Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (22 page)

Drae came hurriedly into the room and went to his emperor. He bent over and whispered something into Ryden’s ear then glanced quickly at Davan.

“You are sure about this?” Ryden asked.

“Very sure.”

Davan stood, her legs threatening to buckle. “My brother?” she whispered.

“We have two of your brothers here,” The Burgon informed her. “Lorcan and Roman.”

“But Roman is dead,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

“Presumed dead but he is here,” Ryden said. “As is your husband’s brother Liam Ghrian.” He shot Drae an angry look. “And for that, heads will roll, believe me! Find out why they did not inform me of the prince being here!”

Davan came around the table, reaching out to the emperor though daring not to touch him. “Please,” she said, moisture clinging to her lashes. “Please let me see them.”

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Ryden’s face relaxed. “I have no intention of keeping you from them, milady, but you must understand they may not wish to see you.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “I know my brothers will want to see me!”

The Burgon and Drae exchanged a look and Drae nodded, exiting as quickly as he had entered.

“Where is he going?” Davan asked. “What are you up to?”

“Drae will go to the men in question and will speak to them. He will let them know you are here. It will be their decision as to whether or not they want—”

“Let me see my brothers!” Davan shouted.

The Burgon studied her for a moment—taking in the set look on her face and the fire in her light green eyes—and could not help but admire the fierceness of her expression. She was ready to do battle with him for her kin no matter the consequences and he envied Cair Ghrian such a loyal and stalwart mate. Although he could sense fear in her heart, she had pushed the emotion aside and it made no difference to her that he was a powerful warrior. She would fight for what she wanted.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Let me explain something to you,” he said and stopped for she was shaking her head. “Then I’ll show you something that might make it easier for you to understand why your brothers might not wish to see you.”

“They sure as hell won’t if you threaten them, now, will they?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or never let them know I’m here to begin with!”

Though he had never wanted to venture to the lower level and come in contact once more with the prisoner in Cell Two, he knew unless she saw the evidence herself, she would never understand the seriousness of the situation.

“All I ask is that you allow me to show you what is at stake here. It pains me that he is aware of your presence here and is demanding to see you. I cannot guess the reason for this since he has never asked to see anyone before. As far as I know, he has not spoken in over fifty years. Perhaps fate has made this decision for the both of us.”

“Who are you talking about?” she asked.

“His name is Tariq but I doubt that has meaning to you,” Ryden replied. “He has been a prisoner on Riezell Nine for decades.”

Knowing she would not gain access to her brothers until she appeased The Burgon, Davan agreed to accompany him. She half-listened to him explaining that what she was going to see would frighten her. She began to steel herself against whatever horrifying condition she would view the prisoner. No doubt driven to madness from his lengthy internment and most likely still being tortured despite The Burgon’s assurance that no such thing happened on Riezell Nine, the poor man would need to be handled carefully. Digging her nails into her palms, she made a vow she would not let her horror show and would listen carefully to whatever the unfortunate wretch had to say. 124

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“How could he know I’m here?” she asked as they took the elevator to the lower level. “How does he even know who I am?”

A muscle worked in Ryden’s jaw. “That much I can answer. The skink went to see him,” he growled. “I have no doubt he plucked from that jackass’ mind everything the Saurian knows. Since the djinn is in constant communication with the other prisoners, he would have readily made the connection between you and the men incarcerated here.”

“You call him the djinn,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“We call him djinn for lack of a better description. No one truly knows what he is. When he was captured, the ones who found him had no other words to describe him. In Aduaidh culture, a djinn is a being cast from the smoke of a fiery wind. He is able to disappear, making himself invisible, and to change his natural shape into that of any object—animate or inanimate—at will. Most often a djinn is pictured as half-man, halfgoat but there are paintings in the Temples on Aduaidh Prime of such spirits in wolf form.”

“You expect me to believe he can make himself invisible?” she scoffed.

