Cross Keys: Unity

by Ally Shields

  Prince Tadeous attempted to sit up when Kam, Seth, and Brunic entered the room, but Trystan pushed him back down.

  “Just stay where you are.”

  Brunic gave the healer a questioning look.

  “He should be fine,” the robed figure said. “The wounds were clean, no infection, and will heal rapidly now they’ve been properly treated. He needs rest, so I hope this first visit will not be extended.”

  “We have a few questions,” Brunic said, his tone firm. “As soon as they’re answered, we’ll be on our way.”

  The healer nodded and stepped out of the room.

  “Now, young man…” Brunic drew up a chair and sat down. “Let’s hear it. Start with Jermon Lormarc. Is he alive? If so, where is he?”

  “Oh, he’s alive all right. I can’t be sure where he is at present, but when I last saw him, he was in a drug cartel’s compound just outside of Juarez. He and Dreysel took over the gang after killing the Mexican leaders.”

  “You don’t say.” Brunic’s expression never changed, but he leaned forward in his chair. “How’d that happen?”

  “Slit their throats while they were asleep.”

  “Could he start from the beginning?” Seth asked. “I’d like to know how he and Dreysel got connected with Jermon in the first place.”

  “And why,” Trystan added.

  “Stupidity,” Tad said, responding to his brother first. “But I didn’t know they intended to kill you.”

  “So that was Dreysel’s plan.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Tad grimaced and averted his gaze. “Dreysel said he knew how to help Cyrilia, and you were just being stubborn by not accepting his solutions. But they were using me to gain power for themselves. I didn’t realize it until we escaped from Elvenrude. The first night I heard Jermon tell Dreysel I was useless baggage. He treated me like dirt, and after a while, so did Dreysel and his friends.”

  That explained why Tad was talking so freely.

  “You skipped over how Jermon got involved,” Brunic said.

  “Andolf talked to him while they were both confined in the security facility last summer. Jermon said he knew people who could provide workers for Cyrilia’s fields, money, and best of all—firearms.”

  “Using his contacts from the uranium sales,” Kam said, referring to Jermon’s illegal mining operation to pay for arms for his aborted coup. “And the gang’s human slave traffic would have supplied the workers.”

  “Yeah. But Dreysel was really pumped about the guns. Until we got them. Then no one used them much. They’re hard to handle and way too noisy.”

  Tad described the early infiltration of the Mexican gang shortly after the fugitives fled over the border, the murder of the gang leaders late one night by using the invisibility magic to enter their bedrooms, and his constant fears he’d be next on the hit list.

  “I did everything they wanted,” he admitted. “I was afraid of them, and the Mexicans were too…after the mysterious and gruesome murders.”

  Kam eyed him thoughtfully, wondering how much of Tad’s story they could believe. “With access to the cartel’s funding, why were you stealing obsidian?” She deliberately suggested a monetary motive to see if Tad latched onto it or told them the truth.

  “It wasn’t for money. They didn’t exactly explain—at least not to me—but Jermon said we’d rule both worlds if we collected enough. I thought about it, and all I can figure is it must be part of a magical ritual of some kind.”

  Close enough. Kam, Seth, and Trystan exchanged looks. Jermon and Dreysel were as ambitious as they’d suspected, but how was Elvenrude at risk? She needed to find out what Seliwyn’s court mystics had said.

  “They offered the Mexicans…well, all of us…a thousand US dollars for every piece we found,” Tad continued. “It seemed like a fortune. In Mexico, the dollar is a big deal.”

  “So talk about DC,” Trystan said. “Why weren’t the Mexicans involved in that operation?”

  “They hadn’t worked out so well. They can’t use the rings or portals, and Jermon said we’d never get through the Smithsonian’s security without the magic.” Tad closed his eyes and shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you guys. I never expected to see you again.”

  “Why did you tackle me inside the monument?”

  Tad’s eyes flew open. “I couldn’t let Dreysel shoot you.”

  Yeah, right. After plotting against him for months?

