Protector of the Flame (7 page)

“Your decision?” He released her and stepped back, heaving a disgusted sigh.

Dull, unrelenting pain, his pain, his loss, his misery, pelted her. She trembled from the force of it. Grasping the balcony, she looked away in a desperate effort to maintain her composure. If she could erase his suffering and endure the misery for them both, she would.

“I lost a baby too…but I could not—would not—bear to lose you.” His voice was a fractured shadow.

She closed her eyes. Arabic intonations from the speakers echoed around them. Five times a day, prayers were lifted up to the heavens, carried on the wings of faith. He was right, the seeds of her belief in the Creator hadn’t sprouted roots, but she had faith in their love.

And she wouldn’t tear his heart asunder by allowing him to go to Aten without permission from his Council. Kindred politics were complicated by honor and shame. She knew enough to protect him and House Herut from disgrace.

“I’ve seen the way they look at us, the warriors. The way they look at you. With all their hearts they love you.” She swallowed back tears. “They’re willing to die for us. I thought it was simply because they believed you were the key to redemption, but they do it for the love they bear for you. They’ll love you until the end of your days, unless you come with me to Aten like this. It’s hard enough to think my selfishness would be the cause of their heartbreak. I couldn’t imagine the hundreds or thousands back at Herut awaiting your return.”

“They await us.”

“The Council won’t grant us permission to go to Aten, you said as much yourself. Will the cursed necklace change their minds?”

He lowered his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They’ll figure out another way to get it off. They’d do anything to ensure the redeemer is born. They may not let us go to Aten, but they will find a way to remove it.”

She was only thirty and might live to be 1200 years old, but she didn’t have the time to wait on the Council of his House to figure out a solution to her dire circumstances. Not when she already had one.

“It’s a matter they could deliberate over for years. I can’t wait that long! I can barely stand to have you touch me, wanting you while dreading making love to you with this wretched thing on me.” She stifled a sob. “When you go back without me, the Triumvirate will have no choice but to send you to Aten so you can bring me to them safely. The stakes are higher, but the rules are the same. House Herut would suffer irreparable political damage if you go with me without their permission. You would carry their shame in your heart forever. Don’t you see? It’s the only way.”

With a bleak face, he turned from her. His lack of a retort was the only proof she needed.

She was right. She wouldn’t force him to choose between her and Herut. And she wouldn’t be the reason for House Herut’s downfall.

They would have to travel separate paths, but only for a short while, she hoped.

Chapter Seven

The call to House Aten to arrange transportation for Serenity had been easy.

Explaining to his warriors that only one guard would be allowed to accompany her and choosing Spero for the task had been even easier.

Watching his
kabashem
pack in preparation to leave him had nearly torn out his heart.

They pulled into one of the piers in Rabat, and the sense of foreboding niggled deeper.

His mate had only allowed him to make love to her once since they were married. And after their loss—she barely tolerated his touch.

This was the only way. She had to go. No one at Herut would be able to remove the accursed necklace, only someone loyal to House Aten.

Seshata hadn’t offered an invitation. She had demanded an audience.

Walking down the pier, Cyrus carried Serenity’s bag while she clutched her parka.

“You knew you were leaving before we spoke about it.” Cyrus handed her the backpack purchased in the souk that she had crammed with everything she truly wanted.

Serenity grabbed the smooth leather straps and put it on. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when we bought this.”

“Convenient you have it now.”

She looked away out at the calm, murky water. The stench of fish swamped his nose.

“At least take your crossbow.” House Aten wasn’t foolish enough to incite war by violating rules of civil conduct toward a guest, honored or of noble blood, and his sealed mate was both. Yet he longed for her to have more than Spero—despite his centuries of training—and her
ingenium
for protection.

“A crossbow will do me little good in Aten’s house of heka. Besides, I’ll have Spero.”

His warrior was skilled, but he was one against a House full of mages and battle-guard. “I wish they would’ve agreed to let us send Ptolemy as well.” The difference between one and two warriors would’ve only eased the alien sense of helplessness plaguing him.

Something glinted below the surface of the still water. The shiny, silver tower of a submarine jutted out. The vessel coasted along the pier and stopped in front of them. A chill ran through his veins, every muscle tensed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling her decision might be a mistake, but he couldn’t argue against her logic. Once he stood before his Council, they’d have no choice but concession. Their separation would force the Council to send him after her for the sake of redemption.

Yet this desperate, all-consuming love he had for Serenity knew nothing of logic.

He stared at the symbol of House Aten emblazoned on the side of the submarine. A mark of one of the Fallen, Aten, with a cobra in the center.

A spike of dread sent his mind spinning that he might never see his
kabashem
again. “Reconsider.”

Shaking, she stepped back and grasped his hand. “I can’t.”

The lid of the tower opened. A young male followed by a female climbed out and descended a ladder down to the pier.
 
They wore light gray outfits, an odd hybrid of hospital scrubs and a military uniform. Their pant legs were tucked into flat, velvet boots of the same shade. They stood on the edge of the pier looking back at the tower, waiting.

A male emerged, long, flaming red hair a banner behind him, and descended the ladder. Cyrus had seen him before at the last great Pesedjet when the Councils of all three Houses met.

The male approached with the refined grace of an ancient. He was old, definitely more than seven or eight hundred years. Magic radiated from him, spilling brilliance across his aura. The other two followed several paces behind the mage, walking in step.

Serenity gripped Cyrus’s forearm. “Maybe we can get one of them to take off the necklace.”

He met her terrified gaze with understanding.

