Hero's End (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 2)

by JC Cassels

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He flashed her his best holofeature hero grin. “I understand more than I speak,” he said. “Languages have always come easy to me. Most people speak at least two or three. You’re fluent in at least three that I know of.”

  The harsh sunlight reflected off the white stones of walled gardens and squat, squarish buildings. The trees that lined the road and rose above the walls bore flat leaves at least as long as Bo’s arm, and as wide as her entire body. They fluttered and swayed in counterpoint to the conical tree trunks from which they sprang. Countless varieties of the same species clumped together to shade large areas. Up in the nest of leaves hung strange-looking clusters of fruit. Some fruits were round in shades of green, yellow and orange, while others were oblong in shades of green, yellow and brown. Birds with brilliant plumage and long, curved beaks fed on them, dropping their leavings on the hard-packed ground. Colorful flowers spilled out of baskets and urns tucked under shuttered windows and alongside gates and doorways.

  The ground cruiser pulled into a pair of large black gates set into a high-walled courtyard. The meter-thick, outer walls glowed under the brilliant Lahtrecki sun. White-uniformed guards snapped to attention as the cruiser passed. Lush gardens and wide expanses of lawn flanked the long, winding drive. In contrast to the squat structures lining the narrow streets outside the gate, the large, gleaming white building at the end of the drive nestled into the gardens. Colorful greenery tumbled over balconies trimmed in a dense, dark wood.

  Bo sighed to herself. Official State buildings were the same the Commonwealth over. Flags and pennants snapped sharply in the steady breeze.

  “This isn’t where we’re staying is it?” she asked in Gallic.

  “What’s the matter?” Blade’s lips twitched. “Don’t you like being locked in a fortress?”

  She snorted. “The only fortress I can stand is Caer Daecus. Everything else is a prison.”

  Blade nodded. “I know the feeling. We’re not staying here. This is the Tryriate. We’re just dropping Ballanshi off. My place is well outside the city, and there aren’t any gates.”

  Bo nodded. “Good.”

  She relaxed back into her seat as the two men resumed their low-voiced conversation.

  At the entrance to the Tryriate, the cruiser slowed to a halt under a wide portico in front of the gleaming white building. An attendant wearing a white uniform identical to the driver’s stepped from the darkened interior and scurried down the steps.

  The driver opened the door and Ballanshi turned to them. “I will see you tonight then.” The Tryrium stepped out and mounted the stairs. He turned and waved before disappearing into the building.

  The driver closed the door and settled into his seat once more. The vehicle edged out of the circle and back down the drive.

  “Just like that?” Bo’s brow furrowed. “No specific time?”

  “Nope.” Blade braced his arms along the back of the seat and gazed out of the window at the passing scenery.

  “And we’re supposed to just show up for dinner?”

  “Yep.”

  “What if we arrive too early?”

  “We won’t.”

  “What if we’re late?”

  “We won’t be early and we won’t be late. They don’t rely on chronos here.” He gestured absently. “They tell time two ways: dark or light. Work in the light, play in the dark. As long as we show up after sunset, we’ll be on time.”

  He sounded so certain that Bo relented and relaxed against him once more. His arm dropped lightly around her shoulders.

  The road took them along the coast. The water glistened like gemstones as it ebbed and flowed onto the powdery white beach and receded into the ocean in a frothy melee. Blade bent his head towards her and pointed out a fishing vessel moored just beyond the bay.

  “Fishing is a major industry here,” he said. “All Lahtrecki learn to fish as a matter of pride. They go out at dawn and return just before dusk. They build fires along the beaches when they return, and families go out and help sort the day’s catch. They set aside what they choose to eat that night. Vendors take the rest of the catch for the evening trade in the markets. The fishing families eat, dance, repair their nets then go home. It all starts over the next day.”

  Bo’s lips twitched. “Sounds a little like Narvon.”

  “Narvon?”

