“And I—”
Her words broke off as a low, somehow disturbing hum filled the air. They both turned to stare at the apparent source in time to see the orb change color, shifting to a dark, almost purplish blue, the color of a nasty bruise.
. . . the Orb has the power to warn that rightful possessor of the presence of enemies.
“Warning?” Shay whispered, clearly remembering the old man’s words as he had.
“I don’t know. Do you sense anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Perhaps the screen blocks that, as well.”
The color grew brighter. For an instant he hesitated, then reached out for the sphere. The moment his fingers touched the surface he could feel the pulses as if they were more than just light. And just as quickly he knew.
“Yes. Warning.”
Gaze fastened on the cave entrance, she pulled the disrupter from her belt while he slipped the orb into an inside pocket of his jacket.
“The screen,” she said. “Perhaps it will stop them.”
“I don’t think we can count on that. There may be a way through we haven’t discovered yet.”
She looked around. He could see her mind racing. “You have the orb?”
“Yes,” he said.
Interesting that that was her first thought, that she had apparently accepted the old man’s words, that it was the orb that was the true treasure.
“Do you know if it is more than one? Our four friends returning?”
He reached into his pocket and touched the orb again. Wrapped his fingers around it, wondering if that would make whatever signal the thing was sending clearer. Instinctively he closed his eyes.
“No. Just one,” he said. “Still beyond the screen. Approaching the meadow.”
Something flared in her eyes. He realized she was angry at the thought of that meadow, where they had first come together in that way that connected them for life, being invaded by whoever their pursuer was.
“It must be the other one,” he said. “The man in the cloak.”
“Are you guessing, or did that fancy rock tell you?”
“Guessing. Unless it is yet another, a new one.”
“Too crowded on this mountain if it is.”
She bent, grabbed a handful of the golden coins. She scattered them across the cave floor, in a path pointing toward the cave entrance.
“We can hide in the far tunnel, the gold will draw him,” she said. “He’ll see the treasure and be distracted by all that shine.”
He looked, calculating the distance, the angles. “That outcropping,” he said, pointing. “The way it sticks out, we won’t be able to get a clear shot until he’s clear of it.”
“We? You mean you. He’ll only be in view a couple of seconds, if he dives for that treasure. You’re a better shot with a disrupter.”
He flashed her a grin. “I am, though I never thought to hear you admit it.”
“There are lots of things I never thought to admit.”
Memories kicked through him again, heated images, and he doubted at this moment if he could hit a target if it stopped a foot in front of him. “And we will speak of those things,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yes, Lyon, we will. But later,” she said.
He was startled by her use of his name even now. Those golden moments in the meadow had transformed more than he’d realized, if he was no longer Cub to her at all. About time, he thought.
They moved then, quickly, and found a spot in the tunnel that was almost across from the one that held the gold. They wouldn’t be able to see the newcomer until he was practically at the niche, so his first, probably only shot was going to have to count. He noticed the faint gleam reflected from the first few coins she’d scattered. They would be visible easily from the entrance, once the intruder looked that way. He also realized that light from outside would make their quarry cast a shadow; they might not be able to see him, but they would know at least some of his movements by that.
“He’s past the screen,” Lyon said suddenly.
“Yes. I can sense him now.” Her hand tightened around her disrupter. “And definitely a threat.”
They waited in silence for several minutes, and Lyon guessed she was also picturing how long a slow, wary traverse of the distance from the screen to the cave would take. This man took even longer, so he was either uncertain, or very cautious.
The silhouette that eventually appeared in the light from outside the entrance made it clear it was the man in the cloak. He looked around, then moved quietly toward the far edge of the cave wall, quickly slipping into shadow. Had they not known he was coming, he could have gotten alarmingly close. The simple fact that this man had had the strength of mind to ignore the evidence of his eyes and go through the screen, risking a serious burn, or was clever enough to find a different way, warned Lyon he was not to be taken lightly.
He heard the faintest of sounds, as if the cloth of the cloak had caught on rough stone. Then nothing. A long moment passed, and then the shadow was back in the middle of the cave, elongated, then suddenly shorter, as if he’d crouched down. Lyon knew he had spotted the first of the coins Shay had scattered. Brilliant, his woman was. A warrior worthy of the flashbow. He tried not to think of the danger that position would put her in. They were the greatest fighters in existence, but they were not invincible. More than one flashbow warrior had died protecting Trios or her royal family. How did his father do it, send the man who was his brother in all ways but blood out to quite possibly die?
He pushed the thoughts aside to focus on the immediate threat. They stayed frozen, barely breathing, making no sound that might betray their presence. The cloaked man stayed still as well, and Lyon knew he was listening. After what seemed an eon, he finally moved. Even as a shadow, it was clear he reached out and picked up one of the coins. Then another, and another, following the path Shay had left.
