Lady Doctor Wyre (11 page)

In a loud booming voice, the Runner said, “Lady Wyre, Her Supreme Royal Majesty Queen Majel of Britannia decrees your immediate presence in Londonium.”

Lifting her chin to a haughty angle that made pride burn in Sig’s chest, Charlotte faced her accuser. The docks behind her had emptied; she could flee in that direction. But flight had not occurred to Lady Wyre.

To the remaining marshal, she said, “Take the President to safety.”

“Absolutely not!” President Jaxson retorted, but her marshal was already tugging her away, using his body to protect her as much as possible. “Your Grace!”

“Get out of here! They’ve come for me, not you. I’ll never forgive myself if you’re injured in the crossfire.” Still the woman hesitated, until Charlotte turned her fierce stare on her. “Your duty is to Americus. Remember the eagle. Don’t let the ravens tear her apart as they destroyed my dove.”

President Jaxson struggled to contain her emotion as she allowed her marshal to drag her away from the fight. Eyes red, she whispered, “Who’ll protect you?”

Turning back to the Runner, Charlotte threw up her hand and pointed straight at Sig’s hiding spot. “He shall.”

Chapter Ten

Her heart was beating so frantically that Charlotte could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse in the top of her head. The firestorm crashing and sparking in the locket had to mean Sig was close, yet when he stood and sauntered out from behind a stack of crates with the lethal grace of Lord Regret, she very nearly had to dig around in her reticule for smelling salts.

Her lips quivered in a tremulous smile, but she didn’t try to hide that emotion. She was too thankful to see him alive and well. Touching his locket, she watched his blue eyes flare with wicked flame, promising death to anyone who dared stand in his way. Silver knives popped into his hands, and Lord Regret began to dance. He glided from Raven to Raven as gracefully as though he waltzed at the Solstice ball, but the soldiers screamed and bled in his wake.

A lazor arced toward his head, but he simply dropped to the floor, hamstrung the nearest soldier, and rolled smoothly to his feet. Blood splattered his face and the impeccable white of his shirt. His coat had torn, which worried her that he’d taken an injury—how could he not, so outnumbered?—but he never stopped smiling.

Because he’s coming for me. He’ll always come for me.

Charlotte fumbled the drawstring open and pulled her datapad out of her reticule. Her fingers flew over the screen as she strengthened the shields over the Capital, even if it burned up every bit of their reserves. Americus might lose this port, but they wouldn’t lose their independence, not if she could help it. A roaring blast confirmed the newly refitted cruiser had fired his engines. Hopefully Marshal Gatlin had managed to get the President aboard.

Not all of the Ravens flocked toward Lord Regret, choosing instead to ensnare her and drag her to their waiting ship.
Not if I can help it.

She pulled out what might have appeared to be a compact of rouge. Clutching it in her right palm, she squared her shoulders and waited. They would not see her afraid. They would not touch her. Someone shouted behind her, a deep bellow of alarm that made her heart try to crawl up in her throat again. Gil. He bellowed and cursed, screaming at her to run, but she ignored him.
I’ll never run again
.

As the Ravens closed in upon her, she made herself count them. Five. No seven. Then she counted the paces separating her from them.
Not before they’re three paces away. Bring them in, as many as possible.

Three more Ravens joined the net, surrounding her. The clash of metal sounded close, and she knew Sig must have seen her peril and redoubled his efforts. She couldn’t warn him to stay back, not without alerting the ones nearby, but she gripped his locket in her left hand, ignoring the lightning shooting down her arm.
Stay back!

Ducking her head and gripping her arms tight to her body to make herself as small as possible, she pressed her thumb to the compact. An energy field detonated about her. Her hair rose up on her arms, her fantastic coiffure ruined. Ears ringing, she blinked and forced her watering eyes to focus. The Ravens had been blown down and torn apart as a cyclone destroys a forest. Bodies tumbled together, twisted and broken. Stomach churning, she sought out Sig, but she couldn’t find him.

Dear God, if I’ve killed him…

“No! Charlotte!”

The roar came from behind her. Her thumb automatically pressed the button again, but the device hadn’t yet recharged. Something slammed into her, knocking the wind out of her, although she didn’t fall. She tried to cry out, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

She looked down. A lazor protruded from her stomach, and the energized blade smoldered her lovely silk gown.
Think of what it’s doing to my intestines.