  For a moment Trystan didn’t respond, as if debating what to say. “You weren’t very subtle. Didn’t he realize what you’d done?”

  “At first he thought it was just a dumb move. Then he talked to Jermon when we got back to the compound.” Tad took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “I’d gone outside to catch a few minutes out of the stale smoke. The Mexicans smoked constantly. Anyway, I heard Jermon’s voice, sharp, angry. I went around the building where I could hear clearly and peeked into an open window…”

  Jermon Lormarc stood in the middle of the room holding one of the stolen artifacts. He set the spear tip down and scowled at Dreysel. The Cyrilian lounged on the sofa, a typical smirk on his face.

  “I told you he was an idiot,” Dreysel said. “But it’s no big deal. We got away, and we’ll have another chance at his brother. There’s no hurry.”

  Jermon straightened and pinched the end of his salt and pepper goatee. For an elf entering his one hundred fifty-first year, he was extraordinarily sharp and fit. “That’s not the point. I don’t trust him. He’s useless anyway. The time has come for you to get rid of him.”

  “Me?” Dreysel sat up. “Why me? Can’t one of these Mexicans do it?” He brushed his pale hair over his shoulder, got up, and walked to a side table. He took a long swig from an open bottle.

  “Can’t you use a glass?”

  Jermon’s disapproving tone brought another smirk from Dreysel. “I could. Don’t want to. I’m not sure I want to do in Tad either. He’s royalty.”

  An instant later, Jermon’s bony fingers encircled Dreysel’s throat, and the bottle crashed to the floor, its dark contents staining the wood.

  “Going soft on me?” Jermon’s voice was eerily quiet.

  Dreysel pushed him away, but his face was ashen, his eyes cautious, betraying his nervousness. “Quit kidding around. I just meant we might still need him when we take control of Cyrilia.”

  “I don’t need him.” Jermon took a black gun from his pocket and aimed it at Dreysel’s head. “Do you?”

  “Um, I guess not.”

  Jermon’s tone turned indifferent again, dismissive. He put the gun away. “Then see to it. Tonight.”

  With a shaky sigh, Tad pulled his thoughts back to the present. “That’s when I ran. But they weren’t about to let me go.”

  He’d gotten out of the compound with enough lead to stay just out of reach as he was chased through the fringes of Juarez by Dreysel and the other two Cyrilians, Andolf and Seye. He’d made it to the bank of the Rio Grande when he was hit by two arrows, tumbled into the river, and hid in scrubs along the edge until he passed out. A Mexican family found him the next morning, treated his injuries when he refused to go to a hospital, and he stayed with them two days before he attempted the border crossing.

  “Dreysel had taken my ring, but I thought I could just walk across. I had no idea I needed documents. The Mexican guards seemed pretty suspicious of my injuries and searched me for drugs.” Tad shifted his shoulder and winced from the movement. “You know the rest.”

  “Where exactly is this compound?” Brunic asked.

  “I’ll give you directions, but it’s guarded by Mexicans with rifles. And I doubt if the elves are there. Jermon didn’t like being surrounded by humans he didn’t trust, so we didn’t stay there often.”

  “So where were you the rest of the time?”

  “Wherever the next potential find of obsidian was. There was no lack of money. They raided the cartel’s funds and spent it freely. Finding the obsidian was all they cared about
.”

  The infirmary door opened, and the robed healer returned to the room, interrupting the interview. “If he’s to make a full recovery, we must give the healing a chance to work.”

  Chairs scuffed the floor, and Kam stood. She looked down at Tad. “Do you know where they’re going next?”

  “Several places were discussed.”

  “Write down any you remember. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  “No problem. I’m willing to help.” Tad looked at his brother, his eyes bleak. “But I don’t expect anyone to forgive what I’ve done.”

  Trystan stood silent, offering no reassurance, but Kam thought it cost him not to. The elder prince looked troubled as they exited the temple.

  Seth turned to Trystan the moment the four of them stepped outside the building. “Do you believe him?”

