Fire Pearl (Beyond Ontariese 5) (21 page)

“No. I’ll do it.” She accepted the comfort
of Indric’s embrace and carefully channeled energy into Betaul’s
hand. Her skin tingled and warmed as a steady stream flowed from
the center of her chest, down her arm and into the boy. She closed
her eyes and allowed Mystic sight to reveal the progress taking
place beneath her palm. His tissue began to knit and regenerate,
drawing the outer edges of the wound closer and closer until the
newly formed biological fibers spanned the opening. She continued
the steady stream of energy until all that remained of the wound
was a slightly pink circle.

“I could have done that myself,” Betaul
grumbled, “if you’d let me.”

She opened her eyes and looked at Betaul.
Three months ago, much to her surprise, he’d detected the barriers
meticulously encasing his power source. She hadn’t constructed the
barriers, but she maintained them, preventing him from accessing
his abilities. Betaul was one of a kind, a volatile combination of
ancient Mystic and genetic manipulation. There was no way of
predicting which abilities he would manifest or how powerful he
would become. Which was why so many in the NRS had feared him.

“When you’re stronger, you’ll be taught how
to control your power,” she reminded him, even though it was
unlikely he’d forgotten because the last time she’d told him was
yesterday.

“I’m strong enough now.”

“I think we should let him try.”

She looked up and found Lord Drakkin
standing a short distance back from the action. She wasn’t sure
when he’d arrived or how he’d known about the crisis, but he’d
obviously heard Betaul’s complaint. Drakkin was one of the most
powerful Bilarrians alive. Indric might have signaled him
telepathically, but it was just as likely that Drakkin had simply
sensed the disruption. Drakkin’s abilities were legendary. He was
the one who had constructed the barriers around Betaul’s power
source.

“Are the perimeter shields intact?” She
motioned toward the hedgerow. “How did this happen?”

Drakkin moved closer, his stride light, as
if his feet didn’t quite touch the ground. His dark hair just
brushed his shoulders and the rings separating his irises from his
pupils were red rather than gold. Even so, there was a striking
similarity between his appearance and Indric’s. They each had
inherent nobility in their features, as well as a good deal of
arrogance.

“You’ll have to ask the guards how. I wasn’t
here when the weapon was fired.” He paused as his intense gaze
swept their surroundings. Unlike the men of San Adrin, Drakkin was
clean-shaven, and his intricately tooled leather pants and
long-sleeved shirt indicated that he was used to a far cooler
climate. “I sense a small tear in the shields over there.” He
pointed to the back corner of the yard where the hedgerow ended.
“But it should have set off an alarm.”

“Then I think it’s unwise to indulge
him.”

“I disagree. Indric will scan while I repair
the shield. Let the boy feel his power.” Drakkin was one of the few
people who could give Indric orders without starting an argument.
And Cinarra had learned a long time ago that it was a waste of time
to argue with Drakkin.

Someone had torn back Betaul’s pant leg,
exposing the wound in his calf. The plasma ball had burned a deep
furrow across his flesh rather than drilling straight through. She
wasn’t sure which was worse. Both wounds seemed gruesome to
her.

“I’ll release my hold slowly,” she told
Betaul. “As soon as you feel the energy start to flow, guide it
into your leg.”

He licked his lips then closed his eyes.
“I’m ready.”

He is not,
Drakkin told her
, but
he needs to learn this for himself
.

I understand. I’ll just give him a
taste.
She created a tiny puncture in the barrier and let
energy trickle out. Betaul gasped and his muscles twitched. She
placed her hand on his leg, well above the injury. “Feel the warmth
of my fingers. Use it to direct the flow.”

“This is harder…” He gasped again and his
thigh tensed beneath her hand. “It hurts.” He shuddered violently.
“Does it always hurt like this?”

“You will learn to minimize the pain, but
there is always discomfort.” Drakkin spoke to the boy then
continued telepathically with her.
It must be his decision to
return control to you. Expand the flow.

