by Lynn Viehl
“Simone.”
Gabriel caught his arm as Korvel surged forward. “The men are coming out of the grove. They are heavily armed, and they are surrounding her.”
“I will go to defend her back,” he told Gabriel. “Will you and your lady flank me?”
“Um, I think that’s what they’re doing, big guy.” Nicola nodded toward the beach. “Look.”
The men who came up around and behind Simone fell into formation, daggers ready. As for his lady, she drew two fighting knives as she strode forward toward the pit.
“Please,” a frightened voice called from inside. “My legs are broken. Don’t hurt me.”
Machine-gun fire erupted as a front-loader came roaring out of the brush, Pájaro with one hand on the controls and the other firing on Simone and her defenders. As the men were cut down, Simone dived into the pit.
Korvel started running as soon as he heard the first shot, but something came flipping through the air and slammed into his knees, throwing him to the ground.
As he struggled to his feet, Korvel saw Pájaro lower the front-loader’s shovel and push the pile of excavated sand back into the pit, burying Simone and the man inside.
The roar of outrage rising inside Korvel never made it past his lips; something came over him and held him, trapping him in his own body like an insect caught in amber. As Gabriel and Nicola appeared beside them, they also stopped moving.
You must not interfere.
Korvel saw a distorted shadow step between him and the beach, and sensed that the power paralyzing him was coming from it. He fought wildly to free himself so he could attack, but while he could think, his body had been turned into stone. Release me.
In due time. As the shadow moved closer, the presence in Korvel’s mind picked through his thoughts until it retrieved a memory of his mother shrieking at him. Your sire was not among the men who took her, warrior. She gave herself willingly to another slave.
Korvel saw a memory not his own: that of his mother in rags, coupling with a large, naked, fair-haired man. Both wore slave collars. I don’t care what that bitch did. Get out of my head.
So that you may go to your woman and rescue her again? A rusty chuckle echoed inside his skull. I cannot permit that. This time she must save herself.
Simone is mortal. He buried her alive. She will die.
Yes, warrior, she will, the ancient voice agreed, and the shadowy figure retreated into the woods. She must.
Simone barely had an instant to hold her breath and close her eyes as the mountain of wet sand fell atop her, pushing her facedown deep into the pit. Beneath her she felt the feeble shifting of the wounded man, and tried to work her hand down to reach for him, but he was buried too far below her. Her other hand was pinned in front of her face, and she turned her arm back and forth, loosening the sand around her face.
Have to get to the air before I smother.
Once she had made a small pocket, she jabbed her elbow backward, pounding it into the sand over her. Repeating the motion over and over shifted enough of the layer atop her to allow her to turn her body, until at last she liberated an arm and used it to pull her head and shoulders free.
She coughed and spit sand before she could drag in the first cool, sweet breath, cut short by a dousing of warm seawater over her head. Although it choked her, it also washed the sand from her face and allowed her to open her eyes. She blinked away the blurriness and the sting as she focused on the swaying form standing over her.
“You should be dead,” Pájaro ranted, his voice thick with phlegm. “Did Lechance tell you? Did he give you the antidote? Is that why you’re still alive?”
Simone saw how badly he was shaking. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t? Then what is this?” He pulled at his hair, which came off his scalp in a clump, and threw it at her face. Blood trickled from his nose and ears as he coughed and spit bright red sputum onto the sand. “What did you do to me?”
“My father told you,” she reminded him. “Never touch the scroll.”
“Lying bitch.” Pájaro lifted a heavy, sand-encrusted object, and Simone saw a tiny glitter of green just before he clouted her with it. Through the roar of pain she heard him shout, “Where are the emeralds? What did you do with them?”
Simone grimly held on to consciousness as warm wetness seeped down the side of her face. She looked at the cross in his fist and saw the gold shining plainly through the sand, but that was all. The three large ovals that formed a triangle in the center of the cross held nothing but sand. The jewels that had once adorned the cross had been removed, probably before it had been buried. Since Simone knew it was the emeralds that bestowed immortality, the cross was useless.
