The sacrifice of hours,
Reveals the truth of character.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 17
At dawn Kerrick stood over Alison. She was sound asleep in the guest room. He had trained her hard through the night until she simply couldn’t take one more step. He’d let her shower and head to bed. The truth was, she’d need her sleep, dammit, lots of it to be ready to undergo this latest farce, which would take place in about twelve hours.
At least she had a fucking amount of power. Maybe that would get her through.
Who was he kidding? She would be fighting General Leto, former Warrior of the Blood, Greaves’s second-in-command. How the hell was she supposed to defeat him? He’d been ascended for three thousand years and had fought as a warrior the entire time.
He cursed under his breath. He wanted to wake her up and keep teaching her how to use her sword, how to battle, how to size up an opponent, how to use her strengths and exploit the weaknesses of her enemy. But now he couldn’t. She needed sleep for the horror of what was about to happen to her, but oh, how he wanted more time to train her.
COPASS, that bullshit Committee of bullshit Committees, had done the Commander’s bidding … again. As he looked down at her, resolve tightened his chest. He couldn’t let the arena battle happen without putting up a fight.
Thorne had been right when he used the word reamed.
He thumbed his phone. “Hey, Central,” he said softly, turning away from Alison.
“Hey, duhuro,” Jeannie drawled, ready to tease as always.
“So not in the mood.”
“Give.” Yeah, Jeannie knew how to read the warriors, and her adjustment was swift.
“I need a lift to Second.”
“You got it. Location?”
“The Cave.”
He thumbed his phone and the vibration began. A moment later he stood in the middle of the rec room. Thorne was sprawled on the sofa opposite, asleep or maybe he’d passed out, probably the latter. Jean-Pierre sagged on a stool at the bar, sipping a French martini. He lifted his chin in a brief acknowledgment to Kerrick, sighed, then took another sip. He had bruises up and down both arms and shoulders. Fighting this night had gotten up close and personal for the Frenchman.
Kerrick did a double take in the direction of the pool table where Luken and Santiago were actually playing a game. Some kind of half-ass repair had been executed, which involved a lot of chicken wire and several two-by-fours. The result looked like something taken from a really run-down Mortal Earth trailer park. If they’d set up empty beer cans in a row on the rim, the picture would have been complete. At least the table was functional.
“Hey, Kerrick,” Santiago called. He flipped the cue and sank three balls. He had a massive spidery bruise on the back of his left shoulder. Yeah, the boys had been out fighting.
Luken’s gaze tracked the shot. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered. His hair hung down his back, free of the cadroen, a thick mass of blond waves and stray, rebellious curls that gave him the appearance of an Olympian god.
Kerrick jerked his chin toward the sofa. “How long has he been out?”
“The last hour. He went to see Endelle.”
“Is she going to protest the arena battle?”
Luken shrugged. His cue stood upright and he tapped it on the floor. “He didn’t say but as soon as he returned, he started tossing back Ketel shots. You want a game?”
“No, thanks. I have to get back to Queen Creek after I make a couple of calls.” His gaze drifted to Thorne.
Perfect. He’d wanted Thorne to lead the charge on this one.
What a great big fucking mess.
He left the Cave to stand just outside the doors.
He lifted his phone once more to his ear and contacted Central. “Jeannie—”
“Need a lift?”
“Not yet. I need to speak with Endelle.”
A too quiet silence followed after which Jeannie drew in a breath. “She’s not receiving.”
“What do you mean, she’s not receiving?” What the hell?
Jeannie sighed. “Specifically, if you called in asking for her, you were to be told, and I quote, You got Alison into this by calling an emergency lift so go fuck yourself, end quote.”
Kerrick ground his teeth. His temper once more started pounding on the inside of his skull. He took deep breaths and tried to order his mind. If Endelle said no, then no it was.
Goddammit.
Thorne … Endelle … two strikes. Shit.
He held the phone at his back and let loose with a good long string of obscenities.