  “Which part?” Trystan asked. “I hope he’s sincere in regretting his past actions, but I’m not certain. His injuries are genuine enough, and his tale rings true. I don’t doubt Jermon and Dreysel considered him expendable.” He made a dubious face. “Tad’s always been a bad liar and fairly easy to read, but I certainly miscalculated the depth of his resentment of me.”

  “We should check and double check everything we can,” Kam said. “While I don’t think Tad has it in him to be a successful spy, I wouldn’t put it past Jermon to try to put someone on the inside.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that.” Brunic blew a derisive snort. “You’re right about Jermon. The man’s as slippery as a snake.”

  It was after midnight by the time Trystan left for Cyrilia to talk with his father. Word had been sent to the party guests and the king confirming Tad’s safe recovery, but Kam and Seth stopped at the house long enough to prove they’d returned without injury.

  The party guests had departed as soon as the success of the Mexican trip was reported. Kam’s mother wrapped her in a hug, clearly thankful to have her daughter safely home, and she was resigned over the ruined evening. Kam was too drained to think about it. Declining pleas for them to stay the night, Kam and Seth returned to New Orleans via the Ryndel portal.

  At the Cityside guild, Barrott and Rhyden waited to hear the details. Even condensing events in Mexico and Tad’s story as much as they could, it was another forty-five minutes before Seth and Kam admitted their exhaustion and got away.

  Kam let out a long breath as they stepped out of the portal into their condo.

  “Our romantic plans were foiled again,” Seth said, folding her in his arms. “I’d hoped we’d return tonight as an engaged couple.”

  “Yeah, me too. But I have the important part. You.”

  He kissed her then. When he lifted his head, his gaze held the vows they hadn’t yet spoken. “I’m tempted to carry you off and create a scandal by marrying without the traditional time for reconsideration. If one of us intended to back out, surely it would have happened by now.”

  “Nearly did.” She grinned at him and ran her hand along the curve of his throat. “You make an interesting point. Why don’t we discuss it in bed? I have a few other ideas too.”

  “Do you?” He took her hand and turned toward the bedroom. “I sincerely hope they fit in with mine.…and that neither of us falls asleep too soon.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carrying his second bottle of beer since he’d been home, Rhyden paced the living room of his New Orleans’ apartment. The two-story condo looked like any other bachelor pad of a successful young businessman: high-end wireless sound system, large screen TV, leather furniture in an espresso brown accented with ivory throw pillows. The hardwood floors gleamed from the efforts of his weekly cleaning service. A place to relax and unwind in style.

  Ha, relax. That was a joke. Not tonight.

  While Kam and Seth were off rescuing the Cyrilian, Esty had pestered him all evening about resuming the search for the rebels. He’d managed to avoid an answer and finally escaped to the Lormarc Guild by claiming urgent trade business. But after talking with Kam and Seth…well, Jermon’s grandiose plans to rule Elvenrude made it harder to tell her no.

  He shook his head and continued to pace. Damn the man. For a successful coup, Jermon would need the help of his supporters on the inside, mainly the violent faction of the duchaen rebels.

  It followed that someone needed to find and neutralize them. Kam and Seth were chasing Jermon. Merik Trevain and Captain Brunic refused to talk with one another. So who did that leave? He didn’t have much choice. Rhyden took a swig of beer, then glowered at the human beverage which had no more kick than soda. What he needed was hearty, elven ale.

  He set the bottle down on the counter with a thump. No. What he needed was sleep. In the morning he’d find Merik and discuss the situation. He’d make a decision how best to proceed. Then…he’d talk with Esty. May the gods help him.

  He walked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face and hair, using a towel to wipe some of the weariness away. He peered at himself in the mirror and checked to be sure there were no gray hairs. Esty had successfully driven him to drink. Could the gray hairs be far behind?

  He tossed the towel over the rack and went to bed.

  * * *

  Esty didn’t waste sleep venting her frustrations. But she woke determined to protect her friend Ellyn from Brunic’s sweeping condemnation of the duchaen—and to do her part to end Elvenrude’s problems. If Kam could put off her promise ceremony to pursue the king’s cause, Esty could gather a few names to expose Kurzi Everins’s band of rebels.

