Keira glimpsed the fire burning in the hearth and hid behind Jarlath and Ellard. She peeked past Jarlath, almost hyperventilating until she saw the flames remained normal.
“What are you wearing?” the queen screeched in horror. “I told you to dress properly before entering my presence.”
“Mother, there are more important things to worry about.” Jarlath’s tone was hard and uncompromising.
“Yes, the list of names. Have you chosen one?”
“No,” Jarlath barked. “Where are the soldiers?”
Ellard’s father stalked over to them, his gaze on his son. “They’re guarding the perimeter of the castle as I ordered.”
“What happened to Ellard’s arm?” Someone behind her whispered the question, and Keira wasn’t sure if the person was male or female.
Ellard stiffened and a tinge of color collected across his cheekbones.
“What happened to your arm, son?” Danion Tetsu asked.
“Someone shot him.” Jarlath’s harsh words dropped into the hush. “He’s a hero.”
“You’ll need another bodyguard.” Danion tugged on his beard, his brow a map of lines. “Ellard can’t do the job with one arm.”
That was what caused them concern? Flying stars. “Ellard is capable of carrying out his duties. Jarlath, are we going now?” Keira asked.
“You.” The queen’s tone held loathing, her jade gaze a visual dagger. “Get out of my sight. You are not welcome here.”
Jarlath slipped an arm around her shoulders. The queen hissed in horror and the people present began to whisper amongst themselves.
“I should go,” Keira murmured. “The people might think their ordeal is over, but Razvan is determined. He will never give up.”
“It sounds as if you know him well,” Ellard said, lining himself on her other side. For once his accusation seemed understated.
Keira’s stomach twisted in discomfort and she rubbed her belly to ease her distress. She’d have to confess if Razvan made an appearance. “We should go,” she repeated.
“Prince Jarlath, we are having a celebration dinner and dance later this evening. Your father and I expect you to make an appearance. Come alone. Your friends are not welcome,” Queen Bryna said.
“I won’t be staying here tonight, Mother.” Jarlath kept his voice low. “There are more important things to worry about.”
“The succession is important,” his mother said, also in a low voice but hers quivered with anger. She grasped his arm and dragged him away to speak in private, but her passionate words reached Keira and Ellard. “Your father isn’t well, and this brouhaha hasn’t helped.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Jarlath asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Instead of playing with their son’s emotions,” Ellard murmured.
“Oh, I think they’re still doing that,” Keira said.
“It’s important to the House of the Cat to present a solid front. The min things appear wrong bad things happen,” the queen said. “I won’t let that happen.”
“Grata,” Ellard cursed. “It’s like sticking their heads down a moon-crater.”
Keira agreed. Ignoring the truth never solved anything. A reminder to herself because wasn’t that what she was doing by attempting to elude Razvan? Her chin lifted as she considered this. It was time to share this information. Past time.
“You will attend this event. We will show our strength, stand tall and thumb our noses at the enemy.”
Jarlath snorted, and Keira couldn’t help but grin. Ellard bore a similar expression, wiped clean secs later.
“Don’t use that attitude with me,” the queen snapped. “You will—”
A raucous boom exploded overhead. It repeated, and Keira clapped her hands over her ears. A woman screamed, her terror acting as a prod for the other women. Several shrieked. Rain lashed the skylights and the windows with a sharp rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
The same type of storm that had rattled the walls and windows of the farmhouse before Razvan appeared. Panic roared through Keira, and she pivoted to stare into the flames of the nearest fire. A shower of embers and sparks exploded from the fireplace at the far side of the room. Another feminine scream rippled through the room.
“Keep calm,” a man shouted. “It’s only a storm.”
This was more and Keira knew it. Razvan had come to town.
Keira edged behind Ellard yet kept her gaze on the flames. Yes, a face was forming. No one else had noticed yet. As she stared the face grew features, but they were faint and unclear. A tremor rippled through her, and she nudged Ellard with a surreptitious hand.
“What?” he asked in a low, impatient voice. Better than a kick in the head.
“Look at the flames in the fire.”
Keira stayed behind Ellard, cowering in truth, and she felt the moment Ellard saw what she’d seen. His large frame tensed and he swore under his breath.
Another thunderous crash reverberated overhead and the illumination flickered, the room going dark before the lighting system righted itself.
She sensed Jarlath moving and stopping beside them even before the lights resumed their normal illumination.
“It’s gone,” Ellard whispered. “I can’t see anything. Can you?”
He was right. The image had faded.
The splatters of rain against the windows reduced, and some of her fear receded.
“Let’s go,” Jarlath said. “Ellard, are you with us?”
“Hell, yeah. I’m not turning into an invalid because my father thinks I’m defective.”
Keira sensed his pain and squeezed his arm in commiseration. To her surprise, he didn’t reject her sympathetic overture.
“When your arm is healed enough, we’ll find someone to fit you with an artificial one. I’ve heard they’re even better than the real thing these days,” she said.
Jarlath laced his fingers with hers and gave her a quick nod of approval.
“And meantime, you can practice your swordsmanship with one hand,” she added.