An arm wrapped around her, holding her up. “Americus doesn’t need your filthy technology,
Doctor
.” It took her a moment to recognize Director Howitzer’s voice. “Runner, here’s your prize! Come and get her!”

The director gave her a shove forward and she fell. The burning blade slid through her body and a cry tore out of her mouth. At least the hateful woman didn’t drag the lazor up to fry her heart and lungs.

Unable to get her arms to cooperate, she fell hard, knocking the last bit of air from her lungs. Pain intruded, her abdomen catching fire as though millions of fireflies blazed in her stomach.

“Charlie.” Sig’s voice forced her to open her eyes. He leaned over her, battered and bloody, his eyes wild like she’d never seen before.

Gil dropped down on her other side, his big hands trembling against her stomach. He pressed hard, too hard, and she gasped with the pain of it, but she knew it should have hurt
more
. She ought to be shrieking her pain, but it didn’t feel as badly as she expected.

Which told her that she was dying.

“We must stop the bleeding!”

A calm lassitude fogged her mind and slowed her thoughts. She smiled up at her two men and tried to tell them how much they meant to her, but she couldn’t get the words to come out of her mouth. She couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She felt lips on her forehead, her cheek. The locket was crushing her, so heavy on her chest like a cold, dead stone. Sig gathered her into his arms and stretched out on top of her. Not to be denied, Gil pressed closer, too, sharing his body heat and offering his protection. Moisture dripped on her face. The floor rocked beneath her, explosions sounded far too close for comfort, but wrapped in their arms, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She closed her eyes and waited to die.

Closing his eyes, Sig willed the tiny creatures living inside him to flow into the dying woman in his arms.
Save her, even if it takes every last one of you. Save her!

To make it as easy for the transfer as possible, he pressed his heart to her abdomen, ignoring Masters’s futile attempt to stem the blood cascading from the horrible wound. Her skin looked paper thin, faint blue lines tracing delicate rivers beneath the fine porcelain. Her chest barely moved, and her arm fell from his neck, lifeless and limp.

“No!” He pressed his body tighter to hers, pouring his life into her, but he couldn’t tell if it was working until his own heart stuttered. Pain banded his chest in a vise, squeezing his lungs, but he didn’t draw back. His bracing arm trembled, forcing him to drop more of his weight upon her.

Masters grabbed his shoulders, as though he were going to toss him aside like kindling. “Don’t,” Sig gasped through the pain. “Healing her.”

“Whatever you’re doing is killing you.” But he steadied Sig instead of hauling him off her. Raising his voice, Masters shouted, “Medic!”

“Don’t care.”

Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a deep breath. “Sig.”

His face felt frozen and stiff, but he forced his lips to curve into a smile. “Charlie.”

“No.” Her eyes flared wide, with pain or panic, he couldn’t tell. “Don’t die. Not for me.”

“Always. For you.”

A dour-faced woman dropped down beside them. Masters lifted Sig up enough for her to see the wound in Lady Wyre’s stomach, and the doctor paled. “Dear God. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Bio-band,” Sig wheezed out.

“The infection—”

“Do what he says,” Masters retorted, his voice ringing with command.

Grumbling, the doctor flipped open her metal case and took out a slim canister. “The bio-bandage will seal whatever debris and filth she’s picked up from the dock, air, and the weapon used to deliver the wound. Her body will make the perfect breeding ground for bacteria. Trust me, son, you don’t want to see a loved one eaten alive by gangrene.”

“Do it.” Sig gritted his teeth. “I’ll take care of the infection.”

The doctor narrowed her eyes with disbelief, but unscrewed the cap. “I need her clothing—and you!—out of the way.”

Masters rolled him to the side and fisted his hands in the silk of her gown. Trying to lighten the mood, he looked up into her face. “Sorry about the silk, sweetheart,” and then he ripped the gown open. Her corset was in the way, too, so he picked up the director’s lazor still dark with Charlotte’s burnt blood and used it to cut the laces.

While all Sig could do was lie there and gasp like a beached whale.

The doctor tipped the canister over Charlotte’s stomach, and a clear gel oozed out to cover the horrible wound. “I need to get some on her back too.”

