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

by JC Cassels

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Blade pulled the suit jacket out of the barbur wood wardrobe and held it up to the light streaming in through the window.

  “It’s tan,” he called.

  Bo peeked around the lavatory door. She squinted at the jacket. “No,” she said. “It’s buttercream, just like your trousers.”

  With that, she ducked back into the lav and shut the door.

  “Whatever,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “It’s tan.”

  “Buttercream. I can’t help it if you’re color blind.”

  “Buttercream is not in the visible spectrum for men.”

  “No wonder the studio won’t let you dress yourself anymore.”

  He let out a low whistle. “The killing stroke,” he said more to himself that to her. “That’s what I love about you. You don’t play with your prey. You just go straight for the kill.”

  “What?”

  “Buttercream,” he called loudly.

  “Told you.”

  Grinning to himself, Blade tossed the jacket onto the bed.

  It was worth breaking in a new suit to see her in a playful mood again.

  He stopped in front of the full-length mirror and fastened the crisp, white shirt closed. Well, he hoped it was white. It looked white to him, but she would probably come up with some asinine name for the color. It was still white.

  Rumpled.

  That’s what Tahar had called him.

  Blade unfastened his trousers and folded the waistband down to his hips. Tugging the shirttail down, he pinched the excess fabric at the side seams between his thumb and forefinger and folded it back. Just like he’d done countless times when he’d prepared for inspection in the Consular Guard, he tucked the shirt into his waistband, pulled his trousers up and fastened the front once again. A few quick tugs and he had crisp lines even his drill instructor would have approved.

  What Tahar called rumpled, he called comfortable.

  He reached for his belt and threaded it through the loops in his waistband. He cinched it down with a firm tug and smoothed it out.

  Everywhere he’d been, there had been a dress code. The military required a certain standard of dress. The studio required another standard of dress.

  He flipped up the collar and pulled the necktie – made of the same fabric as the suit – into place around his neck. Measuring the length, he was already mentally going through the steps of the elaborate knot required to make it look right.

  Clothes were little more than a costume, telling the Commonwealth a story about who you were, what you wanted in life. When he wasn’t playing dress-up as soldier or heartthrob or any of his other public roles, all Blade wanted was to be comfortable. Was that too much to ask?

  Lifting his chin, he flipped the tail of the tie around, circling, going up through, down and around again.

  Except tonight.

  Taking a step back, he smoothed the collar down and adjusted the tie.

  Tonight was special.

  He inspected his reflection with all the attention of a soldier preparing his equipment for battle.

  Putting all his public roles aside, tonight he wanted to look his best for personal reasons.

  If he were merely going to ask her to marry him, he could get by with rumpled. Explaining to her that they were already irrevocably and legally wed required every finely honed weapon in his arsenal. No telling how she would react to the news.

  He’d thought that, by bringing Bo to Kah Lahtrec, she would get past whatever mental block made her keep him emotionally at a distance. Dev Fossey may not have roots or a home, but Blade Devon did. He’d hoped that by sharing that part of himself with her, it would break through the shell she’d been carrying around.

  No such luck.

  All his talk of home had only caused her to feel more isolated and hurt. It must have reminded her too strongly of her own exile.

  Perhaps he should have taken her to Mondhuoun, despite the risks.

  He glanced past his reflection in the mirror to the still-closed lavatory door.

  No. This was best.

  After all the time he’d spent in meditation, and after everything Tahar had said about their destinies being dependent on each other, bringing her here had been the only solution.

  He had warned her that coming here would complicate their relationship. He probably should have explained that those complications included marriage as a life sentence without possibility of parole.

  The Lahtrecki culture took pair bonding seriously, as a spiritual union as well as a physical one. Spouses were chosen for life. There was no provision for divorce. Should one spouse violate their marriage vows or attempt to abandon their spouse, their chosen advocate would serve as an accountability partner, honor-bound to execute them. The Tryrium himself had accepted the role of advocate for Bo and Blade, with some misgivings.

  It was getting harder to stay ahead of the bounty hunters as it was. The last thing Bo needed was an IC hit team after her. This was the only way to ensure that didn’t happen.

  It was the only way he could clear the slate between them without placing her life in more danger.

  Once he explained what he’d done by bringing her here, he was going to tell her everything. No more secrets.

  A cheerful melody chimed through the villa. Blade glanced over at the antique voice com on the table beside the bed. One of these days, he was going to have to get around to upgrading, he supposed. He really liked the novelty of using a relic from another era. It suited the atmosphere on Kah Lahtrec, somehow. Ordinarily, he’d keep his IC com switched on, but when he and Bo had landed, he’d turned it off. Keeping it switched on would only invite trouble. The only person he’d want to talk with was in his lav. Chase could never remember the complex connect codes, and the only time a call ever came in on that set, it was Ballanshi.

  Blade consulted his reflection one last time before he turned and scooped up the communications handset from its cradle and lifted it to his ear.

  “Devon.”

  “Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused?” the clipped, garrulous voice demanded.