“I’m starting to like you,” Ellard said in a gruff voice.
“Good,” Jarlath said. “Now that we’re in accord let’s go kick some Cawdor butt.”
Chapter Twelve
House of Cawdor, Planet Gramite
Razvan snarled and tossed the nearest object, a round piece of red-and-black glass, against the wall. It smashed in an explosion of colorful shards and did nothing to appease his frustration.
Something was wrong. He’d known this from the moment his magic men had reported they’d lost control of the barrier around the castle.
But the cause, he didn’t know.
Questioning his men had created more questions than answers.
He drew a sharp breath. No, that wasn’t quite true. The problem was his triad. The power that normally vibrated through him didn’t bear the same piquant sharpness.
Something was definitely wrong.
Time to take the battle to the final stage.
Time to stride forward with confidence.
Time to squash the Virosian bugs.
Razvan strode from his chamber to the room where the wizards were resting, recovering after their efforts. He knocked on the door, giving them the courtesy they deserved for their hard work and loyalty.
“Come.”
He stepped inside and scanned their faces. Exhaustion lined their features, the fatigue underlined in their slumped shoulders.
No, he couldn’t ask them to transport him now. Despite the urgency humming through him, he’d have to let them rest. Decision made, he sought their spokesman.
“Good job,” he said. “Will one night of rest be sufficient before you undertake the spell to open a portal to Viros or will you require two?”
“Two would be best,” the man said without hesitation.
He wanted to argue but held his tongue. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything that will aid your rest?”
“We have everyth
ing we require,” the wizard said.
Razvan gave a clipped nod. “Let me know if this changes.”
He withdrew and returned to his chamber. He’d try to contact Mareeka and Marjo again. Although they were working in separate parts of the city, they’d maintain contact with each other.
He tried his com. The call connected but went to recording. Concern increased in him. Marjo always answered her com. He tried Mareeka, and after a long wait, she answered.
“Yes,” she barked.
“Darling,” Razvan said, some of the tension in him departing on hearing her abrupt welcome. “I miss you.”
“Van.” Her voice turned softer, more intimate. “We will be together soon.”
“In two days. Have you seen Marjo? I can’t contact her.”
“No.” Pain threaded through her abrupt reply. “I feel wrong. Something has happened, but I’ve been too busy to check on her.”
“Problems?”
“The soldiers are under my control—the ones who remain. The peasants from the lower city are offering resistance. They’re organizing themselves, grouping together to fight back.”
“That could be detrimental to our cause.”
“I know. I need Marjo at my side. It’s time for these idiots to learn there are two of us instead of one person called Mareeka. We’re both tired of pretending. Marjo is sick of pretending to be me, and we both hate that idiot Ellard slobbering over us.”
“At least she can share the burden.”
“Not one of them has a clue we are twin shifters.” Disdain coated her voice. Derision.
“I’ll be there soon. I’ve decided to move forward our schedule.” Razvan clenched his com harder, trying to act calm and reassuring. Marjo was the steadying one, the one who pulled them into a solid team. “The wizards are exhausted from their work. However, they have assured me after two days’ rest, they can teleport me to Viros.”
Mareeka’s sigh of relief drifted into his ear. “Good, lover. Our objectives will come easier if we’re all together on Viros.” She sighed again. “I will feel better once I see Marjo.”
“Can you travel down to the lower city soon?”
“No.” Her strain came through loud and clear. “All of a sudden it takes me every bit of my power to control the castle guards. If I go into the lower levels of the city, the guards come out of their spell and start asking questions.”
Worry beaded Razvan’s brow and surged to his gut in a bubbling gush. He couldn’t rush the wizards, yet every instinct was screaming he’d lose the opportunity to strike if he didn’t move. “I’ll push the wizards to one day of rest.”
“I can’t wait to see you, lover. I miss you.”
“Miss you too, darling. We’ll be reunited soon and will triumph over the House of the Cat together.”
* * * * *
Jarlath observed the group of ragtag men and women waiting outside the medical center. More than he expected but were they enough to defeat their enemy?
Didn’t matter. They had to try.
Jarlath stepped up onto the plinth of a statue of a huge feline and raised his hand for quiet.
“Silence,” Ellard shouted, and the crowd fell silent, faces turned in their direction.
“Thank you for coming,” Jarlath began.
“Who be you?” a woman shouted.
Ellard stepped up beside him. “This is Prince Jarlath, heir to the throne.”
“Nah, he never leave the castle,” someone shouted.
“Aye, he be a toff. Not like Prince Lynx. He a man of the people.”
Guilt slapped Jarlath, and his confidence wavered.
“This is Prince Jarlath, and he has been in the city since the bombing occurred. He obtained the protection charms and organized recruiters to gather volunteers. Listen to him,” Ellard said.
“He only interested in wellbeing of toffs,” a woman spat. “He no gonna help us.”
Jarlath gave Ellard a subtle nudge, a signal to remain silent. They had a right to their annoyance, their distrust, because he was a sad excuse for a prince.
