The king stuck out his hand, taking Razvan’s smaller hand in his grasp.
Razvan pulled his hand free and wiped it on his trews. “Your hand is as damp as your son’s. Sweaty palms must run in your family.”
“I do apologize,” the king said with suitable gravity. He coughed and pounded his fist against his heart. “I’m sorry. I haven’t felt well…my age.”
Razvan sneezed and rubbed his chest ventricles, a frown on his swarthy face. “It must be the Virosian climate.”
Yes. Exactly what she desired in order to use the repulsion spell, although if she had the opportunity, she’d prefer to knife the dirty cur in the heart. “Come and sit by the fire,” Keira said. “Mareeka, would you like a seat by the fire too?”
“Yes,” Mareeka said, and the woman seemed pleased at Keira’s willingness to serve her.
“I’ll be back in a min. Meantime, why don’t you have a drink? Razvan, there are hot mulled liquor drinks or I can order cool drinks for you if you prefer.” She gestured to a tray of steaming drinks, held by Cristop. Not by a flicker of an eyelid did she betray she knew the youth. Others were accepting drinks off the tray, not hesitating as they watched the unfolding drama, although she noticed they kept a wary distance. “These drinks are a specialty of Viros. Perfect for when the weather turns cold.”
“I’ll have a hot drink,” Razvan said. “Inhospitable place. ’Tis either unbearably hot or very chilly.”
“With sweetener?”
“Yes,” Razvan said.
Cristop palmed the drug so expertly she almost missed the action, then the youth added bee-honey and handed the drink to Razvan.
“What would you like to drink, ma’am?” Cristop asked with absolute deference. Once Mareeka chose her drink, Cristop added something to her drink too.
Relief flooded Keira. She wasn’t working alone. They had a plan after all. She might not have a future with Jarlath but at least they had a present. With that, she’d have to be content. Making good on her word, she pulled up two velvet-hair stools and placed them close to the fire. She also arranged for a small float table for the couple.
Once she led Razvan and Mareeka over to the fire, she clapped her hands. “Start the music. Go back to your dancing.”
Gradually the nervous chatter became more natural, and Keira wondered where Ellard was hiding. She glanced at Jarlath and found his dark head close to Lady Arabella’s. Pain kicked her hard in the chest, and she dragged in a calming breath in an attempt to ease the ache. It didn’t help.
Instead of letting her jealousy gain traction, she studied Razvan. The drug was taking effect since his eyelids were at half-mast. Mareeka, however, seemed more alert.
“Would you like some canapés?” Ollie asked, proffering a tray at Keira.
“No, thank you,” Keira said.
Ollie stood on her foot, and Keira winced.
“On second thought, maybe I will. Is that space-crab?”
“It is, but I recommend the malpack pies,” Ollie advised. “The chef has a way with pies.”
“I’ll go with your recommendation,” Keira said, and she was relieved when Ollie gave her an approving nod and removed his hefty weight off her foot.
“And you, miss?” Ollie asked.
“I want space-crab,” Mareeka said. “Two.”
“Of course. Let me give you a napkin,” Ollie said.
“I like this.” Mareeka waved a languid hand. “People waiting on me. Sparkly jewels. If only Marjo were here to enjoy this party.” Her hand went to the butt of her blaster, and for one awful moment, Keira thought she might shoot Ollie simply because he stood closest.
“Would you like the waiter to leave the tray?” Keira asked, subtly sliding between the pair.
“He should get more,” Mareeka ordered.
“Of course.” Ollie bowed, playing his part to perfection.
“Would you like something to eat, Razvan?” Keira asked.
“No. Don’t feel well,” he snapped and slapped his hand against his stomach. He attempted to stand and failed.
Mareeka jumped to her feet, brandishing her blaster. “Poison! They’ve poisoned you. Cast the spell. Detonate the place,” she screamed.
