“Wurthem was targeted—a sophisticated strike.”
“Targeted by whom—Rafe?”
Our guest shakes his head. “No. Rafe is broken and scattered. We don’t know who it is, but they’re smart. Whoever they are, they made it look as if the attack came from us. Kalafin was completely decimated—everything within seventy clicks of Wurthem’s capital is annihilated. Their communication satellites were taken out as well. They’ve gone black. Our allies are turning against us. Brother Excelsior himself has sent me here to bring you back. I can assure you that he wants the priestess alive. Her protection is of the utmost priority.” It’s true, or at least he believes that.
“She knows nothing of the attack, Chandrum,” Kyon lies.
“Does she not? Really? She’s a self-taught precognitive who has been living with the enemy for as long as she has been on Ethar. I’m sure she knows something—or she can find out. He wants her with him. Now. No excuses.”
“She’s with me or she doesn’t come. She’s not ready to operate in our society. She’s a savage,” Kyon says in a low growl.
“You think he cares if she’s ready? You know him. She comes now or she dies. She cooperates with us or he kills her.”
“I’ll never allow that to happen,” Kyon says in a sinister tone. It makes a shiver tear through me.
A soft chuckle comes from the room. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Another laugh bubbles from Chandrum, louder this time. “Have you bonded to her?” he asks in disbelief. “You have, haven’t you?” He’s one big smug smile, as his eyes crinkle in amusement. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d bond to a priestess!”
A hand encircling my upper arm startles me. A Teflon-coated soldier with big blue eyes and shiny blond hair sneers down at me as he increases his bruising grip on me. “Well, hello, hello, hello! Listening, were you?” he asks with a lisp as he smiles at me, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. He tugs me off the top step and into the short corridor. Another soldier that was behind the gap-toothed one seizes my other elbow with equal fervor. He looks as though he broke his nose recently. A thick red welt spans the bridge of it. I wonder about it briefly while he takes a position next to me, trapping me between them.
The gap-toothed soldier wrenches my arm, yanking my hand from inside the burlap bag. I grip the knife I’m holding tighter, ready to stab him. He doesn’t give me a chance. Plucking the handle of it from my grasp with his other hand, he holds it up. He tsk-tsks me in a scolding way. “Now what were you going to do with this?” he asks. Releasing my hand, he holds my knife up to my cheek. I tense, waiting for him to cut me, smelling his breath as he leans near.
We both hear the racking sound of a weapon being armed from the other end of the hallway. Kyon has a very large shotgun pointed at the soldier holding the knife to me. Its nose is wide, and it looks suspiciously like the Mossberg that Luther always kept behind the bar at Lumin when I worked there—the one he threatened Kyon with on Earth.
My eyes go to Kyon’s. I pale. He’s well beyond angry—he’s livid. My knees are weak and begin to tremble. I want to say something in my defense, but my mouth is suddenly very dry. The gap-toothed soldier pressing my knife to me says, “We caught her hiding on the stairs—she was listening to your conversation.”
“You caught her?” Kyon asks. His voice is outwardly calm, but he still looks as if he’s ready to murder me. I swallow hard. His eyes go to the soldier’s hand on me.
The bad-breathed soldier at my side is smug. His face erupts in a carefree grin. “She was sneaking around.”
Kyon’s jaw is tight as he says, “This is her home—she lives here. She’s free to go anywhere in it—there’s no need for her to sneak.”
The soldier’s gap-toothed smile fades when it becomes apparent to both of us that Kyon isn’t aiming his weapon at me; he’s aiming it at the soldier next to me. Abruptly, the soldier pulls the knife away from me. He holds it up in front of him with a nervous laugh. “She had this in her bag.”
“I gave that to her,” Kyon retorts.
“Priestesses aren’t allowed to possess weapons.”
“She uses it to dig for clams,” he lies. “Check her bag. It’s full of shells.”
Anxiety replaces the bravado that was there—the soldier begins to sweat. “We didn’t know—we’ve heard stories—she’s been a fugitive for so long—it’s been said that she has enchanted you with her powers.”
Kyon shifts the gun in his hand. It passes from the soldier he’s speaking to, over to me once more. I’m rooted to the floor as I stare at the dark eye of the muzzle. I can’t breathe. Abruptly the weapon passes over me again—to the soldier holding my elbow.
Boom! The gun barrel smokes. I’m violently jerked as the second soldier beside me is hit in the face. His hand tugs briefly on my elbow, but his grip goes slack as he’s ripped off his feet. The shell sprays the wall to the side of him, but miraculously, not one piece of shot hits me.
I listen as a squeal of pain comes from the soldier on the ground behind me. Rock salt. It’s loaded with rock salt, I think.
“Kyon!” Chandrum yells. He moves closer to Kyon, but Kyon fends him off with one hand, shoving Chandrum away. When Chandrum comes at him again, Kyon swings the muzzle of the Mossberg in his direction. Racking the weapon, a red shell casing pops out of it. Chandrum stops and backs up.
Kyon’s voice is controlled and deadly calm, “They touched her. No one has a right to touch her but me.”
Chandrum holds out his hand cautiously. “Has there been a Claiming Ceremony?”
Kyon doesn’t lower the Mossberg. “She belongs to me!”
Chandrum tries a placating tone. “We haven’t had the Claiming Ceremony yet. They’re Excelsior’s men!” Chandrum waves his hand in our direction. “They’re here on official business. Technically, the Brotherhood still owns her.”
“Technically,” Kyon says, “I shoot anyone who touches her without my permission.” Extending his arm straight out, he swings the barrel of the gun away from Chandrum, aiming at the soldier who now looks as if he’s seeing the devil before him.
The blond-headed soldier puts up both his hands, but it does no good. Boom! The soldier is lifted off his feet, thrown backward from the force of the shot. My hair stirs and my ears ring. Even though I knew it was coming—could see the intent on Kyon’s face—the noise still makes me jump. The smell of blood and spent shells assaults me, but I can’t move. I stare straight ahead at Kyon. It’s like I’m not here, though. For a moment, I’m back in the ballroom of the Palace in Rafe, and I’m helpless to stop anything happening to me.
Kyon lowers the gun and walks to me. I still can’t move. He’s gentle when he takes me in his arms and hugs me. My breath comes out in hacks from my tight chest. I can’t think. I feel numb, like I got shot, but I didn’t.
Tucking me to his side, Kyon leads me away from the carnage at my feet. I refuse to look at the wounded soldiers. I don’t want to know if they’ll live or not. I don’t want to know about them at all. Over his shoulder, Kyon orders, “Take care of them, Chandrum, and then meet us on the beach.”