Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (45 page)

The door opened into a well-furnished foyer, lit at first only by small emergency lights. Once the main lights sensed their movement and powered on, the full grandeur of the reception area became clear. Glossy fauxwood tables and potted succulents sat atop plush, ornate rugs. Through a vaulted entrance, the palatial Great Hall sprawled inside a huge, natural cavern. Swathes of ground had been smoothed for long tables and cushioned chairs. Between them, tightly packed stalagmites, some taller than Abelard, rose up in sectioned-off clusters. Chandeliers hung down amid stalactites. At the far end, the lumisian table sat perpendicular to the others on a dais.

Three massive tapestries, each depicting the crossed axes of the Lagoon royal lineage, hung from the ceiling on one wall. Lining the other side of the hall, wide windows built into the rock looked out on the drifting river about twenty meters below.

None of the commoners had ventured down here to see the Great Hall since the nobility had been ousted, and they certainly hadn’t seen it before that. They gazed around the wondrous chamber with callow eyes. Abelard marveled at the intricacy of an iron and crystal chandelier as he passed under it, following Seraphina.

Sudden gunfire echoed in the hall, startling him and making him crouch instinctively. A splitting crack from above preceded Gable yelling at his men to move. The hulking chandelier plummeted from the ceiling and crashed onto four of his fighters. It made a horrible, wrenching, screeching sound. Four lives ended in an instant under the wrought iron’s weight. Crystals the size of a man’s palm smashed into the ground and clinked across the smooth walkways.

Before Abelard fully grasped what had just happened, more gunfire opened up from the side of the chamber, under the huge tapestries. Gable’s last man yelped as spurts of blood shot from his ribs. Gable turned and fired, holding off their mysterious attacker. He crouched behind a table and connected eyes with Abelard.

“Go!” Gable yelled. “I’ll hold him off!”

But the moment he peeked his head over the table again, a shot shaved off the brim of his skull. Blood streaked down his face from a newfound trench where hair used to be. His body stayed upright a moment, teeth grinding behind curled lips, hands shaking. Then he gave in to the inevitable. The gun slipped from his hands, and his body slumped over.

Abelard stayed frozen in shock. Six souls had just perished in as many seconds. He pushed himself up against a stalagmite and unholstered the long-barreled pistol from his thigh. It trembled in his hands. He heard Seraphina breathing behind the cluster of stalagmites.

Footsteps padded across the chamber from where the shots had come. One step fast and one slow. Between the legs of chairs and tables, Abelard saw feet emerge from a kitchen entrance. They shuffled along, one leg limping. Abelard aimed for the good leg, but they moved too fast, too much fauxwood in the way. He was afraid to pull the trigger. A miss, and he might be dead in seconds.

Behind him, Abelard heard the rasping slide of a pistol unholstering and feet scraping to stand. Seraphina rose above the stalagmites, aiming her pistol. She seemed to fire at the same exact moment the attacker did. Abelard saw the spark of a gunshot, but a split second later, blood blasted out the back of Seraphina’s shoulder, and her gun dropped. She screamed and gripped her shoulder, kneeling behind the stalagmites.

“Sera!” Abelard gasped, realizing he’d given himself away.

He aimed his pistol at the feet and fired, but they seemed to anticipate his shot and dashed out of the way. The bullet ripped through fauxwood and dinged off the rocky wall. Abelard panicked and rushed to reload.

The attacker hastened around the tables and stopped on the far side of the chandelier. Abelard shoved another round into the chamber and reset the hammer. Aimed.

As fast as he could flinch, his gun was blown out of his hands. Its splintered remains skidded across the ground away from him. The attacker had shot it specifically—not Abelard, just his gun.

He heard the limping feet continue across the chamber, circling around toward Seraphina. She whimpered, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was in vain. Their attacker knew right where they were. The path of his footsteps made that obvious.

Abelard searched himself for another weapon. Anything. He had a small knife, the blade only as long as his little finger. It was better than nothing. He turned it around in his hand so that his fingers pinched the blade, ready to throw. The footsteps weaved through the tables, coming close now. This was it—his last chance to save Seraphina. Abelard took a few quick breaths.

