“Whatever is wrong with him isn’t causing giant alarm bells inside you, even though he’s listless and more wiped out than normal?” Alaric asked.
“Exactly. He’s had more issues over the past couple of years,” Benton said. “He gets short of breath sometimes, and his heart will race. I’m pretty sure he has pain or tightness in his chest but again, he’s a mess and we’ve become somewhat immune to the growing list of issues that are self-inflicted.”
“You think his new issues are still due to his lack of self-care?” Alaric asked. He wasn’t going to dispute the sentinels; they knew Chander better than he did, but he wasn’t convinced this was normal. Chander looked like a ghost and there was pain in his pewter eyes. There was no way of knowing if this was something serious or if he was suffering bigger long-term effects from his decision not to make his own health a priority.
“Maybe,” Baxter offered. “But since you’ve been around more, he’s been eating. Or at least he had been until a few days ago. You’d think he would be improving.”
“When he came home and found Conley’s box missing, he was furious,” Benton revealed. “His face flushed with color and his heart rate skyrocketed. Then he went to his room and went to bed.”
“I’d like to apologize again for having that box moved downstairs,” Victor said. The cat shifter looked contrite, and he’d expressed regret for his decision each night since the incident.
“It’s our fault,” Benton insisted. “We should have warned you not to mess with it.”
“But honestly, I didn’t think he would have gotten that upset,” Baxter added.
“Personally, I wish he would have let us keep it down there,” Benton told them. “He needs to let the past go.”
“He is capable of making that decision on his own.” Alaric had put two and two together and knew the box was where Reverent Knight Conley had rested while awaiting to be joined with Drystan. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Chander wanted a physical reminder of the past. As far as Alaric was concerned, it was up to Chander to move forward when he was ready. No one could force him to forgive himself.
Benton shook his head. “I know, I just wish he wouldn’t punish himself any longer.”
“Is there anything we can do to help him?” Victor asked. “I would like to find a way to make up for my part in it.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Benton said. “We can’t force him to go and visit the hospital. It wouldn’t hurt to have a doctor or a druid take a look at him. But we literally have to drag him kicking and screaming to get him to have his eyes fixed. And that only works when his vision is so bad his glasses can no longer adequately correct it.”
“Yeah, to date I think we’ve each had a turn doing that,” Baxter replied. “It isn’t pretty.”
Alaric could well imagine the scene. Arch Lich Chander Daray was formidable and used to commanding an entire Council. If he didn’t want to do something, then it was going to take a resilient and courageous soul to convince or bully him into it. Good thing sentinels were made of stern stuff.
“Alaric, you’re the sentinel leader,” Victor pointed out. “Wouldn’t you be able to sense if the Arch Lich was seriously ill?”
“I’m afraid as his mate, my skills in detecting his physical maladies are muted,” Alaric replied.
“You don’t have a mindlink or the ability to sense his emotions?” Benton asked as he shook his head. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked that yet.”
“Those particular abilities seem limited to only sentinel-to-sentinel matebonds,” Alaric explained. “I can’t pick up any of his emotions, and I have tried sending my thoughts to him but he hasn’t responded. I figure if he heard me, he would be more than happy to tell me to get out of his head.”
“You guys don’t have the usual connection of mates, do you?” Victor asked with a faintly pitying look. That rather annoyed Alaric. It wasn’t the business of some young shifter to dissect his relationship with Chander.
“We’re still in the process of getting to know one another,” Alaric stated.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Victor responded. “It’s just you guys are already bloodbonded but you don’t even share a room.”
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing my relationship with the Arch Lich.”
“I should mind my own business.” Victor batted his lashes. Alaric had no idea how to interpret his expression, so he ignored it completely.
“I’m going to head back to the compound,” Alaric announced. “If he wakes up before you go to bed, come and get me. I’d like to talk to him and see if he’s willing to tell me about how he is feeling. Otherwise I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”
They said their good-byes, and Alaric teleported to the sentinel stronghold. He was worried for Chander, and he wasn’t sure if he needed to be or not. Perhaps Chander’s body had simply been pushed to the breaking point, and it was taking the rest he’d been denying it. The Arch Lich was a young necromancer; it didn’t make sense he would have any serious health problems despite his disinterest in seeing to his own well-being. With luck, Alaric would get the chance to confront the man about it tomorrow. If not, he supposed he would keep hanging out in the condo after his sentinels were served their dinner until such an opportunity presented itself.
* * *
Chander was growing irritated. The last few days had been a complete waste. He was tired, and his body was demanding rest. He barely made it through work before he all but crashed into his bed. The first night had been the worst, he reminded himself. Surely that meant whatever the hell was wrong, it was getting better. He had a constant ache in his chest, but it wasn’t the intense pain he’d suffered the evening he came home to find Conley’s box in the building’s storage area. Chander had been livid to find it gone.
He was grateful that by the time he’d surfaced the following morning, his sentinels and likely Alaric had retrieved the box and returned it to the living room. Victor had apologized profusely before Chander had headed out to Council Headquarters and he’d forgiven him. Chander knew it wasn’t the shifter’s fault no one had told him not to relocate it.
