Atlantis Unmasked (7 page)

But tonight was not the time for dark thoughts of future betrayals. Tonight was for celebrating. He clapped his hand on the captain's shoulder. “The ale is on me tonight. My friend becomes a father, and Atlantis gains an heir!”

The guards roared out their approval, shaking their spears in the air as they shouted and cheered. Brennan glanced back over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow before he and Christophe shimmered into mist and headed for the palace.

“Please tell the prince and his lady that we are all praying for Poseidon's blessing upon them, my lord,” Marcus said.

“I will, and I know he will appreciate it.” Alexios took a running start and leapt into the air, transforming into mist as he did so, then arrowed toward the palace, thoughts whirling.

Finally. An heir to Atlantis. Perhaps he would be the first Atlantean in millennia to grow up knowing the land walkers' world, after Atlantis took its rightful place on the surface

If
Atlantis ever took its rightful place on the surface. Because if what Justice's woman, Keely, had said was true, then they had to retrieve the rest of the Trident's missing gems or Atlantis would be destroyed as it tried to rise from the depths of the ocean.

Landing on the balcony of his rooms in the palace, Alexios swiftly returned to human form, dropped his weapons on the bed, and then headed for the throne room, nearly running. Before he made it halfway down the corridor, Brennan appeared at the other end, his face as grim as Alexios had ever seen it.

Alexios slowed to a stop, his heart plummeting. No. It couldn't be. Not the baby. There had been so many problems during her pregnancy—the first Atlantean-human mating in recorded history. He was unable to form the words to ask the question, but Brennan answered him anyway.

“It goes badly. Riley and the baby are both at risk.” Brennan's face hardened. “Alexios, they might die.”

Thousands of miles away from Atlantis, driving a beat-up old Jeep down a nearly deserted road, Grace felt a wave of anguish slice through her heart like a finely honed
katana
. But she'd never felt a Japanese sword pierce that particular part of her anatomy. Once through the side, sure. A couple of hits on arms and legs. But never a chest wound.

Yanking the steering wheel to the right, Grace pulled off onto the edge of the road and put her head down on the steering wheel, gasping for air until the pain passed. The Fae. That damn elf must have done something to her. Some sort of delayed reaction spell.

But even as the thought entered her mind, she realized it didn't ring true. The pain hadn't felt like Fae magic.

It had felt like
Alexios
. Wherever he was, he was hurting.

And, warrior woman or not, descendant of Diana or not, there was nothing she could do about it.

Alexios followed Brennan through the giant doorway into the opulent palace throne room, barely noticing the pristine white marble floor inlaid with designs of gold, copper, and sparkling orichalcum, a metal unique to Atlantis. He strode past the marble columns and never spared a glance for the ornate golden throne that had fascinated him so as a child, but simply followed Brennan through yet another doorway, this one much smaller, into another room, also much smaller. Prince Conlan's private meeting room. Conlan had never been much of one for pomp and circumstance; the formal elegance of the throne room his father had ruled over had never held much appeal. Most of the important business of the kingdom was conducted here, on comfortable chairs and at battered wooden tables.

That is, most of the business of peace. For the rest, Conlan and his elite guard met in the war room. Another refuge, though starkly utilitarian. Another scarred wooden table. Alexios shook his head to clear it of fancy. The baby and Riley might be dying, and he was thinking about stupid tables. He was a fool.

Or else his mind was trying to protect him with denial. Alexios had seen more than his share of death over the centuries, but the child's life had never had a chance to begin.

“Please, Poseidon, hear my plea,” he whispered urgently, a fist squeezing the place inside his chest where his heart had once been. Now, he was sure that nothing but a blackened husk remained of heart and hope. If the baby died . . . but no. He wouldn't think it.

He couldn't think it.

Entering the room, he saw Justice and Keely first.
Lord
Justice, now that they all knew he was half brother to Prince Conlan and his brother, Ven, the King's Vengeance.

Not that Ven would put up with being called
prince
anything.

Justice had his arms around Keely, like he always did. Ever since both the Atlantean and the Nereid halves of his personality had come together and soul-melded with Keely, the warrior was rarely far from her side.

Alexios ruthlessly squashed the twinge of envy he often felt at the sight of them. They were self-contained. Complete in each other, not needing anyone else. If anyone deserved to have that kind of happiness, it was Justice. He'd fought against a cursed birthright for centuries, unable to claim his own brothers as kin. Now he had a new family: Keely and their adopted daughter, Eleni, a beautiful Guatemalan child who'd lost her parents to vicious vampire attacks.

They deserved to be happy.
All
of them deserved to be happy. It was a sign of his weakness and a flaw in his character that he envied even one moment of it.

Keely looked up at exactly that moment and caught sight of him. “Oh, Alexios,” she cried out. “We're so glad you're here.”

Pulling away from Justice, she ran across the room and threw herself into Alexios's arms, sobbing. “Did Brennan tell you? It's so awful. Erin is with them, of course, with her gem-singing healing Gift. She's helping Marie do everything they can.”

Alexios was so startled by her actions that he almost didn't comprehend her words. His instinct to comfort, rusty with disuse, finally kicked in, and he awkwardly lifted an arm to pat her back, warily watching Justice. Justice returned his gaze steadily, his lips quirking into a flicker of a smile that quickly vanished.

