Kindred of the Fallen

by Isis Rushdan

  Glaring at him, she stood. “Why? We’d only be there a few weeks, a month at the most. It’s not like we’re planning to stay there. I have to find out what happened to my parents.”

  Abbadon took a step forward. “This matter is above your head.”

  “Don’t use that tone with me. I’m not a child. I—”

  “I, I, I!” Abbadon speared her with his gaze. Anger boiled in his eyes. “Kindred in body and spirit, but still human in mind,” he snarled.

  Her heart recoiled, but without flinching, she steeled herself and held his seething gaze.

  “You have no idea what you ask of him,” Abbadon said through clenched teeth. “He can do anything he wants and we would forgive him. He can take any number of Kindred or humans to his bed if he so desired. He can play father to abominations. He can kill his own mother with the hand of his impudent selfishness. He can do anything—except spit in our faces and take refuge in another House. You would dishonor him and tear down Herut from the inside out with that one insidious act. And you’re displeased with my tone?”

  “Don’t speak to her that way,” Cyrus said in a low voice as he stared at the window.

  “She knows nothing of our mores or the impact of her—”

  “She’ll learn,” Cyrus said calmly, “but no matter what she says or what she does, don’t ever speak to her that way again.”

  Abbadon’s mouth twitched and his chest rose as he drew in a deep breath, running his thumbs along the edge of his belt. After another deep inhale, his perfect, tight-laced equanimity resurfaced. “Get married early tomorrow and then proceed directly to Morocco. Once you’re safe at Herut, I’ll come back here to handle the blood vengeance with Lysandra.”

  Cyrus cradled her in his gaze. A weary expression clung to his face. The luminescence in his eyes, in the energy stream that connected them, binding them to one another beyond flesh, had diminished.

  She nodded and sank down beside him, nauseated.

  “Let everyone know,” Cyrus said.

  Abbadon left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Cyrus reached out and clutched her hands, but stared away at nothing. “If I went to Aten without observing the proper protocol of standing before my Triumvirate and getting permission, it would be a great affront, beyond disrespectful or disloyal. The leadership of the Council would be challenged and it would weaken Herut’s standing amongst the Houses. It would be difficult for them to recover from the shame that would befall them.”

  Her gaze fell to his hand and she touched his signet ring. “Then after Morocco, we’ll go and get permission.”

  He sighed. “They’ll never give it.”

  “Why not?”

  His gaze traversed from the window, across the room, to her eyes. The tortured look on his face wrenched her heart. “There hasn’t been a union like ours since 1312. We’re a precious commodity that they won’t entrust to House Aten.”

  She shook her head. “The immortals want reunification of the Fallen. Aren’t they advocates of redemption?”

  “Nefertiti, yes, but Seshata and Tholitis are always so diplomatic—too diplomatic.”

  “You just told Abbadon no place is safe.”

  “And in a way that’s true, but the fact remains they won’t let us go there.”

  She sat back. She only wanted to find out the truth about her parents, but everything was convoluted and mired down in ideologies she didn’t subscribe to. Too many precepts she didn’t understand. She didn’t know how to navigate through her new world of honor and shame. The more she was faced with the burden of carrying the hope of others, and the oppressive idea of redemption, the less she wanted any part of it, but a child would ensure their safety.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to absorb what all of this means.”

  “It means we’re out of time. Sekhem knows about us. If their oracles see us, when their scouts don’t report back they’ll take that as confirmation. And battle-guard of Sekhem will come for one or both of us. But one day, many will come. Perhaps even Paladins to reach beyond the walls of Herut.”

  His words were so simple, so definite. The sun would rise. The sun would set. Many would come. The meaning stretched beyond the depths of darkness she could fathom.

  An avalanche was descending upon them, determined to bury them alive. She couldn’t see it in her mind, but her soul felt it coming—a force so great they wouldn’t be able to outrun it.

  Dread saturated the air, making it hard to breathe. She pictured a wall separating them, the way Cyrus had done before, so he couldn’t feel her panic.

  She would always choose him. Then again, she never really had a choice when it came to loving him. No matter how many of them came or how painful her death might be someday, being with him would always be worth it. She held steadfast to her hope.

  It was rare, but sometimes people did survive an avalanche.

  “You’ll need to pack,” Cyrus said, caressing Serenity’s cheek.

  His kabashem gave a brave smile. “I’ll get Talus to help me. Otherwise I’ll end up throwing in whatever will fit in a suitcase.” She started to rise, but sat back down. “Who was Daedalus?”

  “Daedalus was a child with a mark of the Fallen. In 1312, when he was four years old, someone slit his throat with an obsidian blade while he slept in House Herut. A Paladin. At least, we think it was. Several managed to sneak in. Our warriors had their guard down. No one expected someone to kill a Blessed child simply because his kabashem was already in the world.”

  “How can we go there?”

  “It’s safer than being on our own and there are plenty of warriors I do trust, but once we go, everything will be different.”

  The idea of returning to Herut pressed down on him, smothering him. They needed the safety of a House. And now his mate had been tempted by Aten.