It had been Chander’s responsibility to make sure it was not moved. But having a housekeeper was a new experience, and he’d simply never considered Conley’s former resting place would be touched. He’d been furious that it was gone, but he’d never really been angry at Victor. At least he hadn’t scared the young guy away. Benton told him he’d been the only viable candidate; if he’d quit over Chander’s outburst, his sentinels would probably never have forgiven him. And he would have had to hear about it for centuries or longer.
“You okay?” Benton asked as they strode toward the lunchroom at Headquarters.
“You’re worse than a mother,” Chander complained. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that even when you feel like shit,” Baxter countered.
“You know I’ve always read sentinels are silent assassins,” Chander responded. “How come you two talk so much?”
“They are silent because they’re never around,” Benton shot back.
“We’ll change that. At least the Council has received our support letters to help Alaric with his petition and to refute the one from the on-its-last-legs council.”
Benton and Baxter grinned as they sat down across the table from Chander. “Please tell me I can call them that to their faces.”
“You kidding?” Chander asked. “I was going to have it changed to that on the outside of Necromancia Headquarters.”
“That’s literally the best idea you’ve ever had,” Baxter insisted.
“It was a toss-up really,” Chander revealed. “I considered antiquated-and-past-its-prime but wound up with on-its-last-legs.”
“Any of those would have been better than elder,” Benton told him. “They make it sound like they’re leaders.”
“Of course they do. None of them have forgotten that at one time each of them was the Arch Lich.”
/> “If they were so good at it, they wouldn’t have been voted out of office,” Benton said. They paused to give their orders to a hovering waiter. There were only a couple of choices in the Council Leader Cafeteria but it didn’t matter; Chander had no choice. Benton ordered him “the healthiest thing on the menu.”
“We should put that on their business cards,” Chander suggested. “So good we suck.”
“It’s catchy,” Baxter decided.
“I was hoping when they learned Chrys was going to back the sentinels, they would revoke their petition,” Chander revealed. “I guess it shows there’s still some part of me that believes in miracles.”
Benton shrugged. “I really don’t know why they care.”
“It’s about power. They love the fact that they get to decide your fates. All five of them were alive at the time of Faustus’s and Domitia’s reign. Sigimund and Drusa were well-connected even then. The other three were still young so they may know nothing, but I don’t trust any of them fully.”
“Makes you wonder what other secrets they know,” Baxter stated.
“Like how a baby necromancer with a black skull just showed up on Hubert’s porch one day,” Benton added.
“Yeah, they aren’t going to tell me shit about my origins,” Chander said.
“I’m thinking we should just stop mincing words and call them the asshole council,” Baxter declared.
“Little kids are allowed in Council Headquarters. I can’t plaster that on the wall, though I’d like to.”
“You’re a sorcerer. Can’t you do it with magic so only adults can read it?” Benton asked.
“That’s what I love about sentinels, your perverse way of thinking.”
“You’ll do it?” Baxter inquired.
Chander gave him a regal nod. “I will take your request into consideration.”
“You’d tell us if you were really sick, wouldn’t you?” Benton blurted out.
“You could sense if I was, so how could I hide it?” Chander asked.
“We know something isn’t right with you,” Baxter stated.
“Of course not, I don’t care for myself. How many times a day do you both chastise me for it?”
“You’ve been sleeping a lot more lately,” Benton countered.
“That’s because I’ve spent the last six centuries not sleeping.”
“Tell us if you think it’s something more,” Baxter demanded.
“If I begin to feel worse and your sentinel senses don’t pick something up, I’ll mention it,” Chander replied as the waiter put their plates down in front of them.
“It’s not ideal but it’s a start,” Benton said. “Now eat your salad.”
“I hate salads.”
“You hate anything that isn’t pizza, tacos, or french fries,” Benton retorted.
“I don’t know how you can make that sound like a bad thing, but you do.” Chander poked at the lettuce on his plate with his fork.
“Young man, we aren’t leaving here until you’ve finished your lunch, so stop playing with it and eat,” Benton said.
“How do you put up with him?” Chander asked Baxter who reached over and grabbed Benton’s face to press a smacking kiss on his lips.
“Because he’s so damn sexy,” Baxter replied. Chander shook his head at the maniacs and forced the freaking salad down his throat. Maybe it would help him feel better. He’d like to spend a few minutes with Alaric tonight before exhaustion forced him to his room. When that thought blossomed, he closed his eyes and wanted to dropkick himself across the cafeteria. He wasn’t supposed to be getting attached to Alaric. No matter how tempting it might be. He was a shit, he reminded himself as he returned to his crappy lunch. That was one thing that was never going to change.
Chapter 26
Reverent Knight Drystan Gylde-Kempe walked out of the cafeteria with Conley’s hand securely in his. Directly in front of them he saw, amidst the Council leaders filtering out, Arch Lich Chander Daray and his two sentinels. Once he’d been one of the closest people to Drystan, but then he’d found out the necromancer had spent six centuries lying to him about his own identity. If that weren’t bad enough, Chander had been one of a group of sorcerers who’d decided to separate Drystan and Conley.
