Special Deceptions (The Coursodon Dimension Book 5)

by M. L. Ryan

  “What?” I sputtered. “I had nothing to do with this. Who the hell came up with the bright idea to investigate me?”

  “I did,” a familiar voice answered from outside the door. The hand lock disengaged, and Sebastian swung open the heavy, wooden panel. “You really should try to keep your voice down, my dear,” he chided. “I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You thought I killed Kyzal?”

  “Of course not,” he scoffed. “However, as the evidence suggested human involvement, I was honor bound to rule you out as a suspect.”

  “It’s important to leave no stone unturned,” Alex added guiltily. At least he had the courtesy to appear ashamed, unlike Sebastian, who acted as if adding me to the list of potential assassins was no big deal.

  “I quickly determined you had neither the opportunity nor the means to perpetrate the crime,” Sebastian stated impassively. “You were on holiday with Alexander when the crime was committed.”

  “Not to mention no motive,” I argued.

  Ziqua grinned. “Some might consider becoming the future queen of Alenquai incentive enough.”

  Was the woman trying to make me loathe her? “I’d rather be coated with honey and tied naked on an ant hill than be queen,” I fumed. “Everyone knows that.”

  Apparently, not quite everyone. The little vein in Alex’s temple, a sure tell of suppressed, strong emotion, popped to life. Shit. In my rush to prove the ridiculousness of me as a suspect, I forgot to weigh my words so I wouldn’t come across as a total bitch. I tried to express my regret with an apologetic wince, but I wasn’t sure Alex caught my meaning. I’d have to wait until we were alone. Sebastian and Ziqua didn’t need to hear my mea culpa.

  An awkward silence fell across the small room. As my big mouth caused the uncomfortable pause, I felt obligated to break it. “Okay, but I still don’t understand why Ziqua has to be hidden in the underbelly of the palace.”

  “It is considered improper for the Queen of Alenquai to host her brother-in-law’s mistress,” Ziqua explained. “Down here, I can help in the investigation without anyone knowing what I am doing.”

  “And the locked doors?”

  Sebastian took that one. “To keep others out, not to keep her in.”

  I was unconvinced. “Seems like an awful lot of bother for some extra intelligence,” I challenged, eyeing Ziqua with suspicion.

  “She was very, very good at sifting through information,” Alex offered as explanation.

  I’ll just bet. “So, what else do we know?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  It turned out, not much. In addition to a vague idea of how, and few leads concerning who, there was no clear why, either. Considering the overall lack of headway, the fact they managed to clear me so quickly was miraculous. Barring a chance encounter on the royal ski slopes with a random psychopath, the killer must have had a specific reason for offing Kyzal. While he had been a bit snooty for my tastes, I doubted his annoying personality was motivation enough for murder. Not that I was an expert, but from all the episodes of true crime stories I’d watched on cable, I had a pretty good handle on why people killed.

  “Murderers usually believe their victim screwed them in some way,” I asserted. Literally or figuratively. “Or, they are an obstacle preventing the killer from gaining something he or she wants.”

  Alex wrinkled his forehead. “As far as I know, Kyzal was completely faithful to Xina, which takes care of the first, and as for the second, it is difficult to believe he was killed for some political reason. As crown prince, he didn’t have much say in anything of importance. Even if he ascended the throne, his influence would be limited to mostly ceremonial concerns.”

  “However, he often disagreed with and went head-to-head against dissenting factions of the Glyzimutitch Zolmere,” Sebastian reasoned.

  Ziqua huffed. “So does his mother. How would getting rid of Kyzal make any difference?”

  “Just trying to bounce ideas,” Sebastian answered. “There are too many working parts for only one person to be involved. Who better to carry out such a complex plot than the GZ?”

  The parliamentary branch of the Alenquai government tried to railroad Sebastian for “crimes against humanity,” (translation: when he accidentally ended up in me), and that sordid—but, happily unsuccessful—witch-hunt likely colored his perceptions. He did have, however, a valid point in terms of who might have the resources to carry out the crime. Still, having the means didn’t mean they’d actually use them.