And then the shadow grew tall again, as he straightened to stand before the tunnel that held the niche where the gold lay. He leaned forward, and for an instant Lyon could see him, just as the man reached up and pushed the cloak’s hood back, and it slipped off his head. Then he moved back, the instant gone far too quickly for a shot. But the lingering image of the face was seared into Lyon’s brain.
His breath stopped in his throat. He felt Shay stiffen beside him—knew she had seen what he had. The same images, from old cinefilms and captures embedded in history texts, had probably flashed into her mind. She knew that the man before them was the man who had helped the infamous General Corling nearly destroy their world.
Mordred.
Rising star of the Coalition, disgraced by his commander’s failure to crush the rebellion begun on Trios that had spread to the entire system and resulted in a humiliating defeat.
Mordred, who had promised to return.
Mordred, who had sworn vengeance on Trios and every Triotian left alive.
Once again, in a single moment, everything had changed.
Chapter 36
“TELL ME OF YOUR prince and Dax’s daughter.”
Rina glanced at Tark. They were pressing hard, moving at a speed that made talking a bit difficult. “Do you truly wish to know, or are you merely looking for distraction from this hike?”
“Would you shove me down this mountain if I said both?”
She nearly stopped in her tracks. Had the man actually made a joke? The old Tark had been full of them, using a dry wit and a flair for seeing the ridiculous to defuse many a tense situation. She had thought this Tark scoured of any sense of humor.
She made herself keep the smile that threatened inside, but it was difficult, for she could not help but feel she had aided him in finding this bit of the man he had once been. That in the indescribable sweetness of the night just past, he had found t
hat not all his hope and joy had been destroyed. And if it were true, if she had given him that, she could live on it the rest of her life if she had to.
And now who’s full of grim?
She shook it off, telling herself expecting fate to play one of its nasty tricks was tantamount to inviting it.
“That is a valid option,” she said lightly, winning a faint smile.
“It wouldn’t take much,” he said wryly. “My vision sometimes throws off my balance.”
She had wondered—he seemed so unaffected by the loss. But she should have known he, being Tark, simply refused to give in to it. And she was heartened that he would even admit it to her.
“But I am curious,” he said in answer to her original question. “About Darian’s son, and even more about Dax’s child. It seems almost retaliation for fate to give him a daughter.”
Rina laughed. “Oh, indeed. I think he panicked a little when he realized it. When he first found out Califa was pregnant, Dare told him he hoped it was a girl because it would serve him right.”
He gave her a look that seemed oddly wistful. “I am glad you have such a family.”
In that moment she renewed her determination to get him to Trios, where she knew he already had the kind of love and respect that abounded for the royals and the Silverbrakes. They would accept him for the hero he was, for what he had done, how hard he had fought. And her family would expand to include him; they would accept him as hers, if she wished.
She just wasn’t sure he ever would.
It would just take him time to learn, she told herself. She wanted him for herself, for always, but she wanted him healed even more.
She turned her mind toward answering him. Perhaps hearing of such normalcy on Trios might help him along the journey he was only beginning.
“Lyon is intelligent, curious, and kind. But he is also tough of mind and will. He will be a fair ruler, and if need be a brave warrior.”
“And the girl?”
Rina grinned. She could not help it. “She is the handful Dare wished upon Dax. Clever as a snowfox, and twice as quick. Adventurous to the point of reckless. And fearless.”
“In other words, she is Dax all over again.”
Her grin widened. “Exactly.”
He smiled back, fully this time, warming her. “There was talk, when they were born . . .”
She nodded. “Of course Shaina will fight it. She does not take well to the idea it is destined, even though it’s clear she loves him.”
“Perhaps she thinks of him as a brother.”
“I think she tells herself so. A way to protect against her true feelings.”
“It’s been done,” he said, his voice taking on a neutral tone that somehow managed to sound pointed. “Sometimes you must use what defenses you have.”
Little one. He’d called her that from the first moment, and it had irked her for a very long time, until she had come to care enough to forgive him that and more. Was he saying that had been for the same reason? To defend against his feelings? It seemed so.
“You truly thought of me as a child, then.”
“I had to.” He stopped walking. Turned to face her. “Because if I didn’t, what happened last night would have happened then. I would have taken you, and used the threat of war and death to persuade myself it was acceptable. And I had no right.” He lowered his gaze. “I have no right now.”
She reached up, brushed the back of her fingers over his cheek, his jaw. “You have the right,” she said softly, “because I gave it to you.”
“And I fear you will regret it.”
She chose her words carefully. “I see, now that I am older, that had you not had such restraint—”
“And Dax glaring daggers at me,” he said dryly.
“That as well,” she said, allowing a smile but continuing intently. “But had you not had such restraint, and then word had come as it did, that you were dead . . . I could not have borne it.”
