Atlantis Rising (17 page)

Conlan continued. “Lord Justice.”

The one with the long braid of blue hair and the sword, still strapped to his back, nodded, unsmiling. She nodded in return. The man would be drop-dead gorgeous if he ever smiled. She glanced at the sword. Maybe he preferred just being drop-dead.

“Bastien.”

The giant leaning against the far wall, a doughnut box clutched in his huge hand, smiled at her. “My pleasure, Lady Riley. Anybody brave enough to jump on top of a bloodsucker, unarmed, to defend my prince is golden with me.”

She felt her cheeks heat up again, all the way to the tips of her ears. “Just Riley, please. And thank you. It was maybe more stupid than brave, though.”

Another warrior, with an easy smile and a mischievous look to him, bowed. “Christophe, my lady. And most of battle is more stupid than brave, is it not? ’Tis why men wage it, not women.”

His bright blue eyes gleamed with humor. “I’d be honored to share my breakfast with you, lovely one,
aknasha
or no.”

Conlan growled, low in his throat, but with such resonance that it reverberated through the room. “Stay away from her, Christophe. You’ll play none of your wooing games with her.”

Riley rolled her eyes and yanked her hand out of his. “Wooing games? You’re talking like Lancelot again. And I never liked Lancelot. Smarmy, underhanded guy.”

Ven started laughing. “Oh, that did it. You’re a Steve McQueen fan, and you just smacked high prince big britches down. My heart is yours forever.”

Riley grinned, inexplicably feeling incredibly safe surrounded by a couple thousand pounds of Atlantean warriors.

Conlan growled again and took her hand back. “As I was
saying
, the one who thinks he’s a ladies’ man is Christophe, and this is Alexios.”

A man who stood in the corner, half behind a bookcase, nodded his head to her and bowed slightly, but didn’t speak. When he lifted his head, she caught sight of ferocious scarring on his face, but he quickly ducked his head so that his amazing golden hair covered it. The morning light from the window lit up his mane of hair like a crown.

She blurted out what she was thinking. “Wow. Movie stars would pay a fortune to have hair like that. You are so lucky.”

Alexios lifted his head again, eyes narrowed, mouth flattened in a grimace. His scars showed up in harsh relief in the sunlight. “Lucky? Perhaps once, long ago. You’d do well to remain far from me and my version of luck.”

She recognized the pain in his eyes and, almost without thinking, dropped her shields a fraction and reached out to him.

Then jerked back so hard she slammed her back into the wall. “No,
no
, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

She crashed her mental shields back down. “I am sorry for your pain and your loss, Alexios,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “Please don’t give up hope, though. There is always a chance of a better tomorrow.”

“Stay out of my emotions,
empath
,” the warrior growled. “You invade my privacy.”

Conlan tried to pull away from her, body tensing, but she stopped him with pressure on his hand. She considered telling Alexios it had been accidental, discarded the idea for truth, and held her head high. “You are completely right. And I apologize for that, as well.”

Alexios paused for a moment, surprise widening his eyes, and then he bowed to her. “Your apology is accepted. As Bastien stated so elegantly, your courage yesterday has purchased you much forgiveness with me.”

Conlan squeezed her hand. She sensed the pride and relief he felt, wondered at the strength of the feelings.

Even through her shields.

Another warrior stood up from a wing chair and walked toward her, then stopped and bowed. His face was all sharp planes and hard lines, and waves of black hair swept back from all that hard masculinity to his shoulders.

He had the palest green eyes she’d ever seen—a color that made her think of springtime. “I am Brennan, Lady Riley. You have my gratitude, as well, for your courage last night. I would ask a favor from you, if I may.”

Conlan asked before Riley could get the words out. “What kind of favor, Brennan?”

Brennan inclined his head toward Conlan, then turned back toward Riley, eyes intent, yet oddly devoid of any emotion. The guy had to be a great poker player.

“Contrary to Alexios, I would ask that you scan me and let me know what you might learn of my emotions,” he asked in a perfectly flat, perfectly calm tone of voice.

