WindBeliever (17 page)

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

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personality.”

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Legion lowered the second letter from his brother and stared into the fire. Something was wrong. Vitally wrong. This letter, even more formal than the first one, written on Conar’s birthday, had arrived the day before--fourteen months since Conar’s leaving. It gave no indication of how Conar was feeling, what he was doing. It reeked of carefully planned wording, well-thought out descriptions, detached observations. There was no personal messages, no mention of any kind of relationships. Boring stuff that was so unlike Conar McGregor’s normally effusive style of writing that it was eerie.

“I’m worried,” Shalu Taborn, the King of Necroman, their neighbor to the west said in his gruff bass voice. “I don’t like the way he sounds.”

Grice Wynth nodded. “Nor do I. You were right in calling us together, Legion.”

The acting Regent of Serenia turned to look at his ex-brother-in-law, the Prince of Oceania.

“I had hoped between us we could figure out how things stand.”

“You don’t suppose he’s being held there against his will, do you?” Tyne Brell, the undersized Prince of Chale, a minor principality, asked.

“I don’t think so,” Legion answered, “but this is so unlike my brother, I can’t help but wonder what’s happening over there.”

Prince Chase Montyne of Ionary stood up and walked to the sideboard, poured himself another snifter of brandy, and then turned around to survey the room. He looked about the fifteen other men gathered in that room and let out a tired breath.

“Who is this woman you told me about, Legion?” he asked.

“I don’t think she has anything to do with this,” Legion said.

“Her name is Marie Catherine Steffensberg,” Jamael answered.

Chase looked at him. “But he doesn’t mention her this time?”

Jamael shook his head.

“I don’t think Conar’s in any kind of trouble,” Roget du Mer told them. “He sounds lonely, but he doesn’t sound desperate or in trouble.”

“Occultus might disagree with you,” Rylan Hesar, the Prince of Virago commented. “Ching-Ching’s presence here tells me the situation is more serious than you realize.”

The tiny Chrystallusian warrior shrugged. “I was sent to observe, Rylan. The Master made no comment to me concerning the fledgling being in any kind of trouble. If anything, he thought perhaps Conar should be left alone and you men not interfere.”

Legion turned an angry face to the wizened little man. “Left alone?” He waved the letter at Ching-Ching. “Did you listen to this letter I just read?”

Ching-Ching nodded. “Indeed I did, A’Lex. I am not deaf.”

“And you don’t think something’s wrong?” Legion inquired with a sneer.

“I did not say that,” Ching-Ching reminded him. “I believe Conar is homesick and doesn’t wish his family to know so he covers up his truth feelings with inconsequential trivia meant to ally your fears about him. But I also believe he is not as yet ready to return to a family which tries to run his life for him.” He turned his inscrutable gaze to Legion. “That is precisely what he tried to escape when he went to the Outer Kingdom.”

“Do you have a brother, Ching-Ching?” Legion snapped.

“No,” answered the man.

“Then you can’t understand how it feels to see a member of your family so hurt and so devastated by tragedy that he tries to kill himself!” Legion hissed.

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Ching-Ching waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s tried that three times now.” He held up his hand and ticked off the count on his slim fingers. “Once when he was a boy, once when he took an overdose of that nomad’s elixir and once that day on the battlements.” He lowered his hand.

“It was not the Great God’s will that Conar McGregor die with those attempts. You must have faith in your god, A’Lex. And in your brother’s ability to know what’s best for him.”

“So, what you’re suggesting is that we just sit here twiddling our thumbs and wait!” Holm van de Lar, the Captain of the Serenian fleet scoffed.

“Precisely so,” Ching-Ching retorted.

Thom Loure, the Captain of the Serenian Guard, and Sentian Heil, the Master-at-Arms of Boreas Keep, exchanged a silent look with Storm Jale, the Chief Palace Guard. The three men did not speak, but instead, slipped quietly from the room.

Paegan Hesar, brother of Prince Rylan, and the Captain of the Boreas Queen, shook his head.

“It’s going to be hard to do nothing when everything points to Conar needing us.”

“If he wants us in that heathen place,” Cayn snapped, “he’ll send for us, lad. Don’t go borrowing trouble where there may not be any.”

