by Val Roberts
Blade stepped forward to the edge of the dais before the camera panned to the figure wearing her clothes and that ridiculous veil walking ponderously through the sea of people to the dais, where her bonded mate waited. Her stomach lurched with both pain and nausea. Her throat closed down and she felt the tears of humiliation gathering. It was exactly like her nightmare, only this was real, and there was nothing, nothing she could do. Blade wouldn't know the difference between the two of them, would present Talyn to all of the people who mattered in Barian as his bonded mate, and it would be too late.
No one would go looking for Taryn. No one would care. She was alone, as she had always been alone, and the last, safest place had proved to be the most illusory of all. She choked on her misery as she watched Talyn stop at the bottom of the steps, watched Blade come down them and lift the veil. Taryn closed her eyes, unable to take any more.
A second later she opened them again, even though she couldn't focus as far away as the screen. She was Zonan. She was Silvergard. Damn all of them, she was Taryn Penthes, and it would take more than—than—more than a scheming slut of an evil twin to kill her. Her eyes narrowed as she forced her bruised and throbbing head to concentrate. Her feet were tied, her hands were tied behind her back. She was locked into some kind of storage closet, probably with guards on the outside.
Well, at least she wouldn't have to go far to find an enemy.
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Chapter Nineteen
Blade turned from his glance at Silean and the strangely familiar man standing to her left wearing a matching crown to watch the heavily veiled figure enter through the massive double doors and begin the long walk to the royal dais. When had Taryn had decided to mask her face? She couldn't still be worrying about the scar that was fading even faster since the second nanite injection at the Enclave. Then he was suppressing a frown, because something wasn't right. She was the correct height, the clothes fit fairly well if a bit tighter than the fitting the day before, but something about the way she moved was off. Was Taryn feeling unwell? No, that wasn't it, because Taryn moved with willowy grace even when hung over and sleep deprived, always coiled for an explosion into martial activity.
That was it. This woman didn't move like she'd ever wielded a weapon in combat. The subconscious cues that always told a fighter when another was present ... weren't present. Which meant this creature was a double, and he only knew of one person who could pass as Taryn's double and would want to cause any grief possible in her life.
Adrenaline spiked, and he wanted to sprint down the aisle, rip off the veil and demand answers, because Taryn's double had already tried to kill her too many times through intermediaries. Maybe she'd finally decided to finish the job herself. The only thing that gave him hope was Crown Prince Talyn's twisted psyche: she would want Taryn to watch him confirm the wrong woman as his consort before having her killed. Until that happened, Taryn was still alive.
He waited, like a spider in the center of a web, for his prey, his enemy, to come to him, because he needed her to be surrounded by his personal guards, people who knew Taryn almost as well as he did. People who were starting to stir restlessly at his back because they were also sensing something wrong about the putative Heir Consort, people who—another glance confirmed—included Silean and the unknown man at her side.
* * * *
Taryn took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and centered all her concentration. She would have to move quickly. She would have to think of her legs as a single weapon, not something for movement. All right, what else? She had elbows that she could move a little, and that gave her a second weapon. She also had the hard bone on the front of her skull, though she would have to be careful not to injure her brain any. She took another deep breath, forcing air into her lungs to get more oxygen to her muscles, then began to methodically hyperventilate, because there would be no time to breathe once she started. One. Two. Three.
She raised her feet and kicked the door with all of the power she could summon. Nothing happened, so she did it again. And again. And again. Muffled voices on the other side told her the guards were getting concerned, so she raised her feet one last time and waited.
The door opened and the ugly woman stuck her head into the tiny room. “Knock it off or—” She never finished the sentence, because Taryn's feet smashed into her face, knocking the back of her head against the doorjamb before her eyes rolled up and she slithered to the floor. It had pulled Taryn off balance on the seat, though, and she toppled to the floor just before she heard one of the most beautifully terrifying sounds in the Goddess's creation, the scream of a cougar.
