The Seer

by MacArran, Ariel

  “My parents. They figured out what I was. They hid me.”

  “You really are, aren’t you?” Kemma searched her face and Arissa felt the lightest of brushes against her mind. “You’re a Seer too,” she whispered, her green eyes wide with wonder. She wet her lips and stood. “Lian, untie her.”

  “Kemma she knows about you!”

  “And I know about her! Lian, don’t you understand? She’s like me.” Kemma looked back at her, shaking her head. “She’s like me.”

  “I can prove it,” Arissa said to Lian.

  “Okay,” he snapped. “Prove it.”

  “Think of somewhere you’ve been.”

  Lian and Kemma exchanged a glance.

  He handed the blaster to her. “Watch her,” Lian warned. He gave Arissa a nod. “Go ahead.”

  Arissa shut her eyes. Her head was pounding and she was parched but somewhere whoever killed all those people at Bruscan’s might have Jolar too. She steadied her breath and mentally reached toward Lian.

  “Snow,” she murmured. “There’s snow everywhere. Children laughing, racing sleds. There’s someone, another boy, with you. Your brother. He’s older and he takes you down the hill because you’re too afraid to go alone.”

  “Xeltan,” Lian said, shaken. “That was Xeltan. My parents took me when we were kids. And yeah, I was thinking of when Naran took me on his sled.”

  “Can we untie her now?” Kemma demanded.

  “Yeah,” Lian said. “Sure.”

  He bent to undo her bonds and Kemma snatched them from him.

  “My favorite silk scarves,” she muttered.

  “I was in a hurry,” Lian retorted. “It’s not like I hold people captive often enough to invest in tarasteel cuffs.”

  “I need your help.” Arissa rubbed at her wrists. “Jolar is in danger.”

  “Who are you?” Kemma asked. “Really?”

  “My name is Arissa Kassar,” she said, standing. “He’s Commander Jolar d’Tural of the Tellaran Fleet. I saved his life on Tellar and he promised me a non-telepath ID if I helped him. Someone was poised to seize control of Sertar and we were sent here by the Zartani Councilor to find out who.”

  Their astonishment reverberated through the room.

  “Seize control of—?”

  “It was Danlen Mirat,” Arissa interrupted Lian.

  Kemma blinked. “Wait—the man Jolar wanted to meet at the party?”

  “But Danlen’s dead. Someone killed him and everyone else at his home while we were there.” She swallowed. “And I think Bruscan Milin is dead too, everyone at his house was when I went there tonight. I came here because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Why don’t you contact the Zartani Councilor for help?” Kemma asked.

  Arissa shook her head. “Councilor de’Par is dead. He was murdered a few days ago on Tellar.”

  “That’s right,” Lian said slowly. “I remember hearing about that.”

  “And the Acting Zartani Councilor is part of whatever this is. Jolar sent me to the Zartani embassy and Councilor d’Barat tried to hold me prisoner there.”

  Kemma paled. “How bad is this?”

  “It’s bad,” Arissa said, pushing her hair away from her face. “When Jolar called to tell me to go to the Zartani embassy he said he’d already given all our evidence to Councilor d’Barat.”

  Kemma and Lian exchanged a glance.

  “So what do you want from us?” Lian asked. “We aren’t FleetSec or commandos.”

  “Actually you’re better because I don’t think I can trust any of them. Besides all I’ve got to go on is what I know telepathically; you two are the only ones who believe me and won’t kill me for being a Seer. I think I know where d’Barat was headed. I think that’s where Jolar is.” She looked at Kemma. “And I’m going to need your help to get him out.”

  Jasa, ever the well-bred hostess, had food brought in along with the Niman brandy.

  Jasa and Rekan left him in the sitting room and withdrawn, intent to finish destroying everything he’d worked his whole life to defend. Jolar sprawled, his legs stuck out, in the chair that Jasa had so thoughtfully had copied for his comfort and regarded his Utavian guard. Apparently this man was Jasa’s creature, not Rekan’s, and had strict orders to protect His Highness at all costs.

  Protect him by being sure he didn’t go anywhere.

