Claimed & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

  “I thought you were an intelligent man. Hurry, give me the pendant, then go and find Jarlath. You need to come up with a plan to take out Mareeka and Razvan with minimal loss. I have a plan, but I don’t know if it will work, which is why you need a strategy too.” She held out her hand in silent demand.

  Ellard fumbled, clumsy with his one hand.

  “Turn around and let me do it.”

  Silently, Ellard presented his back and she stood on tiptoe to unfasten the cord.

  “Use your knife,” he ordered. “Cutting it off will make more sense to them.”

  She did as he said, and pocketed the onyx cat before sliding her knife back into her boot.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing. I thought Jarlath had seized the opportunity for escape, but you were aware of him the entire time. You let him escape.”

  She shrugged.

  “What are you going to tell them when my body isn’t lying in the middle of the street?”

  “I’ll tell them someone must have shifted your body.”

  He lifted his hand in a respectful salute—one soldier to another—and sped away. Keira sucked in a deep breath, watched him disappear while ignoring her unhappy crow. She took two steps toward the soldiers’ quarters before coming to a halt.

  Blood.

  She needed blood on the cobblestones. She pulled out her knife, lifted her sleeve and sliced her arm, letting the drops fall onto the ground in one concentrated area. She scowled. Not enough blood. Where…how…ah! A butcher’s shop. She’d seen that one two levels up. A good place to find what she needed.

  Ten mins later, she gave a satisfied nod. The patch of fresh blood looked about right, certainly enough to thwart suspicions from Razvan and Mareeka.

  Keira made her way to the soldiers’ quarters and took a position outside where anyone passing would be unlikely to spot her straightaway.

  She had plenty of time to firm up her plan and consider different scenarios. She prayed she managed to pull off the ultimate bluff.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jarlath disliked leaving Ellard to the mercies of the lunatic, and even more, he hated leaving Keira. His feline snarled, the fury reverberating through his head for long secs. He ran for safety and slid around a corner, stopping out of sight when he heard Keira speaking.

  She was talking of a delay, offering a plan to stall the enemy. Clever and brave. His chest tightened in acknowledgement of the risk she was taking on his behalf, on behalf of the people of Viros when they’d treated her no better than mud on their paws. Keira’s gift—precious hours to make plans.

  The ball.

  He frowned at that. Risky. Ellard in a red cloak. Fukk, that didn’t sound good. He hoped she knew what she was doing. Time to make his escape. Keira had given him this chance to come up with a plan, was putting her own life at risk to help.

  Jarlath set off at a lope and attempted to ignore his feline’s unhappiness. His feline didn’t want to leave Keira, and he felt a physical wrench at the parting. Grata, he didn’t want to leave her either, but there was more at stake. The people in the city needed help and the House of the Cat required him to forsake his personal requirements. This was for the greater good.

  “Shush,” Jarlath soothed when sharp claws perforated the tips of his fingers and his canines pierced his gums. “Keira has a plan. We have to trust her to make it work. No point in all of us getting killed.” But even as he put his thoughts into words, his heart cried out. Keira was in the hands of that maniac, and the idea sent unease marching down his spine. No matter what Ellard said or thought, Jarlath believed in Keira—her integrity and honesty. She was on their side, remained part of House of the Cat. As he continued to the castle, his thoughts lingered on the scene with Razvan and Mareeka. Despite her bravado, it was obvious Razvan Cronan terrified Keira. He’d caught the thread of nerves in her tight shoulders and her rapid blinking, the gasp of breath before she’d stepped forward to align herself with the Cawdor. And something else occurred to him, facts clicking neatly into place. Her mother had arranged Keira’s marriage to Marcus in order to keep her safe.

  What to do? How could he help her?

  Jarlath thought through their original plan. They’d mass the soldiers, and would attempt to remove their red cloaks to make the soldiers and the city safer. Yes, he’d go to the meeting point and get as many soldiers into position as possible. Perhaps they could find replacement cloaks and leave Razvan with his illusions. Not a bad idea. At least it was a start. Somehow, he’d have to talk his father and Ellard’s father into letting him take the lead.