“Coron and Dyllon are on their way home,” Jamael remarked to no one in particular. “And they’re bringing Wyn with them. Can you tell me why, Ching-Ching, if Occultus thinks there’s no trouble brewing?”

Everyone turned to the monkey-man from Chystallusian. A thin shoulder lifted. “They have not been home in many years. They wanted to come for a visit.” He shifted his unfathomable gaze to Shalu. “And to let Serenia see Wynland’s new bride.”

Shalu frowned, his thick lips thrusting into a vicious pout. His black face turned darker still with ill-humor. “The gel could have waited until she reached home before marrying that little guttersnipe.” He wasn’t pleased with his eldest daughter, Kym, although her marriage to Conar McGregor’s oldest illegitimate son pleased him greatly.

“My brother is no guttersnipe!” Tristan McGregor, the only legitimate son of Conar growled from the doorway. As the men glanced around at him, the thirteen year old strode arrogantly into the room. His father’s other son, Regan, followed in his wake. “Wynland is as much a McGregor as is his father. And if he is coming home, that means he is as worried about Papa as Regan and I are!”

Chase Montyne flicked his regard over Regan and frowned. If that boy was worried about his father, he sure as hell didn’t show it. If Regan had ever shown any concern for his father, it was news to Chase.

“What are we going to do, Uncle Legion?” Tristan asked, planting his fists on his hips. “Papa may need our help to leave that ungodly place.”

Legion shook his head. Tristan was the spitting image of his father at that age, he thought with a wry smile. From the bright blond hair and pale blue eyes, to the cleft in his chin, to the height and breadth and width of the boy, he was Conar McGregor’s son. Even his temperament and restlessness were so like Conar’s it never failed to amuse his uncle.

“We’re going to wait awhile, Tris,” Legion answered. “I have a feeling someone will be on their way to the Outer Kingdom before the sun sets on this day.”

“Who?” Regan asked.

“Storm Jale, I would imagine,” Cayn answered. “In case the rest of you didn’t notice, our three stalwart warriors have vanished.”

“I noticed,” Legion snapped. “And Storm would be the logical choice between them.”

“If he can find his way on board a ship bound for the Sinisters he might be able to find an WINDBELIEVER

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Outer Kingdom ship,” Holm remarked. “It won’t be easy. Those bastards are very suspicious of those they call Outlanders.”

“And then what?” Regan probed.

“Then he’ll find out just what the problem is with our father!” Tristan promised. “And if he finds Papa is in trouble, the entire might of the Wind Force will come down on the Outer Kingdom like the vengeance of Alel!”

“Who’s going to lead that entire might, Tristan?” Tyne Brell chuckled.

“I will!” Tristan growled.

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They were sitting in the Tzarina’s solarium, the Tzar, his head back along his chair, lids closed, thumbs twiddling, the Tzaravitch Peter and his younger brother Mikel playing a game of chess and the three younger royal daughters, Tatiana, Nadia and Svetlana, had their heads together, giggling over the latest court gossip. The Tzarina, pacing from one plant to another, checked the leaves for insects.

“Checkmate,” Peter said, grinning.

Mikel looked up at him and squinted.

“And then,” Svetlana said, “her husband came around the corner and found her ....”

“In a wicked embrace with Count Boganskaya!” Nadia finished with a sigh of girlish drama.

“Girls,” their mother warned and the three pulled away from one another and looked at their father.

“Lottie, have you ever noticed the smell in here?” the Tzar asked, opening his eyes. “It smells of ....” he wrinkled his nose. “Earth.”

Charlotte sighed. “That’s because there are plants in here, Thomas.”

“Oh. Yes. Right,” the Tzar mumbled. He glanced over at his wife. “Must we have them here, dear?”

His wife gritted her teeth. “It’s a solarium, Thomas. Solariums have plants.”

The Tzar frowned. “I don’t see why.” He wrinkled his nose again. “I don’t care for the smell, Lottie.”

“I’ll move them to the library then,” his wife snipped.

“Don’t think so, dear,” the Tzar answered in his absent-minded tone. “I’d hate the smell there, too.”

“Then should I keep them where they are?” Charlotte asked in a sweet voice.

Her husband nodded. “Best place for them I think.”