Cristophe, it seemed, had trusted no one. Not even his own kin.
She had kept the bargain she had made with her father without sacrificing her own humanity. That should have made death seem like a blessing, but she didn’t want to die now. She wanted to be with Korvel. A strange green darkness crowded in on her vision, making her wonder whether she would pass out before he killed her. “I don’t know where the emeralds are, Pájaro.”
“You have to know.” He coughed into his fist, which came away red and wet. “He told you everything. Tell me or I’ll crush your skull like an empty egg.”
“The emeralds are gone. It’s over.” She looked up at him, at the death blow he was prepared to deliver, and summoned an image of the last thing she wanted to see on this earth: Korvel smiling at her.
“You little bastard.”
Out of the corner of her eye Simone saw Neuf push himself up from the sand. He threw a dagger at Pájaro’s hand, piercing the palm and making him drop the cross.
“Never could fight fair.” That was Vingt, somewhere behind her, and Simone saw his blade bury itself in Pájaro’s crotch. “Fucking cowardly shit.”
As Pájaro dropped to the sand, clapping his hands to his groin and screeching, Cinq appeared beside the pit. Bullet holes riddled his shirt, and through them Simone caught a glimpse of the bullets lodged in the protective vest he wore underneath.
“Cinq.”
“I told you, little sister. We don’t take any chances.” He walked over to Pájaro, who lay in a ball, and reached down, grasping the front of his priest’s cassock as he pulled the blade out of his groin.
“I have to find the emeralds,” Pájaro groaned, and two teeth fell out of his mouth. “I am Helada. I have earned immortality.”
Cinq crouched down over him and said over his babbling, “You don’t even deserve this, you murdering scum.”
Through the shadowy green haze clouding her eyes Simone saw Cinq drive Vingt’s knife into Pájaro’s thigh, severing the femoral artery and causing a gush of blood to soak into the sand. As Vingt and Seize began to pull her out of the pit, Pájaro’s voice grew weak and then fell silent.
And then it was over, and she was free.
“Just like a girl to lie around on the beach while the men do all the work,” Vingt said as he supported her with one of his tattooed arms.
Seize gently touched her scalp. “Neuf, she’s bleeding a lot.”
The big German joined them and checked the wound. “She’ll need sutures for this. My bag is back at the house, but we should take her to hospital and have X-rays taken.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep, beloved voice said as a tall man walked toward them. “She has a hard head, or so I’ve been told.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Vingt demanded.
“Korvel.” Simone stumbled away from her brothers and into his arms, holding on to him with tight hands. “Oh, God. I never thought I’d see you again.” Her knees buckled. “I’m going to fall down now.”
“I think not.” He swung her up into his arms. “But perhaps you should tell your brothers who I am before they draw the wrong conclusions.”
Simone looked at Cinq. “This is Korvel. He’s the man I love. I haven’t told him that yet, but now he knows. Oh, and he
calls me Simone.”
“Does he know you work in a convent?” Vingt asked.
The darkness crowding in on her was not like any she had ever known, and suddenly Simone understood what was happening to her.
“He knows.” Her eyelids wanted to close, but she refused to stop looking at him. “He’s taking me back to Ireland with him.”
“Tonight,” Korvel promised.
As Gabriel and Nicola appeared at the edge of the sand, Korvel regarded the oldest of the men, the one Simone had called Cinq. “My friends and I will take her back to the house. There are men moving in from the west. Can you deal with them?”
He nodded. “Neuf will meet you there. He’s a physician.” He picked up the cross. “What should we do with this thing?”
“I don’t care,” Korvel said. “Whatever you like. Toss it in the ocean.”
“No,” Nicola said, and walked down to the edge of the pit. “Bury it again. Bury it deep.”
Cinq nodded, and turned to speak to his men. Korvel carried Simone, who was drifting in and out of consciousness, up to the car, and held her as Nicola drove back to the house.