  As he ran up to the next level of the city, he noticed things appeared under control. People were outside, clearing the rubble and restoring order. Despite his hurry, he stopped to speak with several, introduced himself to those who didn’t recognize him and promised aid.

  “Words be worth nothink,” a woman said. “We be needin’ action.”

  “I understand, and I won’t go against my word. I will prove the House of the Cat cares for its people and not just those with status,” Jarlath said and meant every word.

  The House of the Cat required change in order to grow.

  Other citizens had the same reaction, one Jarlath understood, given the divide in the classes and the current situation. For about the tenth time, he wished Lynx and Shiloh were here. Between him, Lynx, Ellard, and Shiloh, they’d make their parents see reason. If his parents didn’t agree to move with the times, he wasn’t sure what would happen. Something had to give or the city would implode.

  Jarlath made it to the east gate and the open area just outside. Several soldiers, still dressed in red cloaks, stood in a clustered group while their ragtag army of volunteers kept a watchful eye. Their volunteers held an assortment of weapons—bludgeons, knives, a battered black pan made of heavy metal and several had purple tree branches. Having seen the damage the men in red could inflict, Jarlath didn’t blame the volunteers in their wariness.

  “Good job,” Jarlath said when Ollie and Nasir reached his side.

  “The soldiers refused to remove their cloaks,” Ollie said. “Decided to wait.”

  Jarlath scrutinized the men, their innocuous red cloaks. A few bore bloody noses and obvious war wounds. They hadn’t all surrendered of their free will. “We need to diffuse them somehow. Stay here. I’ll speak with them.”

  “Where be Keira and Ellard?” Cristop asked, coming to join them.

  Jarlath saw more of their volunteers arrive with soldiers in red. A dozen soldiers were escorted to join the rest. The volunteers wandered over to their friends and acquaintances. They exchanged greetings, their chatter restrained.

  Jarlath studied the soldiers and frowned. Not a good idea to put the red-cloaks together. Amassed like this, they’d cause a huge explosion should it rain.

  “There’s been a hiccup.” Jarlath glanced at the sky, reassured by the brilliant blue and cloudless sky. “I’m going to speak with the soldiers.”

  Ollie grabbed his shoulder. “You the prince. Need to stay safe. I go.”

  “No,” Jarlath said. “It is up to me to fix this. You stay here in safety.”

  “No,” Ollie said.

  “No,” Cristop added his objection.

  Nasir remained silent, but his expression said he agreed with his friends.

  “I have spent my entire life secluded from reality. That changes now.” Jarlath strode toward the group of silent soldiers and forced himself to focus on his hastily concocted plan.

  “We’re coming with you.” Ollie matched him stride for stride.

  “Fine. You can watch for rain and other sources of water.” Jarlath marched up to the soldiers. “Eyes front,” he barked. “Attention!”

  Conditioned to the abrupt commands, the soldiers formed a line and stood to attention. So far, so good. Although they followed his order, their behavior was off. Some bore sulky expressions—they were the ones who had suffered the bloody noses—while others seemed trancelike with blank eyes and s
lack features. It was as if someone compelled their actions.

  “Why are you out of uniform?” Jarlath barked, channeling Danion Tetsu when he was inspecting the troops for a formal occasion. “Remove those cloaks now.”

  Not one of the soldiers moved, and Jarlath heard the burst of chatter from their volunteers.

  “Drop and give me twenty,” Jarlath roared.

  To his relief all sixteen soldiers dropped and started doing pushups, counting them off in a staccato fashion.

  Cristop tugged on Jarlath’s sleeve and whispered urgently, “Don’t make them sweaty. Might blow us all up.”

  Fukk. He hadn’t thought of that. “Good point.” Jarlath frowned, considered his next move. “Any soldier who wishes to obey my order to remove their cloak may stop doing pushups.”

  Three froze in the up position. They stood and started to unfasten the toggles on their cloaks. Their hands trembled violently, as if they were acting contrary to another set of orders.

  Cristop advanced and unfastened the toggles for the nearest soldier. He helped to pull off the cloak and the soldier blinked, reminding Jarlath of a man awakening from a deep sleep. The soldier regarded his surroundings with wide eyes.

