Protector of the Flame (21 page)

“He said he grew up here.”

“His parents belonged to a nomadic colony of Sekhem. When he was born and they realized he was Blessed, the colony chose to get rid of him rather than turn him over to their great House. Since he already had a
kabashem
, Evane, he posed a threat. His mother died getting him here. Their raft washed up on our shores with him suckling her tit. We found a note in her sackcloth, explaining her dilemma. I believe it was divine intervention he made it to us at all, much less alive.”

Neith sat on a bench and stared at the water. Serenity sat beside her.

“When he was three, he cured me of a stomach ache. After he healed me, I knew he was exceptional. I’ve loved all the inhabitants of my island, but none like Adriel.”

The direction of the conversation had taken an unexpected, yet unsettling turn.

“Have you met Nikos?” The ancient beauty continued to stare at the water.

“We’ve haven’t been introduced, but he’s a warrior that works in the kitchen.”

“My record-keepers found him, half-dead, and brought him here. He begged us to let him die. His is a tragic story. Lilly, who has since passed on to the afterlife, healed him, but not fully. She lacked the power. A scar remained over his eye.”

Serenity thought of her two small scars on the abdomen where she had been shot. “I didn’t notice a scar on his face.”

“Nikos was a loner, never had an interest in being a part of our collective. He wasn’t cordial to anyone. After I lectured him about manners, he stopped speaking entirely.”

“Are we talking about the same man that works in the kitchen?” The man she saw was lively, jovial even, with Adriel anyway.

Neith gave a slow nod. “When Adriel was ten, he nearly drowned trying to swim against the tide. Nikos saved him. Adriel healed the scar over his eye as a way to say thank you. After Nikos had been healed, he spoke again, even interacted with the collective, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was sociable. Except with Adriel. They’re good friends.”

“The best of friends.”

Neith folded her hands in her lap and looked at Serenity. “Has Adriel healed you in some way?”

Her heart contracted. “Yes. What are you getting at?”

“What did he heal?”

“My childhood memories. He said he retained them, like they’re his own now.”

Neith’s unworldly eyes brightened. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” The tightness in her chest deepened.

“There is a side effect to Adriel’s
ingenium
. Once he heals a person, they become endeared to him. It’s a subtle, secondary power with tremendous impact. I care for all here, but Adriel’s comfort and safety comes before the others. I try to impose restrictions upon myself to limit the degree of favoritism I show him, but find my judgment skewed, compelled to please him even when I shouldn’t. Through healing, he could raise a devoted army that would die to protect him.”

Neith studied her face. “Have you not felt it? The unnatural tether to him.”

Ice water shot through her veins. Serenity stared at the ocean breaking on rocks. Of course she felt it, but had mistaken it for a special bond, something good.

Not unnatural.

“I’ve never seen it flow the other way, but Adriel is endeared to you. This is the first time it’s happened to him. I wasn’t certain if the link was familial or if its nature was amorous…until this evening.”

Neith cupped Serenity’s chin and turned her face so their eyes met. Her velvety fingers were cool, unyielding.

“This is no good,” she said each word slowly, enunciating every syllable as if to drill the point into her head. Neith lowered her hand to Serenity’s shoulder. “I sent for Cyrus seven days ago.”

Excitement bubbled in her core. “Why didn’t you tell me? When will he get here?”

“He should have already arrived. His delay troubles me.”

“Nothing will stop him from coming if he knows I’m here.” Serenity’s energy stream stirred. “Cyrus will come for me.”

“Yes, he will.” It was the first time strain resonated in Neith’s voice. She gazed back at the water. “Tread with care, young firebird. It would be a tragedy to burn before your time.”

Chapter Nineteen

Tarquin, one of Aditya’s cousins and his new attendant, adjusted the necktie of his tux. When the male was done, Cyrus stood in front of the full-length mirror framed with a unique black bone inlay. He didn’t recognize the person staring back.

Freshly cut hair black as basalt, eyes dark as death, wan face clean-shaven, features sharpened by lack of appetite, he was prepared for the royal dinner being held in his honor.

For seven days the Council sat on his request to search for Serenity. The Great Historian, Neith, had sent him word his
kabashem
was alive, unharmed, and there was a way they could be reunited in safety if he followed her explicit instructions.

The Council’s interference prevented him from keeping the message secret, but his expectation of expeditious support had been met with more deliberation. He was done waiting.

He opened the door to his quarters and passed the four battle-guard warriors who had been designated as his armed escort. Although he’d heeded Abbadon’s advice, the Council thought it best to give him security for his own protection.

“My lord, Lady Leta sent a page to see what’s keeping you. She said you’re extremely late,” one of the battle-guard said, as they followed behind him.

Ignoring the comment, he strolled at a leisurely pace to the smallest banquet hall, where thirty from the noble families and the Council waited. According to his agenda, he was right on time for his grand entrance.

As he entered the hall, lively chatter died. Quartz and crystal twinkled in candlelight. The highest ranking lords and ladies of Herut, dressed in their finest evening attire, sat with eyes fixed on him. Head held high, he flashed his politician’s smile, walking to the seat reserved for him.

He sat in the middle of the table directly across from Leta. To her right was her sealed mate and
kabashem
, Lord Phane. To her left was her
consort-misère
, Dominicus, his father.

As always since his mother’s death, his father wouldn’t even look at him. For two hundred years, Cyrus blamed himself. But tonight he was free of that guilt. Lysandra, the lover he never should have taken, murdered his mother in a fit of blood rage, but her death wasn’t his fault. Letting Lysandra live afterwards had been his grave mistake. Giving her the opportunity to kill his youngest ward, Cassian, was his true burden to bear.

