Kissed by Death - Book three of the Trueborn Heirs Series

by Queen, Nyna

  Icy heat rushed through Darken’s veins, leaving him both feverish and shaking in his body. To think it would end like this…

  How could he face his best friend on the battlefield and kill him? And how, knowing that with him out of the way, his family and Alex would be the next targets, could he not? They were putting him in front of an impossible choice, knowing exactly where they could hit him hardest and exploiting it ruthlessly.

  Knowing that any show of emotion would only make this harder on both of them, Darken forced his features into an expressionless mask and looked up at Belaris.

  “I understand,” he said softly. “I appreciate the heads up.” This alone was more than he could have asked for, considering the circumstances.

  Belaris looked utterly confused for a moment, then his face distorted with indignation and rage. “Darken, if you really think I considered it even for a second, you’re more of an asshole than I ever thought!”

  Darken froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You disobeyed a direct order?”

  Belaris raked a hand though his spiky blond hair, looking flustered. “Well, of course I didn’t exactly rub their noses in the fact that I had no intention to comply, or else I wouldn’t be here now, would I? Anyway, they’ll surely assign others soon, but since they were so eager to have me do it, I believe this should give you a head start to get your ass into hiding.”

  Darken felt a warm rush of gratitude toward his friend, which was followed by a chilling wave of fear. As much as he would love to have Belaris on his side for this fight, it was a death sentence for both of them. He had so many deaths on his conscience, he couldn't bear the thought of adding the death of his best friend to this list. Even at the cost of his own life.

  “Belaris, listen,” he said quietly, “I … appreciate what you are doing, I truly do, but as soon as they realize that you deceived them, you’ll be on the blacklist, too. I can’t ask you to throw your life away for my sake.”

  “That’s the thing about friendship, Darken,” Belaris said with a wry smile. “You don’t need to ask. You were the one who taught me that, remember? And to be quite honest, I’m sick of this so-called life they so graciously allow us to live.” His expression contorted with loathing. “I’m sick of it all. Of their self-righteous faces, of the whip, of having to heel to their whistle like an obedient dog, eager for a treat. I’d rather die my own man than keep playing their puppet butcher any longer. And if I can piss them off on the way, all the better.” An impish grin curved his lips.

  Darken pressed his fingers to his temples. “Can’t you be serious for once in your life?”

  The grin vanished like a candle that had been snuffed out. “I am serious,” Belaris said quietly. “I’ve never been so serious in my life.”

  Desperation choked Darken like a metal cord around his neck. “Belaris, please. Reconsider!”

  Belaris lifted an eyebrow. “So, you’d rather have me hunt you down and kill you? Having a death wish lately? I know a good psychiatrist I could refer you to.”

  “If you do this, there will be no way back!”

  Belaris crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side. “It might be shocking for someone like you, but I’m not only outrageously handsome, I’m also reasonably intelligent. I know the stakes. And, frankly, I don’t need your permission.”

  Darken slowly shook his head, swamped by helplessness and pain. “Then we’re both dead men walking.”

  “I never pegged you as one with a flair for the dramatic, but, yeah, that’s what I figured, too,” Belaris said. “So, I decided it was high time to pay a long overdue visit to the secret archives at the guardaí headquarters in Crona. I always wanted to know if I’d be able to hack my way into their system. They claim it’s impossible. Impossible, can you believe that? They are practically begging to be cut down to size.”

  Darken’s head snapped up. “Belaris, no.” He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t. Don’t go there. The place is a freaking death trap. It’s just not worth it.”

  It was one thing to know that they would most likely not be able to escape the Order’s death squads for long, quite another to serve himself on a silver platter.

  “I was there once,” he explained. “Even with your skills, you won’t be able to stay undetected. And the moment you set off the alarms, the entire place locks down. You’d be caught like a mouse in a trap.”

  Belaris smiled at him, looking at once at peace and sad. “I know, Darken. I’m already in there.”