The last thing she wanted was to cause
Betaul more pain, but Drakkin’s strategy made sense. It was hard
for a student to learn if he resented his teacher. Still, Betaul
was so much more than a student to her. He was blood of her blood.
Though most believed she was his mother, she was actually his
grandmother. Betaul was all that remained of her precious daughter
Belle.

“Concentrate, Betaul.” She made sure her
knees weren’t digging into his side and moved her hands to her
thighs. The fewer distractions he had, the faster this lesson would
progress. “The energy stream is still scattering before it reaches
the wound. You must try harder.”

The boy stilled in the grass and his
breathing deepened. Fighting back her own misgivings, she stretched
the opening and allowed a stronger stream to escape. Betaul moaned
and then shuddered. She instinctively reached for the puncture,
meaning to stem the flow, but the stream concentrated and
coalesced. She felt Betaul’s determination, his untutored skill
working to connect the center of his chest with the wound in his
calf.

Betaul’s control came and went, creating a
clumsy ebb and flow, but the energy stream gradually reached the
wound. The boy anchored the steam and proceeded with more
confidence.

He’s doing it
. They’d expected him to
fail, but Betaul was healing himself. It was extraordinary.

Drakkin moved to the boy’s other side and
knelt. “Your body knows what to do. Just keep feeding energy into
the gash.”

Betaul nodded without opening his eyes and
Cinarra watched in amazement as the deep furrow in his flesh
gradually disappeared.

“Well done, young man.” Drakkin helped
Betaul sit, and when he appeared steady, he asked, “Can you
stand?”

Betaul maneuvered his legs beneath him and
stood. He flexed his repaired hand and gingerly put weight on his
healed leg. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“I suspect Indric’s command still has you
good and numb. Both areas will likely be tender for a couple of
days. You should rest. Healing requires a great deal of
energy.”

“But I’m not even tired.”

“You
are
tired,” Indric told him.
“Now go lie down.”

Cinarra only felt a hint of heat, so the
compulsion must have been mild this time. Still, Betaul fell into
step beside one of the guards and headed for the house.

Indric helped her up and she brushed the
grass off her knees, feeling a bit shaky. Now that the crisis was
over, the cause of the danger came back into focus. She blew out a
ragged breath, refusing to think about how much worse this
situation could have been. “Did your men catch whoever shot at
Betaul?”

“We don’t know that Betaul was the target,”
Indric pointed out. “It could just as easily have been Dravon or
someone trying to upset me.”

Motivation would be a whole lot easier to
determine if they’d apprehended the assailant. “That didn’t answer
my question.”

“They found tracks, but no shooter.”

That was the answer she’d expected, but it
didn’t lessen her frustration. “A drone wouldn’t leave tracks, so
we’re dealing with a person or persons.”

He nodded, his expression tense, clearly as
frustrated as she was. “I’ve sent for my best trackers. We’ll
figure out who did this and why.”

“The alarm should have gone off as soon as
they tampered with the perimeter shield,” Drakkin mused. “For that
matter, why did no one sense the intruder? Aren’t all of your
guards Sensitive?”

“You know they are. Any applicant must
demonstrate Class Eight abilities to be accepted as a member of my
personal guard.”

Drakkin motioned toward the house. “Can we
move inside? I don’t know how you tolerate this infernal heat.”

“A lifetime of practice.”

Indric took her hand as they started for the
back door. His fingers were long and warm, his grasp firm without
being hurtful. The simple gesture sent her heart racing and she
averted her face, afraid he’d see her burning cheeks. He was just
being kind, comforting a traumatized friend. It was the same role
he’d filled for the last nine years. Why should today be any
different?

“I’ll make sure Betaul is resting.” She
tried to pull away as soon as they entered the house.

Indric tightened his grip on her hand and
pulled her toward the living room. “Ametto is with him. Relax.”

Ametto was the only one of Indric’s guards
that Cinarra knew well. The others came and went depending on the
situation, but Ametto’s exclusive assignment was to protect Betaul
and her. “All right.” She sat on the sofa and Indric sat beside
her.

Apparently too anxious to sit, Drakkin paced
in front of them, hands locked behind his back. “I only saw the
aftermath. How did the attack occur?”

