“Not so fast,” says Lincoln. His voice echoes menacingly down the hall.
Rowena pauses and slowly turns around. When I see her face again, her eyes are large with fear. Good.
“Y-y-yes, Your Highness?”
“You’re not going anywhere until we find out exactly what happened.” Lincoln snaps his fingers at a trio of guards, who immediately take up residence around Rowena. All the blood instantly drains from her face.
“Am I going to the dungeons?”
“Depends on what the High Prince has to say.” Lincoln kneels down and sets his hand on the back of Maxon’s neck. “It’s okay, son. You know Mommy and Daddy’s rules. If you can’t sleep and you want to read quietly, that’s fine with us.”
“She turned off the lights, too,” says Maxon, his mismatched eyes large as saucers. “I don’t like the dark.”
Lincoln rounds on Rowena. “You turned off the lights despite our specific instructions to the contrary. Is this true?”
“He looked so tired and it was past one in the morning. So yes, I did turn out the lights and ensured that they stayed off.” Rowena pulls at a few charred strands of her hair. “And this is the result.”
I crouch down beside Lincoln. “What happened with nanny Rowena’s hair?”
Maxon scrunches his little bare toes onto the marble floor. “She wouldn’t let me turn on the lights. So, I told her I didn’t need her. I can make my own light.”
Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going. “And then what did you do?”
“This.” Maxon blinks hard, and a tiny bolt of lightning strikes just above Rowena’s head. When the flash disappears, the thin stripe of hair that once sat atop her cranium is gone. Kaput. History. Finito. Now, only a handful of grey tufts cling to her skull in odd places.
Rowena grabs her head. “He did it again!”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Maxon bobs his eyebrows up and down, his little mismatched eyes twinkling with delight. That brow-move reminds me of someone I know. Oh yeah, that would be me.
Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face. If I crack even the slightest smile, I lose all maternal authority. And since Maxon broke out his eyebrow-bobbing routine, I know he really wants me to crack a smile.
Ah, my lovable little monster.
In truth, I can’t blame Maxon for fighting back. Rowena broke our clearly stated rules and was an overbearing battle-axe while doing it. Plus, damn, that new lightning-trick is definitely cool. Lately, Maxon’s been coming into his Scala Heir powers in a big way. When my powers began, I was a lot older—eighteen, to be exact—and the most I could do with lightning was cause random strikes. But zapping someone right above her skull? That kind of control is pretty impressive. And at three years old, no less.
You go, kid.
I’m about to say exactly that when I remember my parental duties. Maxon can’t go around frying people with lightning bolts just because they piss him off. So, much as I’d love to fist-bump him, or at least ask for pointers on how to do that trick myself, I keep my features carefully neutral as I address my son. “Do that again, and you’ll be in big trouble, Mister.”
Maxon goes back to playing with his tail. “Yes, Mother.”
I shift my gaze toward Rowena. “You may go, but remember this. You’re lucky not to be rotting in the dungeons for the rest of your life.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Lincoln orders the guard to shuffle Rowena off to the nearest exit. She bows repeatedly as she walks away.
“You’re so gracious, Your Highnesses. Thank you, Your Highnesses.”
Kiss ass. But not without good reason.
Once Rowena’s gone, I refocus on Maxon. “Now, what are our rules for your powers?”
His little voice is barely a whisper. “Ask Mommy and Daddy first.”
“That’s right,” says Lincoln. “And you didn’t ask us, twice. First in your room, and now, in this hallway.”
Maxon blinks innocently. “But you wanted to know what happened.”
“You could’ve used your words to explain,” I state firmly. “You broke the rules, so you’ll have extra chores to do today.”
Maxon puffs out his lower lip. “But she broke your rules first.”
As if on cue, Lincoln’s mother Octavia appears from around a gilded corner. She steps along at a brisk pace, her lithe frame wrapped in a floor-length black robe. Her wavy brown hair hangs long and loose over her shoulders. As always, the Queen Emeritus looks petite, serene and absolutely lethal. Octavia used to be a warrior, and a predatory aura still follows her.