  It’s the next largest continent on Mondhuoun. Barron Clan took to the air, Narvon Clan took to the sea. In ancient times the two clans spent a lot of time at war. All that ended when The Barron’s sister married a Narvon. That union brought the first peace to Mondhuoun. That’s what made it possible for my people to move out to the stars.”

  “I take it the romance wasn’t approved by the families.”

  Bo shook her head and smiled at the memory. “My father used to tell me the story about the fierce, brave Bodhile and the handsome Narvon who captured her heart.” She peered up at him. “I was named for her.”

  “Really? Bodhile? Bo is short for Bodhile?”

  She jabbed her elbow at his ribs. He laughed and dropped his bent arm to protect his side, turning his body slightly towards her. He held up his other hand to ward her off.

  “Bodhile Laidan Caitre Marissa Barron,” she said over his chuckles. “My grandmother named me.”

  “It’s a beautiful name, Bo,” he said. “It suits you.”

  Somewhat mollified, she stopped trying to hit him.

  “When they met, she didn’t know who he was. She had to hide him from the patrols. They courted in secret. When their families learned of their romance, they forbade them from ever seeing each other again. Ronan, the young man, stole her away to Cuild – which was neutral ground – and he invoked the Chrede Rhei.”

  “Chrede Rhei?” Blade said. “The Heart’s Rights?”

  Bo nodded. “It’s an ancient custom of bride theft. When a couple in love isn’t assured of their families’ consent, the young warrior steals his bride from her home and spirits her off. He has to announce his intent to her nearest relative. Then he swears his undying love and loyalty to her, invoking the Chrede Rhei.”

  “What happens if the nearest relative objects?”

  “He challenges the suitor for his right to her,” Bo said. “If he wins in combat or some other honorable contest…”

  “They slug it out, you mean.”

  Bo grinned. “Pretty much,” she said. “But usually, no. It’s a way for the families to save face. Once a couple forms a pair bond…” Bo broke off with a small shrug. “It’s a lifetime commitment. My people respect that. It’s inviolate.”

  An odd, speculative gleam lit his eyes. “And it’s a legal form of matrimony?”

  “Legal and binding,” she said.

  “Even for a clan chief?”

  “That’s how the clans were united,” she grinned.

  “Interesting.” Blade nodded absently. “What if the lady objects?”

  “If he announced his intentions and wasn’t challenged, or he won his challenge and he can coax his intended into bed, that’s acceptance right there.”

  His blue eyes gleamed with an impish light. “Is it still in use?”

  “It’s how my father joined with my mother,” she said. “Nana Cait, my grandmother, did not approve of my mother at all. She really was Marissa Kiara. She refused to allow a State wedding and petitioned the Mondhuic Governing Council to withhold permission for the marriage. Royce said that my father marched into the D’or Choh, announced his intentions to Aunt Misou and carried my mother out unchallenged, invoking the Chrede Rhei on his way out the door.”

  Blade chuckled. “I think I would like your father,” he said.

  “I know you would,” Her smile faded a little. “I only hope you two get to meet some day. I know he’d like you, too.”

  “I doubt it.” Blade shook his head. “I’m not the kind of man fathers like to see with their daughters.”

  “Maybe not,” Bo said with a
grin.

  They rounded a bend and, just ahead, a large villa perched on a cliff at the edge of the foothills that dropped into the sea, forming a cove.

  “What a gorgeous building,” she said. “What is that for?”

  Leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees, Blade waited for her to face him. When she turned, his mouth was dangerously close to hers. Unable to resist, Blade kissed her lightly. “That villa is for us,” he whispered. “That’s home.”

  “What a magnificent piece of architecture,” Bo murmured. She gaped at the craftsmanship, the likes of which she had thought lost to the Commonwealth. “Home?”

