom of the Palace in Rafe, and I’m helpless to stop anything happening to me.
Kyon lowers the gun and walks to me. I still can’t move. He’s gentle when he takes me in his arms and hugs me. My breath comes out in hacks from my tight chest. I can’t think. I feel numb, like I got shot, but I didn’t.
Tucking me to his side, Kyon leads me away from the carnage at my feet. I refuse to look at the wounded soldiers. I don’t want to know if they’ll live or not. I don’t want to know about them at all. Over his shoulder, Kyon orders, “Take care of them, Chandrum, and then meet us on the beach.”
“I’m not a curer—”
“Do it!” Kyon barks. “Call your people. I know they’re stationed all around here. There’s no stealth in any of them. I allowed them to get close so they could witness something for me. I’ve been watching them since before you landed.”
Chandrum swears under his breath, and then says, “I’m under orders to protect the priestess.” It’s the truth. They want me alive for now.
“I’ll remember that the next time I’m asked to intervene with Nezra.” I don’t get to assess the impact my half sister’s name has on Chandrum, because Kyon points me at the stairs and ushers me down them.
It seems as if it’s only ten steps later and I’m in the bedroom I share with Kyon. Am I in shock? He leads me to my dressing room. Opening the doors for me, he guides me to the automated seamstress. The cylinder rises up from the floor, trapping me inside.
“Please make a selection,” Oscil requests.
He speaks to the seamstress program. “Number one.”
My clothing is cut from me and shredded at my feet. The softest fabric I’ve ever felt touches my skin, weaving around me in silvery tat patterns of lace and cloud. The collar forms a high, stiff arc behind my neck, forcing my hair to fall over my shoulders and rest on each of my breasts. A deep V forms in front of the intricate, long-flowing gown. The bare skin between my breasts is exposed. Seeing it, my heart beats a misbegotten rhythm.
The sleeves of the gown come to a point over my hands and loop around my index fingers to hold them in place. I hardly blink when a shimmering silver veil falls over my eyes, clouding my vision. The walls of the automated cylinder disappear. A warm hand takes mine. Gently, Kyon guides me toward the doors.
“My shoes,” I murmur, trying to pull away from Kyon to retrieve them.
“We’ll come back for them later. You won’t need them now.”
Kyon takes me out through the bedroom to the beach. The warm air catches the thin veil covering my hair and face, making it dance around me in shimmering folds. Nearing the water, Kyon stops close to Chandrum, who looks on with mild annoyance. “He is not going to like this,” Chandrum says in a warning tone.
“He doesn’t have to like it. He just has to respect the claim.” Chandrum still looks irritated, but he gives a curt nod to Kyon. Kyon takes something from the pocket of his uniform as he turns to me. He’s no longer angry—at least I don’t think he is. He wears a calm expression that has my numb brain tumbling over itself to decipher what is happening.
Seabirds fly overhead. Kyon’s eyes, the bluest of blue, stare down at me. He reaches for the nape of my neck and ties a red flower around my throat. It’s a black-ribboned choker. His elegant black dress uniform seems out of place in the fading light of the setting sun upon the water. With sand between my toes, I stare at the lapping waves on the beach. Gold and silver shines in the tide along the shoreline, a seaside with all the stars of the heavens captured within it. The thin veil covering my eyes parts. His eyes lean to me, bringing with them havoc within my bones. I stifle my instinct to recoil. “With this flower,” Kyon says, smiling down upon me, “I keep thee to me . . . always. Welcome home, Kricket.”
CHAPTER 10
DELEGATION
Chandrum slaps Kyon on the back, unaware of Kyon’s distinct scowl at being touched by him. “I never thought I’d see the day that Kyon Ensin would claim anyone. If I hadn’t just witnessed it for myself, I would call it a ridiculous rumor.”
Kyon doesn’t respond. He’s watching me—gauging my reaction. I continue to stare back at him, giving him nothing. The air around us is tense.
Chandrum doesn’t notice the silent war going on between Kyon and me. “I will ready the trift. We’re to be there by nightfall.”
“I have arranged for an escort for us,” Kyon replies. “Excelsior’s wounded men can ride with them. They’ll be tended to on board.”
“I will see to it,” Chandrum replies. One more clasp on the back to Kyon and he leaves us.
“This changes nothing!” I say with a hollow voice. I pull the veil off of my head, tossing it away from me. It’s caught in the wind and blows away down the beach.
Kyon narrows his eyes at me. “You’re right. You were mine already. This just unites us in the eyes of the Brotherhood. You belong to me.”
“I belong to me.” I point at my own chest.
He points at his chest. “The only way you survive is with me. Your right to exist will not go unchallenged. Your blood is impure. You need me by your by side.”
“Because I have Rafe blood?”
“Yes.”
“That just means I dodged the insanity gene that seems to run so strong in your kind.”
His jaw tenses. “Blood is an issue, especially since you’ve displayed strong precognitive abilities. It makes the science look wrong.”