  “Attention!” Jarlath roared when he noticed the others had finished their pushups and sagged toward the ground.

  All of the soldiers jerked upright then scrambled to their feet, their movements not as sluggish.

  “Stand to attention.” Jarlath gestured to the youngsters. “Quick. Off with their cloaks.”

  Cristop and Ollie helped the other two soldiers with their cloaks since their fingers also trembled too much to complete the motor function.

  “Excellent,” Jarlath said to the three dazed men. “Go and join the men over there. Quick march. Left, right, left, right.” To his relief, the three soldiers obeyed without hesitation.

  Now for the others. He gestured for Ollie, Cristop and Nasir to join him. “They’re hexed. We’re going to have to help them remove the cloaks.”

  “We do one each we finish quick,” Ollie said.

  Jarlath sucked in a quick breath, awed by their no-nonsense bravery. “Get ready. You four, step forward.” His bark of command galvanized them to action, and they saluted crisply. Well-trained. He could use their conditioned responses. “At ease, men. Guys, let’s hurry,” he added in an undertone.

  With trembling fingers, Jarlath unfastened the toggles on the man’s cloak and slid it off his shoulders. His breath eased out when the cloak fluttered to the ground, his heartbeat a loud boom-boom-boom inside his head. “Done?”

  “Finished,” Cristop said.

  Ollie scooped up the cloaks and set them on the pile, at the edge of the open ground.

  This group of men behaved as if they were awakening from a long sleep. Judging by their expressions, they had no idea of where they were and how they’d arrived in the square.

  “Join the men over there,” Jarlath said in a gentler voice. He repeated his order for the next four. Three obeyed and one remained planted in the line of cloaked soldiers. “You there. Move.”

  “The master said I should keep on the cloak,” the man said, his face set in stoic lines. “Our job is important, and in the future, others will remember and celebrate our greatness.”

  “Who is your master?”

  “Marjo,” the man said without hesitation.

  “Marjo is dead,” Jarlath said. “I am the new master, and I have changed the plan.”

  Ollie and Cristop removed the cloaks from the last of the men, and Nasir took the cloaks over to the pile.

  “Take off your cloak,” Jarlath said.

  “No,” the man said.

  Jarlath’s hand snapped out and he grabbed a fistful of cloak. The man jerked from his touch, and before Jarlath could bellow another order, the man sprinted away.

  “Don’t let him escape,” Jarlath shouted.

  “He’s not going to back down,” Ollie said, his tone urgent. “Use your blaster, Prince. Quick.”

  Damn, he was right. If the man detonated in the middle of the city or hid, they’d have a problem. Jarlath pulled out his blaster and aimed high on his shoulder. The man zigzagged and instead of wounding as he intended, the man staggered. The cloak sparked but didn’t explode. Regret suffused him as the man fell and didn’t move.

  The group of volunteers burst into discussion, heightening Jarlath’s guilt at taking a man’s life. Still, they kept their distance, and Jarlath understood their reluctance. Apart from the danger, he thought trust was still an issue. They didn’t know him, still held reservations about him keeping his word.

  “Shot,” Cristop said and patted Jarlath on the back. “Had to be done. You couldn’t let him run loose through the city.”

  Jarlath replaced his blaster, the remorse growing as he stared at the pile of red cloaks. Many soldiers had died already, most of them with families. “Any ideas what to do with the cloaks?” He shot a glance upward and was relieved to see the skies remained clear.

  “If it don’t rain, you could transport the cloaks and use them in the mineral mines during the blasting process,” Cristop said.

  “Good idea.” Jarlath pondered the suggestion, tested the pros and cons. That might be their best hope of safe disposal. “Meantime we’ll place them in a waterproof receptacle. Can we find one in the market? I need to speak to our volunteers. Give them instructions.” Jarlath strode over to the group of men and women. “Thank you for your help. I’d appreciate it if you watch for any soldiers we’ve missed, and if you see any looters, send them on their way. Does anyone have any questions?”

  “Aye,” a buxom woman holding a frying pan said. “When will we get paid?”

