by Val Roberts
"A bonding.” Crais stopped. “Who would get bonded in the middle of a crisis?"
Blade stopped and forced a grin. “Me. Who else would be that stupid? Check on Northshield and make sure he gets settled in the command shuttle all right. I have to find a shower and some clean clothes."
He left Crais standing there with his mouth open and trotted the rest of the way to the royal apartments. He started stripping for the shower and realized all he was wearing was the bottom half of power armor. No wonder Crais had pulled a bad attitude.
It took almost an hour to get himself together, mostly because somewhere in the middle of the shower it occurred to him he was about to take an unbreakable oath to spend the rest of his life with a woman he'd only known for a hundred hours. His hands were shaking so much he almost slit his throat, not once but twice, while he was shaving.
"It's just Taryn,” he told his reflection. “She's not a stranger. You know how she thinks. She's covered your back in combat three times in four days.” It didn't help, so he tried the big one. “She makes you complete, idiot. You want to try this with Tabethe Schmythen?” And just like that, his hands stopped shaking and a sense of calm came over him. He was shrugging on the ridiculously over-embroidered shirt and trying not to wonder where it had come from when a soft knock at the door preceded Llamass and Dorcan.
Dorcan was wearing a Barian Crown Guard dress uniform, and only the gods knew where he had gotten it.
"Ready?” Llamass asked, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of his official robe. “Her Highness is receiving her finishing touches with remarkably good grace."
Blade stopped in mid-fastening. “Please tell me they're not putting makeup on her."
Llamass smiled. “All right, I won't. I will say, however, she's being a very good sport, having balked only at eyelash extensions."
"So far,” Dorcan put in. “I've got twenty cred says she won't go for the tiara.” Llamass pressed his lips together and glared.
"I'm not taking that bet,” Blade said to both of them. After thinking for a second, he amended, “Unless it's shaped like combat headgear. You might get that on her head and keep all your limbs intact.” He sat down and started to pull on his Zonan-style boots, which had mysteriously been polished. Damn Sanctuarians and their sense of style. They loved pomp and ceremony, too.
"You're not going to your bonding with that scraggly mop hanging down, are you?” Llamass asked, sounding scandalized. Right on time.
Blade sighed. “I don't have time for a haircut, Llamass."
"It will take five minutes to braid.” Llamass folded up his sleeves. “Dorcan, get me a comb and one of the queen's fasteners from the bath.” Blade fumed at the delay while the truthtester he'd known since childhood combed, yanked and twisted, then clipped something around the end before laying the braid over his right shoulder.
"That was more than five minutes,” he protested, mostly because he'd felt ridiculous the entire time. There was something weird and unsettling about letting another man touch his hair, and if Taryn hadn't let it slip that she liked it long, he would have shaved his head at that point rather than go through that again. Llamass, restoring his long sleeves, merely exhaled in a not-quite-snort of contempt.
"Actually, Blade, it was three and a half,” Dorcan put in. “And the gold cap is a nice touch. You look like a man about to get married."
"Whatever. Where are we doing this?” He stood, stamped once to make sure the sticky right boot was all the way up, and started for the door.
"The royal chapel, of course,” Llamass said behind him. Good, because that's where he'd been headed anyway.
He'd been waiting for almost fifteen minutes, pacing for at least five as tension made a comeback with the fear she had changed her mind, when Taryn walked into the chapel's antechamber with an escort of three Barian Crown Guards who just happened to be Dorcan, Juvenan and Grigor. One look at her made it all worthwhile and banished the emotional turmoil.
They had put her in a white draped confection of sheer silk fastened only at the shoulders with two jeweled brooches and a thin matching cord emphasizing her waist, but that wasn't what took his breath away. Her hair had been pulled to the top of her head in a loose knot circled by a crown of winterbells, but with a cascade of fire-touched curls falling down her back that made his fingers twitch, wanting to touch. Then she stopped.