“Did either of you recognize the Kyn who turned us into spectators?” Nicola asked.
Gabriel exchanged a look with Korvel before he said, “It was not Kyn.”
She nodded. “Told you so, told you so. Now that we’ve established that I’m not losing it and that there is something out there that can get into our heads and control us, anyone want to guess what it is?”
“I have seen the high lord enrapture a thousand mortals using but a few words,” Korvel said. “Evidently this being can do the same to us with only a thought.”
“It reminded me of Richard as well,” Gabriel said. “The strangeness of his animal side. The nonhuman ways in which he behaves.”
Nicola nodded. “That’s it. Mortal or otherwise, that thing is not all human. Could it be some kind of severely fucked-up version of Richard?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “Captain, you have more experience with changed Kyn. What is your opinion?”
“If it is a changeling, it is unlike any I have ever encountered.” Korvel glanced down at the pale face of the woman in his arms. “Whatever it is, it wanted Simone to die. If I ever find it, I will end it.”
The big German with the goatee stood waiting for them at the door to the house, and led them into a sitting room. As Korvel gently placed Simone on a chaise longue by the windows, Nicola and Gabriel left to check the rest of the house.
Neuf opened the leather case he had carried in and took out pads, which he placed over the wound. “Hold these in place for me,” he said to Korvel. “Keep steady pressure; it will help slow the bleeding. How did you become involved with our sister?”
“I met her during a trip to France,” Korvel said. “I’m a businessman from England.”
“Then I am the new chancellor of Germany.” Neuf spared him a glance. “You move like one of us, but you are not. You are stronger, faster. That you smell like a pretty flower also troubles me, for obvious reasons.”
He suppressed a smile. “Most men don’t care for my cologne.”
“We are not most men,” the German said as he prepared a suture needle. “We are her garrison. And if that swine Derien sent you to meddle with her, I will introduce you to your entrails.”
That Neuf considered himself and his companions Simone’s garrison—a term rarely used by the modern world, even among its many militaries—puzzled Korvel. “I thought her father trained you and the others to serve him.”
“We took the oath he demanded, but it was to serve Quatorze. I often wondered why, until my final year of residency, when he came to me in Hamburg. He had me diagnose his blood disease. You can remove the pad now.” Neuf soaked some gauze with antiseptic and gently cleaned Simone’s wound. “Derien would never admit it, but he must have known he was unworthy. If he hadn’t, he would never have taken her from her mother, or used us to train her. He made sure that she never lost a battle, so that she would be judged worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” Korvel caressed her cheek. “Why did she come to this place? She wanted nothing from her father. She turned her back on everything he might have given her.”
“Not exactly.” Neuf began to sew the edges of the wound closed. “Derien knew that above all she wanted to live with the sisters. It was his way to dangle our heart’s desires as an incentive to get what he wanted out of us. She was no different.”
Korvel still didn’t understand. As the German tied off the last suture, he asked, “What did her father want from her? He must have known she would never become an assassin.”
“He wanted me to be Helada,” Simone murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and she shifted her gaze from Neuf to Korvel. “I agreed that when his death was discovered, I would come here and use the Trinity cross to become an immortal, so that I could spend the rest of eternity guarding it.” She sighed. “I promised my father that Helada would never die.”
“A cross cannot make you immortal, love,” Korvel said gently. “Much as I wish it could.”
Her lips curved. “You would want me to live forever?”
“You said I was the man you love,” he reminded her. “What I know is, I never want to be parted from you again.”
“Don’t say that. I’m mortal, and someday death will part us. When it does, you have to go on. You have to live for both of us.” She sounded desperate. “Promise me you will, Korvel.”
“I promise, love.”
She started to say something, but Neuf interrupted with, “You may badger him later, Quatorze. For now you must rest. I am going to give you something for the pain.” He took out a syringe, uncapping it and tapping the side with his finger before he prepared to inject her.