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. There was a knock on the door and Abbadon walked back in.

  Serenity kissed Cyrus, licked her lips as if tasting him again on her mouth, then kissed him once more. She rose, holding his gaze. “I’m going to go pack.”

  After she left, Abbadon shut the door behind her. He walked to the fireplace and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I urge you to reconsider. Go back to Herut tonight.”

  “Save your breath. I’ve made my decision.”

  “Then I’ll need the full itinerary for Morocco so I can formulate a solid security plan.”

  Cyrus rose and poured a cognac. “I’ll give it to Spero. You won’t be going with us. I want you to help Talus shut down the house and take Beset’s body back to Herut.”

  Abbadon crossed the room and placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “What are you doing, brother? You can’t seriously consider the immortal’s offer.”

  He turned his back to his friend and sipped his drink. He had no intentions of entertaining Seshata’s invitation, but his mate would. Dragging her from the basement to spare her from watching the interrogation could be overlooked. If she needed to go to Aten to discover her roots, she’d never forgive him if he carted her off to Herut like a brute.

  “Cyrus, letting her go to Aten is one thing, following her there is another. Not that either is a safe option that should be entertained.”

  When she asks, say no. Ereba’s warning came back to him.

  The oracle with the dark veil had not been crazy, but say no to what? Say no to knowing about Serenity’s ingenium, no to the invitation, no to the gifts? He walked to the window and gazed at the garden.

  She wants you to live. But did Seshata want Kindred to be redeemed?

  “You know what’s at stake,” Abbadon’s voice rose. “There’s only one reason you would prevent me from seeing you both safely to Herut. Has the sweetness of her quim so perverted your judgment that it makes you a fool?”

  Cyrus seized Abbadon by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “Watch your tongue!”

  �
��I speak the truth and you know it.”

  Chest heaving, Cyrus released him. “You don’t understand what this is like.”

  “To love her more than Herut I can understand. But to submit to the whims of a female that has a human mindset at the political expense of Herut and redemption is unconscionable.”

  “You can’t understand because she’ll always choose me over anything else in this world.”

  Abbadon stood silent for a moment. “And Kasmira chose Sekhem.”

  “And you chose Herut. You will always choose Herut.”

  “Do you think I am not on your side? I have always been on your side! But this is the first time I’ve had to make a distinction between yours and that of Herut’s.” Abbadon drew in a deep breath. “When we came back from Panama, who spoke to the Council on your behalf? Your own father cast you aside, but I stood by you. Since the day you were born, I have been on your side, but if you go to Aten it would be a grave mistake.”

  Cyrus finished his cognac and set his glass down. He didn’t know what his mate would decide. He’d appeal to her sense of reason, but ultimately he’d support her. For now, he wasn’t certain what form that support would take. “You will help Talus close down the house, then you’ll take Beset’s body back to Herut and that’s final.”

  Abbadon stormed out of the great room, leaving the doors wide open.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  With her cell phone against her ear, Serenity paced in her room as Talus crouched low in front of several paintings. “Dougie, I know this is all quite sudden, but the upside is you get to own the tattoo studio.”

  “What difference does that make if I can’t produce soul ink designs anymore because you’re gone?” he yelled.

  “Maybe I can fly back a couple of times a year to do a bulk of special requests. Besides, most of the clients don’t want to fork out the cash for my services anyway, and the ones who have, already created the buzz that you need.”

  “Why is your new man dragging you off to the mountains? Why can’t you stay here in the center of the universe where you belong?”

  “I belong with him. No matter where that is.”

  “I can’t believe you!” Guttural pants blasted in her ear. “Fine. I clearly have no say in this, but you have to do me one favor before you leave.”

  “What?”

  “There’s this big shot—”

  “Don’t tell me who or anything about the person.”

  “There’s a V.I.P. that you have to meet with before you go. If the client is pleased, I’ll get an autographed picture to hang on the wall. This will cement Soul Ink Designs in the industry. Do this for me or I’ll hate you forever and when I’m forced to file for bankruptcy I’ll ask for a handout from Mr. Big, your future husband.”

  “I’ll do it. The reading and the sketch all in one appointment, but it has to be tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “Call the V.I.P. and make it happen. Earlier is better. After I hit the shop, I’m getting married and then leaving the country. Set it up and call me back with a time.”

  She hung up before he had a chance to continue his guilt trip or complain a second longer. No guilt, no fear and no dread allowed.

  Each day with Cyrus was the true gift, not her ingenium. And she would fight for more of them with her last breath.

  Talus rose, holding the portrait of Cassian. Tears welled in her eyes. “I underestimated your talent.” She ran her fingers across the painting.

  “Do you like it? I painted it for you.”

  Talus rested the portrait against the wall. “The details make it look so real. Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. “All of your paintings are amazing. You’ll want me to box these up and take them back with me to House Herut, right?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be nice.”

  “Your art will bring life to the walls of Herut.”

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Love them,” Talus corrected and held her hand. “You’ve been a blessed sister even though I acted like an atrocious brat. Cassian said you would be a good sister to me.”