“Caw-caw-caw.” He made a series of rapid rattles and clicks and interspersed them with rhythmic caws, none of which Keira could decipher. A thundering sound rattled the very ceiling of the ballroom. Dark clouds formed, and Keira found herself gaping in stunned surprise.
The ladies started to shriek and wail.
“It’s raining,” a woman shouted.
“How is this possible?” a man demanded, his gaze on the clouds studding the ceiling.
She shot a glance at Razvan and saw the triumph on his face as rain started to fall in earnest. Anxiety crashed through her. The soldiers stationed around the ballroom wore red cloaks. They all going to explode if it kept raining.
“Why is it raining?” she demanded.
“I don’t like to lose,” Razvan said.
“You!” Mareeka wavered on her feet, her face turning pale and sweaty. “You’re part of this. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“I have nothing to do with this,” Keira denied.
Mareeka fired and only Ollie’s quick reaction saved Keira.
Cristop and Nasir pulled out blasters of their own and returned fire at Mareeka.
Around them several ladies screamed, the harsh sounds of panic creating a stampede for the door. A lady fell, clumsy in her gown and short train. A gentleman tripped over her and went down on his knees, sliding along the damp floor.
“Poison,” Razvan muttered and tried to stand. He wavered like an old man with worn-out legs.
Mareeka was down and unmoving.
Keira kept her attention on Razvan, on his face in an attempt to gauge his next move. Their gazes connected and held.
“You drank.” Razvan’s tone was accusing, and she saw the sec he realized she wasn’t on his side. He went for his weapon, but she was ready for him, her knife arcing through the air. She struck his chest, at his heart ventricles. He let out an eerie scream and fought like a demented Jambian ogre, flinging his arms and trying to head butt Keira.
Keira gasped and struggled to yank her knife free. One strike wasn’t enough. Her knife pulled from his flesh with a horrid sucking noise, and she struck.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Using every bit of her strength, she yanked the knife from his flesh. Razvan groaned and frustration had her echoing the sound. The fukker was still alive. She stabbed the knife at his chest, farther to the right this time, and he went down to his knees.
“Could have been great together,” Razvan rasped. “You warrior. Knew that. Wanted you. Fool.”
Keira kicked him in the chest, and he went down, the life flooding from him in a pool of black-tinged blood. She stared at the man who had made her life on Gramite dangerous. His arrogance and the assumption he’d cowed the people of Viros had been his downfall.
She tugged her knife free and cleaned the blade with Razvan’s robe. Then she checked his pulse, searching for the telltale kah-boom, kah-boom from his heart ventricles. There was nothing.
The darkness lifted. The clouds vanished and with them, the rain.
Keira stood, aware of the silence in the big ballroom. She turned to see those remaining staring at her in stunned shock.
“What are you staring at?” she snapped. Everyone was blurry, as if she were staring through a window from the outside, looking in.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled, her knife positioned ready to strike.
“Whoa,” Ellard said raising his hand in front of him. “It’s me.”
Keira blinked and the red rage shrouding her sight cleared.
“Murderer,” a voice whispered from the rear.
The whispers picked up in velocity until they resembled a litany. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
“Don’t listen to them,” Ollie s
aid, coming to stand at her side.
“You need to go,” Ellard said. “Jarlath told me to arrange transport for you.”
Keira stared at him, tried to read him and failed. At a loss, she shoved her knife into her boot. She walked over to Mareeka and crouched to check for signs of life. The woman was also dead. Keira removed the tiara from her head and stood.
“She’s got my tiara,” the queen shouted. “Don’t let her take it. Thief!”
Keira stared at the woman in stunned surprise then bitterness took over. “Why would I want a stupid tiara? I’m a farmer.” She thrust the sparkly headpiece at Ellard. “Where is my transport?”
“They’re kicking you out of the palace?” Ollie said in disbelief. “I don’t be gettin’ these people.”
“Head up their butts,” Cristop said, his top lip curling in disdain.
Nasir spat on the polished ballroom floor. “Ungrateful fukkers.”