  She wouldn’t leave him alone not even with two other Utavians outside the sitting room door—he was far too valuable to her as sire for all the princes and princesses she planned to bear—but Jasa wouldn’t offend his dignity with restraints.

  Odd, what Jasa was willing to do and what she wasn’t. It was quite a pile of bodies that Jasa was willing to climb over to place that blood-soaked crown on his head. Bruscan, Dacel, Danlen, Cenon . . .

  Arissa.

  He clenched his fist, his jaw so tight it hurt.

  Jasa was right, as long as they had her, they had him.

  How could I be so fracking stupid? I sent her right to them.

  Rekan said he had her locked safely in the embassy. But that didn’t mean anything. Rekan sent assassins to kill him – kill them – two days ago. His Utavians would have cut her down without a thought.

  So many deaths, so many more to come, and all for—

  His eyes burned.

  Jolar thought those long talks in his boyhood just his father daydreaming about what could have been. Instead his father meant them as lessons, splendid tales to fire his son’s ambition, justification for the treason he was committing . . .

  And if his father had been working toward this since he was an infant that meant everything he’d believed about his father, about Zartani honor itself, was a big fracking lie.

  All those arguments about his joining the Fleet, the maneuvering to gain his promise marry Jasa, all those manipulations, all that deceit . . .

  All for a crown he had never wanted—still didn’t want.

  Father, how could you have thought you were doing it for me? Didn’t you know me at all?

  The Realm was about to be plunged into another blood-soaked civil war but if he survived the next few days he would be crowned on Zartan.

  Jasa truly believed he would feel obligated to keep their marriage contract. That their heritage was one of sacred honor and benevolent sovereigns. She conveniently forgot about the purges by paranoid despot princes, the injustices of absolute rule, how the many labored to provide glittering lives for the few . . .

  Jolar’s mouth took a bitter curl.

  Maybe we are a match. Gods know she’s as great a fool as I am.

  But he knew one thing. If that crown did touch his brow, Rekan and Jasa would be sorry they ever put it there.

  As Prince of Zartan his rule would absolute. Jolar would have the power to banish those two to live out their days on that miserable research facility with the blood plague. He could order them infected with the blood plague if he liked. He could chain them to the wall of the palace’s dining hall in Kev-Zartan and throw feasts while he enjoyed watching them starve.

  If he were crowned but he probably wasn’t going to live that long. Clearly Rekan had already realized he couldn’t afford to let him take the throne. And that meant someone was going to kill him very, very soon.

  And if he died . . .

  His father and Jasa had taken his faith in his heritage, in Zartani honor, and they might succeed in destroying the republic he pledged to uphold but there was no festering way he was going to let them take Arissa too.

  And to save her I have to get out of here.

  Jolar’s measuring glance went over the guard. The man’s blaster was holstered, the traditional Utavian weapon, a dagger, strapped to his left arm. This man, and the Utavians outside, had been tasked with both protecting the Zartani prince who they would pledge to follow as supreme king over all and keeping him prisoner.

  Apparently the absurdity of it was lost on them.

  “I met your prince,” Jolar said, shifting t
o sit up. “He seemed like a fine man.”

  The guard gave a spare nod.

  “I seems you and I are to be allies — Your new prince and I, I mean. The boy’s how old now? Eighteen?”

  “His highness, Prince Brotar, is seventeen,” he replied, his voice gravelly, his tone respectful as he addressed the Zartani prince.

  Jolar gave a faint smile. “Oh, I guess I was misinformed. Of course I don’t expect I will live long enough to meet him.”

  The guard frowned. “I do not understand, Your Highness. You will be Tellaran king. Even our prince must swear fealty to you.”

  Jolar leaned forward to look over the spread that Jasa had brought in. Meats, bread disks, vegetables cooked in glistening tarva sauce, sweet puddings.

  Jolar’s mouth took on a bitter curl. Of course, all traditional Zartani fare.

  Except the Niman brandy. Knowing Jasa it probably was excellent. He reached across the table and poured two snifters.

  “Want some?” Jolar took an appreciative sniff and held a glass of the amber liquid out to the man. “It’s the good stuff. ‘Course it’s probably poisoned.”