  Alex must have had similar doubts. “You can’t possibly believe the GZ conspired to assassinate the crown prince?”

  “Not the entire group,” Sebastian countered. “But one cannot discount a small, subversive faction, like the Syzbasti.”

  “This is giving me a headache,” Ziqua groaned, rubbing her forehead.

  Sebastian reached over and laced his fingers over her scalp. After a few seconds, he removed his hands, brushed a few of the pieces of packing materials off her shiny, penny-colored locks, and asked if she felt better.

  “You are kind of a pompous bastard,” Ziqua snickered. “But you sure know how to cure what ails a girl.”

  Sebastian responded with a raised single brow.

  Wow, I considered. She might not be as reprehensible as I thought.

  19

  Alex and I left when a bed, end table, and a huge rug arrived. The floor covering and nice furniture increased the comfort level, but did nothing to make the place look less like a dungeon. It was hard to get rid of the torture-chamber vibe when the wall decorations were shackles. Ziqua seemed concerned only with the fill power of the down comforter, which, thankfully for Aiden and Cortez, passed muster. If I were in her position, I’d be more worried about the apparent lack of toilet facilities.

  The trek back to the office was a silent one. I was bothered that I’d been—even for a short time—viewed as a suspect, and Alex, no doubt, still reeled from my poorly worded tirade about not wanting to be queen. I used the lack of conversation to devise an account that clarified my misgivings in a way that appeased Alex and didn’t make me seem like an ungrateful, selfish harpy.

  Unfortunately, I never got the chance to express my remorse. As soon as the bookcase had been secured, concealing any traces of the tunnel’s existence, my pocket began to vibrate.

  I seriously considered ignoring it, but since Myrjix rarely contacted me, decided I better not. “My jyrgitsap just went off.”

  Alex glanced at the shiny disc now bouncing on my extended palm. “It could be important; we should find out what she wants.”

  His willingness to join in must be a good sign. If he were really pissed, he’d have begged off, right? On the other hand, this could just be his excuse to avoid what promised to be a thorny discussion. The gutless part of me wondered if the interruption could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

  Not wanting the search for Myrjix to repeat the same reticence as our sojourn from motel hell, I peppered Alex with more questions about Ziqua while we walked to our suite, the most likely place to find my lady-in-waiting.

  “I’m still a bit fuzzy on why Ziqua is here, and why she had to be smuggled out of Jjestri and kept hidden.”

  “I wanted to debrief her personally,” Alex replied. His resolute pace didn’t waver, and he didn’t look at me, either, damn it. “There are subtle nuances in deciphering intelligence that can only be conveyed face to face. I considered going to Jjestri under the guise of assuring your safety, but I decided it made more sense for everyone to come back to Alenquai. As for the stealth, Fry was concerned for Ziqua’s safety. An unscheduled trip might raise suspicion; whomever killed Kyzal likely wouldn’t bat an eye at doing the same to the person who might reveal them. Better to be overly cautious and Ziqua a bit uncomfortable than risk her life. Besides, my mother has never allowed Ziqua to visit, even with Uncle Fry. Kind of a slap in the face to Sylzinia, to host the mistress,” he admitted.

/>   “Even though both Sylzinia and Ziqua are perfectly okay with the arrangement?”

  “One of those protocol issues, I suppose.”

  That made sense, but despite Ziqua’s and my shared irreverence toward Sebastian, something about Fry’s mistress didn’t sit quite right. Was I the only one who found it bizarre how they met? I didn’t doubt her devotion to the king, but I couldn’t help wonder if once a spy, always a spy. On the other hand, both Alex and Sebastian trusted her. Maybe I was just clinging, leech-like, to a grudge.

  As it turned out, Myrjix’s “call” signaled nothing dire, only aggravating. Worried about Dyzopga, Pixie insisted she find out immediately if I required the services of the Wiqyrd dirthyxa.

  “It’s right here,” I grumbled, waggling the fingers of my left hand in front of the PA’s tiny, round face. “If I feel the need to take it off, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He scowled. “The Wiqyrd dirthyxa should be informed before me.”

