by Elsa Jade
What had pushed him through?
He swiveled to see Radek stumbling to his feet, the current already subsiding to trickle out through the smaller side gutters where the overgrowth of jungle roots and vines sipped.
The younger male listed to one side, blood running from a scrape at his forehead.
But he had his blaster aimed at Tynan’s heart.
Which was easy enough to find, considering his shirt had been ripped away by his rough passage through the narrow pipe and the clawing metal of the grate. As if he wasn’t already at enough of an embarrassing disadvantage. Slowly, Tynan crooked one elbow over the lip of the trough to rise.
“No!” Radek’s voice was high, shaken. Tynan was reluctantly impressed to see the bore of the blaster didn’t move. “Stay there. I want you in the mud, like the worm you are, when I kill you.”
Tynan grimaced. “I’ve told you already, I’m not Blackworm.” He couldn’t hold back the timbre of exhaustion in the words.
Radek hissed, “My sister—”
“Was not my consort,” Tynan roared back, deeper than the flood. “I never knew the girl, and she was not my love.”
That did rattle the blaster. But Radek rallied. “You’ve already forgotten her, and she died trying to escape you.”
Briefly, Tynan closed his eyes. Of all the enemies to crawl through the hole after him, it couldn’t have been one of the mercs he might’ve bargained with? With a sigh, he looked up at the other male. “You must know the story of the Black Hole Brides.”
“I… So?”
“Then you know that Blackworm prized your sister enough to be disgraced by the other Azthronos nobles, enough to break all the laws of our people, the transgalactic council, and common sense, abducted closed-worlders and sacrificing them to the singularity in the hopes of summoning your sister back from the Lightlands.” Tynan narrowed his eyes. “And you think he’d deny her memory now just because you have a larfing blaster?”
Radek bit at the corner of his mouth, distressing pouring off him like the cold water. “If Blackworm loved Adria so much, why did he…you let her escape only to die?” The blaster wavered again, like his voice.
“I don’t know their tragedy.” Bracing one hand on the side of the trough (right next to a smallish but eminently throwable rock) Tynan rose while Radek stared at him in torment. “This place is a shrine to beloveds, and as old as it is, even it hasn’t heard every story of love and loss and salvation.”
He took a step toward the younger male. “Whatever happened between Blackworm and your sister, whatever fault you seem to feel now, I can’t tell you how to make it right.” He rubbed his forehead, distracting attention from the rock he held loosely in his other hand just behind his thigh. “But I think you know that becoming a murderer in your own right won’t be the first step.”
“No,” Radek whispered. “No, it won’t.” Just as Tynan took another sliding step toward him through the thin algae at the bottom of the trough, the younger flicked the blaster power over to red. “But we won’t have to think about it anymore, because it’ll be our last step.”
Eyes widening, Tynan blanched, his fist clenching helplessly on the rock. Much good it would do against an overloading plasma coil.
“Tynan!”
Everything in him rejoiced at the sound of his name. And rejected it. Because it meant—
His gaze was drawn unerringly to the walkway halfway up the castle wall that surrounded the garden. She must’ve followed the diagram in the duct control room to figure out where he might emerge. Or maybe she’d just known, as he’d emerged from the black hole at her side, fated and blessed. The vines that had curled up the ruin wall bloomed with dots of color almost, but not quite, as bright as his lady.
His blood curdled, colder than the icy mountain water, as Radek swung toward Lishelle, lifting the blaster.
With a fierce battle cry, Tynan hefted his little rock. As a warlord’s weapons went, it left much to be desired. But his only desire was to stop the wretched youth from his path of destruction.
His yell distracted Radek, torn between two targets, and the other male twisted back to face him. “Tynan? You’re not—?”
Lishelle fired.
The bolt of stunning yellow lanced down across the garden. And missed by a sad margin. His lady might be bold, but she was a terrible shot. Still, the constant commotion had Radek’s head whipping back to focus on her—and Tynan’s rock smacked his forehead next to the other wound.
He crumpled without another sound.
But the piercing whine of the overloading blaster more than made up for his silence. At this distance, it could take out the wall under Lishelle, bring her crashing down. It would be a death sentence from that height, even with the lighter gravity.
Tynan bolted toward the fallen male. “Get back!” he shouted to Lishelle.
“No, Tynan,” she cried. “It’s red.”
As if he didn’t know that. He was bemused that she knew it since they’d never had the chance to go over the settings more than once. She was clever as well as glorious.
And now they’d never have another chance—
He snatched the shrieking blaster from Radek’s limp hand and spun toward the jungle, away from Lishelle, away from the ruins where he’d died but where others had come to wish upon his mistakes.
He wouldn’t make the mistake again of needing the adoration of the many over the love of the one. He flung the blaster with every muscle in his cold, aching body.
Lishelle screamed his name one last time, the sound of her voice like a clarion in the sudden silence as the blaster’s energy core peaked.
He didn’t have a chance to look back as the blaster, in mid-air, exploded. Agony ripped across his bare chest, and the bright daylight was eclipsed by the corona of plasma that scorched away everything he was, and everything he’d ever known shrank to a pinprick of darkness.
