Into His Command (23 page)

The two of them weren’t even the headline shocker. That honor belonged to the
other
pair, stumbling in between them.

Cam.

And Evrest.

All four raised weary gazes at us. I locked eyes with Camellia first. As soon as her
lower lip wobbled, I rushed past Syn and straight toward her. Our embrace snapped
her composure. Her death grip was excruciating but her sob was heartbreaking. I clenched
back a wince and lifted my good hand to the middle of her back.

“Oh my God.” Her emotion diced it into six syllables. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“And I you.” I stroked her spine, pouring my energy into giving the comfort she clearly
needed. “Hey. Ssshhh. It’s all right. You’re here now. You’re safe.” I uttered the
words out of pure instinct. Her grateful sigh confirmed I’d gone the right direction.

“What the hell happened?” Syn pulled the question right out of my head.

“The scum suckers showed up in Sancti.” Evrest supplied it, though looked like he
hardly believed it. “Breached the royal residence.” That part was more vicious. I
wondered why, until Camellia added on her visible shiver.

“I…was in the shower. They pulled me out…of the shower.”

“Holy shit.” I pressed her head against my shoulder, now realizing why her hair was
so stiff. Unrinsed shampoo.

“They had her.” Evrest’s hands balled until his knuckles were white. “The
bonsuns
had their filthy hands on her. They were going to take her, and—”

“All right.” Samsyn raised both hands, palms up. “Calm down.”

Evrest wheeled on his brother. “
You
calm the fuck down! They
had her,
Samsyn. Naked and helpless, their knives at her throat. The only reason they didn’t
slash her open there was because they came looking for me. They were going to—” A
brutal breath stuttered from him. He doubled over, gripping his thighs as if to tear
them off. “They were waiting—to cut her open—in front of me.”

Horror gashed us all into silence. Automatically, I looked to Syn—stunned to find
him already staring at me. Not with the stony veneer I’d expected. Evrest’s anguish
had affected him. It wasn’t simply brotherly compassion, though that was there too…it
was something different. Something that made him shift restlessly, blink furiously—and
fumble noticeably. He averted his gaze before speaking again.

“Well, that clearly didn’t happen.”

“
Merderim
for the analysis,” Evrest growled.

“Shut up,” Syn muttered. He nodded toward Jagger. “Run it down for me.”

Puzzlement. Why’d he pick Jag over Grahm? Despite the leg wound, Grahm was keeping
his shit tighter than Jag.

My confusion was solved as soon as Jag stepped forward. Syn’s demand was all he needed
to snap back into it. His face was all business while responding, “It was as His Majesty
stated. The cockroaches snuck onto Evrest and Camellia’s floor. It was about eight
o’clock last night, and His Majesty was finishing late business with Prince Shiraz
in the business offices.”

“And Jayd?”

“Confined to personal quarters after seven, as per your instructions.”

“Not anymore,” Evrest interjected.

Jagger nodded. “King Evrest made us aware of some private…com­partments…he has kept
maintained beneath the Palais.” One discreet cough and a glance Evrest’s way later,
he went on, “We have relocated Jayd and Shiraz there, until your further advisement.”

“Advisement?” Syn countered. “Get them the hell off the island.
That’s
my advisement.”

As soon as Evrest blessed that with a tight nod, Jag tapped his comm piece and relayed
the order in code. “Luke and Leia are going for soufflé. I repeat, Luke and Leia are
going for soufflé.”

Syn caught Evrest’s eye again. “The apartment in Paris?”

Evrest ticked his head again. “It is secure. Nobody thinks anyone
really
lives beneath the Opera House anymore.”

I gasped. “Are you shitting me?” I whipped a stare to Cam. “Tell me he’s shitting.”

Back burner, big time. Jagger was done, meaning the incident debrief continued now.
“Who were the sentries on duty?” Syn asked of him.

“Hugh, Cullen, Tryst, Petyr, and myself.” With the statement, Grahm officially switched
with Jag. His composure faltered though his posture stayed firm. “There is no excuse
for what happened, Your Highness. As the watch team leader, I take full responsibility
for what happened.”

“
Merderim
,” Samsyn replied. “I accept your apology.”

“
Merderim.
”

“And call bullshit on it.”

Grahm frowned. “Highness?”