  Serenity smiled. Her heart warmed over their friendship. “Come on, let’s get me packed.”

  “Sounds like you two will go to House Herut directly from Morocco, so we better pack the stuff you’ll need there as well.”

  Her thoughts veered to House Aten and the dark secrets about her past that she might uncover. There had to be a way to go to Aten without compromising Cyrus. She just couldn’t see the answer yet. Regardless, she’d need warm clothing for Iceland or the Himalayas.

  Two hours later, she had three stuffed suitcases. Cyrus strode in carrying a tray balanced atop a leather case and a decanter of wine under his arm. Talus left with the painting of Cassian.

  “Ready for dinner?” His reserved smile hinted he didn’t have good news.

  He set the tray down on the table in front of the sofa.

  A document, several pages thick, lay on the corner of the table. She perused the legal paperwork giving full ownership of Soul Ink Designs to Dougie, and signed.

  Cyrus set up the table with two plates of lobster tails covered in sauce, vegetables and a thick steak for him.

  She pressed her leg next to his, stroked his inner thigh and dropped the document on the floor under the table. “Thank you for having it drafted.”

  He poured two glasses of wine. “Sorry about the red wine with the lobster.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll drink a red with anything.”

  “Mrs. Carter opened a couple of bottles, as a treat for the soldiers, to go with their steaks and lamb ragout. She didn’t know they won’t drink while standing guard. It’s silly for them not to have it. It’s not as though alcohol has any effect on us. I suppose it’s the principal of consuming a libation while on duty.”

  “Alcohol doesn’t have an effect on you?”

  He shook his head, looking at her with a questioning gaze.

  “Well, I’ve been tipsy more than once,” she said, wondering why she had to continually stand out from the others in a negative way.

  Cyrus caressed her cheek. “That will change in time. Your metabolism will speed up to the point where drugs will have no effect on you and your aging will slow.”

  The wine had a dense plum color. She inhaled the bouquet. Aromas of ripe berries, toasty oak and flowers enticed her immediately. “What is this?” She took a sip.

  “A 1990 Petrus.”

  She choked on the wine. “Isn’t this a two thousand dollar bottle?”

  “It’s only money, my love.”

  “Well, that’s some kind of a treat. Too bad they’re not drinking.” She savored another swallow.

  “I’ve spoken to my grandfather. I told him about Lysandra and gave sparse details about the scouts and Seshata.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t say we had to go back right away.”

  “Actually, he did, but I took care of it.”

  She set her glass down. “Took care of it how?”

  “I reminded Constantine I was asking for two more weeks away with you, out of the lifetime we’ll give in return to House Herut.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “He cut our honeymoon from two weeks to one.” The broken look returned to his eyes and she sensed the conflict churning inside of him.

  “Are you sure it’s safe for us to go on a honeymoon?”

  “We’ll be in a different city almost every night. With us constantly on the move, we’ll be okay.” Cyrus held her hands and kissed her palm. “We both deserve a honeymoon. There’s been so much chaos in our lives and who knows what the future holds.”

  “We never discussed the ceremony.” She took a bite of the tender lobster tail.

  “We’ll have the ceremony down at the gazebo like you want. Spero will officiate, and then we’ll have lunch in the courtyard.”

  Why Spero instead of Abbadon? She hoped it had nothing to do with the argument earlier, but wanted to hang on t
o the light mood by not rehashing it.

  He cut into his steak and moaned as he chewed a piece. It was the first time she’d seen him eat meat. There were so many other firsts ahead, and she wanted all of them.

  “I still want to make it legal in my world. Let’s go to city hall first, then Spero can perform the ceremony here, later, if you don’t mind.”

  “I know how important things in the human world are to you,” he said with a smile, “but New York has a twenty-four hour waiting period. We’ll have to get married in Stamford, across the state line.”

  “Will any of the guards stay behind to help Talus with the move and close up the house?”

  “Abbadon will stay to help her and make sure everything gets done.”

  If Abbadon wasn’t going with them, it was either a bad sign or it would give them the opportunity she wanted to go to Aten, but she was tired of worrying. She wanted to think about stargazing with her soon-to-be husband in Marrakech, where he had his Whitescape.

  “Why are you still wearing that necklace from Seshata? Remove it.”

  She jerked upright at the order. “No.”

  “No?” His incredulous tone reverberated in her ears. “Take it off. We don’t use heka.”

  “You don’t practice magic. I have three grandparents at Aten who don’t think there’s anything wrong with heka.”

  “Dayanara may be with Marius, but she would never practice magic.”

  “Her presence in House Aten condones it. You’ve spent two and a half centuries sorting through your beliefs to champion Herut’s ideals. I’m just now finding out who I am, where I come from, and what both my parents believed in. I’ll decide for myself where I stand on heka.”

  He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “Besides, Seshata came all this way to give us these gifts. I’d like to see if this necklace can do anything to keep us safe.”

  Cyrus furrowed his brow, but didn’t object.

  “I have something for you,” he said, handing her the case that was about the size of a briefcase, but at least double the width, covered in beautiful, supple leather, the color of cognac. “It’s a wedding present.”