“Butch,” Wrath called out. “Call the Brotherhood. We gotta make a social call.”
The Brother hollered back on the far side of the door as the King moved his face downward as if he could look into Abalone’s eyes. “Now, First Adviser, I want you to reschedule the first two hours of my audiences.”
“Aye, my lord. Right away.”
“And then we’re going to your house.”
“Whate’er you command, my lord. Whate’er you command.”
THIRTEEN
Trez’s savior from his captivity turned out not to be a person. It wasn’t even an object, really.
His freedom, when it came, was courtesy of an unassuming vent located in the upper right corner of the vast suite he was imprisoned in.
Three nights before his eventual escape, he had been lying flat, contemplating absolutely nothing, when a flush of cool air hit the jewels on his robing and chilled his skin. Frowning, he looked up and saw the grate screwed into the smooth white wall.
First-generation security cameras watched his every move, so he knew better than to show any specific interest. But it got him thinking. Shadows could dematerialize, and they could also smoke out—which allowed you to travel vast distances, and stay invisible when you got wherever you were going.
He had tried both many times, and failed—and at first, he relegated any thought of ventilated escape to failure on that basis.
But the next night, for no particular reason, he looked down at what they had put on his body. The gems . . . the sparkling, precious gems that he had assumed were set in gold. The metal was silver in color. White gold, yes?
Unless . . . it was stainless steel. Which was the one thing vampires, even those of Shadow lineage, couldn’t dematerialize through.
He had looked across the marble room to the bathing suite. Even when he was in the bath, when his body was ritually cleansed . . . they kept him festooned with sapphires and diamonds, collars of the gems set upon his neck and shoulders and wrists and ankles before he got into the water. As soon as he was out? The chain mail of jewels was locked upon his flesh yet again.
He closed his eyes. Why had he never considered this before?
It had taken him two further nights, two cycles of dawn and dusk, before he had developed a plan. The schedule of feedings, bathings, exercise, and study was never the same, as if purposely manipulated to a lack of pattern, and iAm’s comings and goings were likewise random, for as he was not the Anointed One, he had certain freedoms of movement, certain allowances to go out into the palace for exercise or nutrition—although even that was not set in stone.
During his deliberations, Trez had been assiduous about changing nothing about his affect, his attitude, his habits, but internally his mind had been creating, crafting, testing theories for complications or potential failures.
He had anticipated tarrying for even longer, but the moment came unexpectedly, courtesy of a dropped meal tray. A maidservant had slipped on the freshly polished marble floor, and food and plates and silverware had gone everywhere. iAm, ever the helpful one, had volunteered to help deal with the mess, and he and the maidservant had left in search of cleaning aids out in the corridor’s supply closets.
Click went the lock on the hidden cell door.
And that was that.
Moving fast, Trez had unclothed his body, tearing the fine mesh and the gemstones off of himself, ripping free the fasteners, popping all manner of buckles, belts, and securities. Then, naked and bleeding from the effort, he had closed his eyes and concentrated.
His anxiety had been so great, he had nearly failed, especially as he heard shouts outside of his door, the security cameras having reported his activities with alacrity and accuracy.
His conviction that this was his one and only chance had given him the grab to reach down and pull some greater strength out from his core.
Just before he went airborne, s’Ex had burst through the door, and they had locked eyes for a split second.
Then it was up and out through the air vent.
Poof!
He had followed the duct system by staying with the current that ran against him, figuring that the draft would show him the way to the great outdoors. He’d been right. Moments later, he had scrambled out into the night, expelling himself high above his previous confines, so shocked that he had gotten away with it that he had nearly re-formed and fallen to the roof of the palace.
A quick collection of his wits and he had been off, with no direction, no further plan, no supplies, no money.
But freedom was priceless . . . and would eventually lead him to cross paths with a vampire who had changed the direction of his life—
“Trez? Buddy?”
Trez exploded out of his sleep just as he had that venting system, and for a split second, he had no fucking clue where he was.
A heartbeat later, though, a pair of amethyst eyes directly in front of his face brought everything back: the training center, Selena, the present, not the past.
“Selena—”
Rehvenge put a hand out. “Whoa, easy. They’re almost finished bathing her.”
“Bathing her . . .” Trez rubbed his face and looked around, seeing a whole lot of concrete wall.
Christ, he was so exhausted, he’d crashed in the corridor outside of the examination room in the four-point-two seconds it had taken for him to sit his ass down and take a deep breath.
Rehvenge grunted as he used his cane to help himself down to the hard concrete floor. Stretching his legs out, he folded his full-length mink coat around his thighs, even though it was no colder than sixty-eight degrees.
“My Ehlena called me.” Rehv gave Trez the once-over and, going by his tight expression, didn’t like what he saw. “I would have been here sooner, but I was dealing with business up north.”
“How’re your colonists? Still psycho?”
“How are you?”
“I’m great, Your Highness.”
“Don’t try to fuck me, okay?”
“Sorry.” Trez let his head fall back against the cool wall. “I’m not at my best.”
Rehv glanced at the exam room’s closed door. “Where’s iAm?”
“Locker room. I think he went in there for a shower.”
“Knew he’d be down here with you.”
“Yeah.”
There was a stretch of quiet. And then Rehv said, “How long have we known each other?”
“A million years.”
The sin-eater laughed tightly. “Feels that way.”
“Yeah.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?”
“About . . . ?” When Rehv just popped a brow, Trez took a shuddering breath. Of course the guy wanted to know about Selena and the bonding. “Look, I didn’t even want myself to be aware of how I felt about her. I just . . . shit, you know what I was like with the whores. How the hell am I bringing that to the table with someone like a Chosen? But now this. For fuck’s sake, all that wasted time. Not that we would have been together necessarily, but . . . maybe I could have helped. Or . . .”
Although, from what the other Chosen had had to say, it seemed like the disease or disorder, or whatever the fuck it was, was going to have its own course, regardless of what anyone did.
“I got some experience with that,” Rehv murmured. “When I met Ehlena? She didn’t know that I was half sin-eater, much less the heir to the throne of the symphaths. I sure as shit wasn’t in a big hurry to tell her, but it wasn’t like I could hide the tracks in my arms, or my impulses, or who I was. And remmy, I had the same night job you do now. Not exactly good news to bring on home to the little female. I fought it for as long as I could, and when the truth came out? I knew she was going to leave. Was convinced of it. For a while she did, and I had nothing but love for her anyway. In the end, though? Worked out.”