Claimed & Seduced (27 page)

“Join the men over there,” Jarlath said in a gentler voice. He repeated his order for the next four. Three obeyed and one remained planted in the line of cloaked soldiers. “You there. Move.”

“The master said I should keep on the cloak,” the man said, his face set in stoic lines. “Our job is important, and in the future, others will remember and celebrate our greatness.”

“Who is your master?”

“Marjo,” the man said without hesitation.

“Marjo is dead,” Jarlath said. “I am the new master, and I have changed the plan.”

Ollie and Cristop removed the cloaks from the last of the men, and Nasir took the cloaks over to the pile.

“Take off your cloak,” Jarlath said.

“No,” the man said.

Jarlath’s hand snapped out and he grabbed a fistful of cloak. The man jerked from his touch, and before Jarlath could bellow another order, the man sprinted away.

“Don’t let him escape,” Jarlath shouted.

“He’s not going to back down,” Ollie said, his tone urgent. “Use your blaster, Prince. Quick.”

Damn, he was right. If the man detonated in the middle of the city or hid, they’d have a problem. Jarlath pulled out his blaster and aimed high on his shoulder. The man zigzagged and instead of wounding as he intended, the man staggered. The cloak sparked but didn’t explode. Regret suffused him as the man fell and didn’t move.

The group of volunteers burst into discussion, heightening Jarlath’s guilt at taking a man’s life. Still, they kept their distance, and Jarlath understood their reluctance. Apart from the danger, he thought trust was still an issue. They didn’t know him, still held reservations about him keeping his word.

“Shot,” Cristop said and patted Jarlath on the back. “Had to be done. You couldn’t let him run loose through the city.”

Jarlath replaced his blaster, the remorse growing as he stared at the pile of red cloaks. Many soldiers had died already, most of them with families. “Any ideas what to do with the cloaks?” He shot a glance upward and was relieved to see the skies remained clear.

“If it don’t rain, you could transport the cloaks and use them in the mineral mines during the blasting process,” Cristop said.

“Good idea.” Jarlath pondered the suggestion, tested the pros and cons. That might be their best hope of safe disposal. “Meantime we’ll place them in a waterproof receptacle. Can we find one in the market? I need to speak to our volunteers. Give them instructions.” Jarlath strode over to the group of men and women. “Thank you for your help. I’d appreciate it if you watch for any soldiers we’ve missed, and if you see any looters, send them on their way. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Aye,” a buxom woman holding a frying pan said. “When will we get paid?”

Jarlath sighed inwardly. Definitely mistrust. “I’ll send word. Do a public announcement as to where you can exchange your magical talismans.”

A few mumbles sounded.

“Any more questions?”

When they merely stared at him, he nodded. “Thank you.” Jarlath stalked away from the group to join his young aids.

“Where be Keira and Ellard?” Nasir asked. “You never said.”

“Captured by Razvan,” Jarlath said.

“What? How? Why we no rescue?” Ollie demanded, his dreads dancing with each agitated head jerk.

“Keira has a plan. She pretended she was working on their side and talked them into waiting to take over until this eve at the ball the king and queen are holding.”

Ollie’s eyes widened. “Ellard be a prisoner?”

“Yes.”
Grata
, he hoped Ellard remained safe and kept quiet instead of mouthing off at Razvan. He wouldn’t trust Keira, not since she’d aligned herself with Razvan. Ellard was a black-and-white man, and he wouldn’t see the nuances of Keira’s plan.

What if Ellard was right? What if Keira had gone over to the dark side?

No! Jarlath dragged a hand through his hair. No second-guessing his actions.

“We need to prepare for this coming eve. I thought we’d dress our soldiers in like red cloaks—make the Cawdor believe they still have their weapons in hand.” Jarlath thought through the normal ball routine. “We can set up snipers on the balconies.”

“Ballsy to strut into castle with no shooters,” Cristop said. “How they know soldiers blow up? Might not blow. And if they do, baddies detonate their asses too.”

Jarlath ran through the possibilities and agreed with Cristop. “Magic. It’s gotta be something magical. We’ll visit Zarbo on the way to the castle. Maybe he can suggest a spell to help our cause.”

“I thought you said Ellard be a prisoner,” Ollie said, his broad forehead creased in a frown. “There he be.”

Ellard trotted up to them.