“Rina—”
“I know this,” she said, forging on, “because I could not bear it now. So whatever comes, you had better make bedamned certain you stay alive, Commander Tarkson.”
His gaze slid back to her face. Slowly, almost tentatively, as if he were still uncertain he had the right, he reached out to cup her cheek. “You humble me, Rina.”
“I hope not,” she answered. “You’re already far too humble.”
He smiled. “I believe I have an idea where Dax’s daughter trained her spirit.”
“I tried,” she said sweetly.
He laughed, and she reveled in it. Just as she had reveled, more fiercely and intensely than she’d ever thought possible, in his touch, his body, his strength last night. There was, perhaps, nothing like giving tenderness and, yes, love, to a man who had known little of either.
They walked on, the path becoming ever steeper and the landscape wilder as they went. They reached the inn at a point when Rina was ready for a cool drink.
“Good placement,” she said as they walked to the door beneath the swinging sign with a weathered carving of the mountaintop above them.
“Yes. It has been here an age, because of that. This mountain has many a tale told, of secrets and treasure and magic.”
“I can see where all of that would intrigue my escapees. On Trios we are much more literal.”
He smiled at her term for them. “Let us see what we can find out,” he said as he pulled the door open.
“I KNEW IT.”
Shaina heard Mordred’s harsh whisper as she watched the man’s shadow. From the glimpse she’d gotten of the actual man, he had not aged well. Of course, he was not Triotian, but still. . . . His hair was straggly, looked none too clean, and was oddly dark, as if he kept it so artificially. His ears, preternaturally large and protuberant, poked through the lank strands. His skin was still that same sickly white she remembered from her studies; it almost glowed in the dim light of the cave. The contrast was reminiscent of things found hiding under rocks, away from the light, and she suppressed an instinctive shudder.
The man’s hair had also looked singed on one side. She remembered how merely touching the screen had burned her fingers. Going through that screen wasn’t simple for anyone who was not Graymist.
Or was not with one.
She gave an inward, ironic grimace at how quickly she had slid from the world of logic and reason into the mist of magic.
They watched that shadow as the man moved ever closer to the niche, picking up the rest of the coins as he went. Most were Arellian novals, but she’d noticed a few Carelian ducas and even a couple of Romerian withals, those rarest and most valuable of all coins.
Shaina held her breath. Once he spotted the niche with the full treasure—minus the orb Lyon had—he should hasten forward. And for one brief moment between the outcropping and the other tunnel opening, they would have a shot.
They waited. He gathered coins. They watched the distorted shape of the shadow as he moved forward, following the golden trail she had laid. Five more steps, and he would see the niche, she thought. That would be their moment, when he was so distracted by the riches that he would be paying little heed to his surroundings. He would rush forward and into their line of fire.
Three more. Two. One. And there. He saw it now, he had to.
He stopped. Her hand tightened on her weapon. Lyon was the best, but a little redundancy never hurt.
Mordred didn’t react. She frowned. He was standing in front of a pile of gold, silver, and gems, and he didn’t even lean in for a closer look. Instead he stood there as if the niche held nothing more interesting than curlbugs and muckrats.
The top of the shadow moved, as if he were looking down at his hand and at the coins he had gathered from the main cave. Then he looked around again. He turn
ed his back on the treasure and walked back the way he’d come, fully into the shelter of that outcropping of rock that blocked their line of fire.
For an instant she forgot to breathe. He had picked up the coins eagerly enough, why had he not gone forward to gather the even more valuable trove right in front of him?
There was only one answer she could think of. The answer that had been gnawing at her since the moment she’d realized their follower was Mordred. She hadn’t really put it into words, but now here it was, undeniable.
He wasn’t after treasure. At least not of the gold and jewels kind.
He was after Lyon.
The realization sent a shock through her. To Hades with this, she was going to take Mordred out, right now. She’d have surprise on her side if she rushed him—it would be enough. And Lyon would be safe, which was her job. In more ways than one.
Lyon must have sensed her tension as she readied herself for an attack. He held her back. And just his touch brought back sanity, as quickly as it had robbed her of it in the meadow. Her fury faded, and her tactical mind reemerged.
They watched that damned shadow as Mordred turned again, and walked into the tunnel next to the one that held the niche. They had not yet explored the others, since Lyon had uncannily known exactly where to go, so they had no idea how deep they went.
What they did know was that the Coalition was ever thorough. Hadn’t her father pounded that home to her countless times, with the king’s help? Mordred might not be of the Coalition any longer, but some habits were hard to break.
She silently counted down the seconds as they waited. Every part of her wanted to put an end to this now, but she also knew the value of knowing your enemy.
It’s not just knowing your enemy’s weaknesses, Shaina. It’s knowing their strengths, and how to use them against him.
Her father’s words echoed in her head. And she reminded herself again that all her fury at him did not negate the validity of his lessons. And that had been one he had hammered her with.
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