There had to be a way to fix this. He ground his teeth a little more. He hated to speak the next words, though at this point his choices were appallingly limited.
He brought the phone back to his ear. “Then I want to speak with Harding.”
“You mean Chairman Harding?” He heard the disbelief in Jeannie’s voice. He could hardly believe it himself.
“Get him on the com, Jeannie. Now.”
“You got it but it might take a couple of minutes. He’s not the most accessible ascender.”
“I’ll wait.”
Daniel Harding chaired COPASS and as said chairman, he would have had the final approval of the upcoming mockery of a spectacle. Maybe, just this once, Harding would listen to reason.
Whatever.
Harding had no choice but to speak with the Warriors of the Blood. Given the Commander’s access to him, Endelle had fought to retain equal rights. What the Committee allowed Greaves, by the law of the land had to be granted to the Supreme High Administrator.
At last, Harding came on the line. “I’m here to serve, duhuro Kerrick. How can I help?”
Complete bullshit.
“I want COPASS to reconsider its decision about ascender Wells and the arena battle. She’s not a warrior.”
A slight pause, then, “I’m sorry but the Committee reviewed all the data and voted unanimously. Ascendiate Wells must receive an appropriate consequence since her guardian violated a very important law, as did Madame Endelle.” He enumerated their sins and ended with, “Commander Greaves had every right to submit a protest and COPASS really didn’t have any other option. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
His condescending tone pushed Kerrick’s temper over the edge. “What about the law the Commander broke sending a regiment to Carefree One? What about that rule?” He was pissed and couldn’t stop himself.
“Now, now. Calm yourself, duhuro. Be reasonable. The Commander will certainly receive a severe censure from the Committee in due course. The sentence assigned to ascendiate Wells is a separate matter entirely. Endelle has thirty days to file a complaint and as you must know we take all complaints seriously.”
He felt the blood rush to his face as he once more ground his teeth. “We’re talking about a woman’s life, an innocent,” he cried. “You’ve basically handed her a death sentence.”
“I simply do not agree. We’ve seen the reports on ascendiate Wells, one of which suggests her powers exceed those of Second. I’m sure she will perform admirably during the arena challenge.”
“The arena challenge? Is that what you’re calling it? A mere challenge? It’s an old-fashioned fight-to-the-death and you fucking know it.”
He paced back and forth now, his voice growing louder. He saw the doors to the Cave open and Luken, Santiago, and Jean-Pierre filed out to stand near him, a strong line of support.
Harding continued his reasonableness. “Given the gravity of the rules that you and Madame Endelle chose to break, I had no recourse. Greaves had every right to establish the contest as a fight-to-the-death event.”
That did it. Kerrick’s temper shot into the stratosphere.
“No recourse? Have you no conscience left, you fucking tool? And what the hell were you thinking putting yourself in the Commander’s hands, anyway? What does he give you, Harding? A serum after you’ve drunk a human to death, y
ou fucking piece of shit.”
A brief silence followed, then Harding cleared his throat. “You are clearly agitated,” he said. “I will therefore forgive these accusations so unworthy of your rank. Good night, most respected duhuro warrior.”
Kerrick’s hands shook as he thumbed his phone.
And at that moment, who should show up but Marcus yukking it up with Medichi. Marcus had cuts all over his arms, shoulders, and face.
Well, goddamnsonofabitch, the deserter had made up with the warriors.
It was the proverbial last straw, especially when the fucking vampire smirked and said, “Well, if it isn’t the bastard who got my sister killed.”
Kerrick’s nostrils flared, his fists clenched then pumped, and the air disappeared between him and the man he hated. The feel of flesh sliding beneath the power of his right hook felt like heaven. When Marcus’s fist landed square on his jaw, well, game fucking on.
* * *
Endelle played a cat-and-mouse game with Darian Greaves that chapped her ass up one side and down the other. She was the cat, an okay designation, and the little peach was the mouse, which in her opinion was way too high a life-form for him to represent. Cat and rat worked a little better. Cat and scum-sucking amoeba made her even happier.