“I would have handpicked the same team. The men on that list, you included, are the
elite of our elite.” He folded his arms. Succumbed to a harsh grimace. I joined Grahm
and Jag in reading his thoughts. Three days ago, Blayze’s name would’ve been on that
list too. “Those Pura assholes did not simply stroll through the suite’s front door.”

“They used the laundry chute.” Jagger supplied it while opening his shoulder pack
then pulling out his plus-one for every occasion these days: his smudgy smart pad.
The smears disappeared as the screen woke up. Instead, an image appeared of a cream-carpeted
hallway with alabaster wainscoting. The trim was interrupted by a laundry bin door,
showing dents of rough use, as well as handprints and boot scuffs. But what had caused
the mysterious round imprints? “Suction marks,” Jag responded to our curious frowns.
“They worked their way up the chute from the ground floor using high-cling cups with
handholds. At the top, they simply slipped around the corner into Her Ladyship’s bathroom.”

A low snarl curled from Syn. “Impressive. To disturbing degrees.”

“And expensive.” I peered at the high-end equipment. “Their ropes are top shelf too.
They look like Japanese silk. Strong as hell; makes no noise.” Deeper scowl. “Whoever
these jerks are, they’ve got a loaded Daddy Warbucks behind them.”

“Who could be from anywhere in the world.” Syn straightened, blowing out a heavy breath.
“There are just as many nations who want Arcadia to stay trapped in the nineteenth
century as those who welcome the progress.”

“Governments with this kind of flow?” Instant eye roll. Yeah, at myself. “Okay, stupid
question. Of course there are.”

“Not stupid,” Jagger assured. “Just not correct.”

“What do you mean?”

He set aside the smart pad. Lowered to an armrest of the huge leather couch, folding
his arms. “The question is not who can fund the Puras. It is, who can fund them, then
encourage these balls-out moves. Flayre turned traitor, then disgraced his family
further by taking his own life. Now these batty
soldasks
, sneaking into the palais with the intent of taking Her Ladyship’s life…”

Evrest looked nauseated again. And once more, Syn’s face tightened with that strange
mix of fear and confusion. “Where are the mealworms now?” He pivoted back toward Jag.
“I trust you processed them into Censhyr? Can we go question them?”

Censhyr Prison was located in the craggy wasteland just north of Sancti. The place
had been updated with only a few modern conveniences since its construction in 1860,
turning life there into an ordeal that gave new meaning to the word “uncomfortable”.

Not unlike the silence descending over
this
room—until Grahm broke it with his resigned step forward. Though the man looked like
he’d rather have his wound bled by leeches, he kept his shoulders back and his head
erect while declaring, “There were four invaders total, Your Highness. We swiftly
terminated two of them. The remaining two were able to rappel over the balcony rails,
into the waters below.”

Syn’s eyes narrowed. “Where you caught them?”

“Where they had a boat already waiting, highness.”

Agonizing silence, part two—sliced apart this time by Evrest. “The coastal patrols
were already on duty, brother. They were joined by more boats within minutes. The
dogs could not have hit open sea without it appearing on the scanners. There are more
patrols out now, on land
and
sea, hunting for the
bonsuns
.” He walked back over and pulled Cam against his chest. “In the meantime, Jagger
felt it best to get Camellia and me out of the area.”

“Jagger was correct.” The words were right but Syn’s tone…wasn’t. It was sparse and
soft—an utterance of surrender, not a statement of command.
Shit
. What was wrong? I read him enough to know something was, though couldn’t unravel
the rest. “You will both be safe here,” he finally added. “We shall arrange for supplies
to be brought up, by vendors who can be trusted.”

“Supplies?” Cam’s head jerked up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We shall apprehend those insects inside twenty-four hours,” Evrest added. “As soon
as they’re secure in Censhyr, Camellia and I
are
returning to the Palais.” His jaw jutted at a defined angle, that stiffness common
to all the Cimarrons. But dammit if Syn’s stubble didn’t lock into the same obstinate
outline. When he walked over and faced Evrest directly, I joined Cam in gasping. They
could nearly be taken as twins, especially when they both were tense as bulls about
to charge the ring.

“It will not be that easy, brother.”

Evrest grunted. “Stop being a fishwife, Syn. Camellia and I will not be bullied into
the bushes by this.”

Cam pulled up straighter. “What my man said.”

Grahm circled around. “My pardon, your majesties,”—he nodded toward Cam, including
her in the salutation on purpose—“but Samsyn is right. Catching those two bastards
will only be cutting the head off the cockroach. The organism will live on until we
yank out its guts then burn them to cinders.”

