Sarazen's Betrayal : Sarazen Saga 1.2

by Isabel Wroth

  “They think it’s all your fault.” Cassie grumbled.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been using your codes for everything I’ve been doing, so no doubt the Original Council doesn’t know I’ve been helping with the data search.”

  Falken’s brow shot up incredulously, ignoring the beeping reminder on his comm to say that the Asho was waiting for him. “Just how were you able to decipher my personal access codes?”

  Cassie gave a little shrug as she sat up, bracing her back against the headboard while she tucked her blankets up under her arms. “I watched you. The placement of your computer keyboards is different than ours were, but you moved your hand and fingers in the same pattern, repetitively. I memorized it, tried it out a few times, and it worked.”

  Falken snorted at her, guffawed and finally gave into laughter.

  “Remarkable.” he praised her, taking one more hard kiss before forcing himself to his feet to finish dressing.

  “Habit.” she countered nonchalantly.

  Shrugging into his tunic, Falken turned to face her as he tucked the hem into his trousers. It gave him an intense pleasure to see and feel Cassie appreciating his movements. The tip of her tongue touching the corner of her lip while the scent of her desire perfumed the air between them.

  He had to shake himself to speak evenly.

  “If I am asked to assist with the interrogation, I may choose to close myself off from our bond. If I do, you will be unable to feel me.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I would freak if we suddenly lost contact without warning.”

  “If I suddenly could no longer feel you, I too would…freak.”

  Cassie smiled briefly, reaching out to meet the hand he offered her, her cheeks turning pink when he touched a kiss to the center of her palm.

  “Be good.”

  She snorted. “Be careful.”

  He pressed one more kiss to her skin and made himself leave. His hand was on the door when she called his name. Glancing back at her in their bed, she wiggled her data-pad at him with a light in her eyes bright enough to sparkle. “You might need this.”

  Not long later, Falken stopped dead in the hallway and barked out a triumphant laugh. He had noted last week the changes Cassie had made to his search protocols, the sync she had set up to run both their programs together as comparison to add to the data pool. When she had handed him the tablet today, she had already cued up the progress their two programs had made, and handed him vital evidence to present to the Asho.

  ~Cassie?

  Her teasing voice floated back to him.

  -Miss me already?

  ~With every breath. The datapad, did you look at the results?

  -I did, yes. I thought it might help you during the interrogation. Cassie sounded quite smug and proud of herself. As she should be.

  ~You are a remarkable female.

  Her laugh floated along their bond, sending fingers of delight racing down his spine.

  -Took you long enough to notice.

  Regret made him sigh, for even though she was teasing, she was absolutely correct.

  ~Far too long, my one. Can you forgive my foolishness?

  -Already have. I love you.

  The warmth of her words spread to every corner of his body, the feeling of being emotionally brought to his knees almost overwhelming.

  ~As I love you, my one.

  *****

  Falken was still smiling when he descended into the coldness of the dungeon. Not even the scent of death and agony enough to dampen his mood. Tarek and T’mai stood waiting for him in one of the larger rooms, just off to one side of the cells. One of the ‘White Rooms’, named so because they were used for the less pleasant methods of torture, and as Cassie had previously commented, easier to clean. T’mai reeked of rage, though he kept his features schooled and calm. Tarek put off no scent at all, which told Falken that the pride ruler was feeling the same as his brother.

  “Falken, you seem in a remarkably good mood this morning.” Tarek grated, his irritation plainer there in his voice than anywhere else.

  “I am. My mate has given me her heart, her trust, and an entire data-pad filled with information we can use to chase our prey out of the holes they have been using to hide in.” He offered the data-pad to Tarek and all but rocked on his heels, bursting with pride for the accomplishments of his mate.

  Tarek scrolled through the data slowly and with every passing second, his brows rose higher and higher in surprise.

  “Cassie did this?” the Asho asked.

  Falken inclined his head, not even tempted a little bit to claim her work as his own. “We have worked together on the project for the past several weeks. But yes, what you see now is the result of her work.”

  Tarek shook his head in amazement and started over from the top. “Remarkable. I had called you down here because one of the prisoners seemed quite interested when T’mai mentioned Setar’s failure to harm Cassie.”

  The Asho gave a nod to his brother, and T’mai shoved his hands into his armpits, taking a wide-legged stance, radiating anger.

  “I have used every method short of killing our prisoners, and thus far they all remain mute and will answer no questions posed to them. This last male recovered, I know he will speak to you, Falken,” T’mai stated, “Simply for the pleasure of goading you about the bond these traitors believe you do not have with your mate.”

  Tarek grunted his displeasure. “Unless Cassie has located her little wraith friend, we must try another tactic to get them to speak.”

  Falken shrugged and comfortably mimicked T’mai’s posture. “Cassie has not located Ilaria. The Matavei female may have been recalled to her people, we are uncertain at this time. The information Cassie has provided me with this morning may also be of use. I will do my best.”

  “Before you go in,” Tarek handed him back the data-pad with a grave expression, “The prisoner’s name is not Breon. It is the name he has been using all this time, the name he has given to his subordinates.”