Maxon jumps up and down. “Grandmother!” He says her name with his little-kid accent, so it comes out more as Gran-mudder. Love it.
Octavia kneels down, opening her arms wide. “Come here, my boy.”
Maxon races down the hallway and crashes into Octavia’s arms. They hug for a long moment before Octavia leans back, getting a good look at her grandson’s face. “What’s this I hear about your new nanny quitting?”
Lincoln and I share a look of faux-surprise. Octavia always knows everything that happens in Arx Hall within two minutes tops, thanks to the servants on her secret payroll who are experts at lurking around corners and listening at doorways. Whenever something juicy takes place, they feed information back to her through a network of back hall whisperers. I thought about breaking up her system, but I benefit from it too, sometimes. Besides, we only live here six months out of the year. When we’re in Purgatory, Mom and Dad are so busy as President and First Guy, they pretty much stay out of our way.
Maxon’s little mouth pulls down into a scowl. “She was terrible to me, Grandmother. She wouldn’t let me read your new book or anything.”
“Ah,” says Octavia sagely. “But you shouldn’t have hit her with lightning, now, should you?”
Wow, she found out about the lightning strike, too. Extra impressive.
“I only hit her a little bit,” explains Maxon. “Now, I’ve got extra chores.”
“And some nasty ones too, I should think.” Octavia taps her cheek dramatically, as if a thought were just occurring to her. However, Octavia being Octavia, I’m sure this thought is why she headed over to our wing of Arx Hall in the first place. “How about you come with me to the stables today? It’s Saturday, so you’ve no tutoring, right?”
Maxon nods vigorously.
“Your chores can be tending to the horses. After that, you and I can go for a ride.”
Maxon wraps his arms tightly around Octavia’s neck. “Chores with Grandmother. Yay! And then Pop-Pops comes for my battle training tomorrow. Double-yay!”
“Your grandfather’s coming into Antrum to attend the anointing of the new Earl of Acca,” I explain. “It’s not all about you and your battle training.”
Actually, it is all about Maxon. Dad has a mega-playdate-slash-mock-battle arranged with Maxon and all his little prince buddies. My father could give a crap about the new Earl; it’s just a good excuse to sneak away from Purgatory while Mom’s stuck in a convention. Still, Maxon doesn’t need to think the world totally revolves around him. Only mostly.
“What do you say?” Octavia turns to me and Lincoln. “Does cleaning the stables count as an acceptable punishment? I’ll oversee everything to ensure the servants don’t let him slack.”
“That’s fine,” says Lincoln.
“Agreed,” I add.
“Excellent, I’ll have him back by noon.” Octavia rises to stand and Maxon does his ‘little monkey’ routine, wrapping his legs around Octavia’s waist so she has to carry him, tummy to tummy. She hugs him close and smiles.
“You’re my sweetest boy, Maxon.”
Lincoln’s eyes open wide in mock-shock. “What about me?”
“You’re a close second,” says Octavia with a smirk.
Maxon snuggles into Octavia’s shoulder for another hug, and he uses the opportunity to peep over at Lincoln and me, his shit-eating grin once again firmly in place. Somehow Maxon’s trouble with Rowena t
urned into Grandmother, horses and happy time. What a little player.
Octavia says Maxon has ‘natural political acumen’ that will make him a great king some day. I think Maxon could grow two heads and she’d say that’ll make him a great king one day. Octavia is tough as nails until you wheedle your way into her heart. After that, you could do pretty much anything and she’ll make an excuse for you. Connor’s living proof of that. Classic example: the fact that he’s gone all the time? Octavia says he’s merely adventurous in his retirement. Or the way he treats Maxon like my kid’s contagious? Connor doesn’t want to force himself on his grandson.
Riiiiiight.
Still, I’m sure Octavia had other plans for her Saturday morning. I shoot her a friendly wave. “Thanks for helping out.”
“You’re most welcome.” She raises her pointer finger high. “Ah, one last item. We’re sending over a new night nanny for Maxon. She’ll understand how to handle my little warrior.”
“Wow, that’s a relief. Thanks, Octavia.”
