Consort (Beyond Ontariese 6)

by Cyndi Friberg

“But I was protecting him.” Ignoring the others, she pleaded with Drakkin now. “You don’t understand. She’s a Rodyte spy!”

  Drakkin manifested cloth bags and tossed them to Ametto as the guards closed in on Nasrin. “Cover and bind her hands, that’s where the spark ignites.”

  “Wait,” Indric halted the guards with an upraised hand. “There’s something else we need to know before she’s taken away.”

  Cinarra looked at Ametto and pressed a hand to her throat. She’d never seen a man look more miserable. Guilt, regret and anger all twisted through his expression, and yet he remained a step back, trusting his king to deal with his tormentor.

  “Where is Ametto’s daughter?”

  The heat from Indric’s question made Cinarra gasp. When he’d used his voice on the Fire Queen before, she’d basically laughed him off, so he’d spiked the intensity of the compulsion.

  Nasrin tossed her head and flames flared up her arms. Tal immediately compensated for her fit by shifting more of his body into the semi-solid state. “Never. Tell.”

  “Fine. Don’t say a word.” Indric circled her, his voice hypnotic. “Just picture the location in your mind. Is it a house or an apartment? Abandoned warehouse?”

  “Got it,” Drakkin said. “The girl is in a guest bungalow at Nasrin’s winter palace. She is unharmed.”

  “Thank the gods,” Ametto muttered then more loudly, “And thank all of you.”

  “Bastards,” Nasrin sneered, going wild in Tal’s arms. “You won’t get away with this! I’ll make you pay. Every last one of you.”

  “Have at her, boys.” Indric stepped out of the way as the guards rushed forward, relieving Tal of his thrashing burden. “Watch those hands.”

  Nasrin burned one guard badly before Ametto and the other three secured the fireproof bags over her hands. After that she kicked and screamed, but the guards remained resolute. Ametto appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

  Cinarra approached the wounded guard and asked, “May I?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” He held out his burned hands and even produced a shaky smile.

  The title he’d used caught her by surprise. Had he heard Indric announce that she was his fiancée or was word spreading of her true identity? No one stayed at a royal residence for a week without being noticed. She pushed the questions to the back of her mind and focused on repairing the damage.

  Her hands hovered above his charred skin as she bombarded his cells with healing pulses. It took longer than she’d expected and she realized her energy stores were partially depleted from healing herself.

  “Let me help.” Charlotte slipped her hands under Cinarra’s and activated the catalyst, her ability to amplify the gifts of others.

  While channeled through the catalyst, Cinarra’s healing pulses regenerated the guard’s flesh in a matter of seconds.

  “Wow. You’ve described how it works, but I’ve never experienced it before.”

  “Thank you.” The guard beamed, flexing his hands with an awed expression. “Thank you both.” He hurried after his comrades who had already departed with their prisoner.

  Cinarra glanced toward the place where Eagin had dropped. His body had been removed as well.

  Indric slipped his arm around her waist and drew her attention away from the averted calamity. “It’s over, love. You’re safe.”

  “How much of this were you aware of? How did she program that drone to target me specifically?”

  “The Rodytes have been working on DNA tracking for several cycles,” Indric explained. “We had no idea they had actually made it work.”

  “But where the hell did she get my DNA?”

  “I don’t know. She told Ametto to arrange it but he refused. He thought she wanted it for some sort of spell.”

  “Then she has someone else on your staff.” She shivered. “That’s comforting.”

  “She will never be free again,” Drakkin stressed. “Her network of reluctant assistants is irrelevant. The danger is contained. You are safe.” When she only nodded, he looked at Indric and said, “Nasrin really did do you a favor.”

  “I don’t care.” Indric crossed his arms, his expression fierce. “She tried to kill my mate. Her life is forfeit.”

  “I understand your hostility and agree, but the High Command has the final say.”

  Indric didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue.

  “Where’s the data crystal?” Cinarra asked. “She claimed to know the Mystic’s real name. How was she able to learn what we could not?”

