Consort (Beyond Ontariese 6)

by Cyndi Friberg

  “Saebin, Overlord Lyrik’s wife?”

  Cinarra nodded. No matter how hard she tried to simplify the story it was still complicated. “Saebin was also a product of Operation Hydra. She is my biological daughter but she was carried by a woman named Joleen. She is Krysta’s half-sister.”

  Indric rubbed his eyes as he shook his head. “A living nightmare doesn’t begin to describe Operation Hydra, does it?” Both women nodded. “I’m beginning to understand.”

  “One of Saebin’s many gifts is called a conduit,” Krysta took up the explanation and Cinarra was relieved. This was the part of the story she dreaded most. Even Indric’s soothing voice couldn’t keep her guilt at bay. “Mom used Betaul to locate the tear and Saebin—with some help from Drakkin—sort of poured Mom’s being into a new body.”

  “And where did this new body come from, or don’t I want to know?”

  “She’s not the traitor if that’s what’s what you’re worried about,” Krysta assured him. “One of the female Mystics had been taking care of Betaul when the Rodytes snatched him. They took her too rather than allowing her to sound the alarm. The head Rodyte used her as a shield during the firefight and even Drakkin couldn’t save her life. But he was able to patch up her body well enough to sustain Mom until a team of healers could repair the rest of the damage.”

  “I still can’t help feeling that I’m responsible for her death,” Cinarra confessed.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Krysta insisted. “None of it was your fault.”

  “I cheated death. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to live again.”

  Indric stood and moved in front of her, his expression inscrutable. “I, for one, am glad death didn’t claim you. And the best way to honor the Mystic’s sacrifice is to live your life to the fullest.”

  Only one secret remained, but it was a doozy. She stood as well, needing to feel less vulnerable.

  Krysta joined them in the space between the chairs and faced off with Indric. “Now you can answer me truthfully, Your Majesty. What are your intentions toward my mother?”

  Indric just laughed and leaned down and kissed Cinarra’s cheek. “You’ll have to ask your mother what her intentions are toward me.” He winked at Cinarra then added, “I won’t be free for dinner, so enjoy this time with your daughter. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Dread dropped like a stone into the pit of her stomach. She’d hesitated a moment too long and the opportunity was gone. Damn it.

  Krysta touched her arm, drawing her attention away from the doorway through which Indric had left, “Are you all right?”

  “I knew I’d have to tell him at some point.” She distracted Krysta with the bland statement while she struggled for composure. “He seems to have taken it well.”

  “Which leads us back to my original question.” The speculation in Krysta’s expression warned Cinarra that the dodge hadn’t been entirely successful. “Are you and Indric lovers?”

  * * * * *

  Invigorated by the danger of traveling incognito, Queen Nasrin picked her way through the teaming masses of the public bazaar. She’d chartered a private transport under an assumed name to a spaceport near San Adrin’s capital city, but that was as far as she’d been able to come without creating a trail. After slipping into her disguise, she’d used public trams to enter Camp Rabadah, unnoticed, unimportant, one of thousands who came and went every day.

  Mingling with the public was always an experience both exciting and abhorrent. Without her security entourage to keep people at a respectful distance, she was enveloped by sounds and smells and pulses of raw energy. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top, the standard uniform of the average female tourist. Dark sunglasses and a light brown wig further altered her appearance. Her chances of being recognized were minimal, but it was a risk she’d been willing to take.

  Her primary purpose was to meet with her contact within Indric’s staff. The conversation could have taken place over holocom, but she’d also wanted to gauge the public’s reaction to Eagin’s ridiculous misstep. The easiest way to accomplish both was for her to hazard a personal appearance.

  She’d expected the city to be buzzing with gossip and speculation, but no one on the tram said a word about the attack and everyone in the bazaar seemed obsessed with an upcoming cometball tournament.