  “Whatever,” I huffed, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

  “Forgive me for performing my duties. I just thought, since you did not wear it much in Jjestri, you might wish to similarly secure the ring now that you have returned to Alenquai. It is important to keep such a precious item safe.”

  Pixie dropped his eyes and let out a long, plaintive sigh. I couldn’t decide if I’d actually hurt his feelings, or if he was simply being passive-aggressive. Odds favored the latter, but as I was about to offer a half-hearted, semi-apology on the slight chance I offended him, Alex interrupted.

  “I am certain Hailey understands the implications for not safeguarding a crown jewel.” With a slight nod to both Myrjix and Pixie, he added a curt, “That will be all.”

  As they scurried out, I chalked up his uncharacteristically impatient dismissal to the fatiguing rigors of spiriting away his uncle’s mistress. Until I notice the little vein pulsing in his forehead.

  Alex moved to the wet bar. “You don’t like the ring?”

  His tone remained impassive, but even though all I could see was his back, I knew he was anything but calm, cool, and collected. It wasn’t so much that he yanked a crystal tumbler from the shelf and slapped it on the granite counter as much as how he filled it with the first bottle he grabbed. I had to hand it to him. When he downed the contents, the only indication of surprise—and likely, disgust—was an ever so slight widening of his eyes. Only an angry Alex would mistake spiced rum for single-malt scotch.

  “Of course I do.” Sort of.

  Grabbing a new glass, he found the Glenkinche and poured. This time, as an added precaution, he sniffed before chugging. “I know you,” he challenged. “If you liked it, you’d never take it off.”

  Obviously, the right booze didn’t dispel any of his displeasure. “That’s not true. I can’t wear it all the time because it gets in the way.” Realizing almost immediately the poor choice of words, I quickly amended, “It’s really big. I’m afraid I’ll smack it on something and break it.” Or accidentally kill someone with a random hand gesture.

  “That is absurd. Diamonds are the hardest known natural material.”

  I came up with a better explanation. “Plus, I have to take it off when I bend.”

  “And what prevents you from retrieving it when you revert to your normal form?”

  Okay, maybe that excuse wasn’t so great after all. In truth, I had no clue why I consistently forgot to pick it up from its overseer when I handed it off. It wasn’t intentional; it just kept slipping my mind. With no good answer, I responded with a simple, “Sorry, I’ll try to do a better job.”

  From his continuing glare, my lame excuses hadn’t assuaged his unease. Nevertheless, I took a chance, closing the distance between us to wrap my arms around his waist. I hoped the gesture assisted in more than just a literal sense; I hated when we argued.

  “There’s just so much going on right now,” I complained.

  “I know,” he agreed, resting his head on top of mine. “Aside from everything else, we still have to determine what Boklym was up to.”

  He wasn’t completely back to his normal, easygoing self—his stance was too rigid—but I took comfort in the fact he hadn’t pushed me away. All in all, when compared to murder, the whole luring me into a compromising situation was pretty inconsequential. “With everything else that’s come up, I’d forgotten all about that,” I admitted.

  Alex stiffened and broke from our embrace. “I have not.”

  Crap. “Nothing happened. You know that, right?”

  He poured another three fingers of scotch, gulped about half, and answered, “I am not angry at you, carisa, but at those who put you in that situation.”

  He sure seemed mad. As he swirled what remained of the liquor around in his glass, he avoided looking directly at me.

  “I’ll be more careful from now on,” I vowed.

  Placing the unfinished drink on an end table, he declared, “It’s not your job to be careful.” Then, he walked out.

  What the…? I attempted to decipher both the cryptic declaration and abrupt departure, but Alex wasn’t behaving like himself at all. Before being elevated to crown prince, no matter how much I ticked him off, he retained much of his good-natured persona. He might get mad, but he never blew me off.

