Protector of the Flame (15 page)

And the Council would’ve turned a blind eye to his indiscretion.

“Aditya,” Cyrus said, rising from his leather chair and moving to the opposite side of the room. “You’ve been dutiful to me. I’m grateful for your service.” When her mouth curved up in adoring warmth, her cheeks reddening, he poured a drink. “But I’m afraid you can’t serve me anymore. From now on, I want a male attendant.”

“Wh-what have I done wrong?”

As she stepped toward him, he circled away.

“Nothing.”

“I must have for you to dismiss me. My lord, please.” She dropped to her knees. “Don’t send me away. My family has served yours for eons. To be your attendant is a great honor. I wouldn’t be able to show my face if you replaced me.”

After he chugged his cognac, he lifted her to her feet. “Aditya, my
kabashem
would be…most displeased to know you are my personal attendant.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, chin trembling. “Why? I always serve you when you come home. Have I not done a good job?”

“You are exceptional in dedication, attention to detail…” And beauty, which was the problem. “It’s hard to explain. If my mate knew I had a female attendant, especially one who gives me massages and routinely sees me naked—”

“This is our way. Years of tradition—”

“But it’s not her way. It’s best if I have a male attendant for basic things from now on. Perhaps one from your family.”

A knock at the door halted further protests.

“Come in.” The door opened. Sighing with relief, Cyrus was never so happy to see Abbadon.

“That will be all, Aditya.” He guided her to the door, grabbing the brocade outer shell of her dress and helped her to put it on. “Thank you for your service. I’ll ensure Minerva gives you a distinguished position. No disgrace shall befall you.”

A sob broke from her mouth, tears overflowed, and she ran from his room.

Cyrus sat back down and hit refresh on his email. “You have perfect timing,” he said to Abbadon. No new emails. He double-checked to make sure the Internet was up and slapped the keyboard. It was working just fine.

At the uncharacteristic silence from his friend, Cyrus glanced over his shoulder. The male stood mute with an inscrutable look.

“What is it?” Cyrus turned back to the computer and hit refresh.

“Spero called.”

His spinal ligaments stiffened. “Spero?” Not Serenity. Cyrus glanced at his smartphone and swiveled to face Abbadon. “Why didn’t he call my private cell?”

“He couldn’t bear to call you himself. They arrived in Iceland, but Serenity didn’t make it inside House Aten.”

Every muscle fiber in his back grew taut as a guitar string, niggling at his buried wings. “What do you mean?” He sprang to his feet. “Speak plainly and quickly.”

“They were attacked. Serenity was taken. He thinks by a Paladin.”

Taken.
His vision blurred, his head spun, and the bottom fell out of his world. “Why is Spero still breathing? Why wasn’t he killed trying to protect her if it was a Paladin?”

“The attacker used poisoned darts to immobilize everyone.”

Cyrus crossed the room, grabbed a duffel bag and began stuffing clothes inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to Iceland to look for her.”

“Surely the Paladin has fled Iceland with her by now.”

Cyrus threw weapons in the bag, a few ball buster grenades and a
fulcrix
—a
barenpetium
whip with sharpened ridges. “Then I’ll try to pick up the trail.”

“Spero has already done that.” Abbadon approached slowly.

“Well, I’ll do it again! I’ll question Seshata face to face.” He zipped the bag and headed to the door. “She must’ve told Sekhem that Serenity was coming or someone else in her House.”

Abbadon blocked the door. “You won’t make it. The Council has tightened security, doubled the battle-guard at all entry points and issued a lockdown.”

The bag hit the floor and Cyrus grabbed Abbadon by the shirt. “You went to the Council before you came to me?”

“No brother, the moment you left their chamber they gave the order. I haven’t told them about the call from Spero yet. They know your heart, your soul.”

Cyrus shoved Abbadon away. “I can’t squander time, sitting idle while she’s unprotected.” He picked up his bag. “She’s alive. If she were dead, I’d know it. I’ll find her.”

“They could do far worse than kill her.”

Cyrus shot an icy glare of contempt. “They can take her ovaries and cut out her uterus, so long as they keep her alive.”

“Redemption—”

“If you give me some sanctimonious speech about salvation, I swear, I’ll shove my fist down your throat to silence you.”

“Careful, brother. The walls have ears.”

“To hell with the Council! To hell with Herut! And to hell with you if she dies.” He pushed Abbadon out of his way and grabbed the doorknob.

“The Council gave the battle-guard explicit instructions you’re to be detained by any means necessary short of killing you or severing a limb. To attempt to leave will be to declare war on your own people. In the end, you’ll lose this battle.”

The thought of harming or killing a Herut warrior sickened him, but he’d do anything, absolutely anything to get Serenity back. “I have to try.”

He opened the door, but Abbadon slammed it shut.

“The battle-guard number in the hundreds. You are one. They’ll bring you to your knees, drag you through the halls and clip your wings. And if by some miracle you do make it out, you’ll need Herut’s help against Paladins.”

The bitter sting of truth left him shaking with a fearsome rage that had no outlet.

Defeat, hot as acid, sizzled his brain, crackling through his veins.

Half his heart, half his soul was out there somewhere in the hands of Paladins while he was trapped in a prison, condemned to a slow death until his mate was back in his arms.

Chapter Fifteen

A gurgling growl from Serenity’s empty stomach demanded she rise from bed. Digging fingernails into the mattress, she sat up on the edge. A crushing headache exploded, shooting daggers into her eye sockets, threatening to crack her skull.

She waited for the first onslaught to pass.

