Special Deceptions (The Coursodon Dimension Book 5)

by M. L. Ryan

  When we were alone, Ziqua sat down beside me. “You look like you got run over by a train.” She tilted her head toward where Keem lay. “Who the hell is the locomotive?”

  *****

  I had just concluded an abbreviated account when Myrjix returned with six Royal Guards. Ziqua roused Keem, who four of the officers took away. The other two watched over me until the paramedic unit arrived. The medicos provided some needed pain relief, and even initiated the mending of my ribs and hand. They wanted to carry me out on a stretcher, but I insisted on self-ambulating. It might have taken three times as long to work our way to the other side of the palace, but at least I made it using my own steam. Whether it was true or not, I decided I looked less stupid stooped and limping than laying on a gurney. The poor guards who kept me upright probably disagreed, but they couldn’t really argue with the consort of the crown prince. Sometimes, title and position actually had their advantages.

  Once ensconced in my bed, another healer—thankfully, not The Healer—arrived and finished the job the EMTs started in the garden. I was still sore and bruised, but my face didn’t resemble ground beef anymore. Everyone assured me I’d be good as new in a few days.

  Everyone except Alex. He didn’t show up until after sunrise, long after the healer departed. Rexa and Wyx were keeping me company when he burst into the bedroom. He scowled when he saw me, but his father placed a hand on his shoulder and told him I’d be fine.

  “I think I look worse than I feel.”

  “She just needs some rest, but she refused to sleep until she saw you.” The queen’s expression remained impassive, but her tone of voice clearly conveyed dismay that her son had been incommunicado for so long. She leaned over me and said, “We shall go now, but we will look in on you later.”

  Once alone, Alex sat on the edge of the bed. “Ziqua filled me in; I can’t believe it was Keem all along,” he said, shaking his head. “Too bad you didn’t bring his egg when we came for Kyzal’s funerals.”

  “I know; I’ve been kicking myself over that all night.”

  Keem had given me the polished, blue stone as a token of his esteem, not realizing it served as my own personal Keem-O-Meter. For reasons unknown, it radiated an unnatural heat only I could detect, which increased when Keem was nearby. When we thought he was dead, however, the egg felt like a normal, cold rock. I concluded his trip to dimensional purgatory must have muddled the warming effect, but if his return to Courso had made the egg’s temperature rise—and I’d brought it—we might have known Keem was alive a hell of a lot sooner.

  “Speaking of all night…” I added. “Where were you? I was worried.”

  “Sebastian and I went to check on some leads in Drryxi. I thought it would only take a few hours, but it became more complicated than we anticipated. I never should have left. You could have been killed.”

  “But I wasn’t,” I argued. “And you being here wouldn’t necessarily have changed anything.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I would have noticed you were missing a hell of a lot sooner than your maid did.”

  I blew out a breath. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  Alex stared at me for a long time before he spoke again. “What are we going to do about all this?”

  “About what?”

  “About this,” he repeated, gesturing around the room. “My new family responsibilities, living in the palace. Us.”

  I felt like someone had punched me in the gut again, but the sinking sensation was worse than anything Keem doled out the previous night. Here it was, the talk we needed to have weeks ago, the one I’d wanted, kept putting off, and now dreaded.

  This wasn’t the kind of conversation to have flat on one’s back, so I propped myself up on the pillows until we were more or less on even ground.

  “I’m not going to lie. Most of the time, being the gryndin lypsemma is almost as bad as having a root canal without any Novocain. I don’t like the constant scrutiny, I don’t like having to watch what I say and do, and I really hate how busy you are, and what a jealous bitch I’ve become.”

  Alex’s temple vein began to puff out, and I took his hand.

  “But what I hate the most is you hate it too.”