  Surprise flickered across the man’s face.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Jolar said politely and tilted his head. “Perhaps you’re to kill me instead.”

  The guard looked shocked. “My orders are to protect you, Your Highness.”

  Jolar leaned back in his chair again, pretending to study the amber liquid in his glass. “Some of your people tried to kill me two days ago,” Jolar said conversationally then looked at the guard, his eyebrows raised. “Know anything about that?”

  The Utavian’s nostrils flared. “My tribesmen would never act so dishonorably.”

  “Some did. They killed the soon-to-be crowned Princess of Sertar. Her name was Cenon. She was a sweet lady. I buried her myself.”

  The guard went still.

  “You know,” Jolar continued. “It’s just plain dumb luck that I survived. We have a lot in common you know, your young prince and I. I think he, and the rest of your people, are being used to seize power for Jasa and Rekan.”

  The guard’s face became closed and set. “We are allies. We will return to the old ways, the ways of honor.”

  “Honor? Why, if I’m their prince, a man they claim they vow to follow onto death,” Jolar made a casual wave with the snifter toward the closed door of the sitting room, “am I not permitted to leave this room?”

  There was hesitation in the guard’s eyes.

  “I’ll tell you why.” Jolar hooked a finger to coax the man toward him. The guard took a few steps closer and Jolar dropped his voice to a confiding whisper. “Because Rekan wants my crown for himself. And pretty soon a few of your tribesmen, who are being used like you and I are, are going to come through that door,” Jolar said with a nod in that direction. “to kill me and—since you happen to be standing in their way—they’re going to kill you too.”

  The guard frowned.

  “If you don’t believe me, go ahead and take a drink. Because if Rekan got the chance, all this,” Jolar indicated the meal and leaned forward to get the balls of his feet under him, “is poisoned. Either way, you and I are not going to live to see morning.”

  At the sound of blaster fire in the hall the Utavian guard whipped his head toward the door. And that moment of distraction was all Jolar needed.

  He had the Utavian down and the man’s blaster in hand before the bodies outside hit the floor.

  Jolar reset the blaster to kill and shot out the window, blowing the plexisteel outward into the night in a shower of reflective shards. He was already on the windowsill, ready to jump to the garden below when the door behind him burst open.

  With the muscle memory of thousands of hours of practice, Jolar turned to fire.

  Arissa let her breath out slowly; keeping her own anxieties at bay was easy compared to blocking the fear pouring off Lian as they crouched outside Jasa’s residence. Kemma, sleekly dressed in black shirt and trousers, her russet hair drawn back, narrowed her eyes as she looked at the mansion. She seemed to be handling this far better than her protector.

  But then, she and Kemma could see in a way Lian could not.

  “How many of them are there?” Lian asked in a tight whisper.

  “Four out here—”

  “Nine inside—”

  Even in the darkness Arissa could see Lian blanch.

  “Are you out of your godsdamn minds?” His voice rose an octave. “We can’t take on thirteen armed gunman!”

  “We don’t have to take them on,” Arissa promised softly. “We just have to stun them long enough to get Jolar out.”

  “Stun them all before one manages to hit the security alarm or knocks us all out with a wide beam scald pulse.” Lian’s dark eyes snapped. “I don’t know if you ladies have noticed yet but we’re also outside their security shield with no way in.”

  Arissa chewed the inside of her cheek. Lian was right. Above this short, deceptively decorative brick wall, the slight distortion extending over the house like a dome revealed a security shield that would surely block any blaster bolt. One touch against it and the thing would flash, alerting the guards in the yard to their location and likely setting off an alarm inside it too.

  And there was also the matter of the four Utavian guards, each with a heavy duty, rapid-fire blast weapon swung around his shoulder, standing between them and the house.

  “You’re sure Jolar’s in there?” Kemma asked grimly.

  Arissa threw her focus toward him, tears stinging her eyes at the familiar feel of his mind. “Yes.”

  He was in such mental anguish, flooded with anxiety that he would not live much longer . . .

  “Oh gods, someone in there is going to kill him. We have to get him out!”

