Taken by Storm

by Anna Argent

  “So?” she asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  The men all shared weighted looks, as if she were the one off her rocker.

  “He was an innocent child. I see no reason why he would feel the need to make up for something that wasn’t his fault.”

  “I can’t believe Warrian didn’t tell you of his shame,” said Pretor. “More proof that his bloodlines are tainted and dishonor pounds through his veins.”

  She wasn’t going to let this jerk talk about a good man like that. “If Warrian didn’t tell me what his father did, it was because he knew I wouldn’t care. I only care that Warrian has saved my life more times than I can count.”

  “His father broke our laws,” said Sekrian slowly, as if she were too little to understand his words.

  “That’s his father’s problem. Not his.”

  Finally, Warrian spoke. “As his son, it was my duty to live a life free of dishonor so that I could restore our family’s name. I have failed. And keeping this secret from you was the same thing as lying.”

  “Well, that’s just stupid,” she blurted out. “All of it.”

  Pretor gasped. Sekrian hid a grin and Warrian went back to his cold statue routine.

  Isa sighed, wondering how much more stupidity she was going to have to deal with before she could fix this mess. “What happens to Warrian now?”

  “He will be stripped of his status and imprisoned.”

  “What?” she bellowed. “For how long?”

  Pretor spoke before anyone else could. “Until the war is over and we have time and resources to deal with him.”

  Sekrian’s mouth rippled with anger. “I will find him suitable work in the camp. I won’t have a strong, healthy man sitting idle when I need all the help I can find.”

  “He can’t be trusted. I can’t allow him to roam free, able to come and sneak into the empress’s chamber. Again.”

  A howling rush of anger swept through her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She couldn’t believe Warrian would just stand here and let these assholes talk about him like he wasn’t even there, like he didn’t matter. “He didn’t sneak. I wanted him there. I don’t care what your stupid laws say, I slept with Warrian before and I’ll do it again if and when I feel like it.”

  Warrian flinched. Sekrian’s eyes closed in defeat. Pretor grinned. “So you admit bedding him?”

  Isa realized the trap too late. There was no backing out of it now. But she wasn’t about to let them get away with hurting the man she loved.

  As that realization hit her, she felt a quiet kind of power settle over her. The little flickers of fear that had been eating away at her for days seemed to disappear. She felt lighter. Stronger.

  She crossed to where Pretor stood, flanked by his council and lowered her voice. “I told you what I’d do to you if you let anything happen to him.”

  “It’s out of my hands, Your Imperial Majyr. Your confession in front of so many witnesses has done all my work for me. You sentenced him to death. Not me. There’s nothing in my power I can do to stop what you have begun. Your precious warrior is dead, and it was your words that killed him.”

  A cold, hard dread settled in her stomach. She looked around the room, seeing the truth of Pretor’s words on the face of everyone present. From the smug, satisfied faces of the council, to the grief she saw in the eyes of the warriors, to Warrian’s bleak acceptance, she realized that everyone here believed she’d just sentenced the man she loved to death.

  Like hell.

  “This is not happening,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Warrian’s life is worth more to me than the rest of yours put together. If he dies, you can go find yourselves a new empress to run your fucking weapon.”

  Warrian finally broke his statue routine and stood in front of her. His gaze slid over her face with a sad kind of desperation, like he was trying to memorize her. “All is well, Isa. I knew the price for my actions. Please don’t hold that against the innocent lives who need your protection.”

  “They didn’t care about you being innocent of wrongdoing when you were born, so I don’t care about them. I care about you.” She wanted to tell him she loved him. The words ached to come out, but she wasn’t about to share something so personal in front of an audience. For all she knew, her confession of love would make things even worse.

  “I care about them,” he said, cupping her face. His touch was so gentle it brought tears to her eyes.

  “I will not let them kill you. Please tell me you’ll fight this with me.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve lived by the law all my life. I will die by it as well.”

  “How can you say that? How can you accept it?”

  “Because you can’t spend your energy fighting for me. You need to spend it fighting the Raide.”

  No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. “I’m not defending people who would put you to death for sleeping with me. People who would do something like that don’t deserve to live. They deserve to burn in hell.”

  She turned to Pretor. “If you do this, there will be nowhere you can hide from me. I will use the weapon against you. I will kill you.”

  Pretor shrugged. “You can try. I altered the settings so that the weapon will not allow you to harm any of the council.”

  Sekrian let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majyr. I must take Warrian into custody now.” He looked at the man she loved. “Your weapon, Warrian.”

  He pulled the rings from his hand and held them out for Sekrian to take. The older man pocketed them, then his garala flared to life. A second later, Warrian’s braid fell to the stone floor, severed and smoking.

  “You were a good warrior,” said Sekrian, clapping Warrian on the shoulder. A sheen of regret sparkled in his eyes before he blinked it away. “One of my best. I had hoped that your mission to find the empress would restore your family’s honor and give you some peace. I am so sorry that it is not to be. You will be missed.”