  He stood up and strode to the window. With his back turned to me, he said, “You are right. I do hate it. But what am I supposed to do? My brother is dead, and I’m next in line. You think I haven’t considered saying, ‘To hell with all this,’ and leave it to Tannis? But that’s not fair to her; she doesn’t want this any more than I do.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “And, I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

  Slipping out from under the covers, I slowly shuffled toward the window. I wound my arms around his waist and rested my cheek on his back, breathing in the sweet scent of Cherry Garcia. Mmm, my favorite.

  “Look Blondie, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I love you. We’ll figure out some way to make this work.”

  “I love you too.” He sighed and engulfed my hands in his. Gently caressing the one I’d injured, he inquired, “You are so right-hand dominant. What possessed you to go with your left? Was your other arm incapacitated?”

  “I did it on purpose; I always knew that ring would maim someone someday. I’m just glad it wasn’t me.”

  I felt his body quake as he suppressed a laugh. “More fashionable than brass knuckles. Where is the dangerous jewel now?

  “It had to be cut off. Your mother had the Wiqyrd dirthyxa take it to be fixed.”

  “Too bad that’s all the damage it incurred. You were never fond of that ring.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just too big and ostentatious. When I wore it out, I was always looking behind my back to see if anyone was waiting to jump me.”

  “I’m comforted to know potential muggers are no match for a nice left hook and a twenty-five carat engagement ring.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Who knew?”

  He swung around to face me and kissed the top of my head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone, but, I must admit, you did well.”

  I wondered if he’d still think so if he knew about me French kissing Keem. Since I hadn’t mentioned that part to Ziqua, the only way for Alex to find out was if I told him. I decided now was not the time. Or possibly ever. It was horrible enough recalling the chunk of tongue, much less describing the event in any detail. Better to let Alex think I just clocked him with the unwieldy sparkler and leave it at that. Besides, between Boklym and Keem, I didn’t want to get a reputation for using fake seduction as a preliminary tactic to best my male adversaries.

  We held each other for a while until he pulled away slightly, lifting my chin with his index finger so he could look into my eyes. “I love you enough to gladly give all this up if that is what you want.”

  Part of me did, but I knew it would be wrong to pressure him into such a move. Also, whatever he might say now wouldn’t prevent him from blaming me for his choice later.

  “I have a better idea.”

  32

  “So nice to see you up and around so soon,” the queen remarked as Alex and I arrived for breakfast the next morning. We’d come earlier than usual; Rexa and Wyx were already eating, Tannis was otherwise occupied, probably with Ulut, and not in need of nutritional sustenance. Exactly as I’d hoped.

  “I am feeling much better, thanks to your in-house healer and a good night’s sleep.” In truth, I hadn’t slept much at all. Alex and I had spent most of the previous day and night hashing out a way forward. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday, but I’m so sorry about Ryxjat. I know how much you depended on him.”

  A wave of sadness drifted across her face. “Yes, he shall be missed.”

  Probably only by her, but this was not the time to quibble over details. Say what one might about Keem—he had nailed Ryxjat’s surly, co
ndescending mannerisms to perfection. Even the queen never suspected.

  “Any idea who you might tap to fill his position?” Wyx asked from his spot at the opposite end of the long table.

  I glanced at Rexa, wondering if it was too soon to worry about a rehire, but she didn’t seem at all unnerved by her husband’s question.

  “I’ve considered a number of candidates, but none stand out. I suppose I shall have to open up the search and look outside the palace staff.”

  A little over twenty-four hours since she learned her long-time right-hand man and confident had actually been dead for months, and she’d already compiled a list of possible replacements. Ryxjat might have been efficient, but he didn’t hold a candle to his boss.

  “If I may, I’d like to suggest Pixie as his successor. He is really something special.” He turned out to be not nearly as annoying as I feared, but the queen would appreciate his obsequious meddling more than I ever could.

  Rexa scowled. “Pixie? Who is Pixie?”

  Alex gave her my PA’s real name, knowing I’d never been able to master its pronunciation.

  “Ah, your impish protocol aid. I will keep him in mind given your recommendation.”