“What science?”
“The genetic science they’re going to want to study using you as a baseline.”
“They want me as a lab rat?”
“Some do. Some want you for what you can do—to tell them the future—to manipulate it to their favor. But some don’t want you at all.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want you to obey me,” he replies.
He can’t be serious, even though I know he is. “I thought you were going to shoot me—in the hallway outside your office.” My hand gestures in the direction of the house.
“Did I scare you?”
I place my hands on my hips. “You know you did.”
“Would you rather I smother you in false security like everyone else?”
“I would rather you were not a monster.”
“What I did is send a message to the ones who sent the soldiers. No one disrespects you in front of me. Neither of us should permit any dissension from others. Like it
or not, we’re together—a unit. You’re only as strong as me, and I, you. I won’t tolerate weakness or disloyalty. Think about that—your survival relies on it.”
He takes my elbow none too lightly and escorts me from the beach to the house. We stop briefly to gather the exquisite shoes that go along with my gown. I slip them on, and he ushers me through the house. When we reach the stairs, he places his hand on the small of my back as we climb them together.
Rounding the landing near the second floor, I ask, “You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you?” He pauses. Glancing at me, he loses some of his scowl. “At the palace,” I continue, “and again when you found me aboard the Ship of Skye. They wanted me dead from the beginning and they told you to do it.”
His hand grips the wrought-iron balustrade tight. “I was to kill you if I couldn’t claim you for Alameeda. Your potential to rule frightens many, especially Excelsior.”
A disbelieving laugh trickles from me. “You’re not serious?” Kyon takes my hand in exasperation and continues climbing the stairs. I tug on it, trying to get him to stop again. “Wait! You are serious!”
“When have you ever known me not to be serious?” he growls.
“When you say rule, you mean rule Alameeda?”
“I mean rule Ethar.”
“Your ambition scares me, Kyon.”
“Your lack of it angers me, Kricket,” he retorts honestly.
“Why would I want to rule Ethar?”
“It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of need.”
“You think I need to rule Ethar?”
“You’d like to live, correct?”
“It’s sort of a priority for me,” I say with a nod.
“We only live if we rule. It’s as simple and as hard as that, Kricket. Kill Excelsior and the Brotherhood or eventually they kill us.”
“Those can’t be the only options,” I breathe. “Someone else can rule once they’re gone.”
His grip on my arm becomes painful as he pulls me along. At the top of the stairs, we exit the house onto the rooftop. Chandrum waits for us in his silver airship. Once inside, Kyon shows me to a large, comfortable seat by a long window in the back away from the cockpit. He takes the seat next to me. The airship lifts straight up into the sky. Several ships that resemble silver hawks fall in with ours. They form a V-shaped line, like geese in flight, when we rocket away from Kyon’s small island.
“Who are they?” I point to the other fowl-like airships.
“Armed escorts.”
“Protecting us or making sure we don’t leave?”
“They’re my people. They work for me. We’ll be safe until we get to Urbenoster.”
“What’s in Urbenoster?”
“It’s the capital of the House of Alameeda.”
“Are you worried about our reception?” I ask.
“I never worry. I handle whatever comes.” He’s not lying. He’s someone who doesn’t waste much time on an emotion like worry. I envy that in him.
When I spy Urbenoster ahead of us through a pass in the mountains, it takes my breath away. Rocky snow-capped peaks encircle the glimmering city like a stony tiara. Two mountain-sized griffins have been carved from the rock where a gap resides in the mountain range. The fierce sentinels stand on either side of the opening to the city. The carved griffins have eaglelike heads attached to the bodies of lions. Gray, stone wings flourish from the backs of the statues. As we approach, the sun is behind the stone images, casting shadows that give the eagle faces a more sinister mien.
If there were ever a city made of the tail end of a rainbow, it’s this one. Gone is the Viking enclave that I’ve been living in for the past few rotations. Everything here is shiny and new. There’s nothing misshapen or occurring by happenstance. Every line of every building has the appearance of being meticulously planned in advance, giving it the feeling of completeness in thought and form. The buildings soar above the mountaintops. Blue silken flags wave in the breeze on every eave and rooftop. Glittering, golden confetti pours out of windows to float on the wind as we fly at a sedate pace through channels of airspace between the skyscrapers.
“They’re celebrating,” Kyon murmurs to me.
“What are they celebrating?” I ask.
“The end of Rafe.”
My throat grows tight and I no longer find any of it beautiful.
Not long after entering Urbenoster, we’re met by vehicles that resemble silver wheel-less chariots, manned by men in blue uniforms with blue helmets with griffin wings on the sides. They escort us into an empty traffic channel. No other airship traffic is about on this route. We pass by streaming blue flags that each have a white emblem of a griffin in its center.
My head begins to hurt. My breathing slows and my hands turn to ice. Kyon glances over at me. His hand reaches out and covers my frigid fingers. He whispers, “Don’t fight it, Kricket. Let it come.”
