Empress Hiding Page 5

  But the beast had not attacked, it was simply Mischief’s reaction to its appearance that was the cause of the whole ordeal. And, even though the words of apology had never actually passed his lips, Dalis understood by Rafal’s actions of carrying the unconscious Blood-borne steward to his house adjacent to the Magistrate’s property and placing him in the arms of his mate that the Prime Magistrate was sincerely apologetic. The Magistrate had even “re-hired” him – even though he had never resigned – at least not that day – at a higher salary after the incident.

  Mischief laughed adoringly out loud at the memory of the Magistrate’s handling of the whole matter in the public eye …

  Yes, there was a lot to this Prime Magistrate that sang a significantly different tune than did his sire, Preeminent Khedive Khitam Sadid – rumored to be growing more paranoid and even more demented by the day – and his sire, the almost-diabolical Khedive before him. There was not only a heart within Rafal, but a conscience as well.

  And Dalis would serve Rafal until his dying day if that was what it took to nurture that heart and that conscience – to assure some decency on the throne and to spread the word to others of the existence of such.

  Perhaps the Blood-bornes would find a new beginning with his reign.

  And perhaps not.

  But Dalis had to hold onto something because if mongers had a reputation for anything, it was a stubbornness and a loyalty that knew no limits.

  Especially not false speciatic limits created by a singular murderous psycho nearly four centuries ago.

  Such was the pep talk Dalis gave his Mischief as he poured just the perfect amount of rich cream into the Prime Magistrate’s favorite relaxation elixir.

  And carried it to the Prime Magistrate’s hydro-spa.

  Chiyoto pulled her concealed money pouch from inside her loose sleeve and looked at the contents as she carefully compared them to the prices listed on the small menu that was posted on the pole at the top of the stairwell leading down to the obscure entrance of the Midori Moon.

  She sighed discontentedly – the cost of the ticket on tomorrow’s Mainline Shuttle had been more than they had expected, and she still had to pay for her room at the boarding establishment.

  “We may or may not have enough for much of a meal depending on the cost of our libation,” Chiyoto mumbled to Runa.

  But Runa cared only about the libation – the meal was secondary at this point – she needed the sustenance. She growled agreeably inside to Chiyoto.

  They descended the stairs and entered the extremely low-lit establishment.

  And immediately everything inside of her relaxed.

  The scents and the odors were all of the same that coated their living quarters from years ago back in the slums of Capital City. There was not even a hint of Crimson paraphernalia on the walls or tables or even the floors – even the lighting was skewed to the green allocation of the light spectrum. Runa hummed low inside as Chiyoto casually removed her tinted glasses to see clearly in the near-dark and her scarf to let her main flow freely over her shoulders and down her back – her unusual pink eyes quickly discerning a full layout of the tavern and its patrons.

  Blood-bornes had much better eyesight in the low-light and the darkness than did Crimsons – of course, the trade-off was that the Crimsons could see excellently in the bright light of day. As such, most Blood-bornes stayed indoors in the middle of the day or wore tinted glasses to cut down on the glare and shock to their eyes.

  She somewhat cautiously approached the crowded gathering area where a large beverage-service island was located – it was quite easy for someone of her size to keep a low profile among such a large group. In fact, very few if any of the evening’s clientele noticed Chiyoto’s presence as she slid quietly along the wall until she reached the island and perched rather unnoticeably onto the small space remaining at the end of the service seating there.

  The island was being run by a much older yet quite physically fit male whose clothing was quite out-of-the-ordinary with its bright pinks and deep greens – and it looked all the more unique in contrast to the male’s yellow and orange hair which was indicative of the tribal desert regions of Bohrea Cardinal. Runa breathed easily inside of her. The male’s altare was one of the large pachyderms that frequented the oases of the deserts – its name was Sarang. Chiyoto smiled to herself at the mental disparity between the humongous size and strength of a yuctana and the gentle name that connoted pure love in the Blood-borne heritage.

  Chiyoto carefully counted out exactly half of what she could afford to spend this evening before quietly signally to the isle-charge that she was prepared to order. His massive form appeared in front of her – his bright shirt unbuttoned down to the waist to reveal his star-kissed skin covered in that soft fur so prominent among his kind.

  “What could I get you for, pretty young one, or are you even old enough to be in here?” His old eyes winked and tried to flirt although it had no effect on Chiyoto – she was who she was and would never mate – she and Runa both knew that.

  But she had to admit that the male was, in his own right, quite beautiful, and she smiled to acknowledge such.

  Runa huffed dramatically inside of her at the ridiculous sentiment.

  “We would like to speak with the owner, if such is possible, handsome one,” Chiyoto touched his hand gently.

  The isle-charge stiffened and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “And whom will I say you are, my pretty,” the male quickly yanked his hand from under hers and grasped hers tightly and almost painfully – his face turning immediately hostile, “Young. Thing.”

  His actions were so slight and his voice so low that no one else even noticed their exchange.

  Runa growled and slashed out inside, but Chiyoto magically pushed just a little such that it scalded the large male’s palm, and he immediately withdrew it in both pain and surprise.