“Why not?” he countered. “I am told Deathwielders can, so therefore, your own husband has the ability.”

Davan pursed her lips. “Legend isn’t reality as Cair once pointed out to me.”

“That may be true. All I can tell you is what I, myself, witnessed. Before I went down to take a look at him for myself, I had read all the information regarding him—at least all the data the scientists had been able to learn from him before he stopped cooperating with them. I knew his name was Tariq and that he was descended from a vanished ancient people. I viewed vid-tapes of him changing into animal form but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw in Cell Two that afternoon.”

“You saw him change into what? A goat?” she snorted.

“A wolf,” Ryden answered. “But that was many years before when they were testing him. By the time I saw him, he had ceased changing and was as you will see him today.”

“Tortured into lunacy, no doubt,” Davan said.

The Burgon held his tongue for the elevator had stopped and the doors opening. He indicated Davan was to precede him.

“He is the only prisoner on this tier,” he explained. “The scientists thought they if they isolated him, he could not communicate with the others but they miscalculated. He converses with them whenever the mood strikes him I’m told, though that is less and less as the years pass.”

Davan stared down a long, dimly lit corridor. Closed doors to either side of the corridor looked thick and impregnable. The atmosphere was forbidding, claustrophobic.

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“There has never been an escape from the facility although Tariq once managed to get to the surface before being retaken. That was the only time he was ever allowed to break free.”

“So you’ve kept him in solitary confinement for years,” she said, glaring up at him.

“And you don’t consider that torture?”

Ryden’s face turned red beneath her angry scrutiny but he did not answer. He turned to his left and started down the shadowy corridor.

“Must you keep him in the dark as well as alone?” she challenged.

“He doesn’t like the light,” The Burgon said. “We keep it this way for his comfort. He has the ability to raise the light level if he desires. He reads a book a day, I’m told.”

“What else is there for him
to
do?” she snapped.

A muscle worked in Ryden’s jaw. He was unaccustomed to a woman questioning him and in so insulting a tone. Disrespect was not something he had ever experienced—

even as a newly commissioned ensign—for he came from a powerful, influential family.

“If you were one of my wives,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’d take you over my knee for speaking to me in such a discourteous manner.”

“Well, that’s the difference between a woman who knows her worth and a woman who is willing to share her man with a dozen other females,” Davan stated.

“I have only two wives!” he told her, his eyes narrowed.

“And how many concubines?” she asked.

There was a brighter shaft of light pouring from beyond the last doorway on the left. They were within a yard or so from what must be the djinn’s cell.

“We’ll continue this discussion later,” Ryden mumbled.

“You don’t keep the door to his cell closed?”

Ryden stopped and snaked out a hand to grab Davan’s upper arm. “We do not torture the man, wench. Neither do we keep him enclosed any more than is necessary. Even though the outer door is open, the bars were removed and a fifteen-inch thick plexigon shield installed to seal the doorway. His cell was extended to encompass four cells so he has more than ample room to walk about, exercise and do whatever else he likes.”

She shrugged off his hold. “Except see the sun and interact with those around him,”

she complained.

Grinding his teeth, The Burgon growled under his breath and did an about-face, marching to where the light spilled out into the dim corridor. Davan saw her escort falter as he faced whatever was in the cell. He stood there with his hands thrust into the pockets of his uniform trousers, his shoulder hunched and his posture defensive. Whatever he was looking at was taking its toll on the warrior for she saw a shudder ripple through his tall frame. Girding herself for what she would see, she walked slowly toward the light.

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* * * * *

“I am Captain Cairnan Ghrian!” Cair shouted at the expressionless face of the commander of the ship that had slid into position in front of the
Saoirse
, the warcruiser’s pulse cannons locked on the smaller ship. “I—”

“We know who you are, Your Grace,” the Aduaidh commander of the
Clepsydra
announced. “We were told to watch for you and to escort you safely to Riezell Nine.”

