Rapture's Etesian (18 page)

“Can’t you do anything you’re told without being browbeaten into it?” she snarled at him as she gained her feet. She reached out to shove him. “Get the hell out of here!”

Krull narrowed his eyes. “You’re a bossy little bitch, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Go,” she said, waving him away. “I can control him—you can’t.”

One look at Leksi Helios told Krull no one would ever control the warrior again. His eyes were open, staring, glazing in death. His chest had ceased to move.

“Wench,” he began but she turned her back on him.

Grief was welling up inside Konan Krull for he loved Leksi like a brother. To have had the warrior die in such a horrible way brought out the berserker in the Lord High Commander.

“I want to kill every last one of them,” he said, tears flooding his eyes.

“Then go do it if you think you can, else stay outside and wait for us. Not even the warrior and I together can slay the lot of the Pleiadesians. It will take the Sisters and your people to help us.”

Krull shrugged away what he thought was a stupid remark. It was true the Venturians would need the help of the Amazeens and Hell Hags as well as the Daughters of the Multitude to crush Abalam’s war troops. In order for that to happen, he and the woman needed to quit Nebul and go back to bring their own forces to bear against the murdering horde.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said listlessly.

Kynthia laid the backs of her fingers on Leksi’s still cheek. “Reaper?” she whispered.

Give the fledgling time to heal him, wench. Your man will survive.

Cainer Cree’s voice was soft and encouraging in her ear. She believed him for he had no reason to lie to her. Bending down, she placed a gentle kiss on Leksi’s brow then set about unshackling his wrists and ankles. When his limbs were free, she knelt down beside him and waited for the Transition she knew would come.

* * * * *

Krull was squatting down with his back to the wall. His forehead was braced on his arms. He had repeated the Litany of the Wind for Leksi twice and had started on the third recitation for the Repose of the Warrior’s Soul when he heard the sounds begin once more in the torture room down the corridor from him.

Tiredly, he lifted his head and listened, his face turned toward those sickening sounds. A part of him wondered if she was devouring Leksi’s body and he knew anger almost as fierce as the one that had caused his grief. Another part of him thought perhaps that was the best way to send Leksi to the Realm of the Wind. Let him forever be a part of the woman he loved so deeply. In a way, the warrior would live on.

At least as long as the she-creature drew breath.

After a while, when the howl of victory came, Krull closed his eyes and lowered his head to his arms once more. He was bone-tired, sick of spirit and his heart ached with a sorrow he knew would never leave him for as long as he lived.

“Never is a long time, my friend.”

Very slowly, the Lord High Commander raised his head, and when he looked up, his eyes grew wide and his face lost its natural ruddy color. His lips parted.

“Let’s get out of here, warrior,” Kynthia demanded. “We should be able to get past the guards easily with the both of us casting fog.”

“Is that like farting, wench?” asked a laughing voice.

Krull could only stare at Leksi Helios. He knew the warrior had died. There was no doubt in his mind.

“Do you see even one little bruise on his body, warrior?” Kynthia asked with an amused snort.

Staring at the man standing before him, Krull could find not one mark upon his naked body. There were no cuts or scrapes, no burns or bruises. There wasn’t even any blood streaking his flesh.

“I laved him with my tongue as any she-wolf would her mate,” the woman remarked as though she had read his mind. “That’s why he’s so clean.”

Krull’s face screwed up with distaste at the remark and he swallowed hard. He gagged, and pushed up to his feet and turned his face away.

“He’s going to heave, wench,” Leksi warned and pushed his lady back.

They watched the Lord High Commander relieve his gut of whatever was left in it then gently took his arms in their hands.

“I’ve of a mind to get out of here, Your Grace,” Kynthia said as they ushered Krull down the hall, one to either side of him. “How ‘bout you?”

“I’d like to find at least a pair of britches first, wench,” Leksi said, his face burning.

“I like you well enough naked, milord,” Kynthia responded with a giggle.

“Aye, well, my dangly is cold,” Leksi complained.

“Oh, my!” came a gasp.

The trio looked back to see Princess Clea standing like a statue, a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Leksi’s unclothed body.

“Wench, do something!” Leksi whined.

Shrugging—her face stretched with a wide grin—Kynthia lifted her arm and mist rose up from the floor, obscuring them from Clea’s shocked stare.

“She’ll think she dreamed it,” Kynthia said as they walked quickly past the woman.

Leksi looked back over his shoulder at Clea as the Princess fanned the thick mist in a concerted effort to clear away the obstruction.

“She’s trying to get another look at your dangly, warrior,” Kynthia laughed.

“I need britches!” Leksi stated, his eyes flashing amber fire. “My cock is cold!”

“Take matters into your own hands, then, and shut the hell up,” Konan hissed.

It took the trio but a few extra moments to find a guard room and allow Leksi and Kynthia time to find clothing and dress. All the while, Clea was stumbling down the corridor, her arms windmilling in front of her as she tried to find her way through the thick mist.

* * * * *

Cainer Cree stretched out on the cliff overlooking Achasán Island. He was lying on his belly, staring at
The Levant
, the airship that had brought him to this accursed land, his chin propped in the cup of his hands. His youngest Reaper was safe with her mate and riding alongside the one called Krull on their way to the Amazeen lands.

The Reaper sighed. His work with Kynthia was over. Like any good parent, Cree knew he needed to cut the apron strings so he made a vow not to answer Kynthia should she seek him out again unless it was vitally important. It would be up to her to teach Leksi Helios what he needed to know about being a Reaper.

As he had with almost all the other seekers whom he had made into creatures like him, he felt sadness at the severing of the parental bonds. He would miss the interaction and would once more know the bitter loneliness of his position until the next seeker came to ask his help.