“Let what come?’ I ask in misery, fighting desperately to maintain consciousness within my body.
“Let the future come to you. Let it show us of the danger that lies ahead,” he whispers. He lifts my cold finger to his lips, kissing them. “Tell me why we shouldn’t be here, Kricket.” With those words, I’m ripped from my body, leaving it behind.
“Stop!” I scream, just as I did when I was in the future. Spilling back into my deflated body, my eyes fly open and I arch in pain. I paw at my chest, because my fingers don’t work like they should. I groan, my mouth opening in agony. A hand sweeps my fingers from my chest, covering my erratic heart as it beats out of control.
“I’ve got you, Kricket,” Kyon murmurs.
Wild-eyed, I pant and strain against his hand. He holds me in my seat as I thrash against it. I have the strongest urge to get up and run, but there’s nowhere to run. I need to leave. Slowly, the deep stabbing pain in my chest turns into phantom pain and recedes. My breathing begins to slow.
“How are they going to kill us?”’ Kyon asks me.
I wince. “How do you know they’re going to kill us?” I ask.
“I expect nothing else from the Brotherhood. It’s a test. If you can read it, you get to live . . . for now. Do they succeed?”
“Yeah—they definitely get us.”
“How?”
“It’s our welcoming committee—they’re not so . . . welcoming. Four assassins. Two snipers on the eaves of the buildings at one o’clock and fifteen o’clock and two soldiers at close range—the ones in Peney diplomatic uniforms who will be on either side of Em Sam. You remember Em Sam, right?”
“Em Sam—his title ‘Em’ means ‘preeminent’—he’s an ambassador.”
“He’s an ambassador from Wurthem,” I tell him. “We both met him at the palace when I was Manus’s ward. We had several dinners together.”
Kyon’s eyes narrow in contempt. “I remember him. He’s the ambassador from Wurthem who spent a lot of time trying to seduce you right under Manus’s nose.”
“He never tried to seduce me!” I reply in confusion.
“He did. You’re just naïve. If he had gotten you alone, he planned to smuggle you out of the palace to his home in Oxfortshire.” Kyon pulls out his harbinger from the holster on the thigh of his uniform. He checks the side arm’s power level. Absently, he asks, “Did you die?” My eyes move from the gun to his face. My brow wrinkles. He nods his head to the side. “In the future, did you die?”
“Yes,” I reply, “but not before you. You stepped in front of me.” I swallow hard, remembering how Kyon’s head exploded with blue sparks that pushed his teeth out the back of his head, spattering blood all over me.
“Did that surprise you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Given our history, I didn’t think you cared for anyone but yourself.”
“For someone who can see the future, you’re blind. At least your precognition is clear.”
He glances at me. I must look scared, because his eyes soften. Reaching over, he cups my ch
eek. “You did well.” I find his touch oddly comforting for a moment, until he adds, “We might survive tonight after all.”
The airship lands and he gets to his feet. Chandrum joins us from the front of the aircraft. “I need your harbinger,” Kyon says as if he’s asking to use Chandrum’s communicator.
Chandrum doesn’t hesitate at all before handing Kyon his sidearm. Kyon then goes to a compartment near us. Opening it, I see it’s loaded with ferocious-looking weapons. “Should she wait here?” Chandrum asks as he indicates me. From the rack, Kyon takes down a long-barreled, riflelike weapon that Strikers usually carry.
“Yes.” Kyon replies. To me he orders, “Stay here.”
“Seriously?” I ask him in exasperation. He doesn’t wait for me to voice my objection, but moves toward the front of the airship. I call to his back as he reaches the open doorway. “I’m the one who knows who they are!” I remind him.
“And you’ve already told me,” he replies. “So your job is done.” He puts the high-powered rifle to his shoulder. The barrel of the weapon breaks the plane of the door as Kyon looks through the rifle’s digital sight. He snaps off several quick shots, and then exits the aircraft.
I jump up from my seat and follow him as he disappears down the steps. Racing to the doorway, I’m in time to see Kyon make it off the bottom step where he drops his rifle. I shield my eyes from the sun and look to the two buildings. On the eaves of both, I see dead snipers slumped over rifle barrels.
My feet are made of lead, but I force them to move away. I follow Kyon as he walks toward the delegation of statesmen. There are thirteen of them in all, six on either side of Em Sam. Most of them are hunched in confusion, like they don’t know whether to keep pretending to be a welcoming party there to greet us with open arms or if they should drop their ruse and run away from the crazed gunman.
Kyon’s arms extend, forming a V as he raises his two harbingers and shoots the two delegates on either side of Em Sam—the ones who were sent to kill us. The ambassador of Wurthem holds up both of his hands in front of him with a barely suppressed smile on his face. He seems pleased with this outcome as he looks past Kyon to me on the stairs. It confirms what they’d heard of me: I can read the future—I can change the future.
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