“The boys were playing in the yard. Cinarra
and I decided to go back inside the house when a volley of plasma
blasts erupted from somewhere beyond the hedge. They were not
random shots; they were directed at the boys.”

“I don’t care if it was the NRS, Eagin, or
an enemy of Hautell, anyone who would intentionally harm a child is
beneath contempt,” Drakkin sneered then smoothed his expression.
“Most plasma weapons have nonlethal settings. Was this a sloppy
assassination attempt or some sort of warning?”

Indric extended his arm along the back of
the couch. It wasn’t really an embrace, but Cinarra was inescapably
aware of his nearness.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Indric
said. “There have been no recent threats, no indication that
trouble was brewing.”

“And the NRS hasn’t caused trouble in years,
even on Ontariese,” Cinarra told them. “Most think they’ll
eventually disband.”

“I’m not taking chances with either of you,”
Indric objected.

“Security at your palace is far more
sophisticated than what we’ve arranged here,” Drakkin pointed out.
“It might be best to move Cinarra and Betaul there until we can
figure out who was responsible for what just happened.”

“I agree.”

“And if I don’t?” She looked up at him,
hoping her expression reflected how little she liked it when people
made decisions for her.

“Then I’ll camp out on this sofa.” The
stubborn glint in his eyes assured her that he meant every
word.

“Did you receive your invitation to
Charlotte’s celebration?” Drakkin finally sat in the chair facing
them and crossed his legs, looking remarkably at home despite the
modest surroundings.

The sudden subject change wrinkled her brow.
What did her sister’s gala have to do with anything? “I did, but I
hadn’t planned on going.”

Drakkin’s expression nearly mirrored hers.
“Why would you hesitate? Charlotte is your sister. Of course you
should go.”

“We understand the connection, but the rest
of the sector doesn’t. To outsiders I’m a common Bilarrian widow,
doing her best to raise her son alone. Why would the High Queen of
Ontariese invite such a person?”

“Because you’re King Indric’s favorite
mistress. It is no longer taboo for pleasure givers to be invited
to such celebrations.” One of Drakkin’s brows arched, daring her to
challenge the conclusion.

“Indric is discreet whenever he comes here.
I doubt people even know—” Indric’s laughter preempted the rest of
her thought and she shot him an annoyed look.

“Everyone thinks we’re lovers, and you know
it. What else would keep me coming back year after year?”

“Honor and obligation.” She was well aware
of the rumors, but this was the first time they’d spoken of the
misconception. They knew the truth and that was all that mattered,
so they simply ignored the idle chatter. “You promised Lord Drakkin
that you’d protect me and Betaul, that you’d provide us a home and
security.”

Indric looked at Drakkin and shook his head.
“Is she really this naïve?”

“I am not naïve,” she snapped. “I know many
believe you’re visiting your mistress every time you come here and
some even whisper that Betaul is your son. I’m not completely
ignorant of what goes on around me.”

“Ignorance is different than naïveté,”
Drakkin drew her attention. “You have moved from one cage to
another throughout your entire life. It was not always by choice,
but each of your environments has been extremely
compartmentalized.”

“What does any of this have to do with what
happened to Betaul?” She was uncomfortable with their observations,
even if they were mostly true. After she’d escaped her prison on
Earth, each stage of her life had been strictly ordered and
insulated from most outside influences. This house was the perfect
example. She knew none of her neighbors and, except for an
occasional family member, Indric was her only visitor.

“No one will be surprised if Indric moves
you into the palace. We can use the public’s misconception to
protect Betaul’s anonymity.” Drakkin looked deep into her eyes as
he went on, “You will not be able to correct the misconception
without compromising your cover. In fact, it would be wise to
display affection in public, leave others no reason to doubt the
conclusion they’ve drawn. Do you have a problem with people
believing you’re sleeping with a king?”

She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze to
her hands. The only problem she had was that she wished it was more
than a rumor. “Anything that keeps Betaul safe is fine with me.”
Indric made an odd sound, part sigh, part growl and she looked at
him. “Would you rather devise a different cover story? I’m open to
suggestions.”