Hers to Command Page 21

  “Herrimon, I said, you will kill the Constante woman. She is the last female with the genetic code.”

  His brain refused to function. He must have misheard. His tongue wouldn’t work. Finally, he forced out words. “Me? Me! How am I supposed to do that?” Though Augoust made a concerted effort to lower the pitch of his voice, his panic came through clearly. I am going to faint.

  “The how is your problem, Councilman. Do it at the reception. You will have access.”

  Augoust mopped at his sweaty face. “They will arrest me and put me in prison or execute me immediately. You will get me out, won’t you? Krakoll? I have been of use to you.”

  A grunt came from the shadows. “Of course, Herrimon. And Herrimon… I would stay away from the drugs.”

  He watched as Krakoll slid out of the shadows and stopped in front of him. With a shark-like smile, the Haarb leader tapped him in the chest with a meaty finger. “DeLorion attends her. You will need your wits about you.”

  The Haarb leader slipped out unseen. Herrimon’s legs sprawled in an ungainly vee as the floor smacked him in the buttocks.

  * * * * *

  The Great Hall looks glorious. No one would ever guess Verdantia has been at war for three years. Fleur had been mentally cataloguing the decorative effects for future use. Her mental exercises defended against the incredible monotony of the reception line.

  Her awareness extended to the men standing by her side. Doral’s tight-lipped, stoic demeanor hid a body on the brink of explosion. He was upset with her for including the Nuovo Terra council chair on the list of invitees—add his discomfort from assuming a publically visible role, and she had a most restless visconte. Elder Patricio, Doral’s polar opposite, was in his element, awash with pride. Ari had assumed his mask of smooth, practiced, diplomacy. It was impossible to tell what he thought.

  She leaned over to whisper in Doral’s ear. “Last Council head, Segundo, then, you are free to leave the dais and circulate.

  “Every single one of them came, all eighty-two council chairs for the LFP and their entourage. Will it be like this every time?”

  “No, Segundo, we are a novelty. When the new wears off we will go back to obscurity.” Fleur smiled and nodded to the non-human, three-eyed, Govinian Chairman.

  “Council Chair Tetaria, we are pleased you came to our small assembly. You know our Primo Signore and Verdantian First Ambassador, Conte Camliel Aristos DeTano, but you have not met our Segundo Signore, Visconte Doral Celestia Argentio DeLorion.”

  Doral bowed, looking first at one eyestalk, then another and finally the third. Fleur chuckled inwardly at his confusion. The Govinian Chairman lumbered past Fleur and Ari to pause in front of Doral. It chirped a pleased greeting into its translator.

  “Segundo Signore DeLorion, beauty is. Male aspects most pleasing.”

  Doral cleared his throat, straightened and cleared his throat again, “Ahh…”

  Fleur rescued him. “Thank you, Council Chair Tetaria. We females always appreciate a good looking male.”

  The translator echoed with something like a titter. “With pleasure breeding, yes? Big iongyam? Big for female satisfy?”

  “Yes, very pleasurable,” Fleur smiled in response and the Govinian, chirping continually, moved away, one eye rotating backward on its stalk to inspect Doral’s groin with avid interest.

  “Fleur, that, um, being was female?” Doral whispered.

  Ari choked.

  “Yes, my love, that being was a ‘she’,” Fleur said.

  “Did she just ask if sex was good with me?”

  The medals on Ari’s chest softly chimed as his shoulders shook. Strange, strangled noises escaped his closed mouth.

  “Ummhmm,” Fleur gurgled helplessly. “Stop it, Ari!” she hissed. “Yes, my love, she asked if having sex with you were pleasurable.”

  Ari leaned over and in choked undertone commented, “Oh in case you missed it, she also asked if you had a big dick.”

  Fleur watched him leer suggestively. Fleur blessed the many hours of court life that enabled her to maintain her features in a pleasantly benign smile.

  Doral stretched his neck up to loosen his collar. He clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders.

  “Still think being a diplomat is a “fluff” job?” Ari chuckled under his breath. “It takes real skill to turn down an offer “to breed” without offending. Ah, the things I have done for Verdantia,” he mused then said knowingly, “She will be back. Good luck, Segundo.”