  Yes, bonus, I silently cheered. If everything worked out today, I’d have two pains in my butt taken care of instead of just the one we’d planned on.

  With the queen in attendance, the meal servers hovered around with the intensity of a pack of starving hyenas over a lion’s half-eaten gazelle: wide-eyed and itching for a chance to jump in if any morsel escaped from the cat’s do-not-cross zone. The second the level of fayrti moved past the halfway mark in my cup, one of them instantly appeared and refilled it. When Rexa remarked to her husband that the bacon wasn’t quite as meaty as yesterday’s, the platter disappeared almost as soon as the final syllables left her mouth, replaced soon thereafter with another piled with sausage patties.

  “This is why I prefer eating in the kitchen,” I whispered to Alex as a butler holding a stack of clean forks stood behind the queen, waiting in case she dropped the one she currently used.

  When everyone had finished, Alex asked his mother if they might have a word in private. With no more than a small nod from their sovereign, the servers, butlers, and other staffers disappeared from the Morning Dining Lounge. Rexa surveyed her son, waiting for him to speak.

  “When, as a boy, you sent me to train with Sebastian, you knew I was not well suited to royal life,” he began. “I need the hunt. I need something more exciting than cutting ribbons and signing meaningless documents.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do not presume to tell me what I know and do not know. Once you are used to your new responsibilities, you shall adjust.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Wyx. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as he gazed at his wife across the expanse of polished wood. But he wasn’t the one who needed convincing.

  Alex steadied himself. “You are wrong.”

  Rexa gasped. Not just a perfunctory sharply drawn breath, either. An honest-to-god, shock-induced air suck, complete with an accompanying squeak of dismay. I thought Alex was exaggerating when he claimed he’d never overtly defied his mother. Not that I had much experience with such boldness myself, but at least I was rather skilled at devious and underhanded challenges to my mother’s authority. Obviously, Rexa was not used to rebellion, particularly from her son.

  I reached under the table and placed a comforting hand on Alex’s knee, willing him to continue the plan we’d agreed on.

  “In my estimation,” he added.

  I shot him a sideways glare. Nice going, Blondie. That’s really taking charge. Even without words, Alex must have understood my opinion of his equivocation because he offered a sheepish shrug.

  Meanwhile, Rexa managed to recover enough from Alex’s brutal confrontation to sputter, “You wish to abdicate?”

  We were back on track, as long as Alex stuck to the script.

  “No, of course not. That would be irresponsible and selfish.”

  Just as we’d practiced, he waited for his mother to digest his declaration and allow her bowels to catch up. I watched her shoulders dip slightly, hoping it was as good a sign as any she’d relaxed a bit. Now, Alex needed to appeal to Rexa’s strong belief in sticking to one’s word.

  “I have a proposal that will meet the needs of the kingdom, while still allowing me to adhere to my vows as a Xyzok.”

  She winced ever so slightly at the mention of vows. A Xyzok pledged service to the organization for life, and a promise was a promise, even if it didn’t fit with millennia of monarchal tradition. A clipped, “Continue,” was her only response.

  “I will fulfill my obligations as crown prince one weekend per month, with two additional weeklong stretches. The rest of the time, Hailey and I will return to the human dimension where I shall resume my Xyzok duties.”

  Rexa narrowed her eyes. “Kyzal labored daily to satisfy the demands of his position. That is not nearly enough time to be in Courso.”

  “Mother, I have seen what is demanded, and the vast majority of it is unnecessary and ridiculous. I signed proclamations establishing national days of recognition for pastries!” He emphasized his frustration by landing a fist on the table. He was improvising, but I thought it added a certain authenticity to the argument.

  Apparently, so did the queen. She stared at her suddenly adversarial son, not with anger, but with thoughtful regard. “Every weekend, and four two-week stints,” she demanded. “That is still significantly less time than your brother spent.”

  Alex didn’t respond right away, and I could tell he was beginning to waffle.