  Lian tightened his grip on his blaster. He’d had three blasters at the house that they now carried; all meant for self-defense and not one looked like it had ever been fired. He looked at his shadow consort, his face grave. “I’m telling you, this is crazy, Kemma.”

  Kemma’s jaw hardened, the blaster she held at the ready giving her a particularly fierce demeanor. “Lian, you can stay here or come with us but I am going to help Arissa.”

  Arissa closed her eyes, sending her mind touch frantically toward Jolar hoping to discern something—anything—that might help them save him.

  A well-appointed room, a feast before him, possibly only one guard . . .

  There were others inside the house, most with the rigid determination of the Utavian guards out here. Two others, a man sulking as if smarting under a rebuke and a woman, proud and eager . . .

  “We’re not even going to be able to get inside the shield,” Lian argued, jolting Arissa out of the mind touch.

  Kemma gave the patrolling men a speculative look. “I have an idea.”

  “Where are you going?” Lian hissed when Kemma started to easy away from them.

  “Just stay here and be ready to shoot,” she whispered.

  In the darkness Arissa could faintly follow as Kemma moved along the outer wall, the Ornament’s sense reverberating with a kind of manic glee.

  In another moment Kemma had vanished from sight and Arissa felt Lian’s concern spike.

  He wet his lips. “Arissa, look, I know you’re worried about Jolar but this is impossible. Maybe we should just call SerSec.”

  Arissa looked at him in astonishment. “And tell them what?”

  He shifted his weight as he squatted behind the wall. “I don’t know . . . maybe that Jolar’s comm unit cut out and he said he was in danger,” Lian gave a weak shrug at her astonished look, “or something.”

  She felt her nostrils flare. “Even if we could offer up an outrageous enough bribe to convince SerSec to storm a private residence in this neighborhood, there isn’t time to get them here! We need to get Jolar out now!”

  Lian began to retort when he spied something past Arissa’s shoulder that made his eyes widen. In the same instant th
e guards’ attention slammed around. Arissa twisted about to see what they were all looking at and her mouth parted.

  Oh, my gods . . .

  There, in the warm glow of light from Jasa’s house, her magnificent red hair cascading over her shoulders, Kemma stood as breathtakingly beautiful—and as naked—as the goddess of love herself.

  “Excuse me,” Kemma called sweetly, waving to the guards who stared at her. She swayed a little then giggled, twisting a finger in her hair as unselfconscious as Arrena, and artlessly aware of her own splendor. “I was at a party over there—” She pointed, then looked befuddled, giggled again and pointed in another direction. “No, there. And, somehow,” she gave a careless shrug. “I’ve lost all my clothes.”

  The guards’ eyes were locked onto her and their intent lustful reaction made Arissa face go hot.

  Kemma gave a little pout. “Does one of you have a jacket or—” she said, as if she just noticed their attire. “A cloak you could lend me?” She giggled again. “Just till I can figure out where my clothes went?”

  One of the guards drawn as if by Arrena’s own power walked toward Kemma. Sensing his intention, Arissa quickly put her hand to the back of Lian’s dark head and pressed him down. She ducked as the man looked around to be sure Kemma was alone.

  “You should not be about so,” the guard scolded. “Come to the gate and I will let you in, foolish one.”

  “Oh,” Kemma enthused. “Great, thanks! Oh!” she cried out, stumbling against the wall and collapsed into giggles. She put her hand to her cheek and looked up at him fetchingly. “I’m not sure I can make it that far.”

  His gaze locked on her breasts as they quivered with her laughter. His bronze skin was now dusky to the hairline.

  He cleared his throat and swung his weapon onto his back. “Stay there. I will lift you over.”

  In the next instant the security shield glinted as it came down. Kemma smiled and opened her arms wide for the man to pick her up.

  Arissa pushed to her feet and using her Seer’s senses instead of her eyes, snapped off several blaster shots.

  In the same moment Kemma clamped her arms around the guard’s neck and yanked him toward her over the wall. With astonishing dexterity she freed his weapon from the strap around his body and pointed it downward to stun him then lifted it to fire at another guard.