  Her contact was supposed to meet her at a park not far from the palace, so she left the bazaar and hustled toward the destination. It hadn’t looked far on the holomap, but even filtered, the afternoon sun was quickly sapping her strength. The Fire Islands were often hot, but their lush, tropical trees and cool ocean breezes kept it from feeling this oppressive.

  She bought an iced rikolan from a sidewalk vendor and headed for a bench in the shade of a massive lariffa tree. Despite the heat, the park was crowded with joggers and picnickers. Children swarmed a nearby playground, their laughter and sharp cries drifting in the air. She tried to enjoy the peaceful scene, but idle time did not sit well with her.

  “Rebekka,” Ametto used her codename, drawing her attention away from the playground. “What are you doing here?” His attempt to make the meeting seem spontaneous was surprisingly convincing.

  She’d originally introduced herself as Queen Nasrin’s envoy, but she suspected Ametto knew her true identity. Not much sneaked past the head of Indric’s security team.

  She stood and embraced him as if they were old friends.

  “I can’t be gone long or I’ll be missed.” He straddled the bench, putting his back to the security camera mounted on a nearby light pole. His broad back also blocked her from view as she sat on the bench in front of him. “I sent you a detailed message this morning. There’s not much more to tell.”

  All the message had done was recap what she already knew, except for revealing that Indric had moved his mistress and the boy into the palace. She hadn’t yet shared that tidbit with Eagin. He was sure to come unhinged.

  If Ametto’s time was limited, she wouldn’t bother reviewing what he’d already told her. Instead, she said, “Eagin didn’t come right out and say it but he must have someone on your team. That’s the only way the shooter could have gotten as close as he did.”

  “He does and I know who it is.”

  She wasn’t surprised by the news. It had taken months of focused effort to recruit Ametto. He was one of the best, which was why she’d been so determined to have him. His loyalty had seemed unshakable and she’d been ready to abandon her plan when she’d stumbled upon his weakness and exploited it to the fullest.

  “The attack was a horrible miscalculation,” she said. “Eagin will be useless to me if the people turn against him. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”

  “Eagin doesn’t think.” Ametto’s voice was deep and rumbly, perfectly matching his intimidating appearance. “That’s his problem. He’s impulsive and emotional and dangerous. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “Have you tracked down the shooter?”

  “Nearly. Knowing who hired him narrowed the list considerably, but Indric’s investigators aren’t far behind.”

  “They cannot be allowed to question him.” She gave Ametto a meaningful look and he responded with a stiff nod. It was Ametto’s nature to protect, but he possessed the skills to destroy just as easily.

  “Once I’m sure, I’ll take care of it.”

  Satisfied with his answer, she moved on. “Why is no one talking about the attack, or the fact that Indric has moved a woman and her son into the palace? I expected this place to be buzzing with gossip and speculation by now.”

  “King Indric is liked and respected by his people and his staff. He asked that things be kept quiet, so for the most part people are keeping his secret. Word will eventually spread beyond the palace walls, but gossip travels a little more slowly when the subject is popular.”

  She couldn’t imagine being so well respected that her subjects would feel protective of her. The thought drew her mind inward and filled her with frustration and regret. Why h
ad Indric been so indifferent to her? A match between their regions would have been perfect in so many ways.

  “May I see her tonight? I’ve done everything you asked.”

  Ametto’s tense question snapped her out of her momentary gloom. “You may see her once the shooter is silenced. And leave the body where it’s sure to be found. I want to watch Eagin squirm.”

  “Understood.”

  * * * * *

  “Let’s go see if the boys have returned from the stables,” Cinarra suggested with a smile. “Betaul will be thrilled to see you.”

  “You’re avoiding the question, just like Indric did.” Krysta glared at her playfully. “All I want is a simple yes or no. Are you and Indric lovers?”

  “No.”

  “But you’d like to be?”

  Cinarra laughed. “You requested one answer and I gave it. The rest is none of your business.”

  “But, Mom, he’s Drakkin’s best friend. Bilarrians are so…mysterious. And the only thing more arrogant than a Bilarrian is a royal Bilarrian. You can’t seriously be thinking about becoming his—mistress? Consort? Has he asked you to join with him or just hop into bed?”

