“I understand all too well.” Krystabel smiled through her tears and hugged Charlotte again. “Time had no meaning in the other dimension until I sneaked through the portal and contacted someone I knew. I was terrified everyone I loved would have died before I figured out how to leave that place.”
“Berk also spoke of this portal.” Saebin felt intrusive, and yet there was so much she still didn’t understand. “I know you used it to escape the pain of Hydran’s torture, but --”
“She wasn’t tortured,” Krysta cut in. “Hydran allowed a girl to be brutalized hoping to motivate Mother to gestate another one of his science experiments. Mother absorbed the girl’s injuries.”
“I retreated to the metaphysical plane when I felt my body dying.” Krystabel tucked a strand of sandy blonde hair behind her ear. “I expected that my being would soon follow. Then I sensed the portal.”
“Are there many such portals on the metaphysical plane?” Saebin looked from one face to another. “So much of this is still unclear.”
“I created the portal.” Tal sounded embarrassed by the admission. “Charlotte was dying. I had no choice, but I knew what I did was forbidden.”
“What did you do?” Like the threads of fine cloth, everything was connected, one fine strand led to the next, supporting and interweaving.
“I Summoned the Storm and purged the metaphysical plane. It freed Charlotte from our enemy’s trap, but it also created the rupture, the opening to this other dimension.”
Saebin nodded, as another layer was revealed. “I was linked with Mother, attempting to heal her when she retreated through the opening. That’s when Berk and Gema emerged.”
“But Krystabel was on Earth, and Master Tal was on Ontariese,” Lyrik pointed out.
“The metaphysical plane transcends the barriers of space and time.” Drakkin finally entered the conversation. “You know this, Lyrik. You’ve experienced it firsthand.”
“When they brought the Tempest through the interdimensional portal.”
“Yes. When a Mystic Summons the Storm, the vortex they create manipulates the metaphysical plane. Now, as wonderful as this reunion is, we are here to make decisions.” The ominous edge to Drakkin’s tone silenced everyone. “We are the only ones who know Krystabel is back and that Seth survived his kidnapping.”
“What are you suggesting?” Krysta pressed the child against her chest, tucking his dark head beneath her chin. Though Seth had yet to complete his second cycle, he appeared much older. His legs wrapped around her waist, his sleep undisturbed by the conflict surrounding him.
Krystabel moved across the clearing and looked her daughter in the eyes. “I knew he was the key to my return, but I didn’t understand what that meant. Thoughts of Seth kept me going, made me determined to fight as the forces in that dimension eroded my being. I believed Seth would somehow rescue me, and in a way, he has. If Ensley hadn’t kidnapped him, we never would have learned about Gema and Berk.”
Krysta took a step back her gaze narrowed and wary. “Seth is all I have of Belle, all I will ever have.”
“That’s not true.” Krystabel shook her head. “Belle is part of you, and she will never be forgotten by any of us.” After a short pause, she continued in a stronger, more assertive tone. “I believe I was allowed to return so I can care for Seth.”
“No!” Charlotte cried. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t mean to leave. A few hours is all I’m allowed after half a lifetime searching for you?”
Krystabel turned toward her sister. “Nothing and no one can ever separate us again.” She swept Charlotte with a Mystic wave so powerful it made Saebin tingle. “Our trials are coming to an end, but Seth’s have just begun. We must think about what is best for him.”
“This can’t be happening.” Krysta’s voice broke, and she closed her eyes as Seth stirred restlessly. “I knew this was what you wanted when Trey told me where we were going. Why didn’t I refuse? I should have refused!”
Shaken by the emotions surging around her, Saebin leaned into Lyrik’s warmth. Was life always bittersweet? Why must joy come at such a high price?
“Why were you so certain this is what we’d suggest?” Krystabel asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.
Krysta turned toward Trey. Seth squirmed between them, pivoting to wrap his chubby arms around Trey’s neck. “Because -- you’re right. He isn’t safe on Ontariese.”
“It’s not just Seth’s safety we must consider,” Drakkin said. “No one knows what abilities he’ll manifest. Vee planned to bring him to the Conservatory as he matured, to watch him closely and train him personally.” He glanced at Tal as he added, “That is no longer an option.”
“Seth will always be welcome at the Conservatory,” Tal objected.
“That’s not what I meant. Vee named you his successor. It will be more challenging than you realize just to see that the transfer of power goes smoothly. I have faith in your abilities, as did Vee, but being wed to the High Queen will be enough of an obstacle. Many will challenge your neutrality.”
“My defense of Seth has been nearly as boisterous as Krysta’s.” Charlotte gaze shone with unshed tears, but she had regained control of her voice. “Vee cared about the Conservatory almost as deeply as he cared about his son. The integrity of his life’s work must be maintained. We owe him that much at least.”
