Authors: Katherine Irons

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Chick-Lit, #Mythology

Seaborne (24 page)

BOOK: Seaborne

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Entering and leaving a wormhole
c
ould be tricky, as was making sure that the traveler exited at the right stop. The first three times Morgan had attempted the adventure alone, he bypassed his destination by hundreds of miles. Once, when he wanted to reach the coast of Brazil, he’d been ejected at Tierra del Fuego in South America, and spent weeks trying to catch a ride back.

Today wouldn’t be as risky. Crete was only four hundred or so miles from the prison, and both he and Alex were experienced at manipulating the turns in seraphim’s digestive tract while avoiding the feeding chambers. Those unfortunate enough to be sucked into a side passage ended up as worm dinner, so it paid even veterans to remain alert.

Neither he nor Alex had a trident with them, a most useful weapon for closing dangerous chute doors and tunnel grates, but they were lucky enough to find several planted in the sand near the worm’s head. It was customary for riders to leave tridents for others to use once a journey was completed, but—as with many traditions—the courtesy was fast falling away.

They passed through the rushing currents of the seraphim and reached the correct dropping-off point without incident. But as they approached the old palace, which lay between Crete and the island of Kythera, Alex seemed more on edge that normal. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “I don’t like it at all.” He looked around. “Where are the dolphins? There are usually dozens here.”

As with the prison, most of the palace was hidden beneath lava flows and tumbled rock. For thousands of years, the area had been inhabited by humans, but none of them had ever discovered what superior civilizations existed beneath the waves. Many of the earth dwellers, those who didn’t discount Atlantis as a myth, believed that the true site of the kingdom was the island of Thera.

It was true that in the long past humans and Atlanteans had interacted more often in this part of the world than in others, to the benefit of the humans. The Mycenaeans and Egyptians had borrowed much of Atlantean culture, including knowledge of mathematics, medicine, philosophy, and poetry. Greeks thought the Atlanteans were gods, and their own society mirrored many aspects of Atlantis, but this small corner of the world was never more than a minor underwater colony for the kingdom.

The old palace was a vacation retreat for the royal family, a place where Morgan and Alex and their brothers and sisters had come to play and relax from the more rigorous decorum of the city. Morgan had been here many times and he loved the old pillared halls and courts and the many pleasure gardens. But the palace had always been a haven for dolphins, and he’d never failed to see them.

Underground pools of molten lava spewed columns of steam, creating a natural barrier to sharks and larger predators. Here the dolphins found sanctuary for their old, their injured, and their young. If the dolphins were gone, Alex was right. Something was seriously amiss.

At the gatehouse, four soldiers kept watch. They wore the uniform of the elite guard, but neither Morgan nor Alex knew the men by name. Two knew their faces and let the brothers pass without delay. Inside the courtyard, they saw other guards, but still no dolphins.

“Watch your back, Brother,” Alex warned. “This smells like dead squid, three days in the sun.”

The first man that Morgan recognized was Damasko, captain of his mother’s guard. He came toward them smiling, but his eyes were wary, even frightened. “Where is everyone?” Morgan asked. “Poseidon sent us to bring the queen home. We were supposed to have an escort, but—”

“They arrived here earlier, Prince Morgan.” Damasko saluted both him and Alex. “Her Majesty waits in the garden off the lion court. She’s most anxious to receive you.”

“She knew we were coming?” Alex asked.

Damasko nodded. He was a tall man, thin and wiry with a short, rusty-colored beard. A native of the Aegean, his skin was a dark blue, almost glossy. He was a steady leader of men and Morgan liked him. He’d been the queen’s protector since she’d come to Atlantis as a bride.

As they passed over the painted tile floor of the larger reception room and through the columned archway into the garden, Morgan heard the voices of the children and the laughter of his adolescent half-brothers. Lucas, Markos, and Morwena had set up a target at the far end of the enclosure and were practicing with bow and arrows. From the shaft lodged in the bull’s-eye, it appeared that one of the three was adept at the sport. Morwena saw them coming, dropped her bow on the sand, and raced to meet them.