Masters helped roll her over, his face ravaged with guilt at every sound of pain she made while he wrestled her around. “Hang on, Charlie.”

Sig closed his eyes to block out the tenderness on the sheriff’s face, the way those big, ragged paws moved her so tenderly.
He’ll take good care of her
, he tried to console himself, but the thought only made him feel worse. His heart ceased beating, but his mind—and worse, his poor damaged heart—refused to die.

Charlie threw out her hand and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging his face up. “Come. Here.”

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to simply lie there and die with what small honor and dignity he’d managed to win by protecting the famous Lady Doctor Wyre from the Queen’s Ravens. He wanted to be bigger than the jealous rage burning in his breast that yearned to bury his longest blade in Masters’s gut.

But her eyes gripped him as firmly as Britannia held her conquered planets in Queen Majel’s grasp. He couldn’t
not
obey her command; every cell in his body, both organic and lady-made, demanded he move to her side. He could only hope that the emotion darkening her eyes might be love and not pity.

Fighting against the darkness closing in, he dragged himself to her. Her strength had returned enough that she helped pull his upper body up onto her. She released him to pick up the locket, lifting it toward his chest. “You gave your life to me.”

Sig ducked his head and planted his mouth on the metal. He’d expected enough power to blow off the back of his skull, but the locket felt cold, reflecting how low her life energy had ebbed. Tiredly, he dropped his head against her breast, pinning the locket between them, and his heart found the will to beat once more.

Chapter Eleven

Seated high above the most powerful nobles of the galaxy, Queen Majel tried very hard not to rip anyone’s head off in impatience. At least not yet.

At last, Seneschal Murray made his way to her side bearing a golden tray. Without a word, she took the offered datapad and scanned the latest report from Americus.

Lady Wyre had evaded capture once more. At least one hundred Ravens were dead or imprisoned. Only one Runner had managed to make his report before disappearing among the commoners as he’d been trained.

Fury beat wings of desperation inside her. She took a moment to close her eyes and steady her breath, so that when she spoke, her voice was even without betraying any emotion. “Our Solstice celebration will not include the arrival of Lady Wyre after all.”

Seneschal Murray clicked his heels together and bowed. “My regrets, Your Majesty.”

“Regrets,” she whispered softly. “I regret ever letting that woman into my confidence. I wish…” Her voice fell off, her throat tight. She’d had no alternative. Without Lady Wyre, she would have died. Her House would have lost the throne.
But now that accursed woman knows my most dreadful secrets.

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.”

Gathering her pride about her like a protective cloak, she settled more comfortably in her throne. Wishes were for starry-eyed fools who dreamed of a perfect, happy existence while those with a will of iron created her own reality. “I wish the gift presentation to begin.”

“At once, Your Majesty.”

Gifts from all over the galaxy were brought before her throne: caskets of tea from Kali Kata, raw silk from Zijin, even some sort of beast so heavily manacled that she couldn’t tell how many legs it possessed. In comparison, the gift from Americus seemed rather drab and plain: a gilded cage containing an ugly brown bird.

Granted, the bird was rather large, making her House’s chosen symbol of the raven look like a fledgling. “What sort of bird is that, Murray?”

He scanned the datapad for the gift registry. “It’s an eagle, Your Majesty, and a personal gift from Jaxson of Americus.”

The self-declared ruler of
her
colony. Murray had wisely given the woman neither title nor courtesy.

Majel tipped her head to the side, studying the bird. Her first instinct was to reject the gift as unacceptable, but the eagle stared back at her, tilting its regal white head too.

It’s mocking me.

Eyes narrowed, she rose and stepped closer to the bird. Had the rebels trained it to speak? Did it have some concocted message of rebellion to give her? It fluttered its wings softly, a subtle invitation to draw near. Or a warning?

A strange, unexpected sound emitted from its beak. Not the shrill scream of a predatory bird nor even the raucous cry of a raven, but a soft, fragile coo.

Wyre’s symbol had long been a dove.

Her skin prickled along her spine, hot and cold needles digging into her skin. She jerked to a halt several paces from the creature. Her heart beat unnaturally fast and her face felt flushed. The eagle? Or her own desperation? She couldn’t decide, and now that she’d moved closer, her nobles watched her as diligently as the caged eagle.