Protector of the Flame (9 page)

An exuberant mob of acolytes bowed before rushing him, throwing rose petals and singing praises.

“Glory be, you’ve returned to us!”

“Praise the Creator, you found your
kabashem
. At last, the curse will be broken!”

“Where is Lady Serenity?”

Their smiles and tributes twisted something inside his chest, stealing his breath. Facing his Triumvirate he’d prepared for, but this…

Cyrus stormed through the crowd of well-wishers, trampling their elation with his silence. Four battle-guard warriors bowed their heads in respect as he marched through the open reinforced doors into the majestic halls of House Herut.

The lustrous marble walls and floor glowed as if radiating light in celebration. Even the semi-precious stones exquisitely inlaid in the massive pillars stretching more than forty feet somehow shined brighter than he remembered.

More smiles, bows and utterances of praise to drive the knife deeper into his heart.

His gaze fell on the deadpan face of Abbadon, a welcomed sight. They clasped each other’s forearms in the traditional greeting of friends.

“Where is Serenity?” Abbadon asked, looking back at the warriors that accompanied him from New York.

Cyrus kept walking. “Has the Council convened?”

His old friend and most trusted advisor narrowed his eyes at the deflection. “The Triumvirate is in chamber awaiting you and your
kabashem
.”

Avoiding eye contact with as many of his kinsmen as possible, Cyrus headed toward the ceremonial chamber. Abbadon placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stop, but Cyrus drove onward.

“Tell me what happened,” Abbadon said in a low voice. “Is Serenity well?”

“I don’t know.” Cyrus met Abbadon’s bewildered eyes and stopped. “I’m only going to explain once. If you want to know what happened, I suggest you come with me.”

Minerva, the Lady in charge of all servants, cooks and the proper running of the House, broke through a crowd and seized an opening provided by Cyrus’s miscalculation in halting. Beaming as the others had, with flowers in her arms, she gave a deep curtsy, silken skirt swirling around her ankles.

“Lord Cyrus, praise be to the Creator you’ve returned.” Rising, she looked around, undoubtedly in search of his
kabashem
. “Shall your consort, Lady Serenity, share your quarters or will she have her own?”

“Serenity and I were sealed. She’s my
uxora
, not my consort.” The words left his mouth with a sharp edge he didn’t intend.

Minerva bowed her head. “A thousand pardons. I meant no disrespect.” She glanced around again, resuming her search. “Will she be along shortly? I have to make preparations and ensure attendants are ready to receive—”

“My chambers will suffice,” he snapped, his patience shredded to a thread after the long flight. “No other preparations are needed.” He pivoted and left before more questions ensued.

The intricately carved double doors of the ceremonial chamber loomed ahead, the Eye of Herut engraved in the center of each. Dazzling emeralds the size of his hand were set as the pupils. Abbadon increased his pace to open the door for Cyrus.

Drawing in a breath, he tamped down the sickening sting of failure churning his stomach, but nothing would abate the sense he was less than whole since being separated from his mate. He crossed the gleaming onyx floor, approaching the three Council members perched on gold thrones studded with jewels. In the center sat Lord Constantine, his grandfather. To be nearly a thousand years old, his weathered face and age-spotted bald head looked remarkably dignified.

At Constantine’s right hand was the stunning Lady Leta, his maternal aunt and
consort-misère
of his father. On Constantine’s left sat Lord Orazio.

Cyrus lowered to one knee, head bowed.

“It warms our hearts to have you back at Herut,” his grandfather said.

“Rise.” Lady Leta’s voice overflowed with enthusiasm. “Where is your
kabashem
? It would bring us immense pleasure to meet her.”

Cyrus pulled himself to his feet, straightening his spine and clasping his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth and spewed the details he’d concealed from them about the last two weeks in New York. Every word uttered—the prediction of a crazed oracle, Sekhem’s battle-guard discovering Serenity, Seshata’s visit and invitation to Aten—sucked joy from their faces.