“The transport is outside the castle, in the square,” Ellard said. “This way.”
He led them past the whispering, gaping upper classes. Keira stalked with her head held high and ignored the rude comments. Ollie and Nasir flanked her and Cristop walked behind. Disbelief was a heavy cloak, weighting her down. She had helped to save them, killing their nemesis and they were kicking her out of the castle, banishment her payment.
Chapter Fifteen
Jarlath sent his parents to their suite and called for a medical man to look at the king. Neither of his parents argued, which told Jarlath how bad the events of the night had affected them. His father appeared years older when Jarlath had bid them good night.
He turned his attention to the mess and the debate in the ballroom.
“Arrest her,” Danion Tetsu ordered “And those guttersnipes who pulled weapons in the presence of the king and queen.”
“Father,” Ellard said, but his father ignored him to issue more orders to a different group of soldiers.
“Make sure Keira gets back to her farm,” Jarlath said to Ellard. “I’ll try to keep everything under control here.”
“Done,” Ellard said and disappeared into the throng of angry and fuming men.
A pity none of them had managed to take a stand while Razvan and Mareeka were alive. Over to his right a woman was carrying on as if Keira had planned the entire attack instead of saving them from Razvan.
Irritated with their empty-headed posturing, he climbed on top of a chair and roared for attention. “Quiet!”
The screeches and hysterics faded away, leaving blissful peace.
“Everyone return to your homes,” Jarlath said.
“No,” Danion Tetsu said. “We must gather statements while the attempted coup is fresh in our minds. We must arrest the woman and make an example of her so no one else thinks to destroy our mighty house.”
Jarlath bit back his instinctive insult since Danion was a respected military leader. Once he got the foolish man alone, he intended to let rip and tell him what he really thought.
Starting tonight, there would be changes at the House of the Cat.
Jarlath strove to keep his voice level. “Keira Cloud is a hero. Thanks to her, we were able to concoct a plan to rid ourselves of Razvan and stop him grabbing our valuable resources.”
“She walked into the ballroom arm-in-arm with the leader of the House of Cawdor. She wears a crow tattoo on her cheek,” a senior minister shouted.
“Aye, if that isn’t an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is,” someone else yelled.
“Arrest her,” a female suggested.
Jarlath recognized the voice. Keira’s stepdaughter would, of course, benefit from Keira’s arrest.
“Enough!” Jarlath shouted.
When the remaining men and women continued to ignore him, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his blaster. He fired it into the air and managed to hit a chandelier. Jarlath winced when the glittering crystals struck the floor and shattered. Not exactly what he’d intended, but since it missed the crowd and created noise, he’d own his misfire.
“Everyone return to your homes now. Soldiers will patrol the streets and anyone found outside their homes will be arrested,” Jarlath said in a crisp voice.
“You can’t do that,” Danion spluttered.
When no one moved, Jarlath lifted his blaster and fired at a woman’s bobbing headdress. This time his aim was true.
“Desist,” he ordered. “The next person who argues will lose an arm.”
There was a rush for the door and the ballroom emptied with dispatch.
“You can’t do this,” Danion blustered. “You have no right. I am head of security.”
Ellard entered the ballroom and sent a quick nod in Jarlath’s direction. Relief filled him. Good, at least Keira should be safe at her farm with her people and the three boys’ protection.
“I have every right,” Jarlath snapped. “I am heir to the king. My father is not well, which puts me in charge. If you refuse my orders, I will relieve you of your duties.”
The older man stared in disbelief. “You can’t do that. The king is the only one who can sack me.”
“Fine,” Jarlath said. “Ellard, make sure he doesn’t leave until I return.”
Jarlath strode to his parents’ suite and pounded on the door. A servant answered and Jarlath pushed through. “Where are my parents?”
“In their chambers, Prince,” she whispered.
Jarlath stormed into his parents’ bedchamber and found his father abed. “Give me the power to rule the House,” he demanded. “You have promised me the power and I want it now.”