"Is something wrong?” She glanced down at herself and the neckline of the dress slipped forward to reveal ivory swells of skin that looked as smooth as vella cream. Tactile memory brought out the information that they felt even softer.
He realized his jaw had gone slack and he was drooling when he tried to say something and his mouth was already open. A hard swallow got some kind of control back into vocal apparatus before he answered, “No, nothing's wrong.” Praise the gods, his voice didn't break in the sentence, but it felt as if he might have ruptured something by forcing out such an understatement. “You look ... edible."
She looked uncertain. “Did you say edible?"
"Edible, as in good enough to eat.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. “Or the last half of incredible, if you'd prefer.” He kissed her, very carefully because her lips had been stained a deep red with something he was sure she wouldn't want mussed before the ceremony even started. “Ready?"
Taryn opened her eyes and he could see her throat working. “I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” she whispered. “Let's get it over with before I lose my nerve."
Blade took her hand and they walked into the inner sanctum together where Llamass was waiting. The fine tremor through her bandaged fingers was the only thing that betrayed the nerves behind her cool façade. They came to a stop before the altar and he raised her hand to his lips.
"It's not going to hurt, Vixen,” he whispered. “Everything's going right for once."
"That's why I'm nervous,” she whispered back. “Somewhere, something is waiting to go horribly wrong."
Llamass raised both hands and intoned something in a language he didn't understand, then called for Blade's witness. Maris stepped forward, limping only slightly. He stated his name and relation. Then Llamass called for Taryn's witness and Blade could feel her holding her breath. A Sanctuarian stepped forward and pulled the cowl from his head.
"Jervais?” Taryn said, then beamed a smile at him. “Of course.” The man grinned and Blade felt a twinge of foreboding. She was right; this was going a little too well, almost as if someone had planned things ahead of time. This couldn't have possibly been part of Talyn's plan, so how many fingers were in this recipe?
"I am Jervais Druin Penthes, second cousin to Her Highness, Prince Taryn,” he said, bowing slightly to the head of his order.
"Do you stand as witness for her family?” Llamass asked, the same as he had of Maris.
"I do.” Jervais held up a length of fine, silvery chain. “Further, I bring this as a symbol of the bonding."
"Is there a symbol from House von Stassos?” Llamass inquired.
"I bring this as a symbol of its permanence,” Maris said, holding out the cold-weld tool to Llamass, who took both items and held them up as he moved in a semicircle, almost as if he were exhibiting them to a large audience, though there were only five people in the room.
"Taryn, please raise your right hand, Blademir, your left.” When they complied, Llamass positioned their wrists side by side, then looped the chain around them both in a figure-eight pattern.
"As this chain is welded together, let it show all that these souls are bonded in a fashion no construct of humanity can break,” he said, then placed the tool at the point where the chains crossed. There was a bright flash of light that almost made Blade flinch, and their wrists weren't connected anymore, but a tight chain bracelet surrounded each.
"Two halves of one whole,” Llamass said with apparent satisfaction. “The bond is complete."
"I so witness,” Jervais said.
"I so witness,” Maris
followed a beat later.
"Well, kiss her, you idiot,” Llamass said, just before his somber façade broke into a mischievous grin. So Blade did, pulling her tight against him and taking her mouth with all the pent-up hunger of a day full of fear. Finally, the long run was over. They were safe and she was his and he could put his plan into motion. Finally. When he was out of breath and she had melted into him, he raised his head and picked her up off her feet to carry her out of the worship area. It wasn't a traditional way to exit a bonding, but it worked.
Admiral Crais was waiting in the corridor, and didn't even raise an eyebrow. “The Duke of Northshield and your belongings are aboard, Your Royal Highness."
"Viscount von Stassos could use a hand,” Blade told him, indicating where Maris trailed behind. “He took a crossbow bolt in the femur yesterday, so he's not moving very fast."
"Day before yesterday,” Taryn corrected him. “Nobody tried to kill us yesterday, Blade."