He planted his mechanical leg and pushed himself up, targeted the attacker, and hurled the knife. The man batted the twirling knife away with his glossy combat rifle—the same kind of gun the offworlders had brought. The blade clattered onto a table behind the attacker. Abelard’s gambit had failed. The battered and bruised attacker grinned, and Abelard immediately recognized him. He had seen this fellow with Kastor. He had sat across from him in Radovan’s throne room. Seraphina said she had put a bullet through the brain of his lifemate—through him, too.

And now that same man stood before them.

Abelard breathed the name. “Guarin.”

The Swan warrior relaxed until sheer, self-satisfied delight emanated from him like a halo. “Hello, Abelard. Pleasure to see you again.” His eyes dropped to Seraphina. “And sweet Seraphina.” His grin turned grisly, teeth clenched. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“I’m so very, very glad to see you both.”

Guarin limped forward a few steps, only meters from Seraphina now.

The blood blazed in Abelard’s veins. He glanced left and right, looking for a way to fight back, a way he could get to Seraphina. The stalagmites between them were too thick and tall to traverse, and if he tried to run around them, the Swan warrior would have ample time to cut him down.

“Seraphina and I have some unfinished business to attend to,” Guarin said, taking another step toward her.

She gritted her teeth, growled, and lurched up at him with her unhurt shoulder. Guarin reacted fast, swiveling his gun around and ramming her squarely in the face. Seraphina’s nose erupted with blood. She fell onto her back, hand over her broken nose and open mouth, too agonized to cry out.

Abelard gripped the rounded tops of two stalagmites in rage, burning to jump over them, if only he could. “Don’t touch her!”

Guarin looked up at Abelard, feigning concern. “Oh, you don’t want me to hurt her? Is that it? You certainly wouldn’t want her to end up like Guerlain, would you? You remember Guerlain, yes?”

Abelard shook in a primal concoction of fury and fear. His fingernails dug into the calcified stone. “I am responsible for this rebellion and every life lost in it. You must hold
me
accountable for your lifemate, not her.”

Guarin laughed. “You display an impressive intellectual versatility for a commoner. But intellect always loses against firepower.” He patted his bulky, black gun, pinky finger hanging unnaturally awry. “What are you going to do? Leap through the air and tear this gun from my hands? We both know that won’t happen. So instead, you’re going to stand right there. You’re going to watch. And you’re going to listen.”

Abelard flinched to the side to take a step, but Guarin fired a burst through the stalagmites in that direction, probably ten centimeters from Abelard’s skin. It froze Abelard in place. He wouldn’t even get a step away before taking Guarin’s rounds. He was trapped.

“I said you’re going to stand right there.” Guarin glared. “By that I meant, ‘Stand there and don’t fucking move.’”

Abelard clamped his jaw shut and stared back helplessly.

“You know, Abelard of Upraad, you’re a pathetic little rat-fucking son of a whore, and it would bring me more pleasure than you can imagine to kill you today. Right after I kill this bitch.” He pointed his gun at Seraphina. “I’d certainly be doing your people a favor, seeing as how you’ve only managed to end most of their lives and leave the others wounded and widowed. But at the end of the day, I don’t give a shit about you or your people or your ‘freedom.’ I care about Guerlain. And now that she’s gone, I care about bringing her justice.”

Abelard put a hand against his chest. “If you want to bring her justice—”

Guarin fired another burst into the stalagmites. “Shut your damn mouth! I’m getting to your place in this. Yes, I do hold you responsible—partly. You created the conditions that led to Guerlain’s death, that robbed me of my lifemate and forced me to live without her. There’s only one way to make that right, to balance the scales.”

The Swan warrior leaned forward, grabbed Seraphina, and hauled her to her feet against him. One arm wrapped tight around her neck while the other angled his combat rifle at her head. Abelard’s heart jumped in his chest. His pulse raced.

“Don’t! Please don’t!” He struggled to think, too numbed by shock. “My life for hers. Please. Let her go and kill me. Justice will be served better that way.”

“I don’t think you fully understand the concept of justice, my friend,” Guarin said as he tightened his grasp on Seraphina. “Let me teach you.”

She struggled against him in vain as he pressed the gun barrel against her skull.

“Let her go, Guarin!” a new voice echoed from across the chamber. Deep and rich—characteristic of a nobleman—and vaguely familiar.

Abelard turned to find another offworlder he recognized—Kastor—rushing toward them in a combat-ready stance, dripping wet in a half-charred nanoflex suit. Like Guarin, he held a glossy black rifle, aiming it at the Swan warrior. He paused by the fallen chandelier, face pressed against the stock of his gun.