The two royal sons looked at one another and then away before either of them could laugh.

Unfortunately, their sisters had no such compunction against laughter for their giggles brought an instant shushing from their mother.

“We are here for a reason!” the Tzarina snapped at her children. “We didn’t assemble here to pass the time with inane conversation.”

“Oh, yes,” Peter said, nodding his head sagely. “We are here to discuss what should be done about the plants in the solarium.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Peter,” his mother warned sternly. “We are here to discuss Catherine.”

“Quite,” his father put in. “The girl is getting close to being past her prime. We must get her and the Prince together soon.”

“Whether they are of a mind or not,” Peter commented.

“They want to be together,” Tatiana added. “They just don’t know how to go about doing so.”

“They’re too much alike,” Nadia stated. “That’s why they’re having so many arguments.

“Arguments?”

Svetlana

groused. “They’re more like battles.”

“Battles of wills,” Mikel chuckled. “And most of the time poor Conar comes out on the losing side.”

Peter glared at his brother. “He’s trying to be a gentleman about this and Cat won’t allow it.

Her barbed tongue is enough to make any man see red!”

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“That’s true,” Mikel agreed. “But I have a feeling Conar’s had all he can take and intends to take no more.”

The Tzar lifted his head from the back of his chair and looked at his youngest son. “What makes you think so?”

Mikel shrugged. “Because I overheard him telling Yuri that if that ‘Outer Kingdom cow’

insulted him one more time, he was going to hop the next ship home.”

“Thomas!” the Tzarina gasped. “We can’t allow that!”

Her husband sat up in his chair and rubbed his chin vigorously, his forehead wrinkled with thought. “No. No, we can not.”

“I don’t see how you can prevent the man from going home, Father,” Peter stated. “He’s not a prisoner here.”

“Have any of you noticed how combative the Serenian is?” Mikel asked.

“I certainly wouldn’t attempt to detain him if he is of a mind to leave, Peter,” the Tzar insisted, “but I would do everything in my power to try to persuade him not to.”

“Conar seems to be of a nature to enjoy a good challenge.” Mikel looked around him and noticed no one was listening to him. He shrugged. No one ever paid attention to him when he spoke.

“What are we going to do to keep him here, Thomas?” The Tzarina sat down heavily in her chair. “The two of them are made for one another. We can’t let their vile tempers stand in the way of them being together.”

“Mother,” Peter sighed, fixing the Tzarina with an admonishing eye. “You can not play matchmaker to people who are not inclined to be matched.” He held up his hand as his mother’s mouth opened to protest. “I, too, agree they would make an ideal couple, but they must see that for themselves.”

“And just how do we make them see they are right for one another?” his mother snapped.

“It seems to be me Conar thrives on competition,” Mikel announced in a loud enough voice to gain his family’s attention.

“And just how would you know?” Peter snapped.

“I’ve been watching him.”

Peter’s left eyebrow elevated slightly. “Indeed.”

Mikel nodded. “On the training ground.”

The Tzar gasped. “Our training ground?”

“He was sparring with the militia,” Mikel informed his father.

“With our militia?” His father’s face blanched white as his thoughts of harm befalling Conar McGregor while training with the soldiers flitted through his mind.

“Unless we are training Inner Kingdom guerrillas on someone else’s training ground, then he’s training with our men here, Father,” Mikel said in a droll tone.

“Don’t be disrespectful to your father,” his mother cautioned, but she smiled at her youngest son.

“How does he do?” Peter asked, obvious curiosity on his face.

“Better than I would have imagined,” Mikel said begrudgingly. “When he first started working out with our men, he seemed not to be very well trained. I think perhaps the inactivity he has been forced to endure while here might well have weakened him, but as time advanced, he has shown a remarkable ability with the combative skills. Now that he has been allowed to work out with our men, he seems better satisfied.”

“And just who gave him permission to train with our men?” his father snarled.

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Mikel’s large hazel eyes widened in innocence. “He hasn’t been denied access to any part of our keep, Father. No one said Prince Conar was to be kept bored and lethargic.”

“Who gave him instructions on how to reach the training ground, Christophe Mikel?” The Tzar knew his son well enough to know the answer to that question even as he asked it.