  “Ari, don’t tease. Doral, Council Chair Tetaria knows you are my ‘husband’ and off-limits.”

  “Doesn’t mean she won’t be back for a little ‘touchy-feely’ to verify the size of his iongyam. On her world it would bring him enormous status,” Ari said.

  “I am going to check security,” Doral said.

  Fleur watched her lover’s rapidly disappearing back. “Bad, bad man, you know very well that won’t happen.”

  Ari smiled ingenuously. “To leave that quickly, his concerns about security must be urgent—but did you notice? He is going in the wrong direction.” The conte gestured with his head. “The reception is that way.”

  “Pleasure breeding, yes? Big iongyam?” Ari mimicked. “Did you see his face? That is a memory I will treasure in old age.”

  She gave a very indelicate snort. It took her a full ten minutes before she could stop laughing long enough to wobble off the dais.

  Having wreaked havoc for the moment, Ari stood at her side with an air of innocent nonchalance as those around them turned to gape at the undignified deportment of Verdantia’s queen.

  * * * * *

  Augoust watched DeLorion’s head come up and his eyes narrow when he saw who approached the security screening for the Great Hall. “Councilman Augoust Herrimon.”

  “Visconte DeLorion, DeTano’s pet assassin, does the conte know you are off your chain? Or perhaps your young queen has had a civilizing influence on you and you are now house trained. Ah well, no matter.”

  Doral turned. “Captain Rigo, take the councilman’s party to the side and search them.” His eyes met Herrimon’s. “Tevon, search them as if your life depended on it.”

  “Councilman, you will come with me.” Doral strode to a doorway nearby and gestured. “Inside, Herrimon.”

  Search me all you want you condescending piece of trash. You won’t find a thing. “You can’t afford to make me ‘disappear’, Visconte, you need the LFP too much.” Herrimon surreptitiously wiped his sweaty palms on his robe.

  The blond devil just stared at him out of those uncanny eyes. “Strip.”

  He heaved a sigh of irritation. “How tiresome, Visconte. Any particular place you want me to start?”

  * * * * *

  Augoust again resorted to drugs to steady his fraying nerves. Summoning one of the circulating waiters, he grabbed a drink and added another small pinch of opiate to it. Damn Krakoll to cold space, I need this.

  As he waited for the substance to calm his tremors, he surreptitiously checked the heavy bolt-and-spring rigging on the inside of his right wrist. He turned to locate the queen and saw Visconte DeLorion enter the room. I tricked you, you arrogant, blond devil. I am going to enjoy destroying you. The mines on ATel will strip you of your superiority. They geld their slaves.

  The blond bastard had searched his body so thoroughly he knew what side his dick hung on. He shivered. It was as if death, itself, looked out from the visconte’s glacial blue eyes.

  No matter. It had been easy enough to have other members of his entourage bring the innocuous pieces of his wrist gun into the reception and then slip out to assemble them.

  Gods-be-damned backward planet. This would have been much easier with a pulse gun. I could have shot her from the balcony. This spring-bolt mechanism is archaic and too short range. I need to be almost beside her. Krakoll had better come through on his promises. I refuse to spend any more time in this planet’s prisons than necessary.

  * * * * *r />
  Doral observed Herrimon’s eyes continually darting to the queen. The man kept within several feet of her as if obsessed with her. Herrimon periodically summoned the servers circulating through the hall with potent, fortified drinks, exchanging his empty glass for a full one. At this rate, the Council Head would be inebriated within the hour, if he weren’t already, Doral thought—perhaps he was bolstering his courage. But for what? Augoust’s behavior was erratic, furtive.

  The longer he watched the man, the more uneasy Doral became, and decided to go with his gut, political consequences be damned. He gathered the elite palace guard and quietly explained what he wanted. They would move to eject the Nuovo Terran Council Head, forcibly, if necessary, from the reception hall, no matter the scandal. His behavior was simply too suspicious.

  As Doral moved with quiet determination through the guests toward the Council Head, he watched, horrified. When Herrimon noted the guards closing in on him, he pulled the loose sleeve of his gem-encrusted, silk robe back, exposing a powerful wrist gun loaded with a sharp steel bolt. He aimed it at an unsuspecting Fleur, mere feet away. He looked Doral straight in the eyes, a defiant sneer on his face.