  “You may say, Sarang,” her voice was quiet yet lethal and unmoved as the smile completely disappeared from her face, “That we are an acquaintance of the gentle one, Harnon, and that he sent us here to speak to the owner.”

  They stared at each other momentarily – Runa so ready to simply take her sustenance directly from ripped throat of this male that Chiyoto was once again glad for the Keeper she wore – until the male’s gaze completely relented to the docile being that he truly was.

  And he only slightly bowed his head so as to not attract attention.

  “Harnon told me to expect you, Chi … Mistress, but he failed to tell me how young and truly beautiful you are,” his voice was unmistakably repentant as he fisted and unfisted his burning hand – he even tried wiping it with the work towel he kept on his waist, “Please accept our most humble apologies for the incident. I am Togo, owner of the Midori Moon.”

  The strength and the honesty of him brought the smile back to Chiyoto’s face.

  “You have a wonderful establishment here, Togo,” she leaned forward only in the slightest to touch Togo’s upper arm to release yet another bit of magic into him, this time to heal, “And your actions are understandable given your position and responsibility.”

  Runa complained fiercely at Chiyoto’s actions – the animal deserved to suffer longer for his treatment of them. Chiyoto mentally stroked Runa gently as she brought the money which she had portioned out to set on the island. Of course, Runa only grumbled more about establishing authority and such.

  Togo’s eyes lit with the banishment of the pain in his palm, and he looked excitedly between it and Chiyoto as she continued to speak.

  “We are wondering if there is any amount of true sustenance this,” she pushed the money toward Togo, “Could purchase this evening? It has already been a long journey, and I am afraid we are very limited on funds. We will take whatever …”

  Togo made a long, gruff noise that sounded just like his altare had been standing there
instead of him. In fact, Runa lowered herself ready to rip him apart, but Chiyoto sat firm as her and Togo’s eyes met again.

  “Your money is no good here, Mistress,” he lowered both his head and his voice until his bright yellow eyes were even with and within just a few measures of hers, “We will take no payment in service to our Em …to you.”

  And without another breath, he stood to full height, pushed the money back across toward Chiyoto, and proceeded to holler above the crowd.

  “Maltina!”

  A rough-looking, very tattooed, scantily-clad, and obviously very fit female emerged from the crowd a few steps from Chiyoto. She had some of the most beautiful obsidian eyes and so-black-it-was-almost-purple skin that Chiyoto had ever seen, and her naturally stark-white hair was a delightful contrast. Her tattoos were done with fluorescent ink which made her all the more extraordinary. And her altare was everything dangerous all rolled into one – a winged sheltanock. Chiyoto was about to glance back in question at Togo when Runa grumbled that the sheltanock was vestigial and unable to break through the veil and escape the binds of Maltina’s cognate form. As such, as long as the dark female kept her head down and out of sight of any Crimson checks and patrols, she could escape suspicion and, therefore, execution. Sheltanocks were dangerous predators and had been thought to have been eliminated during the Cleansing. Chiyoto smiled warmly at the female and stood to greet her – the ebony female’s gaze almost immediately softening as her formidable altare, Abunai, greeted the over-powering presence that Runa was on that plane.

  Togo spoke over the crowd noise to Maltina.

  “Maltina, escort my niece, Chi,” his voice was gruff yet almost teasing as the dark female cut him an unquestionably unconvinced glance, “To my private table and take care of her for the evening. I will deliver her drink myself.”

  Maltina hesitated in wonder until Chiyoto reached out and grasped her shoulder.

  “Thank you, beautiful one,” Chiyoto stated gently as she motioned for Maltina to lead the way, “Are some of these your handiwork?”

  Maltina’s face broke into a huge smile that practically encompassed her entire body.

  “Somewhat, Hanimefendi,” her voice was strong and proud as they made their way through the crowd, “I designed them on paper, and my friend applied the tattoos.”

  Chiyoto followed Maltina to a table on a small raised platform that overlooked the island and most of the tavern except the backroom. Togo motioned that he would be there shortly as Maltina pulled her chair for her – their small-talk conversation continuing through Chiyoto’s ordering of a small assortment platter. After Maltina departed, Chiyoto sat back and observed all the happenings in the establishment – enjoying all of the personalities and interactions of her people therein – as she proceeded to argue with Runa regarding the gorgeous and compelling male she had observed earlier in the Commons area.

  Every time Chiyoto’s senses tried to imagine being held by him, Runa would promptly respond with disturbing visions as she had earlier. And when Chiyoto tried to simply envision his striking emerald eyes, Runa would respond with a vision of those same eyes with a knife planted between them.

  Chiyoto was getting very irritated with her antagonistic and, yes, uncivilized altare when she noticed an interaction between Togo and another large male with long black hair who almost seemed to have a Crimson-aura about him, but then it would fade. Knowing that her vision could not be fooled by any masking or costume, she surmised the black-haired male must be a mixed-breed who favored his Blood-borne side.