  Something inside of Warrian died in that moment. She saw him shrink in on himself, somehow becoming less than he’d been a second ago. His strength seemed to fade, as did the brilliant sparks in his eyes. All signs of hope died, as if they’d never been.

  Isa choked back tears, refusing to let these people see how much his pain affected her. Instead, she fueled her anger, letting it burn away the despair threatening to consume her.

  She glared at Pretor. “Stop this or I’m never getting back in that weapon again.”

  “Yes, you will, Your Imperial Majyr. The only reason you’re not being executed right along with him is because you can power the weapon.” Pretor nodded to his two imperial guards. “Please place the empress in her throne so that she can perform her duties.”

  “Wait. At least let me say my goodbyes.” She didn’t wait for approval. She just flung her arms around Warrian’s neck and pressed a brief kiss against his lips. He didn’t kiss her back, thought she did feel his chest rumble with a low groan—whether pleasure or pain, she couldn’t tell.

  The little metal ring that Talan had given her hung from a ribbon on her dagger. She grabbed it, using their bodies to hide what she was doing. The brittle metal snapped in her fingers, and tucked the pieces into his pocket as she pulled away with a lingering caress.

  There was no way to know if a window would open in time for Talan to hear her distress call. And even if he did, she wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do. Still, she had to try something.

  Warrian stared down at her, his jaw hard, his eyes flat and dead. He’d already accepted his fate—something she knew she’d never be able to do, no matter how long she lived.

  She couldn’t speak. Too many words and jumbled emotions clogged her throat. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but before she could, two sets of hard, rough hands grabbed her arms from behind and carried her up the stone steps leading to the weapon. She tried to kick and jerk her way free, but her efforts were useless. Worse, they left her exhausted and panting
. She managed to use one hand enough to grab for her dagger, but it was jerked away and tossed onto the stone floor with a metallic clatter.

  As the two guards shoved her into the blue cushions and held her there while the familiar vibrations of the machine revved up beneath her body, she knew it didn’t matter if Talan came or not. He couldn’t take on an entire army to get Warrian back, and she couldn’t do anything to help him. She had no real power here. She wasn’t in charge of anything. They’d only let her think that to lull her into a false sense of security. She was a tool—one they would control and use until there was nothing left for her to give.

  As the weapon took over her body, sucking her inside, she tried to target Pretor. She could see his smug, wrinkled face through the eye of the machine, but the device refused to fire upon him.

  He was right. She couldn’t hurt any of the council. They’d won, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  The weapon shoved her sight toward the blighted coastline where chitenous hordes of Cyturs marched up out of the sea. Lightning lit the dark sky, streaking along through heavy layers of clouds. The coastline was pummeled by waves and hammered by the storm moving in fast.

  Another of those dull gray ships loomed in the distance. A little closer in, several smaller boats packed with Cyturs bobbed on the waves. One by one, they jumped into the ocean and swam for the shore.

  Isa didn’t want to fight them. She didn’t want to do anything to keep the council alive. Not after what they’d done.

  But the weapon wanted other things. It wanted to be safe, and it needed her to ensure that it was.

  As the first huge gulp of energy left her body, ripping a scream from her, she gave in and let it take what it wanted.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Warrian tried to hold onto his honor and go along peacefully, but as soon as Isa started to scream, all his good intentions fled. He pulled free of the warrior who detained him and turned to race back to Isa’s side.

  Thick arms looped around his middle. A second later, he was pushed to the stone floor under a crushing weight. He tried to fight his way free, but without the garala, he was no match for the six men who took control of his body and subdued him.

  “They’re going to kill her,” he told his commander.

  “There would be no sense in her death,” said Sekrian. “They will pull her free before it is too late.”

  “I need to be with her. Watch over her.”

  “That is the job of another. Your job is to accept the consequences of your action as a man of honor.”

  Honor meant nothing to him now. He was no longer the man he’d always been. He’d broken the law, tried to hide his actions and fought his fellow warriors. There was no redemption for him. But he couldn’t leave Isa in the council’s hands, completely at their mercy. “Please,” he begged his commander. “Leave one of your warriors here to watch over her. If she dies, we all die.”

  Sekrian’s mouth flattened, but he finally flicked his gaze to one of the men who’d come with him. “Stay here. Report back to me if Warrian’s fears have merit.”

  The warrior bowed his head and slipped silently away.

  It was the best Warrian could do—more than he’d hoped to achieve—but still so far away from being enough it almost made him laugh.

  He wanted to be with her. Always. He wanted to stand between her and the world, teeth bared, garala sparking as a warning to all who might seek to harm her. She was precious, and not only because she could power the weapon. He’d never met anyone with so much life within her, so much fierceness. She’d fought harder for him than anyone ever had. Her loyalty and courage left him reeling. Those people in there with her had no idea of the treasure in their midst. They would use her up and destroy her, just as they had her mother.

  He couldn’t imagine a world without Isa. Even the thought of it was so bleak it sucked all warmth from his body.