Tomascon had sniffed her out. She allowed herself a soft smile as she rolled and scrambled to a kneeling position. The second guard fell against the outside wall and screamed in counterpoint to the angry cat, but her cry sounded like a soul in torment. Good. She deserved it.
"Tomascon, I'm in here,” she called out after she heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. There was no other sound and she had no way to lever herself to her feet, so she put some steel in her voice and tried again. “Tommikitty, you'd better not be eating the guards. You don't know where they've been."
A large paw curled around the door and pulled it farther open, then a pair of tawny eyes regarded her with reproach over a muzzle stained red. He seemed to be saying he wouldn't lower himself to have any more contact with traitors than was absolutely necessary to kill them, and she had to smile. “You're a mess, sweetheart, but right now you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't suppose you'd be able to untie these knots, would you?"
The big cat regarded her for a moment before he padded over the limp body of the guard still mostly blocking the door and swiped her face with a raspy tongue as he started to purr. Taryn leaned her head into his shoulder and drank in the musky scent for a second or two before he pulled away and turned his long body around, curving almost in half in the small space. A roar came from the viewer, but she couldn't spare the attention to see what was going on in the throne room. She had to get her feet freed and get in there herself, and then they would hear a roar.
* * * *
Finally she was at the foot of the dais and his father was rising to his feet, ready to hear the declaration and fealty. Blade almost changed his timetable, because having an oath of fealty from the Zonan Crown Prince would be a great coup, but he couldn't take the chance.
He walked down the two steps and lifted her heavy veil, then paused to study her features. It was obvious that she wasn't Taryn, from the faint crease between her tweezed brows to the slightly snakelike expression and the complete absence of any scar tissue on her left cheek. How anyone could mistake one for the other was almost beyond comprehension, but he had to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He smiled faintly, because he knew exactly what to do. Telegraphing broadly, he hauled back and punched her directly over her left cheekbone, where Taryn's scar of honor was now only slightly visible.
The gallery erupted into a roar of shock and Blade was hauled away as the imposter crumpled to the carpet, and then the imposing figure of his father blocked his view.
"By all gods, have you lost your mind?” Ramon demanded as Blade struggled to get away from his friends, currently holding him away from the viper who knew where his wife was.
"Where is she, Talyn?” he bellowed as the fury overwhelmed him. “What did you do with my consort?” Ramon stiffened and turned, moving aside enough to let Blade see Galen, resplendent in his Northshield regalia and cradling her shoulders, suddenly look at the woman with intensity. Silean was off her chair and kneeling in front of her daughter, also staring, and the—Zonan consort, he supposed—was holding her shoulders, before he turned and glared at Blade in an extremely familiar expression. The man had to be Taryn's father, which made him Talyn's father, too. Blade swallowed hard, realizing that, whichever twin was on the carpet, he had a lot of explaining to do.
"Blade, don't be a fool,�
�� Maris hissed in his ear. “You just hit your consort in front of the entire court.” Blade tried to make a break toward the woman in question and was hauled back again, a foot appearing underneath one of his boots to make him stumble and nearly lose his balance.
"You really think I would be able to land a hit that obvious on a Silvergard commander?” Blade turned to glare at his cousin, daddy Penthes no longer his biggest problem. “Taryn would have broken my arm. That is not my wife. It's her sister, Crown Prince Talyn.” Maris looked from him to the woman, who was beginning to stir. “If that's Taryn, where's her bonding chain? They don't come off, you know.” He must have yelled the question, because the audience roared again.
"She could have hidden it in her sleeve,” Maris shot back when the noise damped down.
"There's no scar on her cheek,” Blade continued, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Why wasn't anyone agreeing with him? Couldn't they see?
"Taryn's scar was almost gone when we spoke last night,” Ramondar put in. “And since that's the exact spot you chose to strike, there's no way of knowing.” He didn't say a word about the chain.