Guarin’s eyes lit up when he saw the newcomer. He swiveled to keep Seraphina between himself and Kastor. His gun remained against her head.

“Ah, Kastor, my old sparring partner. I’m glad you made it, even if you’re a bit late.”

“Let her go, Guarin,” Kastor repeated. “I’ll end your life if you pull that trigger.”

Guarin let out a raucous, open-mouthed laugh. “I don’t
give a fuck!
” he exclaimed with vindictive joy. He shook his head. “I’m all out of fucks to give.”

“The Swan army has taken the palace,” Kastor said. “Upraad is in their hands. Release the girl and go join in their victory. Freyz will be pleased to see you.”

Guarin grinned and flicked his eyes up at the ceiling for a split second. “Swan’s victory is up there. Mine’s right here.”

“Your life is worth more than hers,” Kastor said. “I don’t believe you would throw it away so easily.”

Guarin squinted at Kastor, thinking. “Why did you return to Upraad?”

Kastor’s lips remained sealed.

“Why return to a planet as it’s being annexed?” Guarin asked. “Surely you didn’t expect to repulse a full-out attack. Unless . . .” His eyes widened with comprehension. “You had an ace on this planet left to play. Such as an heir of Radovan.” Guarin’s grin returned. “Zantorian sent you back for her, didn’t he? He sent you back to crown her queen. Block Swan through legality. Smart move. But it requires a living heir, doesn’t it?”

Kastor planted a foot forward. “In the name of the Grand Lumis, I demand you release her!”

“The chance to defy Zantorian only makes this moment all the sweeter.”

Abelard held out his hands pleadingly. Desperation gripped him. “Guarin, please! I beg you!”

Guarin’s eyes turned to Seraphina, his head pressed against hers. “What do you think, my lady? Shall we taste the kiss of death together?”

“Guarin,
stop!
” Kastor shouted.

“For Guerlain.” Guarin raised the combat rifle to make it level against Seraphina’s temple, and on the other side he kissed her cheek.

Abelard’s adrenaline slowed time. The moment crawled by as if caught in molasses.

The rifle blared deafening shots as it rocked back in Guarin’s hand. At the same time, both Seraphina and Guarin’s heads exploded in a savage spume of blood and brains and bits of skull. Bullets tore through bone and gray matter alike, ripping messy holes through ears and hair. Dark crimson painted the table and chairs in the path of the rounds.

Guarin’s arm loosened from Seraphina’s neck, and both bodies collapsed to the ground, sapped of life.

Kastor lowered his weapon. The gunshot reverberations quieted in the vast hall, but they rang on in Abelard’s skin, seeping into his bones. He stared in shock. Disbelief. Gripped in an utter daze. A lack of feeling or thought. A lightheadedness. A dreamlike paralysis. A nightmare.

The kiss of death had claimed two souls at once. His beloved sister was gone.

The ground trembled under Kastor’s feet. Whether from a far-off explosion or his own imagination, he couldn’t tell. But his world had changed, that much he knew. His heart dropped to a depth lower than he’d felt in a long time.

Since Pollaena.

A once-beautiful girl sprawled on the ground beside Kastor’s greatest nemesis. Newfound cavities in their heads leaked blood and spongy, grayish clumps of brain. The flow of vitriol had ceased from the Swan warrior’s lips, replaced by an absolute and unalterable silence. Kastor felt no joy in Guarin’s death. No satisfaction. Guarin had stolen what remained of Kastor’s dignity. He’d shamed Kastor probably more than he knew. He’d made Pollaena’s death worthless. He’d made it impossible to wash her blood from Kastor’s hands.

There would be no recovery from this blow.

Abelard—face frozen in horror—staggered backward and slumped against a fauxwood table. He reached up to his temple with a trembling hand. Fingers slid down to his chin and stayed, half covering his slack lips.

Kastor stepped through the maze of tables and chairs and stalagmites to the bodies, looked down on Guarin, then Seraphina, and back at Guarin. The Swan had already taken quite a beating from someone else. It showed in cuts and bruises. A broken finger. Tattered clothing.

The bullets had gone right through his forehead, tearing a chaotic hole in the back of his skull. Seraphina’s face had been spared. Her eyelids still hung half-open, her jaw loose, that final moment of panic and terror faintly preserved in her features. Funny how fragile life was. A few small pieces of metal could snuff it out in seconds.