The male with flowing hair the color of fire bowed. “I am Vainamoinen.” An icy smile cut his face. “High Priestess Seshata is delighted to receive Lady Serenity and one guard, as agreed to allay any concerns.”

“We’re glad you were able to get here so quickly.” Cyrus extended his hand.

Vainamoinen looked down, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. A handshake was not traditional amongst Kindred, but he took Cyrus’s hand in greeting. “We were conducting a training mission in the Mediterranean. Fortune smiles upon us.”

When Vainamoinen tried to end the handshake, Cyrus held on to him, turning the mage’s hand to reveal a tattoo of two flaming circles forming an infinity symbol, the brand of a high mage chosen to serve.

“Remove the enchanted amulet from my
kabashem’s
neck,” Cyrus said.

Vainamoinen smiled. All coldness and ice. “That’s not possible.”

Cyrus tightened his grip, wiping the grin from Vainamoinen’s face.

“I’m not permitted to rescind a gift presented by my mistress,” the mage said through gritted teeth.

Permission be damned.
There were 19 bones in the hand. He’d break each one, slowly, painfully, and even throw in the eight in the wrist to make the point clear.

Cyrus increased the pressure. Ligaments popped, tendons snapped. He squeezed, stopping short of cracking bone. Vainamoinen’s features twisted.

“A mage with a crushed hand is like a three-legged dog. Even after it’s healed it’s never the same. Joints and bones don’t align quite right.”

The male grunted in pain, but his eyes lacked fear.

“No matter what you do to me or any of my crew, my mistress would do far worse if I disobeyed. You may cut off my hands, but she would pluck out my eyes and rip out my tongue. Only the High Priestess Seshata or High Priest Tholitis may remove it.”

Tempted to crush bone, Cyrus let him go, wondering why he hadn’t defended himself with magic. “We have a healer who can—”

“We have our own healer aboard. Good fortune most certainly favors you today, for my mistress was adamant no harm was to befall either of you on my watch,” Vainamoinen said through a venomous grin, rubbing his hand.

Flames as if conjured from the pit of hell danced in his eyes. A second later the fire was gone.

“We have a long journey. We should leave now if we’re to reach House Aten by daybreak.” Vainamoinen spun on his heels and walked back to the sub.

Serenity threw her arms around Cyrus, burying her face in his chest and clinging to him. “I can’t make love to you. I can’t enjoy the feel of you holding me. Not as long as this cursed amulet poisons my womb. Forgive me, but I have to do this.”

“I know.” He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll come for you. I swear it.” He tightened his embrace, unable to let her go.

When Spero stepped forward, Serenity pulled away and followed Vainamoinen to the gleaming submarine. Her energy stream quivered as the connection between them broke.

His life force dimmed as he curled his hands into fists.

Her curly, brown hair streamed in a breeze behind her as she ascended the ladder. She glanced at him once. Her striking violet eyes glistened with tears, then she disappeared inside the submarine with Spero.

The sparkling silver sub pulled from port and slowly submerged as it carried half of all that he was away.

Transfixed, he stood barely breathing while his heart splintered.

Chapter Eight

As Serenity stepped inside the heart of the submarine, a cool breeze washed over her. “That almost feels like fresh air.”

“The High Priestess had us upgrade the ventilation system,” Vainamoinen said. “She does not wish to be reminded we’re underwater.”

“Why doesn’t she just fly?”

“The immortals have a…fear of flying.”

If one could regenerate and the process was excruciating, recovery from a plane crash might be something none of the immortals were willing to endure.

Vainamoinen led her toward the back of the vessel, denying her a glimpse of the whole thing. He led them past several closed doors, each had an image of a person killing a snake in a different way and an inscription in hieroglyphics ran down the center. The sterile corridor, only wide enough for two people, didn’t have a speck of dirt, like it was scrubbed several times a day.

At the end of the walkway, Vainamoinen stopped by a door with an Egyptian goddess, wings tilted up and a crown on her head, carved on the front. It must’ve been Aset.

When he opened the door, she walked into the stunning room befitting a goddess, treading lightly on the silky snow white animal fur spread across the floor.

“The High Priestess wanted you to use her personal quarters.” The well-appointed chamber had a double size bed, an elegant writing table, two cushioned chairs and a small table with a tray of food. “I have separate quarters for your guard.”

Spero stepped forward protectively.

“There’s plenty of room. Spero and I will stay together.” Serenity gestured for Spero to enter. No telling what magical horrors lurked behind any of the doors on this sub. Spero stayed with her, end of discussion.

“As you wish. We’ll reach our private port in Iceland in fourteen hours where you will disembark. You have personal facilities in here. If you require anything else, pick up the phone on the desk to reach me.”

He closed the door and she heard it lock.

Raising an eyebrow at Spero, Serenity removed her backpack. She sat on the edge of a chair and gazed at the tray of ripe fruit, too perfect, too tantalizing. Something about it repulsed her.

All of the furniture had rounded corners and adequate space between the pieces. A well thought out necessity to avoid the pain that came from tripping or bumping into anything if the story that the immortals could only feel emptiness or pain at an agonizingly heightened level, was true. The soft lighting coaxed her to relax. The food on the table meant to entice. Then she glanced at the locked door.

“Don’t eat anything.”

Spero unstrapped his sword and sat. “Are you sure this was the best course of action?”

“No.” But she couldn’t think of a better alternative. She’d have no peace of mind until the damn necklace was off.

“Do you think the room is bugged?”

Her gaze darted to the numerous places where a bug could’ve been planted. She hadn’t considered the possibility, but from the looks of things she nodded.

During the journey to Iceland, she read her paperback copy of
The Thorn Birds
while Spero meditated.