She had been playing this game for how many fucking centuries? Jesus H. Christ.
She was in the small rotunda off her master bedroom, deep inside her palace, a well-protected and fortified sanctuary where she performed most of her work on Second.
She spent a big part of each twenty-four hours doing voyeuristic surveillance in that mystical point of nether-space called the darkening. So far as she knew, she was the only ascender on Second Earth capable of being in the darkening, where her corporeal body reclined on her chaise longue but her spiritual self with the same external features and abilities as her body could travel through time and space. Capable of being in two places at once, she followed the bastard around the globe. Time and time again she disrupted his attempts to fold death vampire squads to his Estrella Mountain complex.
The problem was that for all her power, she didn’t know how to win this game. Worse, she’d been losing ground for the past fifteen years. Of the 167 Territories of Second Earth, 50 had aligned with the little peach. Of course High Administrators as a lot weren’t always the most ethical of ascenders. Half of them, in her opinion, were out for only one thing—power. Maybe two things—power and … well … more power.
Greaves didn’t help. He’d arrived on Second loaded with persuasive abilities. He had a forked tongue and could out-slime a slug and he looked so pretty doing it. Bastard.
She didn’t have his tact, his refined manners, his patience. She barked and expected everyone to fall in line, an administrative style she freely admitted had numerous flaws.
Okay, so she needed help—only where would it come from? She had a powerful ascendiate aligning with her tonight but what use could she possibly be? A thirty-plus-year-old therapist? She might as well be wearing diapers, for God’s sake. The best Endelle could do was make a Militia Warrior out of her. She had enough natural power that when properly trained she’d be able to take on a squad of death vamps by herself. Big fucking whoopee.
Havily came to mind. She was still pissed about her Liaison Officer. What the hell had Havily been thinking throwing a boat on top of her desk and calling it the future? Havily didn’t understand the gravity of the situation on Second Earth. A new military-admin complex wouldn’t come close to resolving the broader issue, which was Greaves himself. The bastard should have ascended to Third, oh, about twenty-six hundred years ago. Instead he’d found some way to remain on Second.
She knew what she needed—help from the Upper Dimensions to stop Darian Greaves. Unfortunately, she might as well be asking for the moon.
She sighed as she continued plowing through the airwaves. In nine millennia she hadn’t received even a whisper of communication from Third or any of the Upper Earths. All she knew was she was stuck on Second, she’d not been allowed to ascend, and her duty was to keep Greaves in check. But she was failing and when she thought to pray, she begged for help, on her knees, her voice splitting resonance until she sounded like two cats fighting.
At last she found the Commander’s signature.
Hello. She didn’t wait but dove straight at him. What do you know? He was in Kabul Two, preparing right now to fold a squad of death vamps to his compound. Bastard.
Not tonight, asshole. He stumbled as her greeting pierced his bald skull.
Ah, Endelle. Good evening, or should I say good morning.
Fuck you, little peach. She saw him standing in front of the squad, his claw twitching now. His face flamed at her appellation. She chuckled. You might as well take off. You won’t penetrate the shield I just launched around this bunch of fucking night-feeders.
She could feel his rage as a living, writhing beast moving throughout his body, a deep blinding fury that drove his life, his actions, all those twisted unresolved feelings from his tortured youth. She might even have felt sorry for him except for the number of mortals he had personally dispatched.
As he dematerialized, she heard the faintest word drift through her mind, directed toward her: Bitch.
Endelle’s eyes popped open and she sat up on her couch. In three millennia Darian Greaves had never lost his temper with her. Not once.
But he had called her a bitch and he never said things like that to her.
Holy hell!
She sucked in a deep breath and a new emotion banged around inside her chest, something very close to hope.
Darian Greaves was seriously rattled, which could only mean he knew something she didn’t about, who else, Alison Wells.
Well, well, well, ascendiate Wells. So there was something else going on, something she didn’t know about and Greaves did.