Then he shared the events of his honeymoon and the devastating tragedy of their loss.

Lord Orazio stroked his gray mustache in contemplation. Leta clutched her chest, lips pinched, swaying as if she might faint.

Constantine gripped the arms of his solid gold chair until metal squealed beneath his fingers. “You dared lie to us?” Surprise overwhelmed anger in his tone.

“I didn’t lie.”

“An omission is a lie!” His voice rang in the chamber, echoing off the stone walls. “Then you take it upon yourself to let your
kabashem
run off to House Aten without consulting us?” Disgust permeated each word.

Cyrus met their disappointed gazes without flinching. “I am what you’ve made me, a leader that trusts his own judgment, follows his instincts. Not some frightened ram in need of a shepherd’s guidance.”

“You don’t lead Herut yet, Cyrus.” Lord Orazio crossed his legs. “Be clear, there are three seats on this Council and all of them are filled. You are not above our dictates.”

They wanted him to say he was wrong, to show humility, to beg forgiveness. Well, they’d get no such contrition. “I was given no orders to shackle my
kabashem
and drag her by the hair to Herut against her will.”

“Your mate is but a child. Merely what? Thirty? And you let her control you,” Constantine said. A bitter scoff followed. “Your weakness astounds me and shames this House.”

Leta placed a hand on Constantine’s forearm. “A strong female knows her heart and follows her mind regardless of her
kabashem’s
objections.”

Lord Orazio rolled his eyes, stroking his mustache. “Yes, Leta, you are a paragon of such a female.”

The backhanded compliment referred to Leta taking Cyrus’s father, Dominicus, as her
consort-misère
, despite her
kabashem’s
profound objections. According to Herut law since his mother had died, it wasn’t only permitted but encouraged by ancient tradition. It was the only union not between
kabashem
sanctioned, as an act of mercy. However, when the protests of a sealed mate shake the walls of a House, threatening to rip apart a family, tradition had a way of falling to the wayside. Unless the one making the decision was Leta.

“Let us not forget,” Leta said, “Serenity is not of House Herut. Unlike Cyrus, she is free to go wherever she wishes.”

Cyrus stepped closer, his paltry thread of patience unraveling. “My
kabashem
will come to Herut once the necklace is off. I ask for permission to retrieve her at once.”

“The immortals bait us,” Constantine spit. “You and your mate fall for their tricks, and now you want us to let you leap into their trap.” A derisive laugh grated like nails on a chalkboard.

Why wouldn’t they listen to reason? “Salvation, freeing all Kindred from the afflictions of the curse is of the utmost importance to Herut.”

Lord Orazio leaned forward. “Do not presume to lecture us on the desires of Herut. We. Are. Herut.”

“In order to break the curse,” Cyrus continued, shifting his gaze to Leta, hoping his aunt would aid him, “I must be reunited with my
kabashem
, regardless of the immortals’ schemes. Without her, I am nothing to this House.”

Constantine flew down from his throne with the whiplash speed of the warrior he was born and slapped Cyrus backhanded. Blood pooled in his mouth.

“After all we’ve done for you,” Constantine growled, “how we’ve believed in you, despite your mistakes that cost your mother her life, to speak such words is to spit in our faces. You are the future of Herut. One day soon, you will take my seat and fulfill your duty, make no mistake about that.”

Fury boiled, the thread snapped. It took all of Cyrus’s self-control to keep his wings from unfurling and choking a concession from Constantine regardless of the truth he spoke.

“The issue remains,” Leta said. “Cyrus must go to House Aten to bring Serenity to us so they can fulfill their destiny. We can’t allow him to go alone and we can’t send battle-guard.”

Constantine turned his back on Cyrus with indignant flourish and retook his seat.

“This is a delicate situation that must be handled with care,” Lord Orazio said. “Perhaps one of us should accompany him, along with an entourage of warriors such as Abbadon and necessary attendants.”