  Darken rocked back. For a second, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He felt as though he’d fallen off a racing horse in mid-gallop and landed flat on his back with the wind knocked completely out of him. The room around him lost its contours, blurring out of focus. He stared at his best friend, but all he suddenly saw was the face of the boisterous youth he’d met more than ten years ago.

  Like in a time lapse, memories raced past his inner eye: he and Belaris, clasping each other’s backs, laughing about some kind of joke; Belaris, grinning his smug, superior grin from atop a stone wall, a picture of jauntiness; Darken, holding his friend as he screamed his soul out after killing an entire family on the Order’s command; sitting together in the sun in one of the convent’s inner yards, sharing bad coffee…

  It hit home like a death blow. There would be no more coffees, no more laughter, no more rants. No more saucy jokes and slippery remarks. No more ‘I told you’s and ‘You bet on it’s.

  Raw anguish surged up inside Darken and threatened to crush him like a giant, suffocating wave, but he used every bit of his power to force the boiling emotions back into the icy cage of his will, knowing better than to waste his friend’s sacrifice with sentimentalities.

  Swallowing hard, he raised his chin. “How much time do you have left?”

  Belaris flicked a glance to the side. “About ten minutes, fifteen tops. I’ve installed some nasty little surprises around the door controls. Without being overly presumptuous, I think it will take them a while to break my locking sigils.”

  Darken clenched his fists below the table until he smelled blood before nodding with grim determination. “Make them count.”

  A ghost of the old, familiar smirk flickered over Belaris’ features. “That’s my boy!”

  His long fingers flew through the air, operating consoles on his side of the holographic projection. “I have extracted the files of the GemRock Consortium from the secure database,” he said with a feral expression on his face. “From what I can see here, it’s hardly surprising that none of this ever came to light—half of the fucking royal elite seems to be involved in this scandal! Governor Ferhus and Lord Debayne are only two names on a long list of shareholders who joined the Consortium shortly after the end of the war. And we’re talking well-known names here. Let’s see: Lord Tairen, Lady de Broigh, Lady Methuse-Lareigh, High Judge Fitzgerald…” His finger moved down in air. “The list goes on and on, most of them highly esteemed members of the elite, all silently profiting from the earnings of the GemRock Consortium.”

  Darken whistled softly. Well-known names indeed. Belaris could have been reading the guest list for the Prime’s birthday party.

  “Can you send me the list?”

  Belaris made a face. “Wish I could, but I’m afraid just keeping the link stable is draining all the juices. Sorry, man.”

  Not surprising. That he’d managed to establish a connection from inside the guardaí’s headquarters at all was a small miracle. Darken nodded. “Doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you got.”

  He hurriedly procured a pen and paper and started writing down the names Belaris tossed at him, his face getting grimmer and grimmer as he listened. Not exactly half of the elite, but the Great Mother have mercy on him, those names! Each one more shocking than the last.

  “There are also files with personal profiles for all the shareholders here,” Belaris went on. “It seems that some thorough research was conducted on these people, probably to sort out possible co-
conspirators is my guess, and they have been selected with great care. You said they baited your brother’s friend Debayne with support for his sick son? Well, the data here indicates that most of the others were also … coerced to join the Consortium one way or another: scandals that were swept under the carpet, charges that were conveniently dropped due to some technicality, family members who suddenly got the desired position at their place of work… The reasons are different, but the incentives are always high, and they came with a price tag. A big one. Each file also contains a payment confirmation for a considerate sum that was paid to the Bluetail Grand Theatre or a comparable establishment.” Belaris’ voice turned into a dangerously sweet croon. “And we know where all that money really ended up.”

  Oh yes, yes they did. In the infested bowels of the Maria P. Carvalis Prison Camp. Invested in torture and death.

  “No wonder nobody’s made any efforts to expose this operation,” Darken muttered disgustedly. “They were all too busy covering their own traces.”

  “And probably liberally paying shush money to everybody around them so that they would look the other way,” Belaris added with a grimace. “Did I ever mention how much I hate corruption?”