And then even that vanished.
Chapter 14
She might’ve screamed forever, but the shockwave of the detonation smacked Lishelle back against the castle wall, knocking the air out of her lungs. Stone dust drifted down around her like improbable snowflakes in the sultry jungle.
From her view on high, the geometric lines of the old garden were clear but softened by the encroaching foliage, ripped asunder now by the blast. And Tynan lay splayed and still across the silvery trickle of water, the tawny skin of his bare chest streaked with blood and livid burns.
Her breath returned on an inward choking wail. He looked…
No. She wasn’t following that line of thought. She’d always been good at ignoring whatever got in her way. And right now, the distance between them was a curse.
Like the inner courtyard ramp, the garden wall had a sloping walkway down to the ground, and she raced along it, bounding through the lower gravity. The ramp ducked into the keep at one point, and she lost sight of Tynan before another turn brought her bursting out through an archway into the garden.
For a moment, the thick tangle of vines tried to stop her, as if it didn’t want her to see—
With a furious oath, she ripped through the tendrils, raining torn yellow petals down on her head, and lunged into the yard. “Tynan!”
She splashed across the network of irrigation canals, passing the crumpled Radek without a glance. She had eyes only for her lord…
He was so still, his dark eyes closed, the perfect semi-circle of long, black lashes fanned on the concussion-bruised skin under his eyes. At least he wasn’t still bleeding.
Her steps wavered, because she knew that wasn’t good. Sometimes life hurt, and wounds bled, but on the other side…
She dropped to her knees in the remains of the flood she’d unleashed. The chilly water was already warming in the jungle sunlight, its soft burble meant to charm garden ramblers, but it meant nothing to her.
“Tynan,” she whispered as she reached out one hand to his cheek.
He didn’t stir, not at her muted call, not
at her touch.
Her fingertips drifted lower, falteringly, to the point of his jaw where the powerful thud of his heartbeat…
Should’ve been.
She pressed harder, holding her own breath, as if she could stop her heart long enough to feel his.
A third time, louder, she said, “Tynan?”
Her only answer was the whispered solace of the water and a breath of air ruffling the shredded leaves above, like a million little hands coming together in prayer.
A disconsolate cry ripped wordlessly from her throat, and she centered her palms over his chest, pumping down hard, as if she could be his heartbeat.
But her hands slicked with his still blood, and all she could think of was the story of the heedless young warlord and the hundred yearning maidens who’d prayed for his heart to be ripped out. As now he’d ripped out hers.
Never stopping her compressions, she tipped her head back and screamed a denial at the alien sky and whoever was up there.
The sky howled back at her, as if it heard her pain and answered it a hundredfold. A powerful blast of air shoved the tangle of hair back from her eyes, and she found herself staring up uncomprehendingly at a huge disk of silver and gold…
The underbelly of a spaceship.
No, nothing and no one was taking her away from him. She stayed crouched over him, her hands framed over the gaping wound in his chest, holding him together, holding him to her, being his heartbeat while the universe collapsed around her.
She kept hammering at his chest even as Nor and Trixie appeared in the open hatch of the Azthronos cruiser and jumped smoothly to the ground before the ship landed. The bounty hunter Idrin and a small crew in the tactical black of Azthronos security emerged behind them and fanned out through the garden.
Trixie and two of the crew were at Lishelle’s side in an instant, and one of the Thorkons produced an emergency kit.
“Shel, let us take over,” Trixie cajoled.
Lishelle curled over him possessively. “I have him,” she insisted. But she shifted to one side to make room for the medic who attached electrodes while the other ran a scanner across Tynan’s body.
Not body, not just that, she chanted to herself. He’d become more than just a body to her; he was heart and soul too, her heart and soul…
“He can’t die,” she whispered. “Don’t let him die.”
Nor joined them, towering over the kneeling Thorkons. “We have the mercenary ship locked down,” he reported. “Radek is injured but alive, and we recovered all the crew listed in the ship’s manifest from downstream.” He hesitated, staring at the dat-pad strapped to his forearm. “Most survived.”
Lishelle bit back a moan. Not that she cared about those damn mercenaries, but she didn’t want anyone invoking the specter of death.
Would one Thorkon god come for another?
“My lady,” the medic murmured to her. “If you’d please…”
She sat back hard, the jar to her tailbone feeling as if it would shatter her. The two crewmembers kept up with their scanning and electroding… What the hell was the point of faster than lightspeed and universal translators that made every word clear if it couldn’t save the man she loved? For an instant, she hated all that futuristic technology if all it was going to do was tear her world apart again. But of course all the philosophical musings in the world wouldn’t change anything either.
She watched, numb, as the medics poked some more and consulted their dat-pads while Nor stood sentinel. Did he fear Blackworm was going to rise up? Or did he fear what she would do if Tynan didn’t?
“Shel, are you all right?” Trixie whispered. “We followed you as soon as we could. We had a tracker on Radek, so when he contacted the mercs, we were right behind.”
Lishelle flicked an impatient hand at her friend. “I fought this time,” she said hoarsely. “I didn’t hide from the fear and chaos. I didn’t try to talk it out. I fought. And still…”
“Oh, sweetie.” Trixie scooted closer and wrapped her arm around Lishelle’s shoulders.