  “It’s the only home I ever really had.” He shrugged. “It seems silly to fall in love with a building or a place, but this,” he swept his arm wide, “this is a part of me, somehow. I’ve lived in a lot of buildings all over the Commonwealth, and I’ve slept in a lot of bizarre and exotic places – some of them with you – but this villa is the only place that ever really felt like home.”

  The words hit her like a physical blow. Bo’s smile wilted a little but she struggled not to let it show.

  “More so than our apartment on Altair?”

  “I hate city living,” he said absently. “That’s your thing.”

  “Of course.”

  It wasn’t her thing at all. Bo’s home was a millennia-old stone fortress high atop the Blue Mountains and surrounded by lush forests. She only tolerated the city because it was easier to hide – easier to be anonymous and invisible.

  Conversation dragged as the cruiser pulled into the long driveway and glided to a halt under the wide portico. The driver stepped out and opened the door for them.

  With a distracted smile, Blade tugged at her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  Bo followed him up the wide steps and into the darker interior, only half-hearing him. Since her exile from Mondhuoun, Bo had found a sense of home with him, whether it had been her ship, their apartment on Altair, or even a musty tent on the edge of a desert. That he had made a home here that had never included her cut deeply. It was just another glaring reminder that she had far more invested emotionally in this relationship than he did.

  “Come look at this,” he said.

  He led her into a room, its beamed ceiling and slowly turning fans mere shadows in the darkness. The only light filtered in from other rooms and through the slatted shutters that hung in the windows. More furniture adorned this room than any other. A larger than life, full-length portrait of a young man hung from one wall. Shelves, filled with books, lined the opposite wall. Meter-high vases, flanking each of the two doorways into the room, held large arrangements of dried flowers. Thickly padded, woven chairs huddled around a low table in the center of the room. A slat-backed wooden bench sat beneath the shuttered windows.

  Releasing her hand, Blade pushed one end of each of the series of shutters, flooding the room with light and the intoxicating aroma of the exotic flowers from the lush gardens outside. The cool sea air swept through, ushering musty ghosts out of its way. Bo blinked against the sudden rush of light and shaded her stinging eyes against the glare. Blade went to stand beneath the portrait and gestured for her to join him. When she did, he looked up at the painting.

  “What do you think?”

  Bo followed his gaze. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the brilliant sunlight reflecting off the creamy walls.

  A throwback to another era, there was no mistaking the subject. Blade Devon himself had been painted standing against a terrace railing, the ocean in the distant background. Wearing a costume from another era, the quaintly old-fashioned, cream-colored suit fit him very well…but the artist had opted to downplay his athletic build, portraying him as leaner and less muscular. The effect was not unattractive, but she preferred him as he was, not this idealized rendering. His expression was one of stubbornness and determination, but held a hint of optimism she wasn’t used to seeing in him. Again, there was no accounting for artistic license.

  She studied the subject for a moment then she looked at him. “Really, Dev?”

  She canted her head at him, a sardonic smile played about her lips.

  She sighed.

  Well, at least there wasn’t any question as to who Blade was in love with. The man was so full of himself, there really wasn’t any room left in his heart for anyone else. What had she expected? The man was a holofeature actor, for Peace sake.

  Blade peered at the work. “What?”

  “Come on,” she said, “if you’re going to have a portrait of yourself, you should at least be dressed in a suit that’s in style today, not thirty years out of date.” She looked back up at the portrait. “I certainly wouldn’t have gone for something so – big...and I’m The Barron.”

  Quirking an eyebrow, Blade looked down at her. “Bo, that’s not me.”

  “Well it certainly isn’t Chase.”

  “Bo, that’s Cantrell.”

  “You mean that’s you in the role of Cantrell.”

  “That painting was commissioned three years before I was born,” he said, his words measured and soft. “That’s Cantrell himself. That’s why the suit is outmoded.”

  “That’s Cantrell?” She eyed him dubiously. “The Hero of the Battle of Kah Lahtrec? The guy you played in The Life and Times of Cantrell?”