  “No! Guards! To the queen!” With his scream still reverberating in the hall, Doral yanked his stiletto from his boot. He cast it with lethal precision, impaling Herrimon through his left eye. A lifeless body hit the floor.

  But Doral had not been fast enough. The Council Head had triggered his deadly projectile. As Doral watched in sick horror, Ari, Fleur and Patricio disappeared from sight.

  Frantic to get to Fleur and Ari, Doral reacted instinctively when three lavishly clothed “delegates” sprang at him with slashing razer knives.

  Snick! Deadly crescents of sharpened steel slapped into each palm from Doral’s wrist guards. Arm up—defend against a strike to face. Searing pain blazed through him as a blade sliced into his forearm and glanced off bone. Down! He ducked a blow meant for his throat. Broad sweep—slash attacker’s femoral artery. Stab through his kidney. Now, attack vulnerable under arm. Slash through neck tendons, back-slash through vertebrae, sever head. Blood fountained in a broad spray. Some female reacted hysterically, her wild screams spreading like contagion. Spin! Sweep, slash another’s throat and neck tendons. More red geysered into the hysterical crowd. Drop! Foot sweep! Slash to Achilles’ tendon. Wait! Stab cervical spine, sever spinal column. In seconds, three bodies and one head lay in a spreading pool of red. Breathe! Inhale. Exhale. Calm. Evaluate. Inhale. Exhale. Fleur! Ari!

  With only the briefest of pauses he sprang up, slipping on the blood-drenched marble. He threw guests aside in his haste to reach Fleur and Ari.

  * * * * *

  Hearing Doral’s scream of warning, Ari leapt toward Fleur shielding her with his body. He staggered and fell as another body collided heavily with his. He helplessly bore Fleur to the floor, barely catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her beneath him. The weight draped on his back gave a grunting gasp and slithered off to the side.

  At Fleur’s exclamation of horror, Ari looked over at the crumpled form of Elder Patricio. A steel bolt protruded from his chest. A look of surprise covered his face.

  Fleur shoved Ari off her. She rose to her knees in the quickly spreading pool of blood, and tenderly cradled Patricio’s head in her lap.

  Patricio’s gaze found hers. “You. Ari. Hit?”

  “No, no. We are fine,” she reassured him. When he tried to speak again, Fleur placed two fingers over his mouth.

  “Shhh. Be still, Elder, don’t move, don’t try to speak.” Patricio’s eyes fluttered closed.

  “Ari, please, help him.” Her hand hovered over the protruding steel, unsure.

  Ari knelt beside her, supporting her with his arm. Taking her hand, he placed it on his knee. “No, my love. Don’t move it.”

  The conte had seen enough battles to recognize a fatal wound. Blood spurted from around the bolt with every beat of the Elder’s heart. Removing or dislodging the bolt would only hasten his death. Ari held her eyes in a speaking glance and shook his head, tight lipped. Fleur caught her breath, exhaling a choked rejection, horrified disbelief spreading over her face.

  Doral’s blood soaked arm shoved the palace healer through the royal bodyguards ringing the downed trio. Ari motioned the healer to the elder. “Medicus Alto, tend to him first.” The medicus spent little time examining Patricio before looking at Doral, Fleur and Ari regretfully. “I am sorry, my Lords, Your Majesty. This is mortal. There is nothing I can do that won’t hasten his death.”

  Patricio moaned slightly, his breathing labored. His eyes opened and found Ari.

  “You saved my life, Ruprecht. But for you, I would be lying in your place. Thank you,” Ari said gravely.

  Patricio grimaced as he caught Ari’s tunic, pulling him closer. Ari shifted to support his body, lifting Patricio to a semi-sitting position. “Don’t—waste—genes,” the elder grunted. “Sorry for—always—liked you.” He choked slightly and released his grip. His head slumped in Ari’s arms. His eyes stared unseeing. He was gone.

  Fleur looked at Ari and Doral with tears streaming down her cheeks. “What happened, Doral? What happened?”