Drakkin accepted her decision with a nod and turned, sharing his gaze between Trey and Lyrik. “You both have challenges awaiting you. The City of Tears is ripe for rebellion. Are you strong enough to reestablish balance on the Day Moon?”
“I’m not even sure I’m returning to the City of Tears.” Lyrik pulled Saebin close against his side. “Saebin has known nothing but subjugation there.”
“The forces subjugating her are gone, and you could easily be the man your father should have been.” With a fortifying breath, he turned back to Krysta. “Krystabel will accompany me to Bilarri and raise Seth as her own. They will assume new identities until Trey has had time to oust the NRS.” Drakkin paused expectantly.
Krysta ignored him and stroked Seth’s hair. “I will be able to visit him?”
“After a time,” Krystabel said. “Remember, we don’t have to be in the same room to communicate.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.” Charlotte drew her sister’s attention, her expression suddenly resolute. “According to the sacred traditions we should be joint High Queens.”
Krystabel smiled and shook her head. “Ontariese already has a High Queen, and the conflict facing you now has nothing to do with the sacred traditions.” Krystabel would not be swayed. “Don’t become complacent in your power. Ontarians without Mystic abilities deserve equal representation. There will always be those who are discontent, but the NRS never should have gotten this far. The overlord should have laughed in the face of the Rodytes and immediately contacted you.”
Charlotte accepted the criticism with a stiff nod. “We will claim we met during this crisis. No one will question a few visits to Bilarri.”
Krysta still clung to Trey, Seth cradled between them. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.
Trey rubbed her back, not pressuring or rushing, just waiting for her to assimilate the information. When her stubbornness persisted, he smiled. “We can move to Bilarri, but we’d have to come up with a damn good reason.”
She sniffled and eased away, leaving him with the boy. “I know this must be done. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Lyrik shook his head, whispering to Saebin, “Trey has the patience of a saint.”
“I heard that,” Krysta replied, shooting him a warning glare.
“I know this is hard for you,” Drakkin told Krysta. “But if it’s any consolation, you will have a child of your own before the next cycle passes.”
He said no more as he took the boy from Trey. Saebin was surprised at how comfortable the Bilarrian looked with a child in his arms. Krystabel paused for another round of hugs, then took her place a
t Drakkin’s side.
“This is an intermission in our mutual adventures.” Drakkin predicted. “We shall meet again.” He handed Seth to Krystabel, and all three blinked out of sight.
“Did you hear what he said?” Trey sounded as shocked as Krysta looked. “Are you pregnant?”
“Not yet.” Krysta blinked away her tears. “I hate it when he does that.”
“If Seth’s existence must remain a secret, how do we explain what happened on the Night Moon?” Saebin blew out a long, steady breath. They’d survived the most incredible ordeal, and each had exciting opportunities awaiting them. So why did she feel so sad?
“We use the senseless tragedy to discredit the NRS,” Trey said.
“The overlord’s involvement in something so vile will turn the warlords against him permanently,” Lyrik added. He slipped his arms around Saebin’s waist, drawing her back against his chest.
Comforted by his embrace, Saebin considered the possibilities. For so long she’d been given orders, forced to accept whatever objective her handler demanded. There was no one left to control her. It felt odd and wonderful and just a bit daunting. “What do we do now?”
“Whatever you want,” Lyrik replied. He kissed her on the temple and added, “Whatever we want.”
Epilogue
Atop Lyrik’s villa, overlooking the City of Tears, Saebin pondered the meaning of freedom. She’d spent the afternoon with Krysta and Aunt Charlotte, eating what she wanted, going where she pleased. Did that make her free? Grasping the smooth alloy railing surrounding the rooftop garden, she watched the sun set between Ontariese and the dead Night Moon. The ghosts were vanquished, the compound destroyed. Was this all there was to freedom?
Lyrik’s shuttle glided into view and landed at the opposite end of the expansive rooftop. She leaned back against the railing and watched him approach. Dressed in a formal uniform of black and gold, he had never appeared more intimidating -- or more appealing. The setting sun gilded his hair and made his eyes gleam with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t quite define. Her heart raced, and her fingers tingled as she anticipated the hours of pleasure awaiting them.
They’d been nearly inseparable for the past two weeks, focused entirely on each other. He’d ignored the warlords’ repeated attempts to contact him until this morning, when Trey arrived in person to plead their case.
“How did the meeting go?” She came right to the point when Lyrik reached her side.
“They unanimously nominated me as the next overlord,” he grumbled.
“You don’t sound pleased.” She remained against the railing, the warm night breeze ruffling her skirt.
“I knew what they were going to suggest before -- I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”
She licked her lips, her excitement beginning to fizzle. “You don’t like it?”
He swept her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. “After the day I just endured, you’re a slice of heaven. It just caught me a little off guard. My warrior turned into a princess.”