Morgan’s gaze passed over his beloved half-sister to his mother and the child she was holding on her lap. Danu they called her now. Once human, and now Atlantean and his daughter, she was a beautiful sprite of a child. For the first time, Morgan wondered what Claire would think of having a ready-made family. He’d given Danu a second life, and it was his duty to raise her with all the love and nurturing he’d received.
Oh, Claire
, he groaned inwardly.
How will I explain Danu to you?

“Morgan! Alex!” Morwena threw herself into Morgan’s arms. “Are you all right? Was the coral awful? Where’s Orion?”

Morgan hugged her. “Who’s the marksman?”

She laughed. “Me.” Bouncing out of his embrace, she seized hold of Alex. “Are we to go home? Can’t we just keep you here? No Father, no courtiers, no politics. “

Morgan smiled at her and moved toward his mother. “The king misses you,” he said. “He’s sent us to—”

A fourteen-year-old boy charged him. “Alex! Morgan! We need bigger bows.”

“Men’s bows!” Lucas shouted.

Alex caught Markos around the waist and threw him over one shoulder. Lucas, three years younger, picked up the discarded bows and stood grinning at them with shining eyes.

“Don’t kill them,” their mother admonished. “They just got here.”

“They’ve grown since I’ve seen them,” Alex said. “What have you been feeding them?”

Morwena laughed. “Anything they could stuff in their mouths. They never stop eating.”

“You’re the one getting fat,” Markos flung back. “Not us.”

“Your sister isn’t fat,” Morgan defended. “She’s just growing into a woman.”

“Growing and growing and growing,” Lucas teased.

“I’ve been so worried about you. Are you all right?” Korinna asked, looking around. “Where’s Orion? Isn’t he here?”

Morgan shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain when this bunch quiets down.”

“Let’s have a look at that target,” Alex said, leading the boys and Morwena back toward the archery range. “Who can split Morwena’s arrow at thirty paces?”

The queen rose from the bench where she’d been sitting with one of her ladies and motioned to Morgan. “Come and greet your daughter. Danu, here’s your daddy. I told you he would come for you.”

Danu peeked at him and became suddenly shy. She wrapped her arms and legs around his mother and hid her face in the queen’s lap.

“She’s a delight,” Morwena called over the child’s shoulder. “She’s been asking for you every day.”

“She is a darling,” Lady Freya agreed. “She’s a favorite in the nursery.” The queen’s handmaiden and a female servant Morgan recognized as Gita picked up their sewing and moved discretely away to give them privacy.

Morgan took a few steps toward them before sudden movement behind him caught his attention. Armed men in the uniform of the elite guard swarmed into the garden from three entrances. “Alex!” Morgan warned, drawing his sword.

The lady-in-waiting cried out in alarm and clutched the maid’s hand.

“I see them,” Alex said. Catching Morwena by the waist, Alex pushed her behind him and reached for his own weapons. “Go to your mother,” he ordered. “Lucas! Markos! To me!”

Morwena snatched her bow from Lucas’s hand and slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back. The boys notched their own arrows and quickly obeyed. Alex moved to stand beside Morgan, and the youths retreated to protect the queen, her two women, and their sister.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Morgan demanded.

An officer, bearing the insignia of a senior captain, stepped forward. “We mean no disrespect, Queen Korinna, but we are here on a matter of greatest urgency.”

Morwena raised her bow and took aim at the center of the speaker’s breastplate. “How dare you enter my mother’s garden with drawn weapons?”

“We bring evil news, princess. The high king, great Poseidon, is dead.”

The lady-in-waiting began to shriek and the queen slapped her.

“We have come to arrest Queen Korinna, Prince Alexandros, Prince Morgan, and the Princess Morwena.”

Morgan flicked his gaze to Alex. His brother remained tensed to strike, showing not the slightest hint that he had heard. Their mother’s upper lip quivered and her eyes grew bright with unshed tears.