“Ellard.” Jarlath embraced him and felt tears pooling when Ellard held him close for an instant with his one arm. He pushed away, blinked rapidly. “Keira?”

Ellard shook his head and fear swept through Jarlath, his mind darting to the worst scenario.

“Is she dead?”

“She was alive when I last saw her. She told Razvan she intended to shoot me and leave my body in the street as a warning to others. I believed her.” Ellard squeezed his eyes shut. “
Grata
, I believed her, but it was a pretense, and she took my onyx pendant as proof of death.”

“You let her take it?” Jarlath asked, shocked. Ellard had worn that pendant since the first moment his grandsire had presented it to him. Shiloh wore a similar one and neither of the brothers ever removed them.

“A small price. She’s given us a chance to prepare a trap for the Cawdor. I thought she was going to shoot me,” Ellard said. “She had me fooled.”

Jarlath embraced Ellard again and hoped they could deal with their parents and fashion a scheme to keep everyone safe.

* * * * *

“I
don’t like this plan, Jarlath. Too many things can go wrong,” Ellard muttered.

Jarlath agreed, but they had to try, no matter the odds. He tugged his cravat and peered up into the galleries surrounding the ballroom. Although he couldn’t see them, the snipers were in position. He and Ellard had instructed them to take a shot if the way was clear, but they’d need to take out both Razvan and Mareeka at the same time. “Yeah, I know. I keep thinking about the things that could go wrong.”

“At least we managed to disarm the cloaked men,” Ellard said. “Bloody brilliant idea to reissue the soldiers with red cloaks of our own. Cristop, Ollie and Nasir are in place. I placed them as waiters and they have slumber drugs, which they can palm into drinks should it become possible.”

Jarlath frowned. “Did you speak with the kitchen staff? Those in charge? They rule the two kitchens like tyrants.” Another thing to add to his list of changes. “I don’t want them to upset the boys when they’re trying to do a job.”

Ellard barked out a dry laugh, and Jarlath was pleased to see his friend looking like his old self or at least keeping his pain contained. “The parents were more difficult. Father doesn’t believe us.”

“I wish Lynx and Shiloh were here to fight at our side,” Jarlath said. “I tried to contact them again.”

“I did too,” Ellard confessed. “Father is treating me like an imbecile and insists I give up my position.”

“How is the arm?”

“Still very tender if I bump the stump. I keep forgetting it’s not there.”

“Keira is right. It won’t be quite the same, but an artificial arm will help. Lynx and Shiloh will help with finding the right cybertronics medical man.”

“If your father had listened to Lynx, Viros would’ve had a medical research wing in place at the center.”

“I know,” Jarlath said. “If Father had listened to half of Lynx’s suggestions, we wouldn’t be in this position now. Guess I’d better speak with my parents and run through the plan again.”

“Hate to say it, Jarlath, but we can’t count on them,” Ellard said.

His parents irritated him with the way they clung to the past. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll give final orders to the soldiers and deal with my father. It will be a case of who can shout loudest.”

Jarlath found his parents and their closest friends in the salon having pre-dinner drinks and canapés. Laughter, bright chatter and repartee filled the beautiful room. Every surface glittered, and he fought a sneeze when he passed a huge vase of perfumed white flowers.

“Ah, Prince Jarlath,” his mother said. “You’re here. Waiter, a drink.”

Jarlath scanned the room, taking in faces and looking for anyone who appeared out of place. Just close friends and a surfeit of young women. His lips curled in what he feared was more a sneer of contempt than a smile. His feline grumbled, both of them wanting the same thing, the same woman.

Keira.

Please let her be safe. He had faith in her. She was clever, resourceful, and she’d managed to save both him and Ellard, playing on Razvan’s arrogance and his certainty he’d managed to cow the residents of Viros.

“Jarlath.”

A familiar voice had him turning, his thoughts returning to the present to see Cristop smirking at him.

Jarlath found himself grinning back as he accepted a drink. The youth had slid into the position with the ease of a chameleon. “How are the others?”

“Good. We be having fun, checking out the palace from the inside. Rad digs.”

Jarlath gave a noncommittal grunt. The castle was nothing more than a pretty prison. “What’s the feeling in here?”

Cristop gave a contemptuous snort. “They think the attacks are a game and now their troubles are over. Stupid people live in dreamland. Not like you. Not like Ellard.”