"All right, we'll ask a couple of questions to make sure.” That was Galen, as smooth as ever, helping her to her feet. Blade was pleased to note that her cheekbone was already purple and beginning to swell. “Your Highness, if you would come with me for a moment?” He directed it to Talyn before firmly clamping an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the row of abandoned chairs.
"Start searching the palace,” Silean said to no one Blade could see, but several of her attendants scurried away, with knives suddenly in evidence. “She won't be dead, yet."
Maris hesitated, obviously swayed by the Zonan monarch's certainty. “Are you sure?"
"You're alive because of Taryn's reflexes, Marison von Stassos. Could that ... person have taken out the crossbows snipers who had the drop on us?” Maris's eyes narrowed and he let go of Blade's arm.
"No, she couldn't think as fast as Taryn moves. I'll find her, cousin.” Maris faded from the crowd of bodies on the dais and other hands released him as well.
* * * *
Tomascon came back with the handle of a dagger between his teeth, and Taryn blinked in surprise. Yes, cougars were intelligent cats, but it would never occur to her that his thought process would extend to knowing what tool she would need to extricate herself from her bonds. It was truly a day of wonders, since that was obviously the case. She squirmed her legs out from underneath herself, knocking the chair over in the process and nearly hitting her feline savior with it. “Sorry,” she said as he glared at her clumsiness. “I'm not used to having my paws tied, you know.” When she had her feet extended in front of her, the cat offered her the knife. “I can't, my hands are tied, too.” He looked at her expectantly, obviously not understanding. “Tommikins, I can't take it.” She wiggled her elbows for emphasis. Somehow, even with a mouthful of knife handle, he looked disgusted. He dropped the unusable tool and brushed behind her, licking her hands. And then she felt a large fang scrape flesh as he began to chew at the Zonan rawhide rope.
She winced, and willed the cat to chew faster, carefully holding in the screech of pain when one of his fangs nicked her wrist. His teeth weren't made for gnawing ropes, after all.
* * * *
Blade walked the couple of meters to where the imposter consort was seated. She was touching the bruise on her face—with her right hand, crossing the arm awkwardly across her body. Galen glanced up at him without expression.
"No, I don't need any water,” she said, and even her voice was different, waspish. “What in cold hell was he thinking?” An epithet Taryn had never used. Galen went to one knee in front of her.
"Your Highness,” he said gently, “would you do me the honor of telling me the code name you were given during the journey from Zona to the Enclave?"
Suspicion and a sort of low panic entered her eyes, though Blade doubted anyone else would see it. They still weren't sure she wasn't Taryn. “Why?” she asked. “That's a ridiculous question."
"I merely wish to ascertain that you've suffered no memory loss,” Galen explained, smooth as ever.
"Answer it,” Silean commanded in a tone that promised mayhem if she was disobeyed. Coming from a ruler it would have been chilling. Coming from a ruler and your mother, it was worse.
She hesitated, tellingly to Blade's eyes. “She doesn't know,” he said into the ringing silence. “It wasn't something Taryn would have forgotten, Galen."
Galen held up a warning hand. “Or she could be embarrassed to say it in front of everyone,” he said, giving her a hint without realizing it. Her eyes gleamed and Galen leaned forward a millimeter, his posture changing slightly.
"Bitch,” she said, staring straight at Blade. Galen smiled and stood.
"It seems His Royal Highness was...” Galen paused dramatically, which almost made Blade roll his eyes, “...correct. This is not Her Royal Highness Taryn Penthes von Stassos.” He turned to Ramon, who had stepped back in astonishment. “It appears the entire royal family of Zona has seen fit to grace our small ceremony with their presence, Your Majesty."
"What was her code name?” Ramondar asked, apparently shocked into curiosity. Galen looked at Blade.