  He nodded and grinned. “Spooky, huh?” He prowled the room, distractedly poking around the bookshelves. “I’ve been dying to show this to you since I first saw it.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “This was his villa,” he said. He gestured absently. “When I came here to shoot, Ballanshi put it at my disposal.”

  “And they let you keep it? Just like that.”

  Blade paused in his circuit of the room. Avoiding her gaze, he studied the burled wood of the tabletop. “Kind of. It’s complicated.”

  “Name one thing about you that isn’t. I’m very clever. I think my feeble brain will be able to comprehend. For once, please try explaining something to me.”

  He didn’t give any indication he’d heard her. His fingers traced the whirls in the wood grain. He studied it intently. Finally, he looked up and met her gaze squarely.

  “They think I’m Cantrell.”

  Bo’s brow furrowed. “Cantrell died in the Battle of Kah Lahtrec.”

  He nodded. Leaning a hip against the table, he folded his arms across his chest. “They believe his spirit – his life force – is living in me.”

  Bo stared at him for a long moment as the ramifications sank in.

  “You con-artist!”

  “Bo…”

  “I don’t believe you! Taking advantage of a superstitious, primitive race like that… That’s low, even for you!”

  “Even for me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, Blade… You’re not the most principled man I know.”

  His brows drew together. Anger flashed in his eyes. He nodded his head and folded his arms across his chest. “No, that would be Chase, wouldn’t it?”

  Bo rolled her eyes. Not this old argument again. Shaking her head, she turned her back on him and headed for the door. She didn’t need this. The meds were wearing off. Her shoulder was throbbing, and she suddenly felt very tired. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him about his brother. They had already hashed and rehashed the subject of Chase’s apparent infatuation with her. It was a sore spot with Blade, for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom.

  For a man so guarded with his feelings, his jealousy towards his brother was the only indication that he cared for her at all, at times. Those kinds of feelings she could do without. His attitude made her feel like the prize at a carnival he didn’t really want, but didn’t want anyone else to have either.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my ship.”

  She didn’t need his brand of jealousy right now. All she wanted was to lie down and have someone stroke her hair and murmur soothing things until the m
eds kicked in again.

  “Is it so crazy to think they might be right?” he called after her. “That I might be Cantrell?”

  Bo stopped. Lifting her face to the ceiling, she drew a deep breath for strength before she slowly turned.

  “Isn’t being Blade Devon enough for you? Are you so starved for attention and recognition that you have to convince yourself that you’re really…the savior of the Outland Fringe? Cantrell was a real-life hero. You play one in holofeatures. If you want to be a real hero, go back to Consular Guard. I’m sure the Mighty Eighth would love to have you back.”

  “What if they’re right, Bo? What if I am Cantrell born into a new body? Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Do you hear yourself?” She shook her head. “What happened to you, Dev?”

  “Let’s just say Tahar helped me get a new perspective on things.”

  Tahar?

  Bo shook her head. Just when she thought she was getting to know the man…

  “What’s a Tahar?”

  “A holy man. A high priest of the temple. When I came here after the accident, I started working with him.”

  “Working with him to do…what, exactly?”

  “Studying the Lahtrecki disciplines.”

  “To what end?”

  “Mastery…the priesthood.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m really not. Look, Bo, I don’t know how to explain it…”

  “I do. You hit your head a lot harder than we thought.”

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Just keep an open mind. Is it such a bad thing if it makes me a better man? If it makes me someone you can respect?”

  She sighed. Her shoulders sagged. The throbbing radiated out, sending waves of pain down her arm and across her back. Pain made her cranky and she’d had enough emotional ups and downs to tide her over for another season or two. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted her meds.

  “I don’t think there is anything wrong with who you are. I don’t think you’re a bad man. I’ve never thought you were a bad man. You don’t have to change for me.”

  “Maybe I need to do it for myself.”

  “Just don’t go changing too much, okay?”