“On what charge?” Morgan asked.

“High treason. The king is dead of poison. The four of you are the chief suspects in his murder.”

“By whose order?” Alex’s eyes narrowed. Morgan sensed his brother’s fury and steeled himself for what was to come.

The captain swallowed. “By the command of Poseidon-in-waiting as commanded by His Majesty on his death bed, Prince Caddoc.”

CHAPTER 24

C
laire hung up the phone and closed her laptop. She’d had a productive afternoon. She’d spent a great deal of money, and she didn’t regret a penny of it. A charity that she’d supported for years had an urgent plea on their new website, and she’d made a large contribution.

Mustang Haven was a nonprofit group home for troubled girls in Idaho run by Henry Grail, a former rodeo rider and high school teacher, and his wife of twenty-two years, Billy Anne, a psychologist. The staff provided sanctuary for homeless adolescents and a number of wild horses that had been rounded up and were unsuitable for placement due to age, poor health, or temperament. The youngsters who lived at Mustang Haven were between thirteen and twenty years of age, and some were pregnant. Few had attended school regularly, and none were prepared to enter the world and support themselves or their children.

Four sets of house parents lived in cabins on the two-thousand-acre ranch, as well as a team of horse handlers, a licensed midwife, and a farrier, all female. Billy Anne, a full-blooded Navaho, had grown up in the foster care system, and her dream was to provide a real home and direction for both unwanted girls and mustangs. As part of her education, each girl was assigned a mount, and as the young women learned to ride and care for their animal companions, they grew in confidence and self-assurance.

Once accepted into the program, no girl or animal was ever turned away from the ranch. If a young woman completed her high school education, she was offered either assistance for college, a paid position at Mustang Haven, or help in finding a job and living accommodations in the larger world. Those who gave birth while they lived at the ranch could choose to keep their baby in a nurturing setting or make an adoption plan. The success rate for young women and wild horses was amazing.

Not surprisingly, the cost of maintaining such a project was enormous and growing every year. Billy Anne and Henry had poured their life savings into the ranch, but due to the economy, charitable donations had slowed to a trickle. On the website, Billy Anne had described her heartbreak at having to turn away homeless girls and horses because the Mustang Haven—which had received the highest ratings—was sinking deeper into debt every month.

Claire sighed with satisfaction. She’d just instructed her financial director to set up an anonymous trust fund in the amount of seven million dollars for Mustang Haven and to transfer a donation of another million for immediate use. That should keep the horses in oats and the girls in popcorn and schoolbooks for a long time.

It wasn’t enough to just write a check. She intended to inquire about volunteering at the ranch. It wasn’t easy for her to travel, but it wasn’t impossible. If she took a nurse with her and the right equipment, she could teach classes in financial skills, history, and riding. As physically challenged as she was, if she could be a role model for even one girl and help to improve her life, it would be worth it. Claire loved Seaborne, but she wasn’t going to sit here and petrify like a dead tree.

She’d wait a few more weeks … maybe a month or two. If Morgan didn’t come back to her, she’d dedicate what was left of her time to something positive. With extra money, the haven might be able to open their doors to girls who were physically damaged as well as emotionally. She couldn’t walk, but she could still comfort a crying teenager, see that an aging horse received love, medical care, food, and a green pasture to run in.

She chuckled as she imagined what her father would say about
wasting
so much money on
hopeless
causes. “You can’t save them all,” Richard was fond of saying. But maybe she could save a few … and in doing so, maybe she could save herself as well.

“My husband is dead?” Queen Korinna asked. Her hand fluttered to her throat and she swayed as if about to faint. “Is this true? Poseidon is dead and Caddoc named future king?”

“Prince Caddoc?” Morgan’s face darkened in anger as he stared at the captain who had just announced Poseidon’s death and their pending arrests. “Caddoc?” He scanned the garden, counting sixteen soldiers. There should have been twenty. Where were the others?

“What treason is this?” Alex demanded. “Where is your proof? How do we know that you aren’t the traitors sent here to seize the queen and murder her?”