“You’re not officially betrothed,” his mother said.
“’Tis done,” Jarlath said. “The announcement was made at the ball. With the way gossip spreads in this city, most people will know by now. We do not require a formal announcement.” He turned his attention to his father. “Give me the power now, Father, so I can start fixing things.”
“Everything will right itself once that woman is arrested,” the queen snapped. “The kingdom was running without a hitch until Marcus Cloud took her to wife.”
Jarlath focused on his father. “Transfer the badge of power to me, Father. I will do what is best for the House of the Cat.” He silently willed him to hand over control.
His father blinked and focused on his hands. His thin chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
Jarlath wanted to rant and argue and had to force himself to wait for his father’s response. This was a time for patience.
Finally, finally, his father nodded. “You are right, son.” He reached for Jarlath’s hand and squeezed then tugged him to sit on the bed. “I, King Hazan Leandros of Viros, cede to my heir, Prince Jarlath Leandros of Viros. I give you my position, my responsibilities and the office of leader of the House of the Cat.” He released Jarlath’s hand and fumbled with the golden chain around his neck. “I give you the kingship. May the House of the Cat prosper under your guardianship.” He placed the familiar golden cat pendant into Jarlath’s hand and curled his fingers around it. “Place the pendant around your neck and it will be official.”
“That’s it?” Jarlath asked in surprise.
“The proper ceremony should take place,” his mother said. “I don’t approve of this unseemly haste.”
Jarlath ignored his mother and fastened the pendant around his neck. Power shimmered through him once the golden cat rested against his breastbone. The weight of the sovereignty settled over his shoulders and slid through his veins.
“It is done,” his father said. “Long live the king.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Jarlath, since you are now king, you will need to take care of the announcements tomorrow. You can announce your betrothal and make it official.”
“No, Mother. I will be taking care of business tomorrow and making sure the enemy won’t return. There is much to do.” He stood and headed for the door of their suite. If his mother thought to rule the House via him, she s
hould think again. He did not intend to marry Lady Arabella.
“But, Jarlath—”
“No, Mother. I am the king and I will rule in the manner I see fit.”
Jarlath returned to the ballroom.
“This is ridiculous,” Danion Tetsu thundered.
Jarlath ignored him. “Ellard, can we arrange transport to visit Keira?”
“But it’s—” Ellard broke off to stare. “You’re wearing the king’s pendant.”
Jarlath bowed from the waist. “King Jarlath, if you please. Danion Tetsu, I relive you of your duties and appoint your son Ellard as head of security.”
“You can’t do that. He’s useless with one arm.”
Jarlath witnessed the pain on Ellard’s face and whirled on Danion. “Get out,” he snarled. “Don’t show your face here until you apologize to Ellard.”
“You’ll regret this,” Danion said and clomped from the ballroom.
Ellard bowed. “Congratulations, King Jarlath.”
“You’re my best friend, Ellard. Please call me Jarlath if we’re alone. I’m going to Keira’s place. I’ll stay the night if she’ll let me.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Ellard asked. “What about Lady Arabella?”
* * * * *
The knock on the kitchen door came late, hours after they’d returned to the farm. Too wired to sleep, Keira stood at a counter, her fingers busily sorting nuts for roasting. A scowl formed when the tap-tap-tap repeated more insistently.
“Damn fool will wake the entire household.” She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Jarlath. What are you doing here?” She suspected she knew.
Now that they’d routed the enemy, the House of the Cat would need to shore its defenses and move on into the future—a future without her. He was coming to say goodbye.
“Keira.” He stomped inside and yanked her into his embrace. Secs later, his mouth covered hers in a hard kiss, a passionate kiss. She melted into him, her heart ventricles bursting into a choppy pace and her crow’s happy caw-caw echoing through her mind.
This—Jarlath—it felt so right, yet she was wrong allowing him to do this. Jarlath was betrothed to another.
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