  “Frequently,” Darken told him. He paused. “And Roukewood?”

  Belaris’s expression became deeply predatory, more demonic than human. “Oh, you were completely right about that son of a bitch. In fact, he’s one of the big wheels in the Consortium. Interestingly enough, he’s only registered as a silent partner in the company, Which means…”

  “…that his name doesn’t appear in any of the public registers,” Darken finished softly.

  “Correct,” Belaris confirmed. “So, if I had checked the Consortium’s files at the Department of Commerce for instance, his name wouldn’t have popped up, and we would have been left with a few more question marks to ponder. And Roukewood isn’t the only silent partner.”

  “There’s another one?”

  “Mhmm.” Belaris bent forward with a malevolent smile. “You’re aware that Roukewood was big in the military before he changed to politics, yes?”

  Darken nodded with a frown. What did the military have to do with anything?

  “I bet you can’t guess whom he was best friends with during his time in the army.”

  Darken uttered a sigh. “I suppose you’ll tell me in a moment.”

  “Most definitely, and you’re not going to believe it.” Belaris flashed his teeth at him. “One of them was Lord Arlington Shinner.”

  “Shinner, the Governor of the Northern Provinces Shinner?”

  “The very same, yes. He also happens to be the other silent partner in the GemRock Consortium. An interesting coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Something tells me you don’t think it’s a coincidence at all.”

  Belaris grinned the grin of a fox which had cornered a fat chicken. “You know me. I don’t believe in coincidences. Hold your hat, it gets worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Oh yes. The third in the trio was none other than the big man himself, our dear Prime Gerald Beauchamp-Mareille.”

  “Wait a minute. The Prime?” Darken grabbed the table with both hands, all of a sudden needing its solidity to keep him steady. “You’re saying the Prime is involved in this, too?”

  “The papers don’t lie,” Belaris said with a silken shrug. “The evidence is all there.” He flipped through a couple of screens. “The army has always been a rather private bunch, and not much of Gerald’s time in the military is known to the public—well except for him being a bloody hero and all that mass-moving bullshit.” He fidgeted with the controls. “But the personal files in these archives are deep wells of insights. Apparently, Shinner, Roukewood and Gerald were as thick as thieves in their younger years. An inseparable trio, and with a great penchant for risk and excitement, too, if these reports are to be believed. Not a dangerous mission they didn’t volunteer for. And not much for following rules and orders either, these three—not that you and I have a right to fault them for that. In their files, decorations battle themselves with disciplinary measures.”

  Roukewood, Shinner and Prime Gerald—old army buddies? Who would have thought?

  Darken had wondered over and over how an operation like the Maria Carvalis Prison Camp could go undetected for so long, but if the Prime himself held his protective hand over it…

  “I would never have guessed that these three were close friends.”

  “I believe that is the idea,” Belaris said with a flick of his hand. “After our Old Prime Willem died shortly before the end of the war, Gerald had to drop out of the military and pick up the political reigns. Officially, the three of them broke ties then and went their separate ways, yet it seems they never forgot the good ol’ times. In fact, from what I can see here, I would say that they are very intent on bringing the merry triangle back together, only now in a different arena.”

  Darken stiffened. “How so?”

  Belaris lifted his eyebrows. “Only a couple of months after Gerald’s installation as Prime, Shinner left the military—quite surprising at the time, considering his good standing and his known affinity for the military life—and started a political career instead. Granted, it took him a couple of years, but he eventually ended up winning the gubernatorial election and became the Governor of the Northern Provinces. And he’s kept this post for the past six years, a tenure that might not be unusual per se—but Shinner? Please. They call him the Orvelian Butcher on the quiet. The man isn’t exactly famous with the masses. Not like the Prime or like Robert Ferhus was, for instance. Still, no-one has managed to shoulder him from his seat since. One wonders how he achieved that.”

  “You have a theory?”