“Poseidon is dead, as you will soon learn,” the captain said.

“Caddoc is not the heir to Atlantis. The new Poseidon stands before you, fool.” Alex motioned to Morgan.

Morwena moved to steady her mother. “Prince Morgan has been crowned,” the princess said. “His name entered in the temple rolls. To interfere is to damn your souls.”

“Quiet, girl,” the captain ordered.

Ignoring him, she whipped around to include the guardsmen drawing closer around them. “You know what Caddoc is—what his mother is! And you would hand the kingdom to such a worthless sack of shark dung?”

Queen Korinna drew herself up to her full height. “Who accuses my sons of patricide? The witch, Halimeda? If the king was poisoned you don’t have to look far to learn who the murderess is.”

“Lay down your weapons and surrender to the king’s justice,” the captain said. “To attempt to defend yourselves would only put these young ones in danger. You will have a fair trial. Prince Caddoc gives you his word.”

Morgan backed closer to his mother. Five of them armed, one a girl and the other two hardly more than children, against sixteen of the elite guard. It would be a massacre. Where was his mother’s household guard? Where was Damasko? Morgan would have bet his right arm that Damasko would remain faithful.

“Hold fast,” Alex warned. “If this is Halimeda’s brew, none of us will live to reach Atlantis to stand trial.”

The captain’s gaze was hard, his features rigid. “I’ll not tell you to drop your weapons again!”

“Wait!” Korinna held up a beringed hand. “Peace, all of you. There is no need for violence here. Or the need to terrify my women and the children. May I ask your name, sir?”

“I am Knut, Highness, of the clan of Magni,” he answered gruffly. “I will not say that I welcomed this task, but know that I and my men will follow orders, no matter the cost.”

Korinna bestowed a gracious smile on him. “Surely there is no mention of my lady-in-waiting, my chambermaid, or this infant,” she said, indicating Danu. “They will only slow you in your duty. Let me send them and my two younger sons to the nursery. They can do you no harm, and we may yet settle this misunderstanding without bloodshed.”

“You think me a fool, madam?” Veins stood out on his forehead and his hand rested on his sword hilt. “These pups face me down with drawn bows, and you believe I’d send them off for milk and cookies with their nannies? If they think to defy the new king’s orders, they can face trial with the rest of you.”

Korinna gave a little sound of amusement. “Oh, my,” she said, pretending disbelief. Again she waved her hands helplessly and touched her lips with fluttering motions. “Surely not my youngest son. Prince Lucas is only ten years old. Let him and the little girl go to their schoolroom,” she pleaded.

A white-faced Lucas opened his mouth to protest, and Morgan silenced him with a stare. Lucas was eleven, but no need to let a lad’s pride of being older than his mother had claimed stand in the way of his release.

“Well enough,” he said grudgingly. “Off with them. But not the older boy.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. You show great generosity of heart,” the queen twittered. “But my poor ladies. Neither would know what to do with a sword if you handed it to them. Surely, they are no threat to you or your troops.”

“Please,” Morwena begged, lowering her bow. “Have pity. They would only be a burden to you in transporting us to Atlantis.”

“Let them pass,” Knut muttered. “But you, princeling.” He pointed at Lucas. “Drop your bow where you stand.” He glared at the queen. “And now I will have your surrender, Highness.”

“Wait,” the queen said, still pretending fear and confusion. It was all Morgan could do to hold in his laughter at her portrayal of a stupid woman. He dared not look at Alex. If he did, Alex would give all away.

“Wait but a moment,” Korinna begged. “Until the children and my women are safe away. I could not bear it if they should be frightened.” And to her lady-in-waiting, she whispered, “Take them into the treasure room and lock yourselves in. You will be safe there.” She picked up Danu and handed her to Lucas. “Care for her as you would me,” she murmured.

“No talking!” Knut waved to the guard at the door. “Call Damasko.”

Lucas cast a last look at his brother Marcos and reluctantly carried Danu toward the nearest archway. The weeping women hurried after them.