She smiled at the praise, surprised how well the words pleased her. “I have wine or Bilarrian ale. I know you’re partial to the latter.” She guided him toward the small table on which she’d arranged the beverages.
He selected the ale, as she’d suspected he would, and closed his eyes in utter bliss as the cool drink slid down his throat. “I don’t deserve you.”
She chucked. “Me or the ale?”
He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I’m pretty sure I could live without ale.” He let his expression say the rest.
Ignoring the warmth curling through her body, stirring sensations she wasn’t quite ready to indulge, she poured a glass of wine for herself and asked, “You don’t want to be overlord?”
“I’m not sure what I want.” He paused for another drink before he continued. “A part of me expected to follow in my father’s footsteps. I’ve been educated and trained from childhood to become overlord. In fact the only time it doesn’t happen that way is when the warlords challenge the successor.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“After what my father did ... I guess I think the COT might benefit from a new beginning.”
“Isn’t that what they’re getting?” He looked at her, and she smiled, caressing his face with her gaze. “Your primary concern isn’t what would make you happy, but what’s best for the COT. That’s exactly the sort of leader this place needs.”
“You sound like Trey.” He set his mug aside, took her wineglass from her, then drew her into his arms.
She rested her hands on his chest, absorbing his warmth and the strong steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “When do you have to give them your answer?”
“Next week.” He pushed his fingers into her unbound hair and brushed his mouth against hers. “We have a proposition for you.”
“We?” She laughed. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“I’m far too possessive to ever make that sort of proposition for a ‘we.’ This is strictly business.” He moved his hands to her hips and eased back, allowing the night wind to curl around their bodies. “Eleven D-2 soldiers were evacuated from the compound before it was demolished.”
Her heart lurched, and she licked her lips. Was it starting all over again? “Why didn’t you tell me until now?”
“The Joint Council unanimously agreed that they had to be disarmed and deprogrammed. I wasn’t sure they would survive the first, so I didn’t ... You’ve been through enough. I didn’t see any reason to upset you with the details if we couldn’t save them.”
She couldn’t decide if his protectiveness pleased or annoyed her, so she asked, “Then, they’re still alive?”
“Yes. They were kept in a sort of hibernation state that allowed a group of Mystics to drain their power supplies. All of their implants are still in place, but without power, they’re harmless.”
“Why didn’t the Rodytes foresee this weakness and take steps to protect them? Ensley bragged about the improvements they’d made in the D-2 implants.”
“If the soldiers had been awake their shielding mechanisms would have prevented the Mystics from accessing them. I guess arrogance is a common flaw. The Rodytes presumed they were safe within their compound, just as the Mystics presumed the Conservatory would protect them.”
“What’s the proposition, and who is included in ‘we’?”
“Trey, High Queen Charlotte, and the soon-to-be-appointed overlord would appreciate your assistance in helping the D-2 class soldiers adjust to life on Ontariese. If they want to join the armed forces -- and you determine that they are emotionally stable enough for the position -- Trey has some interesting ideas. If they want nothing to do with that sort of life, you would help them find another vocation.”
Hope welled within her. This was how she should have been treated when she came home. Freedom wasn’t just the absence of repression; it was opportunity and purpose, making each moment count. She would help these soldiers understand the difference and treasure what they’d found. A warm tingle coursed down her spine, and a smile parted her lips.
“I’d be honored.”
Lyrik grinned. “I’ll give you fair warning. Trey has plans for you far beyond this one assignment. He is fascinated by your abilities and determined to recruit you for one of his covert teams.”
“One step at a time.” She moved closer, craving his fiery brand of tenderness and the possessive passion burning in his eyes. “Everything is perfect. I don’t want to screw it up. I can’t believe how much I love you, how happy I am just being in your arms. I’m still trying to convince myself this is real.”
He cupped the side of her face and traced her lips with his thumb. “Let’s see if I can help convince you.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You’ve found a home among people who care about you.” Guiding her hand to his chest, he slipped it inside his jacket and pressed her palm against his flesh. “And I love you more with each beat of my heart.”
&n
bsp; She enjoyed the intimate pose for a moment, then he swept her into his arms, carrying her swiftly toward the entrance to their bedroom. “Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you when we’re apart. But you don’t look convinced.” He paused to nibble her neck.
“We’ve got the rest of our lives to convince each other.”
His mouth covered hers in a demanding kiss, and they didn’t make it to the bedroom.
Cyndi Friberg
Cyndi has been a member of Romance Writers of America since 1999 and also belongs to two local chapters of RWA. She is the winner of multiple national contests, including The Molly and The Merritt. In 2003, she was chosen as a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart, as well as winning the Jasmine with Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows. After dabbling in freelance journalism and songwriting, she returned to her true passion: paranormal romance. Visit Cyndi on the Web at www.cyndifriberg.com, or email her at [email protected].
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