The compliment sent warmth through Jarlath. In the past, he wouldn’t have sought the opinion of a youth. He might have exchanged pleasantries but that was all. He’d changed for the better and felt good about it too. Keira’s doing.

“Prince Jarlath!” His mother didn’t do anything as common as tapping her foot, but her tone emerged like the rap of a whip.

Jarlath grimaced and took a drink from Cristop. A prop. He couldn’t afford to dull his senses in any way.

“Prince, those women over there—the ones standing by the balcony doors. Don’t place your drink down when you’re near them. They have acquired a love potion, which they hope to use to snare your attention. The one in the green-and-white gown wants to compromise you and force you into marriage.”

Jarlath glanced at them and shuddered. “Thanks for the warning. Report if you hear anything else useful. Tell Ollie and Nasir to do the same. Share your information with Ellard if you see him.”

“Aye.” Cristop moved on, and Jarlath reluctantly joined his mother and father.

“Don’t speak with the help. It’s common,” his mother barked.

Anger burst in him like a red soldier detonating, and it took effort to bite back hasty words. “Did you require something?”

“I washed that nasty stuff off my hands. A queen cannot have greasy hands,” his mother said.

“The protective barrier is greasy. It keeps poison from entering through your skin.” Jarlath strove for patience and failed. His anger and frustration bled through in his crisp tone. “Father, have you washed your hands too?”

“Not yet, although the queen is correct. My hands feel most odd.”

Jarlath frowned. The king looked old and frail, his face gray with fatigue. “Father, are you all right?”

“The king is ill,” his mother whispered. “You are making the situation worse because you haven’t announced your choice of wife.”

“Fine,” Jarlath ground out. “The woman over there by the window, the one in the yellow dress. Is she on the list?”

“That is Lady Arabella Lionus-Groves,” the queen said. “A wonderful choice.” She clapped her hands together. “Just perfect.”

“Prince Jarlath, do you mean to choose her as your wife?” the king asked.

“She’ll do.” Jarlath curled his hands to fists.

“Excellent, we’ll make the announcement at dinner,” the queen said, her mouth wreathed with a broad smile of triumph.

The king patted his shoulder. “You make me proud, son. You always do the correct and proper thing.”

“It would be best to make the announcement during the ball,” Jarlath said.

“Of course. Of course,” the king said.

“We will announce your betrothal at dinner and later at the ball,” the queen said. “Let us share the wonderful news with Lady Arabella and her parents.”

His parents started to move away, his mother wearing a pleased smile. Jarlath drained his drink. “Let me get another drink first,” he said. “I will join you momentarily.”

“Don’t take too long,” the queen said and placed her hand on the crook of her husband’s arm.

With a curt nod, Jarlath skirted a group of young feline shifters dressed in their formal wear. He nodded at an acquaintance and searched for a waiter. Ollie appeared in front of him, flanked by Nasir. They both carried trays of drinks.

“What you be doing?” Ollie demanded. “I hear everything. What ’bout Keira?”

“You diss her,” Nasir snapped.

“No,” Jarlath said. “I need a distraction at the ball, and this was the best way to place the attention on me when Razvan enters the ballroom.”

“You sure?” Cristop barked at him from behind. He carried a selection of canapés. “Keira be hurt.”

“I know,” Jarlath said. “I’ll make it up to her. Somehow.” He glanced up and saw his parents waiting for him. Damn. He grabbed a drink from Ollie’s tray and made his way over to the smiling Lady Arabella. He tugged at his cravat. Damn thing was choking him.

* * * * *

K
eira’s gut churned and roiled in a never-ceasing wave. She refused the food and drink Razvan attempted to foist on her and kept to herself, her mind on her plan of attack. For the special spell to work—the one she’d obtained from Zarbo—she required fire. From memory, there were two large fireplaces in the ballroom. Her plan wouldn’t work unless the servants had lit the fires.

“Is there any chance of a surprise attack?” Razvan glanced at both her and Mareeka.

“The soldiers are all under my control and wear red cloaks,” Mareeka said.

“Is this true?” he asked.

“Yes,” Keira said. “Many of the soldiers are gone. Morale in the lower city is poor. The people resent the king and queen and the ruling classes. They have nothing—no new tech or any hope of obtaining it when only those who are rich have the currency to purchase the necessary technology. Those who live in the lower city must fend for themselves and eke out their existence with few resources. Slavers steal their young. Promise them aid, a job, hope, and not one of them will oppose you.”