Damasko, commander of the queen’s palace guard, arrived swiftly. “Sir?” He made no eye contact with any of the royals, but Morgan noted that he was not wearing his sword belt and assumed that he must be a prisoner as well.

“Take the women and children away and set a watch over them. Let none harm them unless they attempt to escape or send out a message. If you fail me, you and your men will suffer for it.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” Damasko saluted and vanished through the archway into the interior reception hall.

“My patience is at an end,” Knut said to Morgan. “Lay down your weapons or I will take no responsibility for your—”

“Shoot him,” the queen ordered.

Morwena raised her bow and released her arrow. “Shoot, Marcos!”

Knut jerked, gasped, and stared down at the feathered shaft that had suddenly blossomed in the center of his chest. His eyes widened in surprise and, gasping, he staggered forward and dropped to his knees. His sword fell from his fingers. Blood poured from his open mouth and he sank full-length on the sand.

Morwena drove a second shot into the commander’s throat as he went down. The queen had already scrambled for Lucas’s bow and taken shelter behind the high-backed bench. Alex leaped to defend them, taking the head off one charging soldier with a single swing of his sword.

Morgan met two opponents head on, sword to sword. A third rushed at him with a trident, but Marcos put an arrow into his shoulder, knocking the fight out of him. The two soldiers were seasoned warriors who knew their craft, and Morgan was hard put to defend himself. He blocked a killing blow, jabbed, and sliced through the thigh of the man to his left.

“Morgan! To me!” Alex shouted.

Morgan began to slowly retreat, all the while fighting off his two attackers. Then one stepped on Knut’s outstretched arm, lost his footing and fell. His companion turned his attention for a fraction of a second and Morgan dealt him a hard blow to his midsection. He jerked his sword free and dashed back toward his mother.

One of the guards had circled around and was advancing on the queen. She was on her feet, using Lucas’s bow like a club, striking the soldier as hard as she could, but it was a boy’s weapon and slender. Her attacker ignored the blows to his face and head and jabbed at her with his trident. Morwena had used her last arrow and had run to Marcos to grab one of his.

As soon as his sister was clear, Morgan reversed his sword and threw it. The blade made a full circle in the water, the point piercing the soldier’s spine, and sending him crashing into the queen. They both went down in a heap, but Korinna scrambled up, her tunic soaked in blood. For an instant, Morgan feared that she had taken a serious injury, but her quick movement proved her unhurt and the gore that of the dead guard.

Morgan put a foot on the man’s back, yanked his sword free, and grabbed his mother’s shoulder. Half guiding, half pulling her, he followed Marcos and Morwena. Alex ran in front of them, cutting a shining swathe of steel through the guardsmen with a sword in each hand.

With five soldiers in hot pursuit, they reached the shelter of the columned portico and plunged through a narrow doorway leading down a flight of slippery stone steps to a storage room beneath the reception hall. When Morgan reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned to wrest a circular stone loose from its resting place. “Alex! Help me! It’s too heavy.”

Together, they rolled the stone into a hollow trench in the floor, blocking entry from the staircase. “Hurry,” Morgan said. “There’s another passageway. It leads to the dolphin stables.” He and Alex sent the marble statue of a flying horse crashing to the floor. Behind the sculpture lay another tunnel, so low that Morgan and Alex had to duck their heads to enter.

Now, their mother led the way, with Morwena behind her, Marcos following, and Alexandros, and Morgan guarding the rear. Stone pressed in on all sides. The way was dark; the water stale and thick. In some places the tunnel was so narrow that Morgan had to turn sideways to get through.

“Faster!” Alexandros pushed his younger half-brother. “They’ll know we’ve left the storeroom. We’ve got to reach the dolphin quarters before they do.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“He’s hurt,” Morwena said. “He took a sword wound in the chest.”

Morgan swore. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“How bad is it?” Alex asked.

“I’m good,” Marcos said. “As you said. We have to get out of here.”

BOOK: Seaborne

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