"Vixen.” It gave him immense satisfaction to say the word. “Did you honestly believe I would call any woman a bitch to her face? Particularly one who had saved my skin from perforation several times as well as keeping Northshield from death?” The crowd of courtiers erupted in what were probably individual murmurs but collectively became the third roar, albeit duller than the first two. Ramondar bit his lower lip and shook his head, though his eyes gleamed in suppressed humor.
Talyn chose that moment to make a break for freedom, but was caught and brought back before she'd run three steps. Blade stalked to where she struggled in the hold of two of his bodyguards.
"This creature is not a member of the royal family of Zona,” Silean said in that same deadly voice. “She is nothing to me.” She turned her back and walked away from the group around Talyn.
"Where is she?” Blade demanded. Talyn said nothing, but continued to struggle. He grabbed her chin and tipped her face up to glare into her eyes. “What have you done with Taryn?” She went stock-still and stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened. He wanted to shake her, but he settled for repeating the question. “I know you haven't killed her yet. Where is she?"
Talyn seemed to rally then, losing her fear and stretching her lips in an evil smirk. Blade was saved from hitting her again by Galen, who raised a hand to his ear in an almost subconscious gesture. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Galen von Stassos, whose poise was legendary, let his mouth drop open, then turned his head to the main entrance, his look followed by the entire court.
To where Taryn was standing barefoot, her hair straggling out of the bun and a swash of blood on one side of her face, with a large cougar supporting her right thigh and a long dagger in her left hand. Her bonding bracelet was clearly visible on her right wrist. She swept her eyes over the crowd as Blade stood rooted to the spot. Someone pushed out of the throng of courtiers, now all on their feet, and rushed to her, enveloping her in an embrace that nearly pulled her off her feet. Belatedly, Blade recognized the figure as Leone Varakis. Of course, since the cat had to be the same one that had nearly pushed him off his feet by rubbing his leg at the inn.
"Leone?” Dorcan asked from Blade's left, and he felt himself nod in agreement, too stupefied to speak. “How in the...?” Taryn went limp in Leone's arms, and Blade never heard the rest of the question, because he was running, pushing through a suddenly rioting crowd to get to his wife, the other half of his soul. He shoved aside bodies, not caring about gender, age or importance, until he was at the other end of the room and pulling her away from Leone, scooping her up into his arms, carrying her out of the room into the massive corridor.
"She said she'd been poisoned before she dropped,” Leone told him fro
m his shoulder. “Something from an injector, slow acting. We have about three hours before it kills her."
"Lovely,” he snarled and changed direction. Maris was pounding down the hallway. “Get me medical,” Blade yelled at him. “Ten minutes ago."
"I have a job to finish,” Leone called from behind him. “I've been waiting almost fifteen years to kill that bitch."
"See if you can get the name of the poison out of her first,” he called back, instinctively knowing exactly which bitch Leone was talking about. The sound of a skimmer landing drove his steps toward the courtyard outside the main audience chamber. He waited in the colonnaded porch until the fans had finished blowing grit and debris around, then started forward when the hatch opened.
Sharif climbed out of the hatch, an injector in one hand.
"What the—?"
"It's the antidote.” Sharif pressed it against her neck and pulled the trigger. “It took me two days to track it down, but I finally found the Nedrian shop that took a handful of Zonan gold for a single dose of oxatansyltalis."
Blade moved to set Taryn's form on a padded bench on one side of the steps and then grabbed his old roommate's neck. “If she doesn't make a full recovery, I'll hunt you down wherever you try to hide, Hauptmann."
Sharif sank talons into his arm without breaking skin. “Given what I just paid for this in terms of time, money and fried nerve endings, if she doesn't make a full recovery, we'll both go beat the living light out of a Nedrian apothecary before I lay my neck on your katana."
Blade let go and watched dark green eyes cloud with concern as Sharif also dropped his arm. “This wasn't my plan, Blade. I didn't realize how deep Talyn's insecurities went and I should have. Dust, I'm one of five clones. The only reason I'm in line for the presidency is that I was decanted first.” He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in spikes. “I'm sorry."