by Caris Roane
Greaves continued his pacing. The bombast and railing fell into a muffled background noise as he pondered what he should do about the forthcoming obsidian flame spectacle.
His generals wanted him to attack, but would that be wise?
What would Leto have recommended? Patience, then more patience, to be wary of a trap, to be careful with public relations, and to never underestimate Endelle.
But Leto wasn’t here and Endelle had chosen this moment in history to make a very public demonstration of her latest preternatural good fortune.
The trouble was, he still didn’t know what the triad could do. If he attacked, could obsidian flame respond with equal force?
When the shouting of his generals once more pierced his mind, he simply raised both hands and, using several carefully combined resonances, said, “Enough.”
Two of his generals passed out. The rest gripped their heads and grunted in pain. Resonance combined with mind-speak had wonderful applications.
At least the bombast had ceased.
“I know you would all prefer to torch the planet, but we need to be a trifle more restrained than that. I think limiting our destruction to the Camelback Parade Grounds, at the height of the spectacle event, will accomplish all that needs to be accomplished. With luck, we’ll destroy the triad, and then we can proceed with greater confidence. After that, we’ll begin a systematic destruction of all the hidden colonies on Mortal Earth.”
Now that a decision had been made, his staff calmed down.
“The spectacle event is scheduled to begin at eight o’clock this evening, as you know. Please have rocket launchers in place and be ready to fire on my orders. Are we clear?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He lifted his right arm and folded back to Geneva.
* * *
Julianna dipped down and smelled the roses Owen Stannett had sent her. The fragrance was lovely. Too bad it didn’t help her present mood.
She reached for the note again. How many times had she read then reread his tidy little message? How many times had she screamed at the ceiling of Greaves’s bedroom?
So Grace was back, beautiful, perfect, little-miss-spiritual Grace of Albion was back. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.
She stretched her arms overhead, then reached for a long-handled, bamboo back scratcher. The thing about having so much destructive sex with Greaves wasn’t the pain, it was the frequent itching as her skin healed.
She closed her eyes and lightly rubbed the narrow tines over the her middle wing-locks. She cooed and sighed.
Greaves had gone crazy with his claw again. And again.
She really did belong with the Commander. And though she had no serious interest in Casimir anymore, her delicate female vanity was wounded. She needed relief from that wound, just as the bamboo tines were giving her relief from her itchy wing-locks.
She wanted justice because Casimir had walked out on her.
No man had ever walked out on her before. Ever.
Well, one had, a century ago, but she’d made him good and dead with her special hand-blast ability, so he no longer counted.
The truth was she didn’t really blame Casimir, at least not nearly so much as Grace. She wanted to hurt Caz, of course, but her true desire was to see Grace dead. But how and when to attack?
She had Seer contacts in the highly corrupt Mumbai Seers Fortress. Her first conversation with the High Administrator of the Fortress provided her with the simple information that little could be retrieved about Grace in the future streams because she was being blocked by more powerful Seers that were now attached to Madame Endelle.
Of course perfect Grace would have Endelle’s protection.
Realizing that she’d used the back scratcher too vigorously and was now bleeding, she set it down on her nightstand. She fingered the soft petals of the roses and pondered her present conundrum.
“Oh,” she murmured, as a new thought struck.
No one would be looking for Casimir in the future streams, and if Greaves was to be believed, he was out and about protecting Leto as his Guardian of Ascension. Grace might be beyond her reach, but maybe, just maybe her Mumbai connection could discover something about Casimir. She kicked herself for not having thought of it sooner.
She made her call to Mumbai. “Forget what I said about keeping after Grace in the future streams. I want you to look for Casimir of Fourth. Apparently, he’s on Second right now. And the moment you have word, you’re to call me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Julianna,” the deep masculine voice returned. “And you will of course tell your master how obliging I have been.”
“Yours will be the first praises I sing when he returns. And I will be sending the usual packet of rubies.”
She heard the deeply satisfied sigh before the obligatory farewells. She hung up before he’d finished his assurances of dying fealty to so important an ascender as she.
She decided to dress, then fold to the Sahara, where she could be alone for an hour or so to practice her hand-blast abilities.
As she sweltered in the hot desert, each time she drew her energy into her hands and released the blast, she pictured Grace’s brains exploding all over the sand.
The image made her seriously content.
Destiny, I have found, is one of the strangest phenomena in any dimension, for it consistently works against common sense and every practical goal man can conceive.
Memoirs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 15
Grace slipped on a simple white linen gown, something she’d made for herself while on Fourth Earth. Leto snored, a sound that pleased her more than she could say.
She left the room and crossed the narrow hallway to a second guest bedroom. The sun was rising on the opposite side of the house, so as she dropped to her knees in front of the window, the very tops of the White Tank Mountains were lit in a rosy glow. Militia Warriors still patrolled, a constant, slow, vigilant movement back and forth.
She saw a fainter movement past the tree line that separated the desert-like mountains from the traditional villa landscaping.