It sparked her curiosity. “Why would you ask that? Is this some kind of a test?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps. But a test only of myself and not of you. Will you grant me this small favor?”

Riley looked up at Conlan, who nodded, jaw tightening. “Only if you want to do it, Riley.”

She hesitated, then nodded. Pulling her hand from Conlan’s, she held both hands out at her sides, closed her eyes, and opened her mental door. An odd buzzing assailed her senses, as if the mental currents of the Atlanteans in the room were being broadcast in stereo at her, but from a distant location.

She focused on Brennan and shut out the feedback noise. As she’d done with Conlan, she sent her senses winging inside of the warrior who stood so still before her, though she flinched a little, anticipating the force of his emotions.

Then gasped at what she found. Or, rather, at what she
didn’t
.

Her eyes snapped open in shock. “How are you doing that?

How are you shielding your emotions so completely that I can’t feel the slightest glimmer of them?”

The warrior looked down at her, eyes still calm. “I shield nothing. Would you try again?”

She blinked, not understanding. “Would you mind if I touch you?”

From beside her, Conlan made that strange growling noise again. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him.

“Honestly! I’ve had enough of this territory-marking crap from you,” she said, elbowing Conlan in the side and pulling away from him. “Get over yourself. This is
interesting
.”

Brennan raised one eyebrow, and somebody in the room barked out a laugh. Riley ignored them both. “May I?” she asked again.

Brennan nodded once and closed his eyes. Riley took a step closer to him, close enough that she could reach his face with her hands, but not so close that Conlan would have another Tarzan moment. She lifted her hands and placed them on Brennan’s cheeks.

Closing her eyes, she sent her senses probing inside of him, more forcefully than before. Searching, seeking, delving for the slightest hint of color—the tiniest trace of emotion.

There was nothing. The depths and shallows of his soul were as clear as crystalline mountain water. As transparent as melted glacier ice.

There was nothing. No feelings. No emotions. “It’s as if your soul has died—your
humanity
has died—but your body doesn’t know it yet,” she whispered, regretting the words as soon as they’d slipped out.

She lowered her hands, backing away from him. “What
are
you? How can your soul be empty of all but your intellect?”

Brennan smiled, but not the slightest touch of it reached his eyes. “I am cursed. I had hoped that one who is
aknasha
would find some trace of the emotions that I’d prayed one day to regain. But if it is not so, then you are correct. I am merely a dead man imitating the actions of the living.”

The utter absence of feeling behind the words, which should have been screamed in agony and sorrow, underscored what he’d told her.

Impulsively, she placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t understand much about this
aknasha
business. But if anything about this ability I have—well, if in any way I can figure out how to use it to help you, I promise to do my best.”

Behind her, Conlan inhaled sharply, and she turned to him, ready to argue. But the look in his eyes had nothing to do with possession, and everything to do with awe. “You honor us, Riley. We bring vampires to your home, abduct you in the middle of the night, and treat you like a prisoner, and yet you have the grace to offer your help to my warrior brother.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big a deal. I just—”

“You
just
offered your help, again, after you may well have saved my life last night. Believe me, it is a very big deal.”

Brennan bowed deeply to her. “And to me, a great honor indeed that you would offer.”

Before she could think of a reply, she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. She turned back toward the room, and the man she’d seen lying injured on the ground the night before stood in front of her, daggers unsheathed and crossed before him.

“I am Denal, Lady Riley. And your courage and selflessness shall be the source of the songs of poets for centuries to come,” he said, voice fervent.

Then he dropped to one knee before her. “I hereby declare myself to be Lady Riley’s champion and defender, if she will have me.”

She watched, speechless, as he held his daggers out to her, handles first, and bowed his head. She swung her head to look at Conlan, hoping for advice on how to handle the situation, but he merely lifted his shoulders briefly and said nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her mental shields again and fought that curious feedback buzzing, then took the measure of the man kneeling in front of her. He was the polar opposite to Brennan—Denal was all flashing emotion and eager notions of honor, duty, and chivalry.