  At least he wouldn’t have to be cold for long. Sekrian was a good man. He wouldn’t make Warrian suffer, waiting for his sentence to be carried out. His commander would execute him before the day was over. And when he did, Warrian would hold Isa’s image in his mind, letting it comfort him as death came.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The moment the window opened, Talan’s communications hub buzzed against his chest, demanding his attention. He didn’t need to look to know what that alarm signified.

  The empress was in trouble.

  Talan held his hand up, indicating Radek should wait before sending his man through. They’d finally tracked down the Taken from House Soric, for the second time, but there was going to be at least one more delay in sending him home.

  “What is it?” asked Radek.

  “The empress has summoned me. I’m going to her.”

  “Not alone, you’re not.” He turned to the man they’d found. “I’m sending you home. There will be people there to greet you.”

  “I thought you were coming with me.”

  Radek clapped him on the shoulder. “Change of plans. Nothing to worry about. You’ll do great.” With that, he gave the man a hard shove through the window.

  It took Talan only a few seconds to reprogram a destination identifier and toss the small sphere into the window, altering the window’s exit so that he landed near the distress beacon.

  He wasn’t willing to waste any more time. Too much had already passed since she’d called for help. After what she’d done for him, he had no choice but to answer.

  Without waiting to see if Radek followed, Talan pulled a stack of sheengs from his vest as he jumped through the shimmering window. He wasn’t sure where he’d land, but he was sure that he wanted to be armed when he did so.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  When Pretor’s personal alarm sounded, he knew the tide of battle was turning against them. He activated the glass panel on the wall of the weapon room, pulling up images collected by the cannon’s heavy barrel. What it saw, he saw.

  Another Raide ship was fighting the storm-tossed seas. Its deck was filled with Cyturs bristling for blood.

  There was no way Loriah’s dwindling forces could hold off that many invading enemies, even with the empress manning the weapon.

  At least not at its current settings.

  He glanced at Utral, who gave his balding head a little shake. He pulled away from the group, finding a quiet corner where no one would hear them speak.

  “You know what we must do,” said Pretor.

  “We can’t. She’s too weak.”

  “We have no choice. She can’t fend them off without our help.”

  “It’s not help we’re giving her,” said Utral. “It’s a death sentence. There is no heir. No one to take her place.”

  “If we all die today, there is still no heir. It is our duty to give her a fighting chance to defend her empire.”

  Utral’s gaze moved to where the empress sat, her body arched in pain. “She’s doing all she can. We can’t ask more of her.”

  “We have no choice. If you don’t help me, I’ll find a man strong enough to do what is right. That man can earn the privilege of fathering the imperial heir. Either way, we will give the weapon what it requires to defend our people.”

  Utral bowed his head in defeat. “I’ll do it. But we must pull her from the chair at the first sign of permanent damage. Agreed?”

  Pretor nodded, willing to give Utral whatever lies he needed to do what had to be done. He had no intention of allowing the empress to die, but if none of them survived, the weapon would fall into enemy hands. He’d rather see his granddaughter dead than live through the pain and shame of having their greatest weapon turned against them.

  *****

  Kemp waited in silence, hovering in the corner of the Loriahan weapon room. No one saw him standing there, garbed in his armor, invisible to the eye. There were too many people here for him to act, but as the empresses screams grew louder, more and more of the onlookers became unsettled by her pain and left.<
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  Rain cascaded through the opening in the ceiling, soaking the machine and everything around it. The stone was dark and slick in a perfect circle marked by metal drains in the floor. The woman was partially shielded from the storm by the metal frame over her body, but enough of the heavy rain had blown through to soak her gown and plaster it against her writhing body. Even from here he could see the color and shape of her breasts through the wet fabric.

  No one seemed to want to gaze upon her now, though Kemp couldn’t tell if it was her pain or her indecent appearance that appalled them. Whatever it was, she was driving men away, one by one.

  Soon the fat, old men would also go away, leaving only the two imperial guards and a rougher-looking, dirty, weary warrior. That was when Kemp would make his move. With both the woman and the weapon under his command, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of Force Dimas moved in and took over the palace.

  His reward for such a prize would be beyond everything he’d ever dreamed. His father would likely give him his own force to command. Kemp would sweep out from this place, using the Loriahan warriors to fight his battles on the next world waiting to be conquered. Perhaps even the empress’s precious Earth

  He’d always wanted his own planet to rule. And now the opportunity to earn the right to do so was dangling within reach.

  Just a few more moments of patience, waiting for his chance to strike, and his own world would be at his fingertips.

  Two gray-haired councilmen stood to the side of the space, watching the dirty warrior. The fat one didn’t even try to hide his contempt. “Her Imperial Majyr has enough security. You may leave.”

  The warrior was young, his braid only falling to his chin. There was an air about him that screamed of idealistic obedience—the kind that only came from the very young and the very stupid.

  With the right motivation, a young man like that would make a formidable war slave.