  Although his sire had to be the Crimson based on the overall strength of the aura compared to the one or two other mixed breeds in the noshery.

  Either that or his mother had been an unusually strong Crimson. Runa agreed with the former.

  Noting Chiyoto’s lack of interaction in their on-going mental battle, Runa immediately stopped her attempted aggravation of Chiyoto and took notice of the male – his part-Crimson blood calling out loudly to the already exercised altare. It was undeniably true that Runa got exponentially stronger when they were tired or hungry whereas Chiyoto, the cognate form, did just the opposite – such was true for all beings of Bohrea Cardinal.

  And Runa raised her head in challenge to the presence of the Crimson-blood in her vicinity as Chiyoto, once again, praised the makers for the Keeper that adorned her wrist and finger.

  Because Chiyoto was far too tired and hungry to have won this battle of the wills without it.

  Chapter 4

  Togo had prepared the base for the blood cocktail and was about to inconspicuously slit his own palm to fill the tall ceramic mug when a large hand firmly grasped his wrist of the hand holding the modified scalpel. Togo’s response was immediate and physical, but the intruding male had him at his mercy in the blink of an eye.

  “Trust me, my friend,” the male with the long, flowing ebony hair clothed completely in tight-fitting synthskin gray whispered into Togo’s ear from between relaxed yet set teeth, “I am half-breed and can provide more energy for our Heiress.”

  Togo only relented enough to regain control of his own limbs from the nerve-deadening hold the obviously fight-skilled male held on him – the action allowing him a face-to-face venue with his could-be opponent even though said opponent still held his wrist painfully tightly. Togo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he inconspicuously reached his free hand toward the underside of the island to locate one of the many blades he kept hidden there.

  “And just how do you know who she is, friend?” Togo’s sarcasm was not lost on the male.

  The black-haired male’s face was unmoved by the question, but it was obvious he was a predator – Togo’s altare saw that clearly in his silver eyes. And a slight shiver ran down Togo’s spine.

  “For the same reason I know you are feeling for your jewel-handled, dual-edged cutlass harnessed just under the island edge to your right, my left.”

  Togo stopped his hand’s searching and examined the male’s face.

  “You are an auger,” Togo paused only slightly in reverence – his mind still trying to figure the situation, “But you bear no marking of such, Visue.”

  Sensing Togo’s compliance, the auger relented his hold and held his palm out for the scalpel.

  “To every thing and every one a purpose, brother,” the intensity never left the auger’s eyes, “Now, hand it to me so that she may be nourished.”

  And then something very important struck Togo as he regained his purpose and presented the scalpel to the auger: the male was a predator – a predator that had Sarang trembling just moments before. In fact, Sarang was still not completely settled on their present safety. How did that work?

  The male’s penetrating silver eyes flashed recognition at Togo’s unspoken question.

  “Let it be, brother,” the mysterious auger did not even flinch as the brown blood poured from his hand into the mug, and he handed the scalpel back to Togo, “You are safe, and we are all where we need to be.”

  Without another word to Togo, the auger drew the island’s glowing-hot slicing blade from its charging base and unflinchingly cauterized the cut he had made on his own hand with the scalpel – he steadily returned it to its base before he casually disappeared into the crowded room.

  Sarang withdrew in horror at the smell of the auger’s seared flesh as Togo gathered his composure and the mug to deliver it to Chiyoto.

  And to think he was to have an even more interesting visitor to his backroom in the next few hurs.

  Unbelievable!

  Dalis steeled his and Mischief’s nerves and opened the door to the spa. Obviously, the Magistrate was completing some research as he relaxed this evening because the large overhead screen contained a personnel data log and snapvis even though the Magistrate was no where to be seen. A fact that told Dalis he was deep in the pool at the moment.

  But then Mischief chat
tered to him about the log that was displayed, and he quickly placed the steaming peppermint tea on the stand and tried to rapidly exit the spa. But Rafal must have been watching from below because the stream of bubbles that proceeded his surfacing began just as Dalis placed the drink on the stand.

  And Rafal appeared in his cognate form only seconds later – not enough time for Dalis to reach the exit door.

  “Dalis?!”

  Dalis froze in his tracks, but did not turn around.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  Dalis heard the sound of the Prime Magistrate swimming to the side of the pool nearest the entrance – nearest him – as the old steward stood – his back still to Rafal – trying to put on his best gambling face. Mischief made that task a very difficult one – especially at times like this.

  The Prime Magistrate’s voice – definitely cognate and not his terrifying beast – was solid and demanding; however, it was not threatening in any way.

  “Why is this pich on our Black Detail?”

  Dalis shrugged innocently as he turned to face the Prime Magistrate who hung on the side of the pool about to sip from the mug just delivered him.

  “How should I know, Magistrate? I am certainly not involved in …”

  A low, threatening growl began emanating from Rafal’s position – even though he noticeably enjoyed the taste and feel of his tea this evening – he reached up to the waterproof control board and highlighted a phrase on the log displayed on the screen. There was a low rumble that persisted through all of his words.