Born of Legend (109 page)

Just like his parents had done once Nykyrian returned. They hadn't even had the decency to tell him themselves that he'd been locked out of their lives.

Locked out of his home.

Banished and forgotten.

So much for Ushara's promises that she would always find him. That, no matter what, they would track him down and bring him home.

The bitter reality shattered his heart as he lost hope of ever seeing her again. Of ever hearing the voices of his daughters or son.

I just wanted to matter to someone.

One sentient being.

But that only happened in fantasies. And for others who were born worthy.

Not for contentious assholes no one gave a shit about, who'd fucked up their lives. From beginning to end.

Face it, Jules. You used up all your chances. It was a wasted try. There was never any real hope for you.

Closing his eyes, Jullien fought against the despair that overwhelmed him. To be fair, he'd told Ushara to stay out of this fight. He'd even destroyed his wedding ring to keep her safe from Eriadne's clutches so that his enemies couldn't use it to find her.

It's what you wanted.

Still, it stung.

After Eriadne had dragged him out of WAR's reach and deep inside her new hiding hole so that no one would be able to help him or stop her from torturing him, it had become obvious that he wasn't going to be rescued—that his grandmother intended to keep him hidden in her lair until she'd had her fill of fun—Jullien had thought the kindest move would be to let his wife think it was over, rather than to drag it out indefinitely. The worst was always the not knowing.

Hope was a cruel, vicious bitch. Better to stop it and let Ushara move on than to delay the inevitable.

Now …

He just wished he could see her one last time. Touch her white-blond hair and smell its fresh, apple scent. Hear her laughter in his ear as he held her.

Wincing, he tried to stand and walk as they literally dragged him from his cell, down the narrow hall, to a waiting transport. They roughly shoved him inside and slammed the doors before they headed off to take him to a new location.

Their tactics surprised him. He'd assumed they'd kill him in his cell with no one to witness the deed and bury his body in an unmarked grave somewhere.

Apparently, Eriadne had something else in mind.

Strange … she seldom wanted an audience for her crimes. But as they reached their destination, opened the doors, and jerked him out so that he saw the public display and waiting crowd, complete with full media coverage from all Nine Worlds, he fully understood his grandmother's final act of cruelty.

Eriadne wasn't allowing him to die as one of her hated political enemies or rivals, or a warrior, or even a tiziran.

She was giving him the death of a traitor on the same spot where she thought she'd murdered his mother.

His throat would be cut over a basin, and he'd be left to bleed out in public for everyone to witness his last choking breaths. No priest to pray over his corpse. No chance for his soul to find peace, whatsoever.

Not that any Yllam priest would give him last or burial rights anyway, since he bore a Demurrist emblem on his chest. They'd even refused to bring him prayer beads while Eriadne held him in his cell.

Even his prayer band Nadya had made for his birthday had been vindictively cut from his wrist and burned.

Just breathe. A few minutes more, and this whole damn miserable life will finally be over.

Swallowing hard, Jullien conjured an image of Ushara with his girls and son. That was the only comfort he wanted, and it was the one thing they couldn't take from him.

His guards led him up the stairs of a makeshift platform that had been placed over the ruins of the palace, and shoved him down on his knees in front of the basin. When Jullien started to fight, they quickly used the chains to secure his arms to the basin's stand, and pulled him forward so that he was forced to lean over it at an awkward angle.

If only he wasn't wearing the damn inhibitor, he'd be able to free himself and beat them all down.…

The huge executioner came forward to hold his head down by his hair while the crowd cheered and chanted for his slow, painful death.

His grandmother's senior advisor cleared his throat, then read the charges against him for the reporters and crowd. “Jullien eton Anatole, for crimes and treason against Andaria, her tadara and rādix, your own blood lineage and family, for betraying your sacred duties and honor, and turning against all you have known, you have been stripped of your titles and are condemned to die. May the gods take no mercy upon you or your rotten soul.”

He inclined his head to the executioner, who cupped Jullien's muzzled chin in his gloved hand.