It had infuriated Drystan, and he’d ripped into his former best friend the afternoon his memory had returned. That was several months ago and he’d continued to stew over it. And now he was at the point where the memories that were more important were the ones he did have with Conley. Focusing on the best part of his life also had him recalling all the years of camaraderie he’d had with Chander. The truth was, he missed the little necromancer with his crazy hair and no-nonsense attitude.
“I think I’m ready,” Drystan said as they trailed after the Arch Lich. The Order of Necromancia was close to the Order of the Fallen Knights so they were headed in the same direction of Council Headquarters.
“To stop pouting and kiss and make-up with Chander?” Conley asked. As usual, Conley showed his penchant for reading Drystan’s mind.
“Have you seen his mate? I’m not kissing him. That man is the leader of the most elite assassins this world has ever seen. Who knows what he would do to me if I smooched on Chand?”
Conley gave him a side-eyed glance. “Not to mention what yours would do.”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re ready to apologize for being a big baby for months?” Conley asked.
“I wasn’t planning on apologizing. More like accepting his.”
“Sometimes I think your brain is broken.”
“Why should I apologize? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Drys, you screamed and yelled at a man who resurrected us. Who literally brought us back to life so we’d have a second chance at it and each other. And then you ignored him for months. He was one of the people closest to you.”
“Fine, I’ll apologize,” Drystan mumbled.
“No time like the present,” Conley said before he called out to the Arch Lich.
Chander turned and didn’t exactly look happy to see them. But then, Drystan hadn’t given him any reason to think he would be friendly. They caught up to the trio, and Drystan looked at his former best friend. He looked pale and gaunt.
“Chand, I’d really love to speak with you when you have some free time.”
The Arch Lich looked to the floor. “There’s a lot going on right now. It might be a while before we can meet.”
Drystan wasn’t buying that for one second. “This is important.”
“You could speak with the elders if the Order of the Fallen Knights needs something from the necromancers.”
“Damn it, Chand, I need to speak to you. Not the elders,” Drystan snapped. He would have been more explicit about his feelings toward the elders but though it might look like they were pretty much alone in the hallway, you never knew who was around the corner and listening.
He saw Chander raise a hand and swipe his trembling fingers across his brow. His forehead was damp with perspiration under his crown.
“I’m-I’m kind of busy,” the necromancer murmured.
“You okay?” Drystan asked. The man was all but swaying on his feet.
“Fine,” Chander insisted.
“Are you sure?” Drystan saw his sentinels looking at him with concern and that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Chand, look at me. Are you all right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he asked as he put his hand to his chest and rubbed. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” The last few words were wheezed out.
“Calm down, I believe you,” Drystan said.
“What the hell?” Conley blurted out when Baxter and Benton suddenly threw their hoods up and grabbed their daggers from their hips.
Drystan looked back to Chander and saw him taking a few lurching steps backward until he hit the wall behind him. He was clutching his chest and then their eyes met. Chander’s were filled with pain and terror
as he slid down the wall.
“What have you done to him?” Baxter demanded in a sinister voice.
“Back away from our necromancer, fallen knight,” Benton ordered in the same menacing tone.
“Chand, talk to me.” Drystan tried lowering his body down toward Chander, but Baxter grabbed the front of his uniform. Drystan had been around enough hurting necromancers to know the sentinels were acting purely on instinct and they would not stop.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Drystan snapped right before he grabbed his weapon and unloaded a tranq into Baxter. “Conley, drop Benton.”
Conley didn’t hesitate and the sentinel crumbled to the ground next to Baxter. Drystan sank down to his knees and looked at the Arch Lich. He was breathing in shallow bursts and his knuckles were white from clutching his dress shirt. Sweat was running down from his temples and his eyes were spooked. His skin was almost the color of his pale gray shirt.
“Con, call Dra’Kaedan. Tell him to get here now,” Drystan said and heard Conley complying. “Chand, stay calm. Okay?”
The necromancer looked at him and Drystan could tell he was fighting for his life. That was a look he’d seen before, and he began to panic when Chander’s lids began to flutter closed. “No. Chand, stay awake. Okay? Stay. Awake.”
A second later, Dra’Kaedan was crouching on the floor next to him with Brogan hovering behind them. “Chand, can you talk?” Dra’Kaedan asked.
It was clear words were beyond the Arch Lich, and his eyes fell shut. His hand slid from his shirt to fall into his lap.
“What the fuck is happening?” Drystan demanded.
“Lay him on the fucking floor,” Dra’Kaedan ordered. His gaze was pure gold as he began casting healing magic toward the Arch Lich as soon as they had him prone.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Conley offered in a tight voice.
“No time!” Dra’Kaedan cried out. “Call the warlocks. I need all of them except for Derwin. I can’t deal with his shit right now. I need a visual to teleport us to the hospital and tell them we’ll need all the help we can get when we arrive.”
Rise of the Lich Sentinel Page 18