  Falken was unsurprised the traitors were not using their true names. Cowards and weak males who slunk in the shadows to pick off the weak members of the pride in secret, would not use their true names.

  “Your tone suggests I will know this male.” Falken guessed.

  “You know him well.” The brothers shared an uncomfortable look. Tarek came forward to take his shoulder, holding his gaze steadily. “I have not, and do not doubt your loyalty to me. Remember that. If you need a moment or do not wish to speak with the prisoner, I will not fault you.”

  His apprehension mounting, Falken braced himself for a shock. “Who is it, Tarek?”

  “Farro. Your sire.”

  At first, Falken felt nothing. Tarek didn’t press him for a response and neither did he release the hold on Falken’s shoulder. They stood face-to-face, warrior to warrior, while Falken absorbed the blow just delivered. Cassie must have felt something from him on her end, because he was immediately flooded with her presence.

  -Falken, what’s wrong? Are you alright? I know you said you might close off the link between us, but this was like…a complete mental shutdown. What happened?

  Her worry was what snapped him from the blankness of complete and total surprise. Mental shut down, she said. And that’s exactly what had happened. He realized he had not taken a breath yet, and slowly dragged one in through lungs that felt as though they were being crushed between two mountains of ice.

  ~I am unharmed, my one.

  -Do you need me? I can get down there in a few minutes.

  Her concern, her love, gave him the strength he needed to accept what his ears had just heard. To process and understand what Tarek had told him.

  ~ No, love. Stay where you are.

  -Are you sure?

  ~I am sure. Tarek has given me the identity of one of the prisoners and I am…I am very surprised. I will tell you of it later.

  -Alright. I’ll be here. I love you.

  Cassie push
ed the sensation of her love through their link, and suddenly Falken could breathe, ice no longer crushing down on him. He sent her back his gratitude, his love, and warned her that for what would come next, he needed privacy. Needed to close himself off to her and though she was uncertain, she accepted his insistence and retreated gently.

  Falken could almost feel the caress of her hand across his cheek, her kiss. He could almost catch her scent surrounding him before he closed the doors that opened his mind to hers. Focusing once more on Tarek. On T’mai.

  “I would ask if you are certain, Asho, but you have met my sire.” Falken rasped.

  Tarek inclined his head and squeezed his shoulder tighter, as though trying to offer him strength. Perhaps resolve.

  “I have.”

  Falken licked his lips and turned his thoughts inward, trying to find any shred of belief he might have had for his sire’s innocence. But to his shame, it was not a stretch of imagination to think of Farro as a traitor to the pride.

  Falken suddenly remembered a time long, long ago. Long, as in he had been no more than two standard Sarazen years old. A memory of his sire ranting to someone else, another male, about the madness permeating the clans and the weakness brought on by their ruler.

  It was no more than a flash of a memory, hazy details he could barely remember. What Falken did remember most vividly was the day he had announced to his family that he had decided to be evaluated for advanced placement in the military.

  He remembered how his sire had tried to talk him out of it, loudly and with disappointment clear in his angry words. How his sire had predicted Falken’s failure to even achieve the lowest rank among the warriors, due to Falken being physically less than the other males of the Bluestripe clan.

  Falken flexed his hands now, remembering how his sire had ridiculed him for being a cub so weak and puny. Claiming it was only the love of his mother that had kept Falken alive. Falken recalled those first, handful of years as a warrior, the constant battle with that taunting voice in his mind, his sire’s voice, telling him he would fail.

  It had been that powerful voice which had driven Falken to succeed at every turn. His motivation and dedication to raise himself above all others that had finally seen him take his place as second to the commander of the entire Sarazen armada. Second, to the Asho.

  In the years that had followed, Falken heard his sire’s voice less and less, until the elder male had become little more than a distant memory. A source of annoyance whenever Farro had attempted to contact him.

  Falken couldn’t help but wonder, all those times he had accepted transmission from his mother, had his sire been standing close by and listening to every word spoken between them? He could not recall his mother seeming overly interested in his duties aboard the first warship, instead she had praised him for his success. Offered what Falken believed were true words of love and affection, though as the many, many years had passed, contact with his mother had lessened and lessened.

  He had often wondered if it was because she was disappointed he had not then at the time taken a mate, but he had never thought to actually ask. Falken wondered now what his mother would think of Cassie. Falken lifted his gaze to meet Tarek’s, asking where his mother was now.

  “Confined to quarters in the citadel as of this rising. She has requested to speak with you.” T’mai answered, flushing slightly when Falken was unable to hide a little growl.

  He knew full well that if his sire were to be put to death, it would also condemn his mother to the same fate.

  Death of a mated pair was the absolute last resort, but the conspirators his sire colluded with had shown their absolute lack of care concerning the deaths of anyone who did not further their cause.

  “Farro will speak to me.” Falken finally managed to say.

  T’mai cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Are you certain?”

  “Oh yes.” Falken chuckled mirthlessly. “We have not spoken since the day I left to become a warrior. He will not pass up the opportunity to brag of how much more clever he is than I. I know what to say to make him unable to keep his silence.”

  *****

  Falken entered the white room where his sire awaited his punishment.