  Blade’s good mood faded. “Lord Marin.”

  “You were supposed to be here on Trisdos.” The First Sector Overlord went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I gave clear, concise orders that you were to return here for your recovery. Imagine my surprise when Agent Kendall reports in telling me that, despite the fact you’ve got a broken leg, collarbone and Maker-only-knows-what-else, you’ve somehow managed to slip unseen from a state-of-the-art medical ship and disappear into who-knows-where! It’s a full season before anyone spots you and you’re tracked to Kah Lahtrec! When my office contacts the local authorities to have you extradited, they’re informed that this little backwater in the middle of nowhere refuses to honor extradition because you’re a damn citizen of Kah Lahtrec!!”

  Blade closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Of course, he hadn’t counted on Lord Marin tracking him to the Outland Fringe. He knew better than to say anything. Marin wasn’t finished yet.

  “How the hell can you be a citizen of Kah Lahtrec? They’re not even members of the Commonwealth! Do you realize the kind of political tangle you’ve created?”

  “Even if I weren’t a citizen of Kah Lahtrec, the Tryrium wouldn’t extradite me,” Blade said.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I haven’t done anything wrong.” Blade turned his back on his reflection and strode over to the glass doors leading out on the balcony overlooking the ocean. “Your excuse for forcing me to come to Trisdos was that I needed protection while recovering from my injuries. I’m fully recovered and no longer require your Janizary. You can call off Agent Kendall.”

  “I have no intention of calling off Agent Kendall,” Marin said. “Like it or not, you are going to have a Janizary security detail from now on. I may not be able to send him to Kah Lahtrec, but I happen to know you’ve got a publici
ty tour for your next holofeature starting up on Cormoran in a couple of seasons. You’ll have to come back for that or you’ll be in breach of contract. I’ve decided to invest heavily in that holofeature, so I promise you, I’ll make sure you’re prosecuted if you violate the terms. I’ve also pressured the studio into requiring extra security for you in the wake of The Catarrh.”

  Blade bristled. Now the Sovran was investing in holofeatures? That did not bode well for his career. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed lavatory door. Was it too late to take Bo up on her offer to run away? Would she consider living out the rest of their lives in quiet exile on Kah Lahtrec?

  “I assure you, My Lord,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “No, boy, you’re not.”

  “Of course,” Blade said. “You’re right. That’s why the best agents in the Janizary have spent the last season scratching their asses trying to figure out how they lost me in the first place.”

  “Watch your tone with me, boy,” Marin warned. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  Bracing his fist on his hip, Blade stared out over the water, the waves catching the last few dying shimmers of sunlight as the day faded. He tried counting to ten in Lahtrecki, silently, but it didn’t do any good. His hold on his temper loosened.

  “I have no intention of going to Trisdos, not now, not ever. There’s nothing for me there. I do not want whatever job you’re trying to force on me. I have a job and I like it just fine, thank you very much.”

  “I didn’t offer you a choice, boy. Nobody is asking you what you want or what you like. You will come to Trisdos. Do I have to hold a media conference outing you to the Commonwealth? I promise you that it will go easier on you if you’re already under Janizary protection when I do. Imagine what your life will be like on Cormoran when it becomes public knowledge that you’re my son and heir.”

  Blade clenched his teeth so hard that he felt a muscle spasm in his jaw.

  “Don’t threaten me,” Blade growled. “I’m not flat on my back in a hospital ward anymore. You need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. I’ll be back on Cormoran in a couple of seasons for the publicity tour for The Watchtower. Until then, I don’t want to see Kendall or anyone who remotely looks like a bodyguard. Anyone comes near me looking like IC and I’m going to assume they’re hostile.” His tone lowered with velvet menace. Narrowing his gaze, his grip tightened on the handset. “I disappeared once. You were able to find me because I didn’t try to make it permanent. I can, you know – make it permanent. That’s not off the table.”

  “Are you threatening me, boy?”

  Blade shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Just warning you that I don’t like being pushed into a corner. I tend to push back.”

  “You can’t hide on Kah Lahtrec forever.”

  “I’m not hiding now. I’ll be in touch in a couple of seasons…as long as you don’t give me any reason not to.”

  Without waiting for further protest, Blade ended the call and set the com-set on the chest of drawers. His heart thudded against his chest. Despite the fact the majority of the galaxy separated them, it was perfectly within the realm of possibility that Andre Marin had a team poised to move in and snatch him from his bed. He knew better than anyone just how long the reach of the Sovran was.

  “Who was that?” Bo’s voice came from behind him.

  His head snapped up. He glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She stood in the doorway to the lavatory, wrapped in a white towel, blessedly oblivious to the political machinations around her.

  “How long have you been there?” It came out more harshly than he’d intended.

  She flinched as if she’d been struck, but she didn’t back down. She glowered at him. “Don’t avoid the question.”

  His hands trembled slightly as he poured himself a drink. Why did Andre have to call, tonight of all nights?

  “Who were you talking to?”

  Taking his drink, he turned.