“Lights.” She squinted against the brash illumination highlighting the austere room. White walls should’ve brightened the small space, but combined with the uncomfortable, utilitarian furniture, the room was devoid of warmth.

There was no bounce to the mattress as she rose. It lacked the downy fluffiness Cyrus had spoiled her with at home.

Cyrus, I’m alive and safe.
There had to be a way for them to be reunited sooner rather than later. She still felt him on a visceral level in the recesses of her heart and the deep flutters of her core. If he had a Whitescape when she entered the world, surely one of them would have an equally profound experience the moment the other moved on to the afterlife.

She trudged to the dresser to get a piece of fruit she’d snagged from breakfast. She bit into an apple, trying to shake the memory of her mother’s baked Macintoshes: the smell of cinnamon, a glossy brown sugar coating. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind.

Sweet blackness obliterated everything until her focus slipped. Now all she could see was her father handcuffed to a chair and her mother down on her knees.

Every restored memory, every childhood snapshot, reverberated with piercing clarity and the ache of a fresh wound. Time of years gone by didn’t act as buffer to filter the gut-wrenching pain. The love of her mother’s kiss, the tenderness of her father’s embrace, the enchantment of an afternoon at the zoo flooded her, but it was in the merciless anguish of having it all ripped away that she drowned in.

She staggered to the bed and sank down. The apple rolled from her hand as another resurrected memory crashed into her mind.

Her riding on her father’s back as he pretended to be a horse while her mother watched, laughing from the sofa.

She braced herself to die a little more inside. She stared straight ahead at the wall, but only saw her mother convulsing on the floor, body twisted as she screamed.

The daggers in her skull twisted. She rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms.

A tangled weave, all knotted with the vicious tragedy of that one day. The gift of remembrance couldn’t be separated from its curse.

Her head ached from the rush of memories, a brutal assault without end. She shut her eyes and saw Sothis bathing her. Her mother hummed a haunting tune. A dizzying swish, and Arabelle stood behind her father, gun pointed to the back of his head. The gun went off, vivid as a movie without the distance of a screen.

Temples throbbing, energy stream churning, she longed for Cyrus. To be held by her mate, comforted by the feel of his stream connected to hers.

Footsteps in the hall stopped in front of her room. Someone slid a piece of paper under the door. She went over and picked it up. There was a poorly drawn smiley face, followed by a neutral face, a frown and finally a deranged face with electric bolts for hair.

Along the bottom it read:
If you stay in your room too long, the walls will close in. Don’t get islanditis. Come out to play.

Chuckling quietly, she opened the door.

Adriel leaned against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. “Neith sent me to drag you up to the library. You have centuries of history to learn and not a moment longer to waste.”

“I can’t go to the library.” She sighed, rubbing her head. “Not if Sothis is there.”

He pushed off the wall, pivoting on his heel. “So you’re that kind of woman, huh?”

His face was staid, but his tone had been too light to be serious.

“And what kind would that be?”

“A troublemaker,” he crooned, amber eyes sparkling. “I tell you I was given an order and your response is that you won’t comply.” He placed his hand on her back, eased her out of the room and closed the door. “But I could use a little trouble. Don’t get much of it around here.” He led her down the walkway.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside to get you fresh air.”

His hand remained on her mid-back as he ushered her through the main doors of the building into the landscaped garden. Bright light agitated her headache, sending sharp nails through her frontal lobe, and she winced.

“You don’t look well,” he said, stopping in front of a fountain with a large metal sphere in the middle.

“Horrible headache that won’t go away since my memories were restored.”

“Let’s see what I can do about that.” He placed his palms on her face, covering her temples and cheeks.

She closed her eyes. Her father’s head slumped forward, blood pooling to the floor.

Vibrating heat coursed through her. After a moment, the image and pain faded.

“Better?”

“Thank you.”

He walked to a nearby bench made of bamboo, facing a hedge of flowering bushes. Grateful for the alleviation from the pain, she smiled and sat beside him.

“What am I to do with you, troublemaker?” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Well,” he said through a deep exhale, “if I can’t bring you to the library, I suppose I’ll just have to bring the library to you.”

“How?”

Arm propped on the back of the bench, he twisted to face her. He leaned in and looked around as if he was going to reveal a great secret. “The laptops are portable. Hadn’t you noticed?”

Laughing, she turned away.

“And I guess I have no choice but to bring down one for myself as well. I couldn’t have you out here lost with a question and no one to provide an answer,” he said in his breezy accent.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” His chin lifted and eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “I haven’t even brought you the laptop yet.”

“For your kindness.”

“No need for thanks between a brother and sister.” He rubbed her leg. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” His combination of genuine warmth and playful innocence was enchanting.

“Now, I promised we’d play if you came out and I do my best to keep my word, but first there’s something I have to know,” he said seriously.

She stared at him apprehensively, wondering what he’d ask.

“Are you hungry?”

A laugh bubbled out. “I thought food wasn’t available in between meals.”

“Technically it’s not, but as I’ve said, it’s good to have a friend in the kitchen.”

Unable to endure the noise and crowd at dinner, she’d only eaten fruit for the last several days. “Then I could use a little something. With substance.”

“Good girl.” He winked. “You wouldn’t be much of a troublemaker if you didn’t want to break the rules.” He put his hand on her forearm. “Wait here.”

She nodded and he dashed threw the garden.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep inhale and relished the fragrant air, recalling the time her father brought home a bouquet of peonies for Sothis. Her father pulled one from the bundle and gave it to Serenity as he handed the rest to her mother.