With a startlingly quick move, Simone seized his wrist. “No drugs, brother. Please.”
“Very well.” He put the needle aside.
She relaxed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I keep leaving you, Captain. I wish I could…”
“I’ll be right here when you wake up, my angel.” He kissed her brow, which felt cooler than his own flesh. “She needs a blanket.”
Neuf frowned and rested a palm on her forehead, and then checked her pulse. “Quatorze, why don’t you tell me about the convent. What were the sisters like?”
Simone didn’t respond, even when Neuf patted her cheek.
“Let her sleep,” Korvel suggested. “She is exhausted.”
“No, she’s not,” Neuf said. “Her body temperature is dropping and her pulse is weak. She’s going into shock.”
Nicola and Gabriel came into the sitting room, followed by a petite woman with her chestnut curls caught back in a ponytail.
“Okay, so I’m here. Where’s the patient?” Dr. Alexandra Keller stopped as soon as she saw Korvel. “Christ. You’re the reason Richard had me fly through the freaking Bermuda Triangle?”
“I cannot say, my lady.” Korvel turned his back on her to watch Neuf work on Simone. “I no longer serve the high lord.”
“You no longer…Wait.” She held up her hands. “Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know.” She turned to Nicola. “Can you give me a ride back to the airport? I need to fly to Ireland to kick me some furry immortal ass.”
“Scheiße.” Neuf drew back from Simone as the wound in her head began to glow with a faint green light. “What is this?”
Alexandra nudged him aside. “Korvel, you want to tell me why this girl is looking like a Lite-Brite?”
“She was struck with a Kyn artifact. A cross.” Korvel held Simone’s hand tightly between his. “It must have transferred something into the wound.”
As abruptly as it began the glow faded, and Simone began to convulse.
Alexandra held her head as she began issuing orders. “Nick, bring me my bag. Gabriel, call the airport and tell my pilot to keep the jet engines running.” To Simone she said, “It’s okay, honey. Hold on.”
The convulsions abrupt
ly stopped, and Simone went limp.
As soon as Nick brought the bag, Alexandra reached in and took out a pair of suture scissors. “Did you clean out the wound before you stitched her up?” she asked Neuf.
“I did, thoroughly.” He frowned as she cut through the sutures and deftly plucked them out of Simone’s scalp. “What are you doing? She’s lost too much blood already.”
“She’s not bleeding,” Alexandra snapped. “Look at the wound. It’s been cauterized.” She leaned close. “From the inside.”
Korvel watched as Alexandra checked Simone’s pulse and used her stethoscope to listen to her heart and lungs. Once she had completed the physical assessment, she put her nose next to the wound and breathed in deeply, closing her eyes for several seconds before she straightened.
“All right, folks,” she said. “I need to know exactly what happened to this girl. Somebody start talking.”
“I will tell you everything I know,” Korvel promised. “Only answer me this: Is she making the change from mortal to Kyn?”
“No, Captain.” Something like pity came into Alexandra’s eyes. “She’s not changing into anything. Her organs are beginning to fail. She’s dying.”
Nick sent Gabriel to the upstairs bedroom where Alexandra had Korvel carry Simone. “I’ll look after the humans. If you need anything, just yell.”
“Will you tell them?” When she nodded, he kissed her. “I love you.”
“Back at you, baby.” She walked back to the sitting room, now packed with all of the men Simone had called her brothers. “Hey.”
The Dutchman with the foul mouth and the tattoos stopped whirling the knife in his hand. “Is she awake?”
“No.” Nick shoved her hands in her pockets. “Alex—Dr. Keller—is with her, and she’s making her as comfortable as possible. I need to, uh, talk to you guys about the situation.”
“We know the situation,” Tattoo Guy snarled. “She’s fucked all to hell. What are you doing about it? Why are you keeping her here when she could be in a hospital?”
The oldest man, the one Simone called Cinq, stepped forward and put a hand on Vingt’s shoulder. “She’s not going to wake up again, is she?”