  Disheartened, confused, over-tired, and harboring some of my own annoyance, I sank into the cushy leather sofa. I’ve always found allowing time to stew over my problems ended one of two ways: with a clearer, more rational grasp of the offending issues, or mired in all-consuming indignation that fanned the flames of my original angst. Both outcomes provided a welcome outlet for my inner turmoil, although the acquisition of anger-driven, destructive magic made the latter more dicey than in pre-Sebastian years. I used to throw unbreakable items around as my irritation flourished. These days, even with anger management training, the possibility of setting something on fire made the process a bit less enjoyable.

  Somewhere between clarity and furor, I fell asleep. Probably a blessing—when Myrjix gently jostled me back to consciousness, I could swear I caught a whiff of singed cowhide wafting off the couch.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Your Haileyness,” she announced, “You have a visitor.”

  “One I’ll want to see?” I asked, stifling a yawn. I didn’t know that many people in Courso, and frankly, most of the ones I liked were already in the palace.

  Myrjix nodded. “I believe so. Hewlyxnathin is here.”

  The arrival of the Yterixa guru was good news, indeed. After Kyzal’s last funeral, Alex mentioned I should take advantage of our stay in Courso to continue my form-bending lessons. Apparently, Alex remembered to invite the master.

  Hewlyxnathin sat cross-legged on the grass, in the same garden where he first taught me how to transform at will. He looked no different from the last time I saw him: same wiry frame, same long, scraggly, salt-and-pepper hair kept off his face with a bandana. If memory served, he wore the same tie-dyed tunic and loose, gray trousers as that day many months ago; that, or he kept a closet full of carbon copies. Fashion monotony aside, getting dressed each morning would be a hell of a lot easier if all one’s wardrobe choices were identical. How very like him to be so practical.

  Hewlyxnathin sprung from the ground as I came into view, wrapping me in an enthusiastic embrace. “How is my favorite student?”

  “Under the circumstances, not bad.”

  He held me at arm’s length and offered a wistful smile. “I am so sorry about Kyzal. It must be very difficult for everyone.”

  I nodded, mumbling something vague and appreciative. Internally, however, I sighed and thought, You have no idea. Nothing made mourning more depressing than murder.

  We sat on a nearby bench, chitchatting for the better part of an hour, before Hewlyxnathin got down to business.

  “As delightful as this is, I suspect I’m here for a reason other than small talk. Are you having issues?”

  “Oh, just a few,” I said grimly.

  “
Post-bend queasiness still a problem?”

  If only. What I wouldn’t give if occasional nausea were my biggest concern. I’d wanted to tell Hewlyxnathin about my first transformation into Birdzilla, but Sebastian preferred to make his own, low-key inquiries, keeping my name out of it. His sources had chalked it up to a once-in-a-lifetime set of circumstances: when Keem created a virtual third dimension in Courso, it allowed him access to another dimension, with the added bonus of magnifying his power. Apparently, the contained bit of Dekankara had the same effect on me, giving the added magical oomph required for me to change into something other than my usual hawk form. No one could foresee our unscheduled trip to Dekankara, but sure as shit, I hulked-out again there and wasn’t able to change back until we returned to Courso. After that, Sebastian relented and gave me the go ahead to consult with Hewlyxnathin, but between recovering from the effects of long-term monsterdom and Kyzal’s death, I hadn’t had a chance to get him up to speed on my second metamorphosis.

  If finding out I’d transformed into a gigantic, winged, fire-spewing creature, been to the third dimension, got stuck as a beast after a rage-induced bend, and almost died as a result surprised Hewlyxnathin, it never showed. Seemingly unruffled, his only response was an occasional thoughtful nod, even when I threw in the part about charring and eating a couple of my captors.

  “The ability to bend is rare enough; changing into more than one animal is almost unheard of,” he revealed. “I only have theoretical expertise in multi-shifting, but, of the few Xterixa who are capable of it, their additional form is always similar to their first—a lion shifter might also be capable of turning into a tiger, for example. I’ve never heard of such a significantly larger appearance. Of course,” he said, laughing. “You are unique.”

  “Sometimes, I wish I were a little more normal.”

  Hewlyxnathin patted my shoulder. “Anyone can be normal; it is a simple endeavor. Embrace your exceptionalness.”

  “Do you moonlight as a fortune cookie fortune writer?”