  “Augoust Herrimon tried to assassinate you. Patricio stepped in front of a bolt meant for you, but it was Ari’s life he saved. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t stop him.” Doral knelt and pulled her to him. “Let me hold you. I saw the three of you go down. I didn’t know who . . . gods, let me hold you.”

  “Doral! You are covered in blood. By the Goddess! You are hurt!” Fleur pushed him back frantically examining him. “Medicus! Attend Doral!”

  “It is nothing, my Queen. Just a small cut.” As Medicus Alto bent to examine his arm, Doral shook his head and barked out a curt, “Later.”

  He wrapped Fleur tightly in his good arm and pulled her close to his chest. His eyes raked Ari up and down in intense examination.

  The uncontrolled, hysterical screams from the attendees had stopped. The blood-speckled guests closed around the small group huddling on the floor. Peering between the royal guards, they stared and whispered.

  “Did you see what he did to those men, Lucinda? He beheaded them! He’s a mindless animal. Just look at the blood on my dress.”

  “Umm hmm. Sorcha, I find him irresistible, so sexy. It would be like sleeping with death.”

  “By the gods, Lucinda, you are a sick woman.”

  “I wonder if she ‘does’ both of them at the same time. Do you think she might share?”

  Fleur flinched and Doral angrily looked around to identify the speakers.

  * * * * *

  Ari closed his eyes and tried to master his overwhelming feelings of disgusted revulsion for the crowd’s prurient gawking and unwholesome curiosity. By all that was holy, a man had just died. Ari picked up the elder’s fragile, withered body and carried it from the large hall.

  The reception guests parted amongst rampant speculation to allow him passage. Walking down a private corridor, he sought out an intimate reception area where he placed Patricio’s body respectfully on a low table and found a cloth to shroud him. He stood there for some time, his hand resting on the table, motionless. Fleur, Doral and several attendants found him there.

  “If you would wait outside, please,” Doral requested, ushering the attendants back into the hallway. “We need a few moments of privacy.” He quietly closed the heavy door.

  Fleur crossed the room to Ari’s side and silently took one of his bloody hands. He raised his head, smiled weakly, and took a deep, shuddering breath. Doral walked to his other side, resting his hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I am not hurt. All the blood is Patricio’s.” He eyed Doral. “By the gods, man, you look like you bathed in it. What happened?” Ari listened attentively to Doral’s brief recount of the Nuovo Terra Councilman’s assassination attempt on Fleur. “So he did save my life.”

  “I didn’t
see it. I was a little busy, but Tevon said he definitely stepped in front of that bolt intentionally.”

  “Do we know if Herrimon acted alone?

  Doral shook his head. “The Nuovo Terran Adjutant Council’s staff took possession of the Council Head’s body, but the three who attacked me were hired mercenaries. No one is claiming them. I suspect they were Krakoll’s backup plan if Herrimon failed.”

  Listening intently, Ari noticed Doral’s heavily bandaged arm hanging limp at his side. “Your arm, Doral.”

  “It needs suturing. I’ll have the medicus look at it later.”

  “What did Patricio say to you, Ari?”

  “Ah, Goddess help me, Fleur. He said not to waste my genes.” He gave a brief choke of bitter laughter. “Can you imagine? Consistent to the end, I suppose.”

  “He said something else, I thought,” Doral murmured quietly.

  Ari shrugged helplessly. “He said he always liked me.”

  Shaking his head, he looked up toward the ceiling. “Patricio never had a chance with me, Doral. I was always so belligerent. I always distrusted his motives. But Verdantia has had no better servant. I always thought I would be the death of him. I just didn’t envision it like this. This is so twisted. The irony guts me.”

  “Ari, stop.” Doral’s voice shook with intensity. “I thank the Goddess that Elder Patricio took that bolt instead of you or Fleur. I deeply regret not being able to stop the whole tragedy. But, Ari, don’t make him into someone he wasn’t. He was a single-minded, manipulative taskmaster. And as for liking you? Ari, it is impossible not to like you. By Her ruby red tits, Ari, half this planet is in love with you. Grieve, yes. But don’t eviscerate yourself. He was an old man in failing health who has immortalized himself in Verdantia’s recorded history from today forward. Elder Patricio could not have scripted a more heroic death.”