Lincoln’s mismatched eyes narrow. “Of course, we’ll need to meet her first before making any final decisions.”
“Are you quite certain?” A strange look flickers across Octavia’s typical poker-face. Could that be guilt? “I shouldn’t think that’s necessary.”
“Oh, it is extraordinarily necessary, Mother. Especially considering that face you just made.”
Octavia opens her eyes extra wide. I know that trick for seeming innocent; I’ve used it myself a million times. “Whatever do you mean, my son?”
Lincoln points right at her nose. “That look, right there. Come clean. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing,” replies Octavia quickly. “You two have got quite enough on your plate as it is, so I found you a new night nanny, that’s all. Now, you can focus on the big event tomorrow.” Her mouth winds into a satisfied smile. “The end of the old House of Acca. Anointing a new Earl.”
“Nice try to change the subject,” says Lincoln. “I hardly noticed.”
“Please.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “Go prepare for the Anointing.”
“Not happening,” I say. “When are you sending her over?”
“Her who?”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Octavia. Enough.”
“Fine. I’ll send her over to your audience chambers tomorrow at eleven.”
I pause, considering. “That’ll work. Lincoln and I can split nanny duty tonight.”
Lincoln steps up to my side, wrapping one arm firmly around my waist. “In the meantime, you bring up an excellent point. The Queen and I have all sorts of things to do before the Earl’s Anointing.” Behind my back, his hand slowly dips to firmly cup my ass. I make a chirpy-sound and then blush something fierce.
No question. The guards at the other end of the hallway just got a free show.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Lots to do,” I add, my voice about two octaves higher than normal.
“As I suspected.” Octavia turns on her heel and strolls away, Maxon still happily cuddling in her arms. “See you later!”
Once she and Maxon are gone, Lincoln and I rush back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind us. My heart beats at double speed.
Royal playtime returneth, yeah!
Lincoln tosses me onto the bed, where I bounce, snort, and in general break out into a fit of giggles. With an ultra-smooth lunge, he slides onto the mattress and pins me onto my back, his firm hands, hips and thighs instantly pressing mine into place. Wherever he touches me, a sense of electric excitement runs across my skin. Our gazes lock; my body heats.
Lincoln’s voice comes out all low and growly, just the way I like it. “How long do I have you?”
I know exactly what he means. “I’m open until the trade summit.”
“So, we have hours.”
“Yes, we do.”
“In that case, I have an idea.” His legs guide mine apart with a knowing grace. “Want to know what it is?”
I squirm to free my hands so I can pull his mouth to mine, but he has me pretty well pinned. Damn, that’s hot. “Tell me.”
“Watching you unravel, again and again.”
I can’t help but smile. Unraveling is the best. “Oh, I’m all yours, Mister the King.”
Chapter Two
In my dream, I lie on a secluded tropical beach, warm white sand pressing into my back. A line of leafy palm trees stands guard behind me, their great green fronds slowly swaying in the breeze. Knitting my fingers behind my neck, I stare up at the countless stars dotting the night sky. So beautiful.
“Hello, my Queen.” Lincoln settles his toned body between my legs, propping up his naked chest on his long, ropy arms. The motion makes his board shorts rub my bikini bottoms in just the right way.
“Hello, yourself.”
A mischievous gleam twinkles in his mismatched eyes. “No one here but us.”
“And no work. No kid.” Maxon’s back in Purgatory, getting spoiled rotten by my parents.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Heat slowly prickles through my core. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”
Suddenly, an eerie howl echoes through my mind. On reflex, I press my hands to my ears. The beach, starry sky and Lincoln all disappear. I become trapped in a black and empty space filled with heart-wrenching screams.
Damn, damn, DAMN, damn. It’s happening again.
I grit my teeth in frustration. My nightmare is back. Only this time, I have a new plan. I won’t bother questioning my igni while I’m still dreaming. With a concerted effort, I force my eyes to open, seeing my quiet room in Arx Hall. Lincoln sleeps soundly beside me.
“Hey, my little ones,” I whisper. “Was that you screaming just now?”