  There was absolutely nothing in the room but a chain attached to a collar in the dead center of the room. The length allowed the collared prisoner to stand up or sit down on the floor and move in a circle about five paces from the center of the room. The room had been kept oppressively hot for the purpose of making the occupant suffer. No amenities whatsoever, the heat enough to bake even the strongest Sarazen beasts.

  For his personal comfort, Falken had used the controls to suck the hot air out of the room and infused it with cool. Once the temperature reached a more comfortable level, he entered the cell with his head bent over his tablet to avoid eye contact with his sire for as long as possible. Not because he was afraid or uncomfortable to look upon the other male, but because Falken knew how much his sire hated to be ignored.

  Which made Falken wonder how Farro had been able to stand not telling someone of his scheming prowess. Someone like his mate, perhaps. If Falken were to learn his mother had knowledge of his sire’s betrayal to the pride, Falken wasn’t sure how well he would be able to handle having been so betrayed by both his parents.

  It gave him an uncomfortable perspective of what Cassie might have suffered with her own parents.

  The first thing he noticed was the stink of days’ worth of sweat and misery. A sharp, pungent odor Falken knew he’d have to use an enzyme shower to be rid of. It was almost bad enough to make his eyes water. Despite wanting to lift his gaze, he made himself continue to focus on the screen of his datapad, certain if he waited long enough his sire would break the silence first.

  Falken was not disappointed.

  “Neither former or current Asho could loosen my tongue, so they send my son to see if he can’t get the job done, eh?”

  Falken schooled his features to hide his initial response to the mocking in his sire’s voice. Farro looked, as Cassie might say, like shit. His mane was disheveled and matted with sweat, his once fine clothes now soiled and torn.

  A rather remarkable feat, seeing as how his hands had been coated in a thick gel-like substance to prevent him from using his own claws to slash at his throat or arteries to escape punishment. Ferro looked so much older than Falken remembered. His pale hair seeming to have more strands of silver than gold, lines around his once vibrantly bright eyes. Eyes that Falken looked into each time he glanced at his own reflection.

  Falken had gained most of his coloring and bearing from his mother, but his father had passed on the brightness of his eyes.

  “To be frank, I have no care one way or the other if you speak. That is an untruth,” Falken amended honestly, noticing his sire’s chin shoot up as though he had won a hit or something. “If you would be silent for the duration of our interaction, I would be grateful. I am here because my pride leader asked it of me, no more. I estimate a few hours of your rather pungent company will suffice and I can claim that I made no progress.”

  With a thoughtful hum, and a wrinkle of his nose, Falken returned to looking down at his datapad screen. “The scent of your unwashed flesh is coating mine like rot from a corpse. I foresee at least three sessions in an enzyme shower to rid myself of it.”

  Falken shook himself as though attempting to fling off the stench, then went right back to ignoring the other male. Again, it didn’t take long for Farro to respond.

  “Your pride leader sends you in to gather information on an alleged traitor and you wish for silence?”

  Falken made an affirmative sound. “I need no information from you to confirm to my pride ruler that you are, in fact, a traitor.”

  Now his sire took on an expression of arrogance instead of surprise and incredulity. “I have been wrongfully imprisoned.”

  Falken couldn’t hold back his bark of laughter, even if he’d tried. “If that was so, you would have been answe
ring every question posed to you honestly and without fear. Yet you remained mute. If I left this room with nothing and told my king that you are a traitor, he would trust my word as truth.” Falken saw the uncertainty chase across the face of the male opposite him. “Thankfully, I have in my hand all the evidence I need.”

  “You lie!” Farro hissed accusingly.

  Falken wiggled the datapad. “What I have is more than enough to convince the Asho. I have the transmissions you exchanged with Rammaj on the little experiments you’ve been doing with the flurra pollen. Well,” Falken paused to allow some heavy doubt to enter his voice, “not you, you’re no scientist or a medic. You didn’t even pass your basic training as a warrior, did you?”

  Farro turned a florid shade of red, his stink increasing as his rage perfumed the air.

  “I did not know that until this morning. You haven’t even the basic skills to bind a wound correctly. Thus I suspect it was another subordinate you ordered to experiment with the pollen. It grows most plentiful within the territories once belonging to the Bluestripe Clan.” Falken allowed the sentence to hang in the air between them. Allowed his sire to make the mistake of giving visible conformation to Falken’s suspicions.

  “As you have so many contacts within the merchant’s guild, it would be far too easy for you to smuggle in forbidden technology. Or smuggle it out without anyone being the wiser. Hence your usefulness to the cause of the so-called, Original Council.”

  Farro jolted almost as though he had been slapped in reaction to Falken having named the traitors. There was now no mistaking the shock and rage so thick in Farro’s scent. Falken didn’t dare stop yet. A few more well placed barbs and he knew his sire could not resist confirming his intelligence and skill.

  “I doubt they would have desired you to hold a seat of power within their little rebellion if you had not been able to offer them your trading connections. Really, it is no matter. My clever little mate will have discovered the names of the people you have had the closest contact with before long. So you see what a waste of my time this is.”