She wanted to be strong, she did, but she clung to her friend while the mud and blood soaked her antique wrap.
It seemed like forever, but really, the Azthronos cruiser had just settled into the garden, crushing some of the bomb-blasted greenery, when the first medic sat back. The second joined him and glanced up first at Nor then over at Lishelle.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he murmured. “The injuries were just too severe.” He redirected his attention to Nor. “Sir, I don’t know how to explain it, but the genetic markers for Blackworm that we had on file, they…they’re not…”
Lishelle laughed bitterly. “He’s not Blackworm.” Oh, now everyone believed.
She pressed her bone-dry eyes to Trixie’s blond braid and bit back a scream of rage and loss she knew would never end.
Now that her love was dead.
***
Light. So much light, all the light, it burned him. It scorched away everything he was, everything he’d ever known…
When he opened his eyes, the misty jungle sunlight shone through the arched windows high above his throne, the gentle golden beams floating like pollen. A hundred or more of his people drifted around the dais, chatting and laughing. Somewhere close, music played, a sentimental lament of love lost. He’d never liked that song…
He glanced down at the goblet of ghost-mead in his hand, balanced on the wide arm of the throne where he lounged. Frowning, he remembered someone else sprawled decadently across his throne…
“Drink deep, warlord,” came a cheerful call. “You did it!”
He twisted his mouth into an acknowledging grin and gulped at the goblet. It was a celebration of some sort. But about what? What had he done? Conquered something, probably, and in fine style. But why couldn’t he remember?
Restlessly, he pushed to his feet and stalked a slow circle around the dais. The great hall was as it had always been—impressive and lively—but his mind’s eye overlaid it with a strange, grimmer reflection: the high window broken, vines creeping in, eerily flickering ghosts speaking of love…
What—?
As he strode around to the front of the dais again, the happy crowd had vanished. Only three maidens remained, standing in a row.
One was palely blond, one was brilliantly redheaded, and the one in the middle had softly dark skin almost as rich as…
He frowned. “What is this place?”
“This is your home,” said the black-haired girl. “This is your past. This is your second chance.”
“I don’t…” He laid one hand over his chest. The steady beat reassured him. Because he remembered something worse. “You killed me!” He took a jolting step toward them. “You tore my heart from my chest.”
The blonde flicked a dismissive fingertip down the embroidered front of her formal robe. “You think you’d’ve been used to it since you did it yourself so often.”
He d at them. “I never killed anyone.” Then he amended, “Of my own people. Who weren’t tried and convicted.”
The redhead smirked. “Oh, but you wounded, broke, and crushed so many hearts, warlord. All the more recklessly because you didn’t think it mattered.”
The middle girl silenced her companions with a look. “You’ve learned your lesson, though, haven’t you?”
He met her clear, dark gaze with consternation. “That certainly wasn’t my intention.”
She laughed, and the sound reverberated, too immense for her statuesque body or even for the entirely of the great hall. “So it is for all the deepest moments of significance, eh?” Her dimple flashed. “But discover it you did, Tynan. And so we’ve returned your life to you, to be the man you were meant to be.”
Rubbing his hand over his chest distractedly, he stared around the throne room. Everything seemed to be as he remembered, except…
“You gave me back my life,” he said slowly. “But I think…you have not returned my heart.”
The blonde and the redhea
d exchanged glances, but the third smiled again, a not entirely reassuring smile despite the charming dimple. “Do you miss it?”
The beat under his palm skipped once. “I do.”
“And what price would you pay, warlord?”
He lifted his chin and without hesitation offered, “My life.”
“We took that already,” she reminded him over the blonde’s derisive sniff.
“Everything you fought for?” the redhead suggested slyly, and for the first time, he wondered if they were goddesses…or demons. “Your castle and your riches that you won away from the warlord who wouldn’t even keep you as servant? Would you pay that price?”
“Every time,” he vowed. “I can fight again and win again if I must.” Anything to touch that other heartbeat that hid in his memory…
“Your godhood?” Those dark eyes pierced him. “Would you give up being the God of Beloveds?”
For a moment between heartbeats, he hesitated. “Is that what I am?”
Her expression softened, just a bit. “You have been. And could be again. Your blessing brought joy and serenity to many. Also”—she shrugged—“you were a god.”
And what had that meant to him? She implied beatific power, but…
“My heart is not here,” he murmured. “And you three no longer have it either.” He straightened. “I fought for the wrong prizes. I want to go back to her.”
The goddess-demon arched her sculpted eyebrow. “Her? Which one? There were so many.”
No, there’d ever only been one, truly.
Except the decoy of this old time and place kept trying to ensnare him, pull him back. But of all his battles, this one mattered most. “Her longing lured me at first.” He smiled to himself. “And her passion, brighter than any flower. But then… She had shadows too, matched to my own. But she…believed in me, when no one else did.” He squared his stance to the goddesses. “I have to go back, to prove to her that her faith was true.”
“And this maiden’s name?” the blonde asked, and the redhead added, “So we might see this paragon for ourselves.”