He smiled at her. “The Heir Consort is correct.” The admiral's façade cracked enough that his lips formed the words “Heir Consort” with an amused expression. “Amazing how the days all blend together when you're killing people up close and personal before midday,” Blade threw over his shoulder as he carried his Zonan out through the courtyard to the waiting shuttles.
He carried her through the hatch, noting that Galen was installed on a fully reclined rear couch with their luggage, such as it was, stacked into the chairs next to him. At least they still had the travelers’ rugs; he was very fond of those. Taryn went rigid as they stepped into the cabin. “Steady, Vixen,” he soothed, “I promise, nothing bad is going to happen."
A small, hysterical laugh escaped before she could tamp it back down to trembling. “If you're lying, I swear I'll come back from the dead to beat the living crap out of you,” she whispered. He sat her carefully on the plush double-seat and had to forcibly remove her arms from his neck.
"You can do it in the afterlife, because I'll be right here with you,” he told her as he sat and pulled her onto his lap. It took a few minutes for the admiral to help Maris get settled and give the command to lift. Taryn had started to relax, although if the glare was anything to go by, she didn't appreciate the lemon-sucking expression Crais leveled at them when he walked by to get to his own seat. Blade didn't appreciate it either, and made a mental note to speak to someone about it later, because all of his immediate attention needed to be focused on his wife.
Such a delicious word, wife. Such a delicious woman. Almost unconsciously, he nuzzled the side of her head and nibbled an earlobe, which made her sigh and soften even more. It was a military transport shuttle with no place for privacy, so this was all he was going to get. On the other hand, now that they were safe and on their way home, every bit of the last few days of stress started to catch up with him.
Five minutes into the flight he caught himself nodding off when one of the flowers in her hair tickled his nose. He'd been in the military for too long, because his body knew it had an hour of peace and was going to use it for sleep. The soft almost-snore from the woman snuggled against him betrayed that Taryn, Silvergard to the core, had the same instincts.
Smiling, he shifted her into a more comfortable position, stretched out as much as he could, and let their training take over.
* * * *
"Your Majesty, the Barian consul is seeking an emergency audience,” the secretary said from Silean's office door. She looked up and regarded the man with a raised eyebrow. “Something about a military incursion. He seems ... agitated."
Military incursion? Goddess, the company out of Jaynesville. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to try to calm her racing pulse. “Send for the foreign minister and show the amba—” oops, “consul in, please."
She shoved the papers she'd been working on into a folder and rose from her desk to greet Tomal Codreascu, who did, indeed, look agitated.
"Your Majesty, I bring grave news,” he said as he shook her hand. “A full company of Silvergard attacked a party on the land of the Sanctuary Enclave near the border."
"Really? I find that difficult to believe,” she lied as smoothly as she had ever done in her life. “Why would I send the Matriarch's Own across the border of a nation with whom we have friendly relations?"
Codreascu licked his lips. “His Majesty Ramondar believes this particular group might not have been actual Silvergard, but perhaps a rogue element wishing to disrupt our friendly diplomatic relations.” He was inhaling to go on when the door opened again and Herren came into the room. The two men nodded at one another, Herren looking slightly confused and Codreascu wary.
"The consul has just informed me someone posing as a Silvergard company attacked—someone on Sanctuary lands inside Barian,” she explained. Herren's face smoothed into a mask.
"Essentially, I'm here to request an explanation, if you have one,” Codreascu finished.
"I have never ordered any of the Matriarch's Own to cross the Barian border,” Silean said with absolute conviction, carefully leaving out that she might know who else could have done so. “If such a thing has occurred, it certainly wasn't sanctioned by the Matriarchy. I concur with Ramondar's theory that this group of ... guerrillas, I suppose, might have been able to pose as the Matriarch's Own to someone not quite familiar with my troops."
"Were there any casualties among the Enclave?” Herren put in.
"No, but the Duke of Northshield was seriously injured by a poisoned crossbow bolt.” Codreascu looked grave and Silean had to suppress a wince. Zonan poison in his little brother was guaranteed to tick off the king of Barian, and angering that man was never a good idea.