  Standing there in the middle of his bedroom, she looked like some fey goddess just stepped from the waves. Her brown hair tumbled over her bare shoulders in artful disarray. She’d applied just enough makeup to enhance her natural beauty.

  A slow smile touched his lips. “Maker you are beautiful,” he said softly.

  A becoming flush crept up her shoulders and neck.

  “You’re still avoiding the question.”

  He was avoiding the question. One thing at a time. First their marriage. After that, he’d deal with telling her he was Andre Marin’s son.

  “So are you.”

  Fire flashed in her amber eyes. “It’s a trick I picked up from you.”

  She turned to retreat back into the lavatory.

  “Bo, wait,” he said.

  That wasn’t the way this evening was supposed to go. He didn’t want her to start off angry. She was much harder to reason with when she was angry.

  She hesitated and peered at him over her shoulder.

  “That was Andre.”

  She turned back to him. “Andre? Lord Marin? You don’t mean that you were talking to the Sovran like that?”

  Blade looked away, unwilling to face her censure. Of course she’d think he was out of line. She was Consular Guard to the core. Duty, Responsibility and Service were the fuseform in her spine. How could he begin to make her understand the trap Andre was slowly backing him into?

  Blade dropped into the chair beside the open doors to the balcony. He propped his feet on a low ottoman and took a long, fortifying drink before setting his glass on the side table at his elbow. “That’s right,” he said.

  Maker only knew what she was thinking. He glanced out the window, silently urging the dusk to hurry. The sooner night fell, the sooner they could leave for the Tryriate. He didn’t want to tell her until they were in public. She’d be much less likely to try to kill him in public.

  Bo’s brow furrowed. “What does he want with you?” she asked. She leaned in the doorway and eyed him speculatively. “You didn’t go back to the IC did you?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “You could say I’m still on detached duty.”

  “So…what? You’re undercover again?” She smiled without humor and shook her head. “I give you free run of my ship – you interact with my boss – you go on a job with me and you’re a freakin’ Inner Circle Agent again?”

  “There’s no ‘again’ about it, love,” he said. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. I never stopped being one.”

  “I can’t believe you would go back to them after what they did to you.”

  “It’s…”

  “Complicated,” she finished for him. “Yeah, I know.”

  Something in her tone snapped him out of his own misery. Taking a deep breath, he opened himself to her through the Sentaro. A riot of feelings tumbled around him. Sorting through them, he reached for the one guiding thread and followed it. The only clear feeling he got was a fear for the security of Redmaster Blue.

  He grinned. “You think I’ve been ordered to…what? Infiltrate Redmaster Blue?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think.”

  That she didn’t. Her confusion spilled out like water from a broken flask.

  Slowly, he rose from the chair and stalked her. This would be just the distraction he needed. His lips quirked. She folded her arms across her chest but watched him, waiting to see what he was going to do.

  “You know,” he said in that low, dangerous tone he knew she couldn’t resist, “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

  “Do you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. Color flooded her skin in response to him.

  He nodded. “You are thinking that I could be deep undercover…that you’ve been my mission all along,” he said. “You’re my best chance for blowing Redmaster Blue wide open, taking out the head and hauling you back to Cormoran to finish that little public execution thing that was so rudel
y interrupted a few years back.”

  “The thought has occurred to me,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl that contrasted with her tightly coiled tension. Her amber gaze darted around the room, looking for some avenue of escape, but she held her ground.

  “I love when you’re like this,” he said, stopping in front of her.

  “This?”

  He reached out and lightly ran his hands up and down her arms. “This,” he repeated. “Suspicious. Dangerous. Scantily clad.” He invaded her personal space. “You’re right to wonder. It’s the intelligent thing to do and baby, you are nothing if not brilliant.”

  His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to him. His knuckles lightly brushed her cheek. “You’re in your element when your mind is at work on strategy.”

  With one finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his.

  “You’re waiting to see what demands I’m going to make,” he went on. He leaned closer to her, dominating her with his closeness. His breath fell on her lips. “You’re waiting to see how I’m going to play the seduction scene. Am I going to interrogate you? Or am I going to try to get you to compromise security? Hmm? Which one do you think it will be?”

  Her pupils dilated. The pulse at her throat thumped wildly. Her skin took on a vivid rosy hue.

  “You tell me,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathless.

  He studied her face a long moment. Holy Maker, she was never so beautiful as when she was thoroughly aroused. She loved courting danger. She couldn’t resist when he took her to the edge of danger and held her over the brink on a fragile lifeline. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe in her excitement.

  That was enough – for now.

  His lips quirked in the lopsided smirk that made him famous and he released her, taking a few steps back.

  “I’m going to tell you to get dressed and put your arm back in that sling.” Turning, he retrieved his drink and drained the glass. “It makes a good story,” he said, “but our reality is far more complex than that. I’d love to tell you more, but that information is above your pay grade – Commander.”

  Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, but she said nothing. With a challenging smile, Bo removed her towel and threw it at his head. He caught it with a grin and tossed it onto the ottoman.