  “I suspect she just got lucky. We’ve been discrete with our inquiries, not wanting to inadvertently stir the curiosity of a reporter or overzealous enforcer. Nasrin had no such constraints.” Indric searched for a moment in the grass then handed the crystal to Drakkin. “Would you please find out what’s on here and see that it’s purged meticulously?”

  “Of course, but this leaves us with an opportunity. Should Cinarra continue on as a Bilarrian widow or is it finally time for Krystabel to be resurrected?”

  Indric smiled as he returned to Cinarra’s side. “The best way to quiet gossip is to give people something more interesting to talk about.”

  “True.” She looked at Charlotte as tension coiled within her belly. “I don’t want to be high queen. Even if something were to happen to you. I don’t want the responsibility of running an entire planet.”

  “I have four healthy children,” Charlotte pointed out. “The order of succession can be formalized with a simple document. You will never be obligated to step into a role you don’t want.”

  Cinarra turned to Indric. “Who would your people accept more readily, Cinarra or Krystabel?”

  “Our people will love you because I love you. The rest is entirely up to you.”

  After considering the possibilities for a moment, she looked at Tal. “What about Betaul? Do I endanger him by shedding my persona?”

  “I was anxious to take Betaul to the Conservatory because we had just concluded the Choosing. He is one new apprentice among many. The NRS will have no reason to suspect that Seth has risen from the dead. Betaul is an orphan that you befriended during your stay on Bilarri. You were mourning the loss of your grandson. It was only natural for you to be drawn to the boy. And his Bilarrian heritage explains his abilities.”

  She searched for flaws in his logic, trying to anticipate anything an enemy could exploit. “The connection between Betaul and me exists regardless of who I am. There is no way to erase the last nine years.” Had it been unwise for them to remain together? Could she have protected him better if she’d—

  Charlotte squeezed her hand, drawing her attention away from her troubled thoughts. “He is safe. The NRS is not the threat it was when you left for Bilarri. You did your job. Now it’s our turn to protect and nurture him.”

  “I will not be shut out,” Cinarra asserted. “No one will take Betaul away from me.”

  “That is not our intention,” Tal assured her. “Drakkin has agreed to assist me with Betaul’s training, but the safest place for him right now is the Conservatory.”

  “Until he learns to control his power, it is a far greater risk than any outside threat,” Drakkin added.

  “You can visit as often as you like,” Charlotte said.

  “Or as often as his training allows.”

  Tal’s stipulation annoyed Cinarra, but the rest sounded wonderful. She’d be able to openly visit her loved ones. All the secrecy would be behind her for good. The idea was almost too sweet to consider. She’d be able to practice her skills and train with a mentor. She’d never realized how much Charlotte had benefitted from formal training until she worked side by side with her.

  Finally she nodded and smoothed down her gown. “I am ready to be Krystabel again.”

  “Well then, I suppose I should do this again.” Indric bent to one knee and took her hands between his. “Krystabel dar Aune, I love you with all my heart and will not rest until you are my consort. Will you accept
me or must I continue courting you?”

  She laughed then leaned down and kissed his mouth. “I accept you, happily.”

  The others clapped and offered congratulations. Indric stood and swept her into his arms for a lingering kiss.

  “We should probably get back to the party,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure people are wondering where we’ve been.”

  Krystabel hurried to her and gave her a tight hug. “Congratulations on all you’ve accomplished. I am proud to call you sister.”

  “It’s good to finally have you back, Krystabel.” They hugged again, and then Charlotte and Tal returned to the ballroom.

  Drakkin lingered, his expression thoughtful. “It might be wise to change your appearance a bit. Nothing drastic, but we don’t want anyone else connecting you with the Rodyte spy.”

  “I can do that. I’ll even let my mate help choose how he’d like his consort to look.”

  Indric held up both hands and shook his head. “I don’t care about your appearance as long as it’s you on the inside.”