"What kind of poison?” Herren asked, his tone sharp.
"Her Highness correctly identified it as passadder venom, praise all the gods. Without her quick diagnosis, the duke would most likely have died.” Even Herren looked taken aback at that, and Silean felt all the blood drain from her face. The passadder ammunition was about as classified as a weapon could be and Taryn had not only recognized it but had let the secret out.
But she was alive and unharmed.
"I'm afraid it wasn't a band of imposters, Your Excellency,” she forced out. “The Matriarch's Own has been experimenting with passadder venom in order to make our ammunition more powerful against armored opponents."
"But where would a line company get experimental ammo?” Herren wondered out loud. “None of that has been allowed out of the research arena."
Codreascu drew his body into a rigid line. “Perhaps you should discuss this with His Majesty."
"You have secure com in your office?” Herren's voice was calm but sharp. Intel for intel, Silean realized.
Codreascu froze for a second and appeared to gnaw the inside of his cheek. “I do,” he finally said.
"I propose we adjourn there immediately and get this mess, at least, straightened out before tensions escalate any further.” Silean glared at the Bariani for good measure. “And then I would like to speak with my daughter, if Ramondar doesn't mind."
Codreascu sagged with relief. “I have a coach waiting, Your Majesty."
She gave him a single nod. “Herren, collect the prime minister and meet us at the Barian consulate.” She started for the door, brought up short by Herren's throat clearing.
"Your Majesty, it's barely forty degrees outside. Perhaps a cloak would be in order?” Silean looked back over her shoulder and noticed Herren's eyes were twinkling, as if he were suppressing a smile. “Maybe gloves, too?"
"Men,” she muttered under her breath. Not only did they think they knew everything, but they were quite certain a respectable woman was made out of glass and just as easily broken. But she went to the closet and pulled out a cloak and gloves. “Better?” she asked him, voice dripping with sarcasm. Codreascu was looking from one to the other, his face set in lines of speculation.
"Much, Your Majesty.” Herren bowed deeply. “I will inform the prime minister and escort her to the Barian c
onsulate as instructed."
Silean stifled the small growl of frustration and swept out of the room, only dimly aware that Codreascu was following in her wake.
They were halfway to the coach entrance when the Bariani asked, “If I might inquire, Your Majesty, is Zona soon to have a new Consort? If so, I am delighted to be able to tell you that Barian would rejoice."
Silean slowed. “Perhaps.” She glanced back at Codreascu and noted his face was red, whether from embarrassment over asking such a personal question or from trying to keep up with her furious pace. “Unless I kill him first. Now I know where Talyn gets her insufferableness from.” Codreascu's footsteps silenced. Silean stopped and turned, wondering what had happened. He looked poleaxed.
"Minister Cavanaugh is ... is—"
"Yes. May we continue?” She started to walk again. “I know you always assumed the Crown Heir was fathered by my late Prime, but it has no bearing on the situation, nor is it without precedence. My offspring are mine, and the sperm donor is of no consequence."
"Oh, I see."
Silean pushed the outside door open. A pair of Silvergard braced to attention and eyed Codreascu. “I'm going to the Barian consulate,” she told them. “Inform your captain.” Then she turned to the Bariani beside her. “Tomal Codreascu, I doubt very much that you understand the situation at all."
* * * *
The impellers were almost silent and all of the men had gotten up from the seats. Blade peered into Galen's eyes before motioning Maris to take his father off the transport ahead of the rest of the group. Taryn bit her lip as she watched Galen do his best to walk down the ramp and onto some kind of rock landing pad. He looked far older than he had the day before. She heard a muffled roar, as if a crowd was cheering the return of the Duke of Northshield, and it chilled her to her marrow. Leone had once said the von Stassos family lived very much in the public eye, almost daring assassination—and from what she had experienced, it was true. Could she hold her head up and walk by hundreds of screaming Bariani without breaking into a cold sweat and feeling concentric targeting rings blazoned on her back?
