This was what Richard wanted most: the truth, bitter as it must be. He thought he would be able to tell if the memories were false. He knew Edward. Even through another’s eyes, he would recognize his brother.
Beth Nakamora closed her hands around his wrist. He felt a tentative inquiry into his thoughts, like a feather tickling against the inside of his head.
She was asking permission to invade his mind. If nothing else, she was polite. He answered her the same way she asked: telepathically.
“You did not request permission to read me earlier.”
“I had to know you weren’t a danger. I had people to protect. This is different. This is deeper and more intense. It could hurt you. I need your permission to proceed.”
“How good of you to be concerned about me.”
“We don’t have to be enemies, Richard.”
“That remains to be seen.”
The room around Richard disappeared. He was plunged into an entirely different place, flavored by the emotions of those who saw Edward in his last minutes.
The memories coalesced until Richard saw a bedroom in an ordinary suburban home. A pregnant woman lay seemingly unconscious on the bed, but Richard had the distinct sensation that this was her memory, meaning she was awake. She was scared but also determined and incredibly protective of the son growing in her womb. Her utmost thought was to get her boy away from him. Edward.
Edward stood in the room, his back to the woman, talking to someone—a doctor—about their court and how they would all be welcome there if the child had the healing gift, as hoped. And how the woman would be separated from her child if she did not agree to remain at court.
Richard experienced the woman’s revulsion at being taken somewhere against her will, the implied threat if she didn’t cooperate once the baby was born, and her worry over what had happened to father of the child, a man she loved. Odd. Philip Drake seemed an unlikely person to inspire such devotion in any woman.
But underlying all that was the woman’s fierce anger. She loved the child. She hated being used against her will to create him.
It was as Richard feared. Edward had taken, not asked.
The woman’s memory faded, to be replaced by another one, this one more intense, filled with rage, so much rage than it nearly brought Richard to his knees.
Drake.
Richard saw the house from outside, through Drake’s eyes. He was sizing up how many people were between him and his woman. His devotion to her was even more fervent than hers for him.
Not only would Drake die for the woman, but he would kill and destroy to ensure her safety. Woe to whoever came between them. And Edward had.
Richard rode with Drake as he smashed a truck into the home, rushed inside the home, shooting anyone in his way, heedless of his own safety, and not flinching as bullets pinged around him. Richard felt Drake’s euphoria from the pain in his broken wrist and fractured skill. Drake used his fury. His pain fueled him.
Edward appeared, armed with a machine gun. The memory become chaotic and jumped around as the two men fought, each losing their initial weapon. They tackled each other, rolled, fell over a balcony and hit the floor hard. Edward grabbed a sword and taunted Drake.
Edward, you idiot, did you have to have a sword? You should have used a gun!
Icy fury surged through Drake. He took a slash in the side to get closer to Edward, gained control of the sword and ran Edward through.
Richard reached out at empty air, as if he could stay the blow, but it was far too late. Edward crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide and open. He couldn’t believe he was defeated. He couldn’t believe he was dying. Richard went to his knees, as if the sword had run him through as well.
Richard felt Drake’s momentary satisfaction, then fear for the woman he’d been protecting. The image of Edward taking his last breath seared itself into Richard’s memory.
My brother.
He sent Beth Nakamora the information about needing Rasputin’s corpse then everything to do with his argument about letting Lansing have Alec. He sent her his anguish at losing his brother’s respect, about being alone, his solace in the waves and his determination to forge his own path.
The almost overwhelming flow of thoughts and emotions allowed him to keep specific information about the Queen sequestered into a mental box created over a hundred years ago by another, long-dead telepath. Eleanor of Aquitaine valued her privacy, and besides, Richard didn’t trust these people with the secret of her illness yet.
“You are your own person, Richard. You’ll be stronger than your brother and do what’s right.”
His head snapped back. Power surged through him, responding to the telepath’s touch on his mind.
“What are you after?”
“I’m not a threat to you. I told you the truth.”
Silence from the other end of their link.
“Are we friends or foes, Beth Nakamora?”
“Neither yet.” She let go of his arm. She didn’t want to answer the question. The last vestige of her from his mind vanished.
Richard took several deep breaths and stood. He staggered, his balance all awry. Arms closed around him, holding him steady. Physical weakness was not his normal reaction to telepaths, even given it’d taken effort to hide that one secret from her. Something else was wrong.
“Richard,” his angel whispered into his ear, “what did she do to you?”
“Gave me the truth, as I asked for.” His imbalance must be due to seeing Edward die. He was so used to not caring, it hit hard when he realized that he had cared.
Edward should’ve been checked by Marshal sooner. Edward should never have been allowed to go this far, even to save the Queen. Now Richard saw why Marshal blamed himself for Edward’s death.
But Richard had been the one who walked away from the Court and his brother all those years ago. He bore some of the blame too. Weak, Edward had called him. Weak and unwilling to do what it took to serve the Queen properly. But not so weak as to stay and endure the insults and the focus on any means to an end.
Or perhaps it had been weak to run away.
The world around Richard blurred. He couldn’t focus. He closed his eyes, content to let Marian keep him stable for a few seconds. He supposed he could deny the truth of memories shown to him. Telepaths were endlessly unpredictable.
She could have fed him false thoughts. No, not likely.
The Edward in the memories fit. That was his brother, believing he was above reproach and, yes, above anyone save the Queen. Edward had considered Marshal his beloved teacher but his underling nonetheless.
Marshal loved you as his son, Edward. You should have understood that.
Regular people were always pawns to Edward. After all, he was a God-chosen king, was he not? But this time, a pawn had taken a king. And as much as he wanted his brother alive, Richard couldn’t say Drake had been wrong.
Richard opened his eyes. His angel kept her arms around his waist. He stared at Beth Nakamora. Had she been reading him just now? It hardly mattered. He’d given her as much of the truth as she’d given to him.
Richard focused on Drake. “I loved my brother.”
Drake nodded.
“I also protect what’s mine, as you did,” Richard said.
“Do you want that blood and fire and war?” Drake asked. “I’ve been convinced lately it’s not the way.”
“I’ve never felt it was the way. I’d rather battle the waves and Poseidon.” He settled on the couch, Marian at his side.
“So where do we go from here?” Farley finally stopped glaring and sat down in a chair.
“I hadn’t planned to confront you. I was involved