Dread traveled down Cair’s spine but he refused to allow the man staring back at him to see it. “Why not Utuk Xul? Or Aduaidh Prime?”

The commander smiled nastily. “Because your lady is on Riezell Nine but if you would prefer we take you to Utuk Xul, I will seek The Burgon’s permission. It is he who awaits you at the research facility.”

Dread became fear at learning Davan was at the infamous facility on Riezell Nine. Fear became something more upon hearing The Burgon was there, as well.

“Is my lady safe?” Cair blurted out, wanting to kick himself for his weakness.

“I assure you she is,” the commander said. “Captain Avatás did not have permission to abduct your lady and The Burgon is most displeased with him. The Saurian did not touch Her Grace.”

“Is Avatás on Riezell Nine?”

“I am told he is under house arrest. I am sure The Burgon will allow you to handle the Saurian as you see fit.”

“I want his scaly head adorning the wall of my outhouse!” Cair snarled.

“Well, then, what’s it to be, Your Grace?” There was a begrudgingly note of respect in the voice of the
Clepsydra
’s commander.

“I’ll relinquish control of my ship if—”

“There is no need. His Excellency prefers you come to him of your own free will and not as our prisoner. We will follow you to the planet to make sure you are wellprotected. I am having my navigational officer send you the coordinates to the facility as we speak. You may proceed at your discretion, Your Grace.”

The
Clepsydra
reversed its engines so Cair could move past the deadly warcruiser. Feeling unease settling on his shoulders, the Amhantarean prince glanced down at the readout of coordinates flashing across the computer screen. Although he knew where Riezell Nine was in the Aduaidh Quadrant, he would never have gotten within its gravitational pull without the proper coordinates leading him to the planet’s entry lanes. Heat-seeking mines disguised as asteroids ringed the high-security planet to keep away unwanted visitors. Typing in the coordinates, he was aware of a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. With the huge warcruiser right behind him—pulse cannons still primed—he was as uneasy as he could ever remember being.

“I’m coming, Davan,” he whispered. “At least Bakari doesn’t make war on women. He’ll let you go once I turn myself over to him.”

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It was the fear of the unknown after Davan was freed that dried the moisture from Cair’s mouth and sent it to his palms. That he could take B’reith Avatás was a foregone conclusion. No other warrior—save another Deathwielder like himself—could take Cair in combat. The upcoming battle between them held no concern for the Amhantarean prince. What made his balls tighten was being locked up in the facility on Riezell Nine for the remainder of his life and being experimented on in the vile ways about which he had heard whispered.

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Pleasure’s Foehn

Chapter Fifteen

Davan slowed approached The Burgon, never taking her eyes from the expression on his face. He was staring into the cell—his forehead creased, his lips slightly parted. As she came up beside him, he tore his eyes from the prisoner and looked down at her.

“I wish you didn’t have to see this,” he said so quietly she had to strain to make out what he was saying.

She held The Burgon’s gaze for a long moment then slowly turned her head toward the cell, blinking in slow motion as she did.

Ryden watched the woman’s eyes flare as she took in the sight that awaited her. Her mouth dropped open and she wavered, causing him to reach out to take hold of her arm lest she collapse. He heard a slight groan of horror or pity or pure shock. He didn’t know which. He could feel her trembling beneath his hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders in an effort to reassure her.

The prisoner in the cell had not moved from his bunk. He sat on the edge with his clasped hands hanging between his spread knees, his head lowered so his face was hidden from view. His massive shoulders were hunched forward, straining the fabric of the black jumpsuit he wore. When he lifted his head and looked at Davan, the young woman whimpered.

“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed this,” Ryden said and would have drawn her back down the hall but she jerked away from him. Though she was trembling violently, she took a step toward the plexigon shield.

“
Leave us, Bakari.
”

The silent command shot through Ryden’s head so loudly and so painfully, he slammed his hands against his ears and staggered back. He nearly passed out from the pain and sagged against the far wall, horror washing over his face.