  She looked at Drakkin and grinned. “I’ve trained him well.” Drakkin laughed. “Do I need a different explanation for where I’ve been all these years?”

  “No. You’ve been in hiding on Bilarri, under the protection of King Indric. Your appearance was surgically altered for your protection. Now that the situation on Ontariese has stabilized and your sister has firmly established herself as high queen, you feel it’s safe enough to return to your real life. Everyone will see that Krystabel’s story ends where Cinarra’s begins and they will have no reason to dig deeper.”

  “We still need to find out exactly what Nasrin learned and how she learned it,” Indric persisted.

  Drakkin shot him an impatient look. “I told you I would take care of it.”

  Krystabel couldn’t help but smile. No one else dared to be impatient with Indric. Well, other than her. “Thank you for all your help. As usual, you appeared just when we needed you most.”

  He chuckled. “You make me sound like a guardian angel. I assure you, I am not.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t entrusted your best friend with my protection, he never would have met the keeper of his soul.”

  Drakkin smirked at Indric. “I thought you didn’t believe in fables?”

  “Cinar—I mean Krystabel has restored my faith in many things.”

  Drakkin turned his perceptive gaze on Krystabel one last time. “So give him the son he has longed for all his life and this story will have a truly magical ending.”

  She stepped back into Indric’s arms and said, “We’re working on it.”

  “Every chance we get,” Indric added and their laughter filled the air.

  Epilogue

  Indric sank into a chair as his knees threatened to give out beneath him. The tiny bundle squirming in his arms was the most beautiful baby he’d ever seen. With wisps of black hair and gold-ringed blue eyes, the child could not have been more perfect.

  “A son,” Indric whispered. Emotion thickened his tone and pride swelled within his chest. “We have a son.”

  “I knew we could do it,” Krystabel said from their bed where she was propped against a mound of pillows. Her labor had been exhaustive and long, but she’d endured it gladly. “Can we try for a girl next? I would love to have a daughter.”

  He laughed and the baby stirred then rooted around for his fist and sucked noisily. “Let’s enjoy this little man for a season or two before we worry about starting over.”

  “But I know exactly what it takes now.” She smiled though her eyelids began to droop. “The pressure’s off. We can enjoy ourselves next time.”

  He moved to the bed and sat facing her, the baby carefully tucked into the crook of his arm. “Does that mean you weren’t enjoying it last time? I will definitely have to try harder.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I can’t wait until my body recovers enough to show you how well I enjoy you. But it’s always been there in the back of my mind. You have made me so incredibly happy. I was determined to return the favor.”

  He reached over and squeezed his queen’s hand. The love swelling within his chest rose to his throat, making it hard to speak. “I was content without this miracle, now I am in awe of you.”

  “Hold on to that feeling, Daddy. It will serve you well through all the dirty diapers and sleepless nights.”

  He couldn’t stop smiling. Of course he wasn’t trying very hard to stop. “I would like to name him Laif. It was my father after all who first encouraged me to give in to my love for you.”

  “Really? You never told me that. Laif is an old and honored Bilarrian name. I like it very much.”

  Indric leaned down and kissed his son, happy tears trailing down his cheeks, “Prince Laif of San Adrin, welcome to the universe.”

  Read on for a preview of

  Cyndi Friberg’s brand-new series

  set in the Beyond Ontariese universe:

  Shadow Assassins

  Book One

  ROYAL OBSESSION

  Prologue

  “Only you can stop this madness. You must speak with the elders.”

  Varrik closed his eyes as the plaintive words echoed through his mind. Ripples of discontent had been disrupting the Shadow Maze longer than he could remember. After developing useless feelings for his female, Varrik’s brother, Sekall, had planted seeds of doubt and whispered clever lies. Sekall’s treachery still germinated a decade after his execution.

  “I am not my brother.” Varrik opened his eyes and glared at his misguided friend. “Unlike Sekall, I hold true to the ancient customs.”