At peace with his violent death, Jullien waited to feel the bite of the blade against his throat. He held perfectly still, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cower or beg.

He expected the executioner to be rough. So when the male caressed his cheek with a loving touch, then sliced him, he was stunned.

Doubly stunned when a minute went by and he was still alive and coherent.

What the hell?

Scowling, he looked up at the hooded figure to stare into a pair of beautiful, familiar silvery-white eyes. Not to mention, that wasn't an overweight belly he'd felt against his shoulder.

Rather a very pregnant one.

Ushara!

Her eyes filled with warmth and love, she smiled down at him. “I told you I'd never leave you alone again. You're not the only one who keeps your promises, Jules Samari.”

It took him another minute to realize she'd sliced through his muzzle and not his flesh. And that she wasn't here alone. Trajen and Thrāix used their powers to free his hands and snap the neuroinhibitor from his neck.

With a strength he'd never known, he rose to his feet and pulled her against him.
“Urtui
æbre gevyly frag, mu sojara
.”

She placed her hand over his heart and smiled up at him.
“Hæfre m'ixuri.” Forever my darkheart.

Tears gathered in his eyes until she pressed something cold and metallic into his palm.

His grandfather's Warsword.

“It's time to finish this.” Ushara pulled her blasters out and opened fire on his enemies to cover him. “Your grandmother's on my right. Trajen and Thrāix have cleared you a path to her seat. She's all yours, baby. Get her!”

He hesitated to leave her side, until he saw that she wasn't alone. Nyk, Dancer, Chayden, Fain, Ryn, Darling, Syn, Jayne, Saf, Maris, Galene, Shahara, Nero, Talyn, Caillen, Davel, and Jory were there to cover her for him.

Nykyrian inclined his head. “We've got Ushara for you, little brother. Nothing's getting through us.”

More grateful than mere words could ever express, Jullien saluted him before he turned and cut through the guards who came forward to block his path. Like an unstoppable storm, he tore a swath through them, with one single goal.…

This time, no one would stop the Dagger Ixur from fulfilling his dark quest and ending the Andarion kakistocracy forever.

Shrieking in outrage, Eriadne opened fire as soon as she realized his intent. She ran for cover.

Twirling his sword around his body, Jullien used his powers to deflect her blasts. He spewed his fyrebreath and ripped open everyone who came at him. Most shrank back immediately, realizing they were no match for a pissed-off Samari hybrid with fyre and telekinesis.

A few braver souls engaged him for their tadara, and they died valiantly for that effort.

When he finally caught up to Eriadne, she was in the marble hallway of the senate building, which stood next door to where the palace had been. Her bracelet had caught in the giant tapestry that hung in the foyer. Though how she'd managed
that,
Jullien couldn't imagine.

Desperately, she was trying to free herself. “We can make a deal, Jullien. It's not too late for you to return to your place as my tahrs.”

He laughed bitterly. “I would ask if you were insane, but I already know the answer. I told you when I was a child what I would do to you if you ever went for my matarra again. Twice, I allowed you to live. Now—”

She snapped her hand free. Too late he realized that she hadn't been caught in the tapestry. She'd been using it to unwind the bracelet from her wrist.

And that wasn't a bracelet. It was a sling bow with a poisoned dart.

One she shot straight into his bare chest. “You didn't really think Faran or my sister killed Edon Samari, did you?” she sneered at him as he staggered back in pain. “While he was a bold bastard and she a heinous bitch, even they lacked the balls to take out one of my lovers without my permission.”

Gasping, Jullien pulled the dart from of his heart and dropped it to the floor.

She laughed at his pain and shoved him back another step. Then she had the stupidity to keep talking, instead of running. “I should have killed your mother the moment I birthed her, too. I kept hoping one of you wouldn't be a disappointment. No matter. I—”

Jullien cut her words off with one final stroke of Edon Samari's Warsword. “Fuck you, bitch,” he snarled over her headless corpse. “I am the blood of Edon Samari and an eton Anatole. No damn whore is going to kill me and live. I'll see your worthless ass in Tophet. Make sure to save me a place by your side so I can torture you for eternity.”