  “Every other weekend, and four one-weekers,” I called out, pre-empting any potential capitulation on Alex’s part.

  I received the stink eye from Rexa, but she quickly responded with, “Agreed, but you two will wed by year’s end.”

  Damn that woman. She knew I had been dithering about the wedding, and now she’d pushed up the date and added it to the negotiations. Enduring a gigantic, over-the-top nuptial event once was better than being stuck here every freaking weekend. I was just about to cave, when Alex reengaged.

  “That is acceptable, but we shall require our own house. Neither of us is comfortable with all the pomp of the palace.”

  “Is a home on the palace grounds acceptable?” she offered. “Security will be simpler if you are still within the property. We can remodel one of the outbuildings to your specifications.”

  Alex glanced at me. As long as we didn’t have to conform to all the restrictive conventions of the big house, being nearby seemed like a reasonable compromise. “You’d be able to walk to work,” I said with a shrug.

  “Are we in agreement?” Wyx asked after an anxious minute of silence.

  Everyone nodded, and Alex proclaimed, “I believe we have a deal.”

  Rexa smiled contentedly. We’d gotten everything we wanted: a reasonable schedule in Courso, protected time for Alex and I to hunt bad guys, a separate place to live, and the queen clearly believed she smoked us with her bargaining skills. Everyone felt like a winner. The accelerated wedding plans bothered me a little, but I knew I couldn’t put it off forever.

  Wyx called the serving staff back and ordered champagne. As we toasted our new arrangement, Sebastian strode into the dining room.

  “What is there to celebrate?” he wondered, eyeing us with suspicion.

  “It’s more sealing a deal than a commemoration,” Alex explained. “But now that you are here, grab a glass and join us.”

  The butler had only brought four crystal flutes, but Sebastian snagged a teacup from the sideboard and filled it with champagne.

  Alex raised his glass. “To Kyzal. May he rest in peace knowing those responsible for his death no longer pose a threat to anyone else.”

  “To Kyzal,” we all repeated, and I downed a second, healthy swig of my drink. I’d have preferred tequila, but this wasn’t all that bad. Besides, now that I was c
ommitted to the whole being royal business, I’d probably have to acquire a taste for the grape.

  “So, Kess, I thought you had departed. To what do we owe this visit?”

  A casual observer might have thought the queen actually wanted to know why Sebastian was there, but the steely set of her eyes told a different story. One that started with, “Once upon a time, we spent a regrettable night together,” and ended with, “While I practically ordered you to service me, I despise you because of it.”

  Sebastian may have noticed the undercurrent of wrath, but he responded with a proper, “I came back as soon as I heard about Keem, Your Majesty. He is an extremely dangerous criminal, and only the most secure prison can hold him. Which I believe is the main Xyzok holding facility. The building is remote, well guarded, and imbued with so much praseodymium, Keem will be lucky if he remembers who he is, much less be able to use any magic. I shall personally handle the transfer, if you so desire.”

  It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn Sebastian drew out the word, “desire.” In any case, the queen nodded her approval.

  “He didn’t seem all that powerful yesterday,” I remarked. “Except for the face-changing thing, I don’t think he used any magic at all.”

  Sebastian pointed out, “Being able to alter one’s appearance is power enough. He could look like anyone to aid in an escape. Besides, I am not taking any undue risk. The man is a menace. It is at times such as these I wish Alenquai still had the death penalty. It galls me to have to house the miscreant for the rest of his detestable life.”

  While I had little sympathy for Keem, permanently befuddled didn’t sound like much of an existence. I wasn’t sure if I agreed with government-sanctioned killing, but I knew if I had the chance to off the son of a bitch, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

  Sebastian and Alex excused themselves to discuss how best to transport Keem. Slathered with syrup and covered with fire ants would have been my choice, but they hadn’t asked for my opinion.

  “Well, I suppose I should begin making arrangements to return to Tucson,” I announced as I pushed my chair away from the table.