A mish-mash of igni voices ricochet through my mind. Some are lyrical and high-pitched, while others sound as pleasant as fingernails down a chalkboard. Within the mix, I can clearly make out the words ‘yes,’ ‘danger’ and ‘secret plan.’
I slowly exhale. Finally, an answer. It’s true; my igni have been trying to contact me this entire time. Unfortunately, that means all the physicals I underwent yesterday were a total waste. Knew it.
“So, there’s a secret plan against me. Who’s causing trouble now?” I get a constant stream of death threats and conspiracy rumors. I hardly pay attention any more.
My igni reply with something that sounds like “Chirp-squawk-Armageddon.”
A heavy weight settles into my stomach. Armageddon’s been quiet for years. This is so not-good. My pulse kicks up a notch.
“What do I need to do?”
This time, their words are crystal-clear. “Talk to Nefer.”
“Okay. Never heard of anyone by that name. Where can I find this Nefer?”
A long series of squeaks and growls are followed by one word: “Hell.”
“No problem, guys. I’ll reach out right now.”
About once a week, I meet with the damned in order to gather extra evidence for Purgatory’s Soul Trials by Jury. It took me years to master the skill of dreamscaping so I could safely contact any spirit in Hell, but it’s been worth it. I’ve saved thousands of innocent souls from Armageddon after seeking out new testimonies.
Settling onto my back, I close my eyes, careful to keep my movements gentle and quiet. Lincoln’s still asleep and until I know more, he deserves to stay that way.
Okay, Myla. First things first.
Before doing anything, I need to secure approval for my dreamscape from Anubis, the demigod who’s the Gatekeeper of Hell.
“All hail and summons, Anubis.”
A rolling basso voice sounds inside my head. “Greetings, Great Scala.”
Anubis has ultimate power over anything that enters or leaves the fiery down-under. Plus, he hates Armageddon, so Anubis never lets the King of Hell know when I’m dreamscaping in his realm.
“I hereby request permission to enter your realm via dreamscape.”
“Gran
ted. Be well.”
“Thanks.” With the permission secured, I focus my thoughts on the name given to me by my igni. “Nefer, I summon thee to a dreamscape. Wherever you are, lie down and close your eyes. When you open them again, you’ll be in a dream version of Purgatory’s Arena. I’ll be there too, and we can talk.”
A woman’s alto voice echoes through my mind. “I shall heed your summons.”
When I open my eyes once more, I find myself dressed in my white Scala robes and waiting inside Purgatory’s Arena. Everything is empty and silent. Nefer stands before me.
“It is an honor to meet you.” Nefer is a lady angel, willowy and tall with coal-dark skin, long white robes, and great black wings that arch over her broad shoulders. Her sharp, angular features are accented by thin braids that curl down to her waist.
“You as well.” And that’s all the chit-chat that I have time for. “My igni say you have something important to tell me.”
A small monkey scrambles out of nowhere, climbs up onto Nefer’s shoulder, and chitters away in her ear. The creature has chocolate-brown fur and glowing yellow eyes. “Kiya here is one of the first animals,” explains Nefer. “He extends his greetings as well.”
My mouth falls open in shock. First animals are the original creatures from the Garden of Eden. They’re smarter than most humans and can perform magic on almost anything organic. I bow slightly at the waist. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Kiya bounces on his haunches before scrambling away across the Arena floor. Once he’s gone, Nefer refocuses her attention on me. “Before I say more, you should know that I’m a prisoner and all my information comes from my jailers. They’re less than trustworthy.”
“What’s your prisoner type?”
“Class 1 Solitary. Well, almost solitary. Kiya stays with me.”
Which means Nefer’s important. If you have to be trapped in Hell, then Class 1 Solitary’s the place to be. In Purgatory, we call it Club Dead. “I’ll keep that in mind. Please continue.”
“I heard the cell block commanders talking when they came through on an inspection. They said Armageddon had come up with his finest scheme yet.”
My breath hitches. Block commanders aren’t the rank and file. If they’re talking, you should listen. My heart pounds harder in my chest. No wonder my igni were so worried.
Armageddon (Angelbound) Page 2