She extended her vision and saw that the same doe waited patiently for breakfast. She smiled, lowered her head, and closed her eyes. By long habit she ran through a litany of prayers, most of which she had constructed throughout the centuries. They eased her heart and mind and seemed to settle something deep within her so that she could move forward with the day’s enormous challenges.
Today she would practice once more with the women, and at eight o’clock, the spectacle event would take place. Because she hadn’t put any blocks in place, she felt Leto rise from his bed. When he found her, he didn’t speak but sank to the carpet behind her, joining her in her meditation.
She continued to pray until her soul felt at ease.
Her last thoughts were a basic giving of thanks for the simple gift of life.
When she opened her eyes and turned, she found Leto still on his knees behind her, one hand shading his face, his shoulders bowed. She saw in an instant the weight that he carried as a powerful ascender, as a warrior, as a trainer of Militia Warriors, as a gifted leader. She had often seen this same demeanor in Thorne.
Leto, she sent, thank you for joining me.
He lowered his hand and met her gaze. He pulled her back toward him and cradled her, his head bent over her shoulder as he nuzzled her face. He smelled so beautiful, of the forest.
She shifted in his arms and put her hand on his face. “What is to become of us?”
He kissed her and rocked her. “I will love you, I will work hard for you, and I will do everything I can to bring the stars down for you to hold in your hands. And I will strive to make this world a finer, better place for you.”
His vows, he was speaking his vows to her.
She could offer no less.
“And I will love you, Leto. As long as I draw breath, I will love you. I will do everything I can to bring the earth up to possess your heart. I will try to stay alive that we might know eac
h other properly in the coming months and years.”
He thumbed her cheek, then kissed her. She felt his desire for her rise. In a soft voice, he asked, “What time do you have to be with the others at the workout center?”
“Eight.”
“Then we have some time.”
She saw the hopeful look in his eye, but her nerves were on edge. “You wanted me to share, right?”
“Yes, absolutely. Anything.”
“I’m afraid, Leto. There, I’ve said it. I’m afraid of what will happen tonight. I mean, I know the triad can do the mass folds. I’m not worried about that. But I fear everything else that can go wrong. And what if Greaves decides to attack at the spectacle?”
He kissed her, and she swallowed her fears, or tried to.
He drew back and petted her head, sweeping his hands down her hair, her shoulders, her back. “Every warrior feels this way before a battle. This is normal. I promise you.” He smiled and cupped her chin. “Let me ease you, Grace. Let me take care of you. Let me make you less afraid.”
The room suddenly smelled of the forest and Leto, and because she wasn’t blocking his sensations she could feel his arousal and what it was like to hold all her soft femaleness in his arms.
And because the war loomed so close and no one knew the outcome, she simply rose from the floor, took his hand, and led him back to the bedroom.
* * *
Endelle stood on a tall platform before three full-length mirrors in her large bedroom.
She knew how to rock the spectacle, and she wasn’t holding back now. She was having her final fitting for the hastily constructed regal costume she intended to wear for the event.
Poor Marcus would throw a bitch-fit, but it couldn’t be helped. He had wanted her to rein it in a bit, but this was her passion, what had helped keep her sane, especially in recent months since Thorne had broken his mind-link with her. As the administrator in charge of public relations for her, Marcus had done an amazing job. He’d single-handedly cleaned up her image all around the world and had somehow even gotten rid of those unfortunate Mardi Gras photos in which she had, oops, lost her top.
But beyond the superficial crap, he’d built up her image as primarily a ruler of independent territories, confirming that her most important goal would always be to make certain each Second Earth Territory existed in a state of complete autonomy. Greaves had an opposite vision, and this was something Marcus punched at hard in the worldwide political blogosphere, hammering away at the truth that Greaves was interested in world domination, not freedom for all ascenders.
“If you would please turn, Madame Endelle, an easy step to your right?”
She had discovered that the recently rescued blood slave Kaitlyn, a new mother, was also an excellent seamstress and costume designer. She had a gift with working a variety of materials and never even flinched when Endelle said “possum” or “cuckoo feathers.” If anything, her eyes lit up. She was a hands-on kind of gal. In addition, she could work miracles with just about any medium.
She was fashioning a massive coat for Endelle, structured for wings so that it could be worn while in flight. The back had a strong central strap and was very fitted, but for the most part was bare. The bottom of the coat was made up of a number of layers, many of which would extend for several yards behind her while in flight. Those layers were constructed of traditionally lighter fabrics like lace, silk, and even netting.
She already wore her civet cat bustier and the ladybug pendant. She pressed her hands to her hips. The coat was cinched in to showcase her small waist and was composed of sequined black leather, with white sequins in zebra-like lines.
Spread out in other parts of her palace, the long trains were being hemmed by her seamstresses.
In an hour, her hairdressers would arrive.
Endelle had to admit she actually felt excited about the Camelback spectacle event, which brought one hard fact sharply into view: This was one of the first times in recent decades that she’d gone on the offensive.
And it felt fucking great.
The room’s audio system came on. “Madame Endelle, Carla here.”
“Go ahead, Carla. Kaitlyn is with me.”