“You would not know such loneliness if you had not denied me, my sweet deargs dul.”

The voice was sultry with a deep tone that made his staff move.

“Have you brought me another seeker?” he asked, not looking up at the goddess who had stepped down from the vastness of the heavens to torment him.

Morrigunia, Goddess of Life, Death and War came to sit beside her prisoner. She wore a voluminous gown shot through with delicate silver threads. In her long blonde hair, she wore a circlet of pale pink flowers knotted amongst ivy.

“There is one waiting but it will be a while before I send him your way,” his wardeness replied. “He’s not ready yet.” She cocked her head to one side. “What think you of the female Reaper you made?”

“No more women,” he vowed. “Not from my body, anyway.”

“Not directly from your body, perhaps,” she said. “But there is another, made just this week, I believe.”

“Khnum’s doing,” the Reaper said with distaste. “Her name is Neith.”

“Ah, yes. Neith. She is one to be watched.”

“Khnum needs killing,” he told her.

“He was the first one you made, wasn’t he?” she asked.

“Aye,” he replied, his teeth grinding. “You brought him to me before I even knew what all this was about and he has made an entire race of Reapers.”

“The Ordonese,” she sighed. “That was a mistake on my part to allow that to happen, but all will be set to rights eventually. That tribe will die out.”

There was a long silence between them then Morrigunia turned to look out at the flying ship.

“Are you still writing in your journal, my beloved?”

The Reaper cast her a hateful look. “How could I when you took it from me long ago, Morrigunia?” He narrowed his eyes. “What did you do with it, anyway?”

She shrugged. “It is safe for now. When it is needed, it will surface.”

“Khnum has it, doesn’t he?” the Reaper snarled.

She put her index finger to her chin. “No one has it, beloved. It is safe upon its shelf until it will be needed.”

“Another mistake on your part. It outlines how the Transferences are to be made. It is a dangerous piece of work.”

“
You
are a dangerous piece of work, my deargs dul,” she giggled.

He ignored her comment. Getting up, he dusted his hands together, his gaze locked on the ship he so longed to be able to fly. Turning his back, he walked away from that punishing sight and the tormentress who made his life a living hell.

Chapter Twelve

Flavia died with a smirk on her ugly face and the secret of why she had wanted the plan to oust Abalam Robeus from power to fail buried deep in her evil mind. Despite two hours of prolonged torture—water dripping upon her head the only torture allowed under Amazeen Tribunal Law—she went to her grave without revelations of any kind.

Stymied and angry that she had not garnered the information she sought, Deianeira, the defense queen, stared out across the night-darkened battlements of Androdameia, the keep that was the capitol of Amazeen, and ground her teeth.

“There was a reason she did this,” her sister, Queen Antianeira observed.

“Aye, well, we’ll never know what it is now!” Deianeira grumbled.

“Who was to know she had heart problems?”

Deianeira turned a glare to her sister. “Did she die of a heart ailment or was she helped along?”

“What are you saying? Do you think someone murdered her?”

“Who was the last person to see her in the dungeon?” the defense queen countered.

Antianeira thought about it for a moment. “Was it Harmothoe?”

“Aye, our virtuous Abbess of the Womanly Arts,” her sister replied. “She went there to reason with Flavia. Instead, I believe she went there to make sure she did not answer our questions.”

“But why?”

Deianeira shook her head. “I have no idea but perhaps we need to question Harmothoe.”

“They have never been close that I could see,” Antianeira commented. “I hardly ever saw them speaking to one another.”

“What better way for conspirators to behave toward one another?”

The domestic queen chewed on her lower lip. “As I recall Harmothoe voted no to the plan to help the Venturians.”

“Think back, Sister,” Deianeira said. “Wasn’t there a time when Harmothoe journeyed to Tasjorn quite often? She would go disguised as an itinerant nun or some such. Do you remember that?”

Antianeira nodded slowly. “Aye, I do recall something of that.”

“And tell me this—how did Flavia know Queen Mona had slept with Lord Krull? Would that not be quite the secret in Ventura? It would have had to have happened after Krull married Isabell, don’t you agree?”

“To my knowledge, Flavia never left the borders of Amazeen,” Antianeira said. “How w
ould
she have known unless someone told her?”

“How, indeed?”

Turning to look out over the moon-silvered waters of the Molpadia River that wound its serpentine way south, the domestic queen’s forehead was wrinkled with concern. “I would not have imagined a man such as Lord Krull to betray his marriage vows. From all I have heard, he is an honorable man.”

Her sister snorted. “Even honorable men get horny, Sister.”

“Aye, but Mona is not a woman I think of being capable to stir such lust in a man like that.”

“Who knows? Perhaps she drugged him. I wouldn’t put anything past those Hell Hags.”

“Mona would not do that.” At her sister’s look of disbelief, Antianeira raised her chin. “I know her better than you, and I tell you she would not stoop to drug a man in order to sleep with him.”

“Even to get a child from him?” Deianeira suggested. “That was a common practice with the Daughters of the Night in Mona’s mother’s time just as it is common practice with us today.”

“If you remember, Mona outlawed such things when she took the throne. I can not see her breaking her own rule.”

Deianeira sighed. “Aye, well Krull is one helluva handsome man. Any woman would find lust for him oozing through her loins. If she didn’t drug him, perhaps she enticed him in another way. It’s possible, you know.”

“Still,” Antianeira said, “I find it strange he would cast aside the woman he supposedly loves more than life for a tumble with a woman who means nothing to him.” She looked at her twin. “Don’t you?”

“Men have done stranger things when they think with their cocks,” the defense queen replied. “She could have caught him at a low point in his marriage. That happens and men stray.”