  Rhyden had no right to keep her out of this. All she was going to do was ask a couple of questions. Two of the older women at the market knew everyone…and everything that happened in Brierwood. Surely they’d know where Kurzi lived. She could watch where he went, give the information to Merik, and maybe stop this craziness.

  She dressed in jeans, boots, a heavy sweater, and her warmest cloak. No telling how long she’d be out in the cold. She wasn’t quite sure how you followed someone without being seen, but she’d figure it out. She wasn’t coming home until she had something to report.

  During the winter the Brierwood outdoor market was closed, but an extension to the town hall held the off-season version, a dozen or more colorful stands of winter produce, apple delicacies, including fresh cider—hot or cold—and a wide variety of baked goods, crafts, and handmade accessories. Although frequented by all social classes, the usual patrons who lingered were members of the Elite aristocracy. Esty wandered the four rows of stalls. She was tempted by a beautiful peach scarf but doggedly kept to her task and found the two women in animated conversation with a group near the cider booth. Esty purchased a mug of the hot version of the beverage and joined them.

  “Imagine wearing yellow at this time of year,” said the older, more matronly of the two unofficial town criers. She sniffed in disapproval and held a handkerchief to her nose. “Of course, family livelihood often dictates the wardrobe. Our common workers receive meager allotments by our standards.”

  “Being poor isn’t easy.” Esty kept her voice casual. “Imagine living without things we take for granted…like buying whatever catches our interest at the market…or stopping for cinnamon cider. It’s really not a surprise the duchaen rebellion has surfaced.” She avoided direct eye contact. She didn’t want to challenge anyone, just present an invitation to open a sensitive subject that might yield results. She waited to see what would happen.

  After a moment, the younger and chubbier of the two women spoke. “You’re quite right, Estelle. I have great sympathy for their plight. In spite of their poor start in life, many of the women are well-mannered.”

  The others nodded in agreement. Whether sincere or not, their reaction was a welcome change to the disapproving silence her words would have brought a year ago. She ventured a little further. “Of course, I can’t condone the awful behavior of a few, an unruly gang that roams the streets and forests after dark.”

  Concerned looks and frowns this time. One woman launched into
a story of her female cousin being taunted on the village street by four crossbreed ruffians. “If one of your male cousins hadn’t come to her rescue, who knows what would have happened.”

  Esty nodded. “I’m glad he was there. She must have been terrified.” She lowered her voice, and the women automatically leaned in to hear better. “I’m sure these men are quite savage. Have any of you actually seen them?”

  “Oh, my goodness, no,” the oldest woman said. “I’m sure I’d faint.”

  Her companion was slower to respond. “I have a second cousin who thinks her stable man went to a meeting. He looks pretty ordinary.”

  “Really?” Esty lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can you imagine what they’re doing at these secret meetings? Plotting? Forbidden rituals?”

  Once she had them on the subject, it wasn’t difficult to keep them talking. Most of what they offered was wild speculation, stretching from the mundane to the ridiculous. She eventually brought up Kurzi Everins’s name, and a woman in a brown dress admitted he was the crossbreed son of her neighbor. Although the woman seemed sorry she’d said anything, Esty prodded her with wide-eyed interest until she had the information she wanted. Kurzi worked on a local farm—which Esty already knew—and lived by himself in the village. To her surprise, his stone and sod hut stood not far from Ellyn’s home.

  As soon as she could without being too obvious, Esty declared she had other errands to run and left the market. She ducked her head and hid a smile of satisfaction in her black, furry muff. So far, so good. His house should be easy to find.

  * * *

  Rhyden decided a head-on approach was best. He walked into the Trevain Guild and asked for Merik Trevain by name, claiming an interest in exporting additional silk goods.

  The man he spoke to gave him an odd look but scurried away. Well, it had been a lame attempt to explain his presence. Any inventory purchases by the Lormarc Guild would normally be handled by agents not the owners.