“Understood. Marguerite wishes to report in.”
“She all rested up?” The red variety of obsidian flame had endured a long night. With Stannett bound to six powerful Seers, he’d been a bitch to guard hour after hour. By Endelle’s calculation, Marguerite might have gotten four hours of sleep, but hello, welcome to the shit-for-luck club.
“Send her in.”
A second later, Marguerite appeared in the doorway. She hadn’t been in Endelle’s private bedroom before. “Love your digs,” she said. “The round bed is suh-weet.”
Endelle laughed. Marguerite had a singular quality in that she could make Endelle laugh more than any other ascender she’d ever known.
Marguerite grimaced, then flicked a finger against her belly. “You two stop fighting. I’m with Her Supremeness. Show some respect.”
Endelle’s brows rose. Marguerite met her gaze but smirked. “Thought I’d start early with the discipline. Don’t think it’s working. They’re both as stubborn as Thorne.”
“But not like you.” She let the sarcasm roll.
“Oh, of course not.” Marguerite fluffed a collar that wasn’t there, as though preening.
Endelle felt something deep inside begin to settle. Some part of her had been damn worried about Thorne for God knew how long. Breh-hedden or no breh-hedden, Marguerite had caught Thorne in a beautiful deep safety net and now he was more of the vampire he always should have been. She might have still been sad that she wasn’t so close to him, but she was a thousand times more grateful that Marguerite had found him.
“Okay, Supreme High Seer of Second Earth, why are you here so damn early and how did it go last night?”
“As for my being here at this hour, there’s something I need to talk over with you, a concern I have. As for last night, it went like a sonofabitch. Stannett was in rare form. But my teams have some real Seer chops. I worked with them to lock Stanny down without my help, because God knows I need to be free to function with Grace and Fiona tonight, without distractions.”
“Have you been able to see Greaves’s plans at all?”
She shook her head. “Nope. We’re at a stalemate.” She frowned.
“So what’s bothering you? You said you needed to talk something over with me, but everything seems to be in order.”
“I’ve been unsettled about Greaves. And it’s not that I’ve seen this in the future streams, because I haven’t, but I have a gut feeling he intends to attack the spectacle event tonight.”
Endelle grew very still. She even stepped off the platform and held Marguerite’s gaze for a long moment. “The one thing I trust right now is instinct, especially from obsidian flame. So you think there’s a serious risk of attack?”
“I do.”
“You know, when Grace first suggested her idea of a spectacle, I really assumed that Greaves wouldn’t dare attack. I mean we’re filming the damn thing and putting it on the web for the whole world to see. If he attacked, it would turn a good portion of Second Earth against him.
“But I think you may be right because if I were in his shoes, with an opportunity to destroy the one thing standing in my way of taking over Second Earth—dammit, I’d take it.”
She called out, “Hey, Carla, would you get Thorne over here?”
Carla’s voice sounded through the room. “You bet.”
Endelle smiled. “Love this security system. I have a direct line to Central Command at all times. It’s voice-activated. All I have to do is say ‘Carla’ during the day and ‘Jeannie’ at night, and the women have to respond.” Both Carla and Jeannie had worked at Central forever. They were Endelle’s link to the Warriors of the Blood day and night.
A few minutes later, Thorne arrived. Endelle would have started in on the issue at hand, but the moment he saw Marguerite, h
e had to have his arms around her and give her a kiss.
When the embrace lingered Endelle made her usual gagging sounds until the two breh-mates knocked it off. She then told Thorne what Marguerite had shared with her and that she agreed. “So what do you think, Thorne? What’s your take on this?”
“I think Greaves would be a fool not to try it.” He then glanced from Marguerite to Endelle several times and finally addressed his breh. “Do you think obsidian flame could fold the review to safety if needed? I mean, it would have to be done with split-second timing.”
“Jesus,” Marguerite said. “If we’re busy folding Greaves’s army to new locations, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
Thorne nodded. “Then that’s what you’re going to practice today.”
“Right,” Marguerite said, but she’d paled.
He put a hand on her shoulder and held her gaze. “Listen to me. Leto knows where Greaves’s artillery is. He’ll know when it lights up or if it lights up. I’ll get him on it, and we’ll arrange a signal, okay? We’ll figure this thing out.”
* * *
By the time Grace arrived at the workout center, Marguerite and Fiona were already there with Thorne. “I’ve sent for Leto,” he said. “We’re going to need him.”
Her gaze shifted beyond Thorne’s shoulder, and she saw that the corner of the room had come alive with all sorts of computer equipment, including several large monitors.
“What’s going on?” Her chest grew very tight.
Marguerite explained about her obsidian intuition firing off about Greaves, even though she couldn’t find anything in the future streams about him or a possible attack at the spectacle event.
Grace. Leto’s voice was suddenly in her head, and a second later she could feel him. She turned, and as he had done the day before, he strode across the mats looking like a god. Her heart seemed to flip in her chest, and without thinking she ran to him. He caught her up in his arms and held her tight, her feet dangling off the floor.