  Jarlath sighed inwardly. Definitely mistrust. “I’ll send word. Do a public announcement as to where you can exchange your magical talismans.”

  A few mumbles sounded.

  “Any more questions?”

  When they merely stared at him, he nodded. “Thank you.” Jarlath stalked away from the group to join his young aids.

  “Where be Keira and Ellard?” Nasir asked. “You never said.”

  “Captured by Razvan,” Jarlath said.

  “What? How? Why we no rescue?” Ollie demanded, his dreads dancing with each agitated head jerk.

  “Keira has a plan. She pretended she was working on their side and talked them into waiting to take over until this eve at the ball the king and queen are holding.”

  Ollie’s eyes widened. “Ellard be a prisoner?”

  “Yes.” Grata, he hoped Ellard remained safe and kept quiet instead of mouthing off at Razvan. He wouldn’t trust Keira, not since she’d aligned herself with Razvan. Ellard was a black-and-white man, and he wouldn’t see the nuances of Keira’s plan.

  What if Ellard was right? What if Keira had gone over to the dark side?

  No! Jarlath dragged a hand through his hair. No second-guessing his actions.

  “We need to prepare for this coming eve. I thought we’d dress our soldiers in like red cloaks—make the Cawdor believe they still have their weapons in hand.” Jarlath thought through the normal ball routine. “We can set up snipers on the balconies.”

  “Ballsy to strut into castle with no shooters,” Cristop said. “How they know soldiers blow up? Might not blow. And if they do, baddies detonate their asses too.”

  Jarlath ran through the possibilities and agreed with Cristop. “Magic. It’s gotta be something magical. We’ll visit Zarbo on the way to the castle. Maybe he can suggest a spell to help our cause.”

  “I thought you said Ellard be a prisoner,” Ollie said, his broad forehead creased in a frown. “There he be.”

  Ellard trotted up to them.

  “Ellard.” Jarlath embraced him and felt tears pooling when Ellard held him close for an instant with his one arm. He pushed away, blinked rapidly. “Keira?”

  Ellard shook his head and fear swept through Jarlath, his mind darting to the worst scenario.

  “Is she dead?”<
br />
  “She was alive when I last saw her. She told Razvan she intended to shoot me and leave my body in the street as a warning to others. I believed her.” Ellard squeezed his eyes shut. “Grata, I believed her, but it was a pretense, and she took my onyx pendant as proof of death.”

  “You let her take it?” Jarlath asked, shocked. Ellard had worn that pendant since the first moment his grandsire had presented it to him. Shiloh wore a similar one and neither of the brothers ever removed them.

  “A small price. She’s given us a chance to prepare a trap for the Cawdor. I thought she was going to shoot me,” Ellard said. “She had me fooled.”

  Jarlath embraced Ellard again and hoped they could deal with their parents and fashion a scheme to keep everyone safe.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t like this plan, Jarlath. Too many things can go wrong,” Ellard muttered.

  Jarlath agreed, but they had to try, no matter the odds. He tugged his cravat and peered up into the galleries surrounding the ballroom. Although he couldn’t see them, the snipers were in position. He and Ellard had instructed them to take a shot if the way was clear, but they’d need to take out both Razvan and Mareeka at the same time. “Yeah, I know. I keep thinking about the things that could go wrong.”

  “At least we managed to disarm the cloaked men,” Ellard said. “Bloody brilliant idea to reissue the soldiers with red cloaks of our own. Cristop, Ollie and Nasir are in place. I placed them as waiters and they have slumber drugs, which they can palm into drinks should it become possible.”

  Jarlath frowned. “Did you speak with the kitchen staff? Those in charge? They rule the two kitchens like tyrants.” Another thing to add to his list of changes. “I don’t want them to upset the boys when they’re trying to do a job.”

  Ellard barked out a dry laugh, and Jarlath was pleased to see his friend looking like his old self or at least keeping his pain contained. “The parents were more difficult. Father doesn’t believe us.”

  “I wish Lynx and Shiloh were here to fight at our side,” Jarlath said. “I tried to contact them again.”