“They will be able to heal Riley and the child,” Justice said, not a shadow of doubt in his voice.

Keely lifted her head from Alexios's shoulder and took a shuddering breath. She nodded, scrubbing her face with her hands. Alexios quickly dropped his arms to his sides, releasing her.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “Some tough archaeologist I am, right? I'm just so glad you're all back. Strength in numbers and prayers, you know? Christophe went to help, add his power to Alaric's or something, and it's just—it's just that I've gotten to know Riley so well and if . . . if . . . if something happens to her or the baby—”

Quicker than thought, Justice was beside her, gathering her into his arms. “Hush,
mi amara
, hush. We will not let any part of our family come to harm. Let us continue to offer our prayers to Poseidon, the gods of the Nereid, and your own Christian god. Surely strength in numbers, as you say, cannot hurt with gods.”

Alexios stepped away to give them some privacy and crossed the floor toward Denal, who knelt on the floor, his dark head resting against the arm of the chair. As Alexios approached, he realized the youngling was mumbling an ancient Atlantean prayer under his breath. He stopped, not wanting to interrupt, but Denal raised his head, and Alexios got another shock. Denal's eyes were sunken into his skull, and harsh lines had appeared almost from nowhere on the planes and angles of his face.

“She can't die,” Denal cried out, his voice a rusty croak. “She can't die, and the baby can't die. I can't bear it if she dies, Alexios. Not again. Not after she sacrificed her life for mine. I've been on my knees for hours praying to Poseidon to let me return the favor. Let him take me and spare her and the baby.”

Alexios was a little taken aback at the depth of anguish in the warrior's voice, though on reflection Denal had been smitten with Riley from the first. Had declared himself her champion and protector, and had built up a big case of puppy love, even trying to defend her from Conlan, her chosen mate, over a misunderstanding. But after the vampire attack where he and Brennan had actually died, and Riley had traded her life to Poseidon for theirs . . . well, something in Denal had broken. Some spark of the youth and joy that made them all think of him as an overgrown youngling, though he was man and warrior enough to be part of the Seven, well, that spark had slowly turned to ash and died. Over the course of the past several months, Denal had changed. Become quieter. Less exuberant.

Less . . . Denal.

So maybe Alexios shouldn't have been surprised at the vehemence of Denal's pain at all.

Alexios started to speak, to offer some comfort, but Denal lurched up off the floor and grabbed his arms in a death grip, digging with bruising force into his flesh. “Why won't he take me? Alexios, why won't he take me?”

Alexios shook his head, unable to offer false comfort. “They are gods, Denal. They are gods, and they choose as they will. There is nothing we can do to affect their decisions.”

Something dark and deadly gleamed in the back of Denal's eyes. “Nothing? I think you're wrong.” He leaned forward as if to embrace Alexios and then, before Alexios could stop him, Denal snatched the daggers out of Alexios's sheaths and jumped back.

“If Poseidon won't take me, then I'll give myself to him,” Denal shouted.

Alexios leapt forward, reaching for the blades, but he was too late. Denal plunged both daggers into his own abdomen and screamed loud and long as he fell back to his knees in a grotesque parody of his earlier position, blood streaming down his shirt.

“Two blades for two lives, Poseidon,” he cried out. “It's all I have to give. Let it be enough, or I will battle you through all the levels of the nine hells.”

Somewhere behind him, Alexios dimly heard Keely screaming. Justice shouting. Even Brennan, calling out for help. But none of it penetrated. None of it mattered. The warrior Alexios had once mentored for half a century had just killed himself in front of his eyes, and Alexios had done nothing. He'd failed him. Like he'd failed Prince Conlan, when Anubisa came for him. Like he failed everyone.

Lost in soul-deep anguish beyond the bearing of it, Alexios threw back his head and roared out his pain and denial.

“Not what I expected to find,” a dry, calm voice said over his shoulder. “Bleeding, shouting, and self-inflicted evisceration. What is it about you warriors?”

“Alaric, damn you,” Alexios choked out. “You're Poseidon's high priest, so
act like it
. Heal him.
Now.
”

Alaric knelt beside Alexios and flicked a sardonic glance his way. “Should I invalidate such a noble sacrifice? Even though Riley and the baby are now doing much better, and the First Maiden told us five minutes ago that a healthy birth is imminent? Perhaps Poseidon would not approve.”

“If you don't heal him in the next five seconds, my daggers are going to be digging a hole in
your
belly,” Alexios gritted out, knowing the priest was toying with him but not understanding how Alaric could do such a thing while Denal lay dying on the floor in front of them.

Certainly Alaric had grown darker and more silent of late. All of them had noticed it. But to actually let the warrior die when he could help . . . Alexios could not believe it of the priest who'd healed them all, so many times.

Alaric turned his dark gaze to Denal, his face hardening at the grim sight of the warrior sprawled gracelessly in a pool of his own spreading blood. “He's very nearly gone. Get out of my way.”

Alexios scrambled backward to give the priest room to work. Alaric called power so swiftly and strongly that Alexios's skin tried to crawl off his bones as the powerful rush of magical energy filled the room. Alaric's hands glowed in the exact center of two pulsing blue-green spheres.