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus exhaled frustration. “Then it’s decided. I leave for Aten today.”

Leta smiled while her eyes sparked of warning. “Patience, Cyrus. We’ll send you to Aten.”

“Once we are certain of how best to proceed,” Constantine said with steely finality.

Chapter Ten

The plane engine chugged, warming up. Compartments overhead were opened and closed.

Serenity’s assailant came into sight. He knelt, raised goggles and removed his ski mask. Wisps of long dark hair fell around shoulders. Her captor came into full view. Serenity stared into almond-shaped violet eyes, her mother’s eyes.

Fear washed into shock. If she could’ve spoken, she had no idea what she would’ve said.

Sothis removed Serenity’s backpack, allowing her a glimpse of the four-seat aircraft as she was lifted. Her mother propped the bag under Serenity’s head before going back to the front of the plane.

Although she was breathing, all of her muscles were constricted. It would’ve been better to be knocked out than fully alert and utterly helpless. Staring at a white spot on the roof of the cabin, she made a list of questions for the woman who had abandoned her twenty-five years ago.

No letters, no birthday cards, no phone calls, nothing from her mother until today.

It seemed as though they’d been in the air for hours before she could blink. They landed. The door opened. Warm air coasted in.

A moment later, the smell of gasoline permeated the air. They must’ve been refueling.

She wiggled fingers and toes, but still wasn’t able to take off the damn parka and gloves. The heat was stifling.

The plane took off again.

The changing light of day shifting in the aircraft was the only way to track the passage of time. Hours dragged by as she bathed in her sweat stuck in the jacket. Being trapped inside her body was a new kind of torture, captive to her thoughts and a woman she yearned and feared to see since her father’s death.

In her wildest imaginings, she never thought the chance to finally get answers to the questions that had haunted her would come like this.

Twilight came. Evening passed. The full effects of the potent paralysis drug still hadn’t worn off. Feeling returned inch by inch to her legs. She curled her fingers, slowly moved her arms.

Sometime after sunrise she finally had the strength to sit up. Rolling off the backpack, she hit the floor in a thud. She waited to see if she’d be subdued.

Seconds slipped into minutes.

She tugged at the jacket’s zipper with a breath of relief. After struggling to an upright position, she crawled toward the cockpit. Her feet and hands had a pins-and-needles sensation. The heaviness of a full bladder hit, but she refused to piss on herself. She flopped against the empty co-pilot seat.

“What…where?” She couldn’t feel her tongue.

Sothis tossed a bottle of water into her lap. “Drink all of it.” Her voice was like the sound of wind chimes carried on a summer breeze, so unexpectedly pleasant.

Serenity fumbled with the cap. Her mother snatched the bottle, opened it and handed it back. She sipped the water until full feeling returned to her mouth.

Her thoughts raced, but she pinpointed Spero, another warrior slain trying to protect her. “Why did you kill them?”

“They’re all alive, merely incapacitated like you were.”

Relief oozed. “Why attack us?”

“No one could know I was the one taking you. I’m sorry about the drug. I wasn’t certain about the strength of your
ingenium
and I didn’t want to give you the chance to show me.”

Serenity wanted to touch her. Put hand to flesh, ensure her mother was real. “Where have you been all these years?”

“Serving the
Sodalitas
, the fraternity of Paladins.”

Shock crashed into horror. Her mother could obviously be ruthless, coldblooded even, to leave a five-year-old child alone in the world, but Paladins were skilled assassins capable of unspeakable evil. “Are you taking me to your fraternity of cutthroat murderers?”

Those intense violet eyes bored into her. “Never.”

“After Daddy…” The words clogged her throat, but she needed to ask. “After Daddy died, why didn’t you come back for me?”

Sothis shot her a queer glance. The same face from the photos, radiating incandescent beauty. Only her mother’s hair was different. Instead of black, it was chocolate brown with red highlights. Glossy, straight tresses pinned high on her head. “What do you remember?”