  She took Krysta’s hand and led her from the study. This was Indric’s private domain. There were likely members of his staff lurking behind every door. “Let’s get some air. You look as if you could use it.”

  Krysta didn’t argue and they made their way through the maze of corridors and out into the private courtyard.

  “Wow.” Krysta stopped to smell a bright orange blossom on one of the manicured bushes. “This is beautiful. Now stop stalling and tell me what’s going on. All I know about Indric is his reputation. I had no idea you two had grown so close.”

  “First of all, it’s King Indric,” Cinarra cautioned. “Don’t pick up my bad habit of thinking of him as a man. He’s a Bilarrian king and neither of us can forget it.” She started strolling along the wide stone path and Krysta fell in step beside her.

  “All you’d have to do is step out of the shadows and you would be a queen. You are his social equal and you can’t let him forget it.”

  “We’re still working to define our relationship, but we will not let social expectations determine what we mean to each other.”

  “What do you mean to each other? Do you love him?”

  They’d reached the pond and Cinarra watched the colorful fish glide beneath the glass clear water as she considered the question. “I think I could love him if I allow myself to be that vulnerable. You above all people understand why it’s hard for me to trust.”

  “How often have you seen King Indric since Lord Drakkin brought you here?”

  “Every few weeks, more since he came out of mourning for his father. We’ve been friends for years, but circumstances have kept us apart. This is the first time he’s been free to express his feelings for me.”

  Krysta looked at her silently for a moment, clearly bothered by something. “I thought he was married.”

  “He has outlived three consorts. Talya was the most recent and she passed beyond almost five years ago.”

  “Years.” Krysta chuckled. “They’re called cycles in this sector. You need to lose the Earth lingo.”

  “Actually they’re season cycles on Bilarri and solar cycles on Ontariese. Which do you prefer I adopt?”

  “You’re right. A rose by any other name…” Quoting one of Earth’s literary masters unraveled Krysta’s argument and they both laughed. “I’m sorry you had to live through another terror, but I’m really glad Indric asked me here.”

  “Me too. It’s such a treat to see you in person.”

  “So give me a crash course in Bilarri. My only real interaction with Bilarrians has been Lord Drakkin and somehow I don’t think he’s an example of Bilarri’s average Joe.”

  “Hardly.” They were both wearing stylish yet uncomfortable heels, so she looked around for somewhere to sit. Krysta motioned to the same bench Cinarra had shared with Indric the night before and heat unfurled with in Cinarra’s belly. She’d run away like a frightened rabbit and he’d patiently pursued. When Charlotte had hinted that she’d become Indric’s prey once he decided to have her, she hadn’t imagined anything so tender.

  “Bilarri to Cinarra.” Krysta waved her hand in front of Cinarra’s face, drawing her back to the present. “Where’d you go?”

  “Sorry. This has all happened so quickly, I’m still reeling.” They settled on the bench and Krysta kicked off her shoes. Cinarra had to reach down and unbuckle her sandals, but she was soon barefoot too. “Okay, one crash course in all things Bilarrian coming up. The planet is divided into four regions and each region has its own king. Each region also honors a different element and elects a guild master. The San Adrin deserts honors Air.”

  “Kings are born, while guild masters are elected?” As usual Krysta latched on to a random detail as opposed to absorbing the overall picture.

  Cinarra refused to be frustrated by her daughter’s inquisitiveness. “Yes and authority passes from father to son.”

  “Typical.” Krysta rolled her eyes. “Do the kings answer to the guild masters or is it the other way around?”

  “Depends who you ask.” Cinarra chuckled. “The guild masters claim to be the ultimate power in each region, but so do the kings. The regions run smoothest when the king works with the guild master and vice versa, but such is not always the case.”

  “Does Indric get along with the master of air guild?”

  “He is simply called Master Air and yes, Indric works well with him.” Cinarra tried not to let Krysta’s questions draw her too far off course. There was still a lot to explain. “Because each region’s abilities flow from a different element, the gifts are unique from region to region.”

  “I know King Indric used his voice to calm you,” Krysta prompted. “What else can he do?”

  “As I said, San Adrin honors Air. This allows them to literally command the wind, but it also gives them control over anything that travels upon it, like thoughts and emotions.”

  “So they’re empathic and able to manipulate minds? No wonder Bilarrians are unimpressed with Ontarian Mystics.”

  “Their abilities are most powerful when they’re on Bilarri and have ready access to their element, but most are able to store up energy and use their skills off world. Each skill set is different and always depends on the person’s willingness to work for control. Manipulating energy is like any other task; it requires effort and practice. Only the most powerful followers of Air are able to ride the wind or flash.”

  “Teleport?”

  “That’s an Ontarian term,” Cinarra pointed out.

  “But Lord Drakkin flashes all over the galaxy. What element does Hautell honor?”

  “Hautell honors earth or rock, but Lord Drakkin trained with guild masters from all four regions. Like Betaul, he is one of a kind.”

  “Indric hinted that he can regenerate like Drakkin. Do you know how old he is?”

  “Indric or Drakkin?” Cinarra smiled. Her daughter had a tendency to ramble. Cinarra would have to maintain control of the conversation or they’d be here all day.

  “I meant Indric, but that’s an interesting point. Do you know how old Drakkin is?”

  “Indric mentioned one day in passing that they’d been friends for twelve centuries. I about fell out of my chair when I realized he meant it literally. They aren’t technically immortal. They will eventually weaken and die, but they’re both immune to disease and can heal most wounds so fast they don’t even bleed. Regeneration seems to be more prominent in the royal bloodlines rather than being anchored in any one region.”

  “That’s likely how the royal families originally took power.”

  “I’d never thought about it that way, but it makes sense.” Sometimes being detail oriented had its benefits. “Drakkin was King of Hautell when Indric was sent to foster with him, so Indric would have been in his early teens. I don’t know how old Drakkin was at the time.”


  “Well, that settles it. King Indric is too damn old for you.” Krysta laughed.

  “Actually, I’m glad. We both look younger than we are. It’s something we have in common.”

  “But if he continues to regenerate and you age, how long will that be true?”

  Cinarra couldn’t quite hold back her smile. The pros and cons of her secret had been simmering inside her ever since Indric declared his feelings for her. “Longer than you might think,” she whispered. She really needed to talk this out with someone and it would likely take Indric a few days to process the surprises they’d heaped upon him earlier.

  “Meaning?”

  She scooted closer to her daughter and lowered her voice. “Ontarians only live a century or so, but Rodytes live much longer.”

  It took Krysta a moment to make the connection then she covered her mouth with her hand. “I thought your eyes had been surgically altered.” She shook her head as if to dispel the disturbing possibility. They all thought of Rodytes as the enemy. This is why so few knew the truth about the Mystic’s origins. “What the hell was a Rodyte doing among Ontarian Mystics? Wait a minute. How was she able to pass herself off as a Mystic? Rodytes don’t have those sorts of abilities.”

  “This one did. Drakkin knew she was Rodyte as soon as he started to repair her body, but there was no other choice if they were going to save me. Then Charlotte tried to contact her next of kin and realized that her profile was manipulated. She was a fabrication, a phantom. That’s why I’ve always called her the Mystic. We have no idea who she really was.”

  “Other than a Rodyte spy?” Krysta took another moment to digest the facts then shook her head again. “Wow. I didn’t see this coming. Does your soon-to-be-lover know about this?”

  “Not yet, and I’m not sure how he’ll react. On one hand, it could be devastating if anyone learned that his lover was a Rodyte. On the other hand, Rodyte physiology is even more compatible with Bilarrian than Ontarian.”

  That snapped Krysta back to attention and speculation narrowed her gaze. “Which is only important if you and Indric intend to have children. Just how serious is this not-yet-intimate-relationship?”