She felt a faint vibration within her mind, Thorne’s signal. He was the only Second ascender who had a direct link to her mind, and his voice suddenly filled her skull. We’ve got a sitch at the Cave. Marcus finally found Kerrick.
Got it, she sent back.
Marcus and Kerrick.
She was only surprised the fight hadn’t gone down sooner.
She shifted her voyeuristic powers to her warriors’ off-hours rec room.
The two men went at it like apes.
Well, thank shit for preternatural voyeurism. She could see everything and how glorious her warriors were.
All of them were present, Thorne and Medichi, Luken placing bets with Santiago, Zacharius, Jean-Pierre wearing a green brocade cadroen, and of course the men of the hour, Kerrick now pummeling the hell out of Marcus’s stomach but look out. Jesus … Marcus pulled away and hit Kerrick’s jaw so hard his head snapped back and he actually stumbled backward.
Not for fucking long. Kerrick gave his head a shake, lowered his jaw, and moved back in. This time an old-fashioned brawl ensued that landed both men on the ground rolling, hitting, punching, grunting. Marcus got hold of Kerrick’s long hair, already released from the cadroen, grabbed handfuls from both sides, tugged hard, and head-butted Kerrick. The crack resounded through the air.
Didn’t slow Kerrick down, not even a jot. He somehow got on top and started swinging. He landed several punches, left, right, left. Endelle leaped to her feet and punched the air along with him.
She loved a good fight. Forget spectacle. Give her a boxing ring and two Neanderthals any day of the week.
Marcus, however, threw his hips forward and caught Kerrick about the waist with his legs. The two beasts flipped over half a dozen times, the other warriors shifting to make room for them.
Thorne shouted at them to stop, but they were two mad dogs going at each other. Only a fire hose was likely to stop the carnage.
Endelle’s fist pumped more air. Her feet moved from side to side. Thorne dove in. He tried to grab Marcus’s arm, which put Kerrick off balance, sending his right hook straight at Thorne’s face. A subsequent crack tol
d her that her second-in-command had just gotten his nose busted … again … well … aw, shit. She’d have to break this up now.
She sighed then folded to the Cave. She snapped her fingers, which froze both men in place, on the ground. Marcus had his head arched back, eyes closed, and teeth gritted as he struggled to get out of a headlock. Kerrick’s face was beet red and his eyes bulged as he squeezed.
She looked them over. “Kerrick almost has him. No … I think Marcus will break out of this one.”
“Tell me we get to find out,” Santiago cried. “I have a hundred bucks on Marcus.”
“Lo siento, querido.” She snapped her fingers again and both men rolled away from each other then gained their feet. “So what the fuck was this about?”
Neither Marcus nor Kerrick spoke, just stood hunched over and tried to breathe.
“Just as I thought.” She trained her gaze on Kerrick. “Why the hell aren’t you in Queen Creek? You’re on fucking guardian duty or did you not get the memo?”
His face was a mess. Blood leaked everywhere and his mouth and left eye were swelling up like he’d been stung by a few dozen wasps. Even so, he came to attention, feet a proper distance apart, his left hand slung behind his back. “The shields hold, all of them, and I had to do something to try to stop this madness.”
“What madness?” Santiago asked.
Luken, who stood next to him, informed him of the upcoming arena battle.
“Madre de dios,” he cried.
“No shit.”
“This isn’t right,” Medichi said. He stepped forward and met Endelle’s gaze straight-on. “Can’t something be done?”
“COPASS already approved the engagement. But all you faithless vampires need to grow a pair. I have confidence in Alison, unlike the rest of you.”
“With all due respect, we’re talking about Leto,” Zacharius cried, “not some squirrelly-ass death vamp.” His long curly hair hung free from the cadroen and in the scattered light of the parking lot, he looked sexy as Hades. Even Endelle felt the call of his primitive nature and all those curls. Mortal women loved Zach and gave up the vein without a blink of an eye. He added, “Ascendiate Wells doesn’t stand a chance.”