  “You bet I do.” Belaris zoomed in on a file with a motion of his fingers. “If you take a closer look at the circumstances of Shinner’s success story, you’ll notice that it is marked by the highly convenient elimination of his competitors from the election campaigns. A couple of unexpected abdications, several unfortunate accidents, and a high number of surprising and very inexplicable deaths. Looking at the big picture, his rise to power blazed a nice little trail of destruction through the ranks of the trueborn elite. And knowing what we know about the Maria Carvalis Prison Camp, I would bet that shaper venom has played a major role in many of those oh-so unfortunate deaths.”

  Darken let the words sink in. Alex had once told him how valuable shaper venom was on the black market because of its effectiveness, and because it was so extremely hard to detect. It was easy to imagine that those who tortured shapers to force them to shed their skin would also extract their venom when they were already at it and had no qualms about using it, either. And the rest of it was probably sold on the black market.

  His hands curled into tight fists.

  Belaris acknowledged his anger with a tilt of his head. “And the competitors who weren’t murdered were most likely blackmailed or bribed.” He shook his head. “The Consortium must be a real cash cow to keep an ass like Shinner in the seat for such a long time. Bribes are expensive, especially at such a large scale.”

  “As is campaigning.” Darken exhaled softly. “There has always been a certain truth to the assertion that the wealthiest man in the room often wins the election. He can just bleed the other candidates dry.”

  “That rule of thumb certainly worked for Lord Arlington Shinner so far.”

  “And now it’s Roukewood’s turn,” Darken said softly.

  “And now it’s Roukewood’s turn,” Belaris agreed. “Our dear senator of Tezeth left the military around the time when his buddy Shinner became Governor of the North and he, too, made a startlingly rapid ascent despite his sometimes radical opinions. The pattern of his rise is also quite comparable to that of Shinner. Most notably, Lord Kelephan, his predecessor as senator of Tezeth, who should have been the one to compete in the election for the governor post this year, sadly died of his cancer even though he’d made such a remarkable recovery in
the previous months. His unexpected death was what gave Roukewood the opportunity to run in the election this year already.”

  Belaris tapped his forefingers together. “If Roukewood were to become the governor of the Southern Provinces, the triangle will be once more complete, and this time they will be the rule makers, not the ones following orders.” He cast a glance at Darken. “At least now I understand why they are so eager to oust your brother from the election by all available means. He would pose a real threat to their operation. Devilier they might be able to keep in line till the next election in which Roukewood could make a new attempt, but your brother? I doubt he is open to bribes, and I don’t see him responding well to threats either. Being governor of the South would provide him with access to a wide range of classified information, and they simply can’t risk him poking his nose into their business. It would most certainly—”

  An explosion went off at Belaris’ side of the projection, pounding Darken’s eardrums and making him wince like a tasered dog. For a second, the image crackled, before flickering back into shape, Belaris’ outline slightly distorted around the edges.

  Darken’s heart thundered, the adrenaline in his bloodstream whispering to the deadly currents of his magic. Heat flooded his veins with a lethal darkness. “Belaris, what’s happening?”

  Belaris grimaced. He appeared unharmed. “That was my welding sigil, I think.” He frowned to his right where, Darken suspected, the door to the chamber was located. “They must have finally managed to break it but triggered the explosive charges I hid in it. Damn, I thought that one would hold a little longer. Still, I think twenty-three minutes is breaking some kind of record…”

  “Belaris!”

  “What? A man needs some sort of legacy, doesn’t he? Anyway”—he turned back to Darken—“I also took the liberty to throw a quick glance at the Consortium’s accounts. Big surprise, the bulk of the jewels sold by it is imported from Tharsis. To be expected really, but the import prices seem strikingly cheap to me. It is my guess that they ship the shaper skin ‘jewels’ they produce at the Maria P. Carvalis Prison Camp across the border to Tharsis from where they are sold to the Consortium through a face handler and then imported into Arcadia to be distributed through the Consortium along with the real stuff.”