He sucked in a deep breath, unaccountably nervous. “I am Prince Jarlath of the House of the Cat. I understand your concerns, but please put them aside while we join to fight our common enemy—the House of Cawdor.”
The murmurs rose in a swell of outrage.
“The House of Cawdor is using magic to overturn our city, and we must fight for our freedom. The spells you were given will protect you from magic, but you will still be vulnerable to blaster fire, knife wounds and any other physical weapons.”
“What ’bout the red men?” someone shouted.
“The enemy has cursed our soldiers and forced them to wear dangerous robes. When the robes get wet, the water detonates to create a human bomb. Approach those wearing red cloaks with caution. If they’re near water or it starts raining, do not approach. We’ll divide you into groups, with each group responsible for one level of the city.”
“What about the castle?” someone shouted.
“Aye, don’t you want us to protect the royal family?”
No matter how Jarlath studied the situation, there was one sole truth. “We need to protect those in the city. I believe there are still soldiers at the castle. They do not require more aid. Free the soldiers from their red robes if possible or escort them to the gates on the east side of the city. Any questions?” Jarlath asked.
“Aye, when do we get paid?”
“Once the trouble is over, present your protection charms to either me or Ellard. We will see you receive the appropriate credits.”
“How we know ya keep ya word?” a man shouted.
“You have my solemn promise you will receive the rewards you are due. Once we send the House of the Cawdor running, we will rebuild the lower city. You have my word things will improve in this kingdom.”
Every man, woman and youth stared at him, expressions ranging from disbelief to distrust to hope. He understood their doubts, given the past, but he meant every word.
The people who worked hard to make the House of the Cat strong and prosperous deserved the kudos and the rewards rather than those rich and powerful men who balanced on the top of the power triangle.
“Any further questions?” Ellard asked.
Heads shook and murmurs rose.
“Good,” Jarlath said. “Split into six groups, and Ellard will assign you a city level to patrol. Keep people from panic and looting, watch for the men in red. Please remember not to approach the red men if they have access to water.”
The men and women moved off in groups, determination and confidence etched into their features.
“We haven’t addressed the issue of what we’re going to do once we’ve captured the soldiers,” Ellard said, after he finished his allocations.
Jarlath shrugged. “We can’t plan against magic. All we can do is contain the attack and hope for the best.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Keira said, speaking for the first time. “That’s all any of us can do.”
“She’s right,” Ellard said. “We’ll check the bottom level and the soldiers’ base together, then I’ll go to the east gate and organize things there. If we can break the hold the Cawdor have over the soldiers, they should respond to me. They know me, and I think that will help.”
“Ellard, how are you? Your arm?”
Ellard met Jarlath’s concern with a carefree smile, one Jarlath knew would cost his friend. “My hand is itching like hell. Imaginary cooties.”
Jarlath saw through his friend’s bravado. His arm was giving him more problems than he admitted. “No matter what your father says, or mine, you are a valuable part of the House of the Cat. Never doubt this. You are more than a friend. You are my brother and we fight side-by-side to the end.”
“Thanks,” Ellard said. “That means more than you know.”
“Enough with the sappy stuff,” Keira said.
“You feelin’ left out?” Ellard asked.
“We should
go,” Keira said. “My gut is shrieking danger.”
* * * * *
Pain seared through Razvan, even worse than the vibes of unease that had stalked him for the last two days. His mind, his heart, they both told him to get to Viros as fast as he could, yet the physical and mental exhaustion of his wizards hamstringed his urgency.
Fatigue coated his magic men like dew on the plants down on the plains. If he pushed them any harder, his plan would implode and his planning, his scheming would be for naught.
He couldn’t fail.
He refused.
Besides, with Carrick snapping at his heels, he didn’t have any options except success.
The disquiet bouncing through his bloodstream continued throughout the day, a day of solitude and more planning for him. What to do with the fledgling? How could he make the best example of her?
He wanted to fukk her, had wanted that since he first saw her at the ball many, many cycles ago. Her mother had spirited her away, gifted her to an undeserving Virosian. He’d let her think she was safe…
What to do?
His com shattered his musings.
“Yes,” he barked.
“They’ve killed her, Van. They’ve murdered my sister.”
“Marjo is dead?” he rasped, the unease he’d been feeling making more sense.
“It was her turn to play Mareeka, and she intended to issue the soldiers with red cloaks. The last I heard from her, she’d gained control. I don’t know what happened but I’ll discover the truth. I’m going to torture them until they wish for death,” Mareeka ground out. “I will catch whoever did this and hurt them until they plead for death.”
“Mareeka.”
A loud keening filled his ears, beat in time with the hard pulses of his heart ventricles. The wailing increased in register until his ears ached.
“Mareeka, listen to me. Please, Mareeka.” He made his tone sharp to cut through her anger, her pain. “Darling, please take a breath.”
She hiccupped her next sob, and it tore at him, wounded him. “I need to send Marjo’s body soaring to the gods. They left her on the ground, Van, her blood pooling around her head.” A sob tore at him. “They…they shot off her face, speared her chest.”
“We will burn her together, Mareeka. Tomorrow morn, I will come. Together we will avenge your sister, our third.”
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