Grimace. “Thanks for the visual,” I mumbled.

“An accurate one.” Samsyn’s eyes glittered, indicating his speeding thoughts. “If
this is the Pura’s work—and we do not even know
that
yet—then we know they are organized now. Dangerously so.”

“And if it is not them?” Jag pressed.

“Then we have an even bigger problem.”

“An enemy we do not know at all.”

Samsyn let his silence serve up his confirmation.

“Damn.” Camellia dragged in a breath.

“Either way,” Samsyn continued, “they are emboldened now. The two we killed will be
hailed as martyrs.” He dipped his tightened gaze at Cam. “And avenging their deaths,
a priority.”

“Wh-what?” She didn’t bother breathing after that—until bursting with a scoffing laugh.
“Oh God, Syn. Ev’s right. You’re such a DQ!”

Syn threw her a curious glower.

“Drama queen,” I supplied for him—though followed up by twining a hand into hers.
“Though this time, sweetie, the DQ is right.”

She huffed at me. Evrest let out a similar sound—with resignation. “
Sevette
.” He stroked a hand over her glossy chocolate waves. “Samsyn
is
right. They have radicalized this. Perhaps even turned it religious, borrowing quotes
from the ancient island scrolls for justification.”

Her brow furrowed. “Ancient scrolls? What the hell?”

“Seconding that.” I raised my hand—not missing the nervous glances between the men
around us. As motherlodes of controversy went, we’d gone for the gold. Religion
and
politics; one fell swoop. Well, no turning back now. “What the hell?” I added for
good measure.

After five seconds of unnerving silence, Samsyn growled, “Mystical mumbo-jumbo from
another time and place.” His gaze turned scornful, blazed Evrest’s way. “And not relevant
to this time, let alone this conversation.”

“The
relevant
thing,” Jagger cut in, “is that those
bonsuns
will not give up until their mission is achieved.”

Evrest’s reply evoked a wolf’s low growl. “Until Camellia or I are dead.”

“Perhaps not even then.” Syn scowled deeper. “Perhaps they’re set on eradicating the
entire Cimarron bloodline.”

The words—and the possibility of their truth—hovered like ghouls in the air.

Until once more, Grahm stood taller. Looked at his prince then his king in measured
assessment. “What if…we give them that?”

The brothers blinked with the same stunned rhythm. “What are you about?” Samsyn finally
charged.

Jagger, previously listening with knuckles to his chin, swept to his feet. “That is
weirdly brilliant.”

“
What
?” Samsyn yelled.

Jag looped a finger at Evrest and Cam. “Nobody knows we’ve brought His Majesty and
Her Ladyship here. What if they
stay
here…and we announce they were killed?”

Veins stood out in Evrest’s neck. “Are you completely mad?”

“Fucking lunatics may be more accurate.” Samsyn stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
“Are either of you aware of the chaos to be unleashed by ‘murdering’ an Arcadian king?”
He ensured the air quotes got jabbed around the verb. “The homicide of
this
Arcadian king? The vacuum of stability—”

“Would be nominal,” Grahm calmly rebutted.

“If his brother immediately took the throne.”

Jagger delivered the gut-puncher with matching cool. My hands flew to my stomach,
wondering if the pair really
had
gotten in a blow. Sure as hell felt like it. Camellia winced as if they’d gotten
her too—but neither Samsyn nor Evrest moved. Their stillness bordered on eerie.

Finally, Syn snarled, “You are out of your damn minds.” He side-eyed Evrest. “Some
help, brother? Such as telling them the exact same thing?”

Grahm’s shoulders snapped back. The same defensiveness threaded his tone. “You would
ascend uncontested, Highness. Nobody would dare cause ‘chaos’.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You lead the country’s military.”

“Which is why I should
not
run its government!”

Jagger squared his shoulders. “And technically, you would not be. The ass on the throne
has no vote in High Council matters.”

“Which is
technically
a pile of horse dung,” Syn spat. “Do not play me for a fool, Jag. You live up here
but you visit Sancti enough to know the influence of the king.” His lips twisted before
he muttered, “Matters I know not a fucking sand grain about.” He wheeled toward the
room’s large windows. It was still pitch dark outside. His face, reflected in the
dark panes, gained a hundred new lines of stress.