She smiled a little, wondering if she’d ever been so very young. Then the smile faded, as she realized that he might in fact be a
lot
older than she was.

This Atlantean stuff was complicated.

But he was still kneeling, still waiting. The sense of anticipation was thick in the room. As she looked around the room, she realized every one of them was waiting to see how she would handle Denal’s declaration.

Taking a deep breath, she took the proffered daggers. “I, well, thank you, Denal. In dangerous times like these, I can’t think of a more valuable offer than protection. You—”

She glanced around again, trying to think of the proper words. These guys seemed big on formality and ritual. Finally, she settled on simplicity. “You honor me.”

Denal looked up at her, eyes shining, then rose to his feet. She handed his daggers back to him, hoping that was the right thing to do. He took them and put them back in their sheaths on the sides of his massive thighs.

The other Warriors started clapping and cheering and stomping their feet. She smiled and started to say something, when an icy voice broke in from behind her. “Isn’t this touching? Perhaps next we can all have a group hug.”

Conlan swung around to face Alaric. “I don’t appreciate your tone, priest,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Alaric raised one eyebrow and shrugged. It wasn’t like Conlan had expected him to be intimidated, but a little respect might be nice.

“You’ll get respect when you earn it,” Alaric replied, eerily imitating Conlan’s thoughts again.

Conlan filed the detail for future consideration and then, before the gasp even finished leaving Riley’s lips, he slammed Alaric up against the wall. “Either you serve me, or you do not. Poseidon gave you the rank of high priest, but the role of royal adviser is mine to bestow.”

He stared into the priest’s eyes. “If all this attitude is your way of saying you want out of the job, consider it done.”

Releasing Alaric’s shirt, he turned to Riley. “You must be starving. Hopefully, one of these bottomless pits saved us a muffin or two.”

She gaped up at him, mouth opening to speak. But he shook his head and, surprisingly, she went along with him and remained silent.

As they started to walk across the room toward the low coffee table covered with food, he heard Alaric’s voice behind him. “No, I don’t want
out of the job
, you idi—my
prince.
I’m trying to
do
my job, which includes reclaiming the Trident, so you can ascend to the throne.”

Conlan had never heard such anguish in the priest’s voice. With a hand under her elbow, he urged Riley toward Ven. Then he turned to face Alaric. “The fault is not yours. If anything, it’s my fault because I wasn’t there to protect the Temple.”

Bastien slammed his coffee mug down on a table. “The fault is mine. I had many friends among the House of Mycenae. The gods know I should have suspected their plan.”

Justice laughed. “Yeah, it’s everybody’s fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Does it really fucking matter? While we sit around here eating toast and assigning blame, Reisen gets farther and farther away.”

Conlan held up a hand. “Enough. Justice is right. Alaric, have you been able to scry for the Trident?”

“No. I get flashes, and then it’s gone. Almost as if they’ve discovered some magic shielding for it. Or the Trident hides itself from a failed priest.”

Ven spoke up, voice heavy. “Then we’re doomed. We can search the old-fashioned way, but he could be a thousand miles or more away by now, in any direction.”

“He’s got a band of warriors with him,” Christophe ventured. “Unless they’ve split up. It would be tough to hide ten or more warriors traveling together.”

Conlan took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Then we will also divide to follow them. Alaric, is there any way you can magnify the scrying?”

Before Alaric could respond, Riley interrupted. “By any chance, are you talking about a bunch of guys who give off the same emotional vibe as you all do, except with a lot of ‘rah, rah, quest, quest’ crap thrown in?”

Nine heads whipped around to face her. She blinked, then continued, gaze turned inward. “If yes, they can’t be more than twenty miles from here. I’ve had to work hard to shield from their emotions for the past half hour or so. I thought it was some kind of feedback loop from all of you, but I’m figuring out how to sort and separate, and they’re definitely different.”