“We’ve eagerly awaited your arrival,” Leta said, her smile patient, eyes full of fiery reproach.

“Patience shall be rewarded with thy heart’s desire.” He threw the last words she’d spoken to him in the Council’s chamber back in her face. With a raised finger, he called for a servant to fill his wine glass.

“We’re all thrilled to have you home,” a noblewoman beside him said. “Tell us the latest from New York.” The older royals preferred the familiar, extravagant confines of the House over venturing into the outside world. And the Council preferred it that way as well, made it easier to maintain control.

Expectant gazes shifted to him. They wanted him to regale them with tales of the hottest fashions, new artists breaking onto the scene, what type of music was now in style and juicy bits of current pop culture. They wanted him to slake their curiosity of the human world they both loved and despised. They wanted him to fall back into the fold with laughter and idle prattle.

“My last days in New York were filled with the insatiable passion that comes with finding one’s
kabashem
and the darkness of death. I have much to say on both topics if it would interest you.”

Eyelids lowered, smiles faded. Constantine, seated at one end of the table, instructed food to be brought out while Lord Orazio, at the opposite end of the table, glared at Cyrus.

Rare Beluga caviar served over ice was set on the table along with potato blinis and a host of other accoutrements. One of his favorites.

Once every guest had a glass of champagne, Phane rose. “To Cyrus, Blessed and most favored son of Herut.”

Around the table glasses were lifted and the words repeated by all, except his father.

In the sparkle of their eyes and the genuine joy on their faces, he saw it. How much they needed him. The Council was old, out of touch with the human world. They needed new, younger blood to inspire, to invigorate and to lead them into the future. The same chains of love and duty they used to keep him bound to Herut had also shackled them to an empire that they’d convinced everyone could only be ruled by Cyrus.

He sucked back two glasses of chilled bubbly as the others ate.

The noblewoman seated to his other side said, “Aren’t you going to eat? They had the caviar flown in especially for you when they heard you were returning.”

“My tongue has soured and now only craves one thing, but unfortunately my
kabashem
isn’t here.”

A soft blush suffused her cheeks. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “May the delay separating you be at an end soon.”

The withered female didn’t have the vaguest idea about the nature of the delay. Council matters stayed amongst the Council and everyone knew better than to ask unwelcomed questions.

“The only thing keeping me from my
kabashem
and from breaking the curse to free all Kindred from
sangre saevitas
and the dark veil is the Council. Their infinite wisdom is a poor disguise for cowardice.” They feared more than anything losing him.

A fork clattered to a gold plate. Shadows of whispers danced across the table.

“You forget yourself, Cyrus,” a fuming Lord Orazio said.

“On the contrary, I’ve found myself for the first time.” He stood, dropping his napkin on the table. “The Council has twenty-four hours to rescind the lockdown and open the gates.” Cyrus headed for the door.

“Or what?” Lord Orazio challenged.

Without turning back to look at any of them, he said, “Or I will bring this House to its knees.” He returned to his room, trailed by his escorts.

It had taken weeks of clandestine meetings and passing secret messages to convince a handful of the younger battle-guard to aid him. He was the future of this House as designated by the Council, therefore helping him was not a betrayal of Herut, but in their best interest if they wanted a notable position of ranking in the new regime. Along with assistance from the warriors that fought beside him for years, everything was in place for him to bust through one of the reinforced exits with minimal collateral damage.

If there was another way to prevent any collateral damage and from shaming his House further, he’d take it, but they’d given him no other choice. He picked up his smartphone and typed a coded message to Abbadon, giving the green light.

As he was about to hit send, a light rap at his door stayed his hand. Leta waltzed in, shutting the heavy
barenpetium
door behind her.

“That was quite a performance.” She glided toward him, her shimmering rust-colored dress rustling as she drew closer.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. I was just warming up.”

“I’m sure.” She stopped in front of him and cupped his cheek. “Do you know why I stood by you after your mother’s death?”

“It was tragic, but it wasn’t my fault.”

A rueful smile tugged at his heart. “In terms of cause and effect, you have culpability, but it was Lysandra who took my sister’s life. The reason I spoke up for you then, will always defend you even to your father, is because when I look at you I see Gaea. My little sister’s fire and spirit and potential. You are the best of us, Cyrus.”

He turned from her, the words chipping at the bedrock of his plan. “Dominicus speaks of me?”

“Sometimes, in the darkness, in my arms. He still loves you.”

“But he hates me more.”

She didn’t deny it as she came to stand in front of him again. “We held that dinner in your honor to announce our decision to send you with our blessing to find Serenity.”

Too easy. Too convenient. Then he remembered how cunning Leta could be, the sharpness of her guile. “What’s the catch, dear aunt?”

“You shall formally accept your call to serve Herut and replace Constantine on the Council before you leave. We wanted a lavish ceremony on an auspicious day and had chosen the first day of the season of Peret, but you’ve made it clear you will not wait. We’ll hold a private ceremony tonight.”

His heart stuttered. Their fear of losing him had driven them to desperation. Constantine might have been old, but he had many good years of service left. In a way, it was cruel to retire a bull when it still had the vigor to impale.

To accept the call, a sacred blood vow of duty, was to bind oneself in the deepest way. This would ensure their hold on him for the rest of his days. In all matters, all decisions, Herut would have to come first. Above all else.

“It’s good to see sorrow in your eyes, Cyrus. It means you understand the gravity of accepting the call. Your life will no longer be your own, but you may go after your
kabashem
with our full support to bring her home to us.”