Grabbing his grisly war trophy from the floor by the hair his grandmother had been so proud of, Jullien had one last promise to fulfill before the Koriłon came to take his rotten soul to the gods for its final Rekkynynge.

*   *   *

Ushara withdrew from the fighting as Nykyrian finally quelled the crowd and brought it under control. While they might hate Jullien, the Andarions loved
him.
And no one wanted his grandmother back in power.

No one.

It didn't take Nykyrian long to get them to turn against the foreign League soldiers who'd been assigned there. The speed with which the trained army dropped weapons and fled was actually comical.

Even faster was how quickly the Andarion armada retook an oath of allegiance to Nykyrian even without his having the Anatole family Warsword in his possession.

Ushara scanned the crowd. “Where's Jullien?”

Thrāix grimaced. “I'm not sure you want that answer.”

Trajen sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth. “Yeah … we might want to face you in another direction.”

“What?” She glanced up to follow their line of sight, then wished she hadn't. “Oh dear gods. Is that … a
head
?”

Nykyrian laughed as he saw it. “Damn. That's
so
cold.” His laughter faded as he took note of the other objects Jullien had left behind on the flagpole. “Not sure exactly what my brother is trying to say by that flag order. Should I be upset … or concerned?”

“What do you mean?” Ushara asked.

He screwed his face up. “He put his flag above mine.”

Trajen slid an evil smirk to Nykyrian. “Technically, he put
my
flag over yours. That's the Gorturnum National flag. Not Jules's personal Canting, which he could have done, as he has his own. For that matter, it's not even the UTC flag.”

Ushara nodded. “Yeah, so I wouldn't take it personally,
Alteske.
I think all it means is that he values our branch of The Tavali over The Sentella and Andaria.”

But a tattered Alliance flag now flew once more above them all.

She headed for that flagpole as fast as she could, knowing Jullien would be coming from that direction.

Jullien met her halfway through the crowd. The instant she saw him, she knew something was wrong. There was a paleness to his features that wasn't normal. His skin held a grayish cast to it as he dragged two swords by his side.

“Jules?”

He was shivering and sweating. “She poisoned me.”

“No!”

“It's okay. You're safe now. They can't touch you.”

“No, it's not okay! Jullien, don't you do this to me. You fight. You hear me!”

He nodded weakly, then fell to his hands and knees. Ushara sank down by his side.

Thrāix and Trajen rushed to them.

“Boy,” Trajen said between gritted teeth as he saw Jullien's state of near unconsciousness. “You get yourself into more shit.”

Thrāix snorted his agreement. “He's going to hate us.”

“He'll get over it.” Trajen gently moved her aside so that he could kneel on one side of Jullien while Thrāix knelt on the other.

Together, they used their powers to siphon the poison from his system and heal him. But judging from the way Jullien writhed and groaned, it must have been excruciating. He cursed them worse than she'd cursed him while she was in labor.

When he was finally healed, Jullien hissed at Thrāix and actually slapped his hand away.

Scowling, Thrāix popped him back. “You are such an irritable asshole.”

Jullien smirked. “Contentious from my first breath to my last.”

With a laugh, Thrāix helped him back to his feet while Trajen shrugged his jacket off and gave it to Jullien to put on. Then, Thrāix handed him the sheath for the Samari Warsword so that Jullien could strap it over his back.

As soon as he was dressed, Jullien grabbed Ushara and kissed her. Until he realized his brother was staring at them.

He pulled back. “What did I screw up now?”

Nykyrian snorted as he met Darling's gaze, then Dancer's and Fain's. “He really is a contrary asshole.” He held his hand out to Jullien. “Thank you. I owe you my life, little brother.”

Jullien shook his head. “No,
drey
.” He met Ushara's gaze and smiled at her. “I owe you mine.” Only then did he take Nyk's hand and allow him to pull him in for a brief hug.