over my head had made that very clear. They’d shoved it over my head, blinding me, and then transported me, marched me, moved me so many times I’d lost count. By the time they’d shoved me into this cell and slammed the door, I had no idea if I was still on Alera or on the other side of the galaxy.
The lack of buzzing and engine noise under my feet assured me that I was, in fact, on solid ground and not in a spaceship. But that was all I knew. Based on the cleric guard uniforms I could see—thanks to the gift I’d been blessed with by the citadel all those years ago—I assumed I was still on my home planet.
And for some unknown reason, I was alive. They didn’t want me dead or they’d have killed me on Earth. Save everyone so much time and trouble. If they wanted me broken and destroyed, they would have kept the torture going. Instead, I was fully healed. Clothed, fed, kept in reasonably restful accommodations. I had a real bed. Fresh water. Food. Comfortable clothing and warm shoes. It wasn’t the Ritz, but I wasn’t suffering any longer either.
Still, with every quiet slide of my prison door, I feared what might come next. Like now, when the Aleran I called Scarface entered. For the first time, he wasn’t alone. A cleric followed behind, his cape swirling around his knees. He was no one special. A low-ranking member of the guard. The insignia on his chest, which had not changed since I’d been gone, made that clear. But he came inside and remained by the door, which closed behind the two of them, locking all of us into the small space together.
Scarface loomed in my tiny cell, the damaged skin on his cheek and along his jaw stark in the glaring light. I refused to rise from the bed, to give him any bit of respect. He’d earned none and he knew it. I lifted my chin, my hands folded in my lap.
Waited.
“I am sure you would like to hear an update regarding your family,” he said, his raspy voice lacking all feeling. Just like his soul. Black. Empty.
I did. I wanted to see Trinity on the throne, ruling. A natural leader, she would be an amazing queen. It had been a dream for years, but was something now I feared I’d never see. Normally, she could only rule Alera if I were already dead or had officially stepped down. But my capture and disappearance was a loophole to that ruling I’d never imagined.
And Faith. The poisoning inside the Jax house. There was a story there and I wanted to hear it. Desperately. Surely it wasn’t true. I’d spun possibilities in my head since Wyse had shared that bit of information. But it was all speculation on my part. I knew nothing.
And Destiny. Wyse knew of her existence, knew her name. But did he know nothing else? Had she been discovered?
I waited in silence and Scarface grinned.
“I am sorry to report that there has been a death in your family.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Saw little white spots dance across the room. My palms began to sweat and I was hot all over. Scarface was speaking but I couldn’t hear him, blood rushing in my ears.
One of them had died. Oh god! Who? When? How?
Why was I safely tucked in this stupid prison cell while my babies were in danger? Why?
“He was no longer any use, and so he was eliminated. A risk. Gone.”
Scarface spoke in sentences but I only heard words. I could barely process, barely think.
One of my girls was dead.
But then I realized Scarface had said he.
With numb lips, I said, “He?”
“Your dearest cousin, Lord Wyse, is dead.”
Relief coursed through me so quickly I became nauseated. A laugh bubbled out of me. Escaped.
Scarface’s dark brow winged up, but he said nothing.
I was smiling. Broadly. None of the girls were dead. Thank goddess. “He deserved whatever happened to him,” I replied. “I assume whoever is keeping me here wanted him dead.”
Scarface nodded.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. Coburt was nothing to me but the memory of a skulking, somber boy from my youth, and more recently, my captor. A traitor. He was less than nothing to me.
“Lord Wyse was the Inspector Optimi, father of Radella, the reigning royal, prior to your daughters’ return. He was powerful. Connected. Cunning.
“He’s dead. All that means is he was a puppet, nothing more.”
His smile turned coy, as if I’d figured out something important. “Yes. A pawn. As are you,” he replied. He may have acted in a deferential manner to Lord Wyse when he was alive, but it was now obvious he’d held no true allegiance to my cousin. That was very clear.
So much melodrama. Why bother telling me that Lord Wyse was not the mastermind behind my abduction? He’d been a boy not much older than me when the attack had occurred at the palace. We’d both been little more than children. So, what was this really about? “What do you want? You know I don’t care about Lord Wyse. I’m not afraid of you. But you, on the other hand, should be very afraid of me.”
His laugh was cold, so cold it made me shiver. “We have plans for you, my queen.”
“You mean your real master has plans for me.” I stated it as fact. I’d been sitting in this cell long enough to figure that out, and he knew it. “So take me to him. Or her. Let’s get this done. Why keep me here?”
“Your usefulness will have a time and place,” he replied. “When the k—”
The sound of ion fire filled the room. Scarface’s sneering lips opened in shock as he fell to his knees, then onto the floor.
He never finished his sentence. The cleric, who I’d completely forgotten since he’d stood so motionless until now, lifted his arm. The long sleeve fell back to reveal the ion pistol. Before I could even blink, he had shot Scarface in the back.
My mouth fell open as my torturer, my warden since I’d been kidnapped, rolled on the floor. His eyes remained open and fixed on the ceiling, unseeing. Dead. Blood slowly pooled about him. No ReGen wand or pod was going to save him.
Belatedly, I gasped, the shock catching up to me. I stood then, slowly, watching the cleric as I did so. I had to be next.
But instead of firing, he lowered his weapon, the sleeve hiding it once again as if it had never happened.
“His usefulness had a time and place. And it is over.”
The cleric’s voice was slow and deep. Calm. He was no cleric, at least no peacefully minded student of the order that I’d ever met.
Coburt Wyse was dead. Scarface was dead. Lord and Lady Jax were dead. Someone was getting rid of loose ends. Killing off everyone who knew about me, or the ultimate plan here.
Who was the puppet master?
As I watched the cleric drag the dead body out of my cell, I had a feeling I would find out soon enough.
1