  “Customs that were obsolete before we were born.” Bemzire wrapped his arm around a woman’s shoulders and drew her close against his side. Varrik didn’t know her name, didn’t allow himself to wonder. Females had only one purpose in the life of a Shadow Assassin and this woman had fulfilled hers. He glanced at the baby sleeping in her arms, ignoring the tightening in his chest. Soon it would be his turn to breed.

  “You have a strong, healthy son.” Varrik dragged his gaze away from the infant and focused on Bemzire. “Let that be enough.”

  “Enough for what? We are expected to remain in this prison, allowing others to dictate what gives meaning to our lives.” Bemzire stroked his son’s tiny face. Tension hardened his tone, yet his gaze remained tender. “With or without the elders’ consent, we’re leaving the Shadow Maze tonight.”

  “They will find you and kill you. You know the law.”

  Bemzire stepped closer, challenge flashing in his eyes. “I know it’s forbidden, but can you tell me why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I know the lies the elders use to control us. I want nothing more to do with the world below.”

  “There have always been lulls, shifts in power, and periods of waiting. We are above these things. We answer to a higher calling.” Varrik glanced at the woman. She remained silent and watchful as Bemzire argued their case. “Even if the elders allowed you to leave, how would you survive? You’re a criminal according to the world above. As soon as they realized where you came from, they would take you to the City of Tears.”

  “Then sweep my mind. The elders might not realize you have the gift, but I know you do. Use your ability on me, so I have nothing to reveal.”

  Varrik shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest. If one of the elders sensed the emotions raging in this room, they might join and penetrate his mental shields. He wasn’t ready to be a sweeper, was still too conflicted to embrace his destiny.

  “Sweeping your mind won’t keep the overlord from torturing you. If you think you’re a prisoner now, wait until you’ve spent some time in the City of Tears.”

  “Bemzire might have been trained as an assassin, but he has never taken a life.” The woman finally spoke. Her tone was calm, her expression resolute.

  “He’s a hunter, one of the leaders, a direct descendent from the south.” Varrik stared into her eyes, w
aiting for her to argue. She said nothing, so he drove the point home. “You were not the only woman taken during the hunt. Are all the females willing to forgive?”

  “It has to start somewhere,” Bemzire said firmly.

  Varrik turned back to his friend. “You didn’t answer my question.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gathering anger about him to drive back the pain. They were only repeating Sekall’s heresy, but the topic dredged up unwanted memories. Charismatic and shrewd, Sekall had been the biggest threat the elders had ever faced. So dangerous, in fact, he’d been silenced—while Varrik was forced to watch.

  “We will live a quiet life in some secluded settlement,” Bemzire told him.

  Varrik snorted. “Does she know how to plant and harvest? You’re certainly no farmer.” Bemzire raised his chin and reached for his sidearm. “You see. Lethal instincts and instantaneous reactions, cunning perception and faultless aim. The only vocation you’re qualified for is military, and the warlords won’t have you.”

  “I have other abilities.”

  “Ah, yes. You can create the illusion of invisibility and move small objects with your mind. What value does that have in the world above?” His crestfallen expression was answer enough. “You’re a hunter, Bemzire, a trained assassin. Don’t attempt to leave. They will kill you. One cycle with this female does not need to end your life.”

  “This is no life.” She sneered. “You accomplish nothing. You don’t even destroy. You’ve become ghosts with no purpose, obediently going through the motions of a meaningless existence.”

  He shot her so scathing a glare she took an automatic step backward. “You won’t remember his face come morning. You won’t remember anything at all. Now get out of my sight!”

  Varrik waited until they left to vent his aggravation. He kicked over a chair and released a string of curses that echoed off the cold stone walls. Through sheer force of will, he kept memories of his brother buried deep in his mind. He had idolized Sekall, absorbed every word he spoke like a sponge. It took many cycles for Varrik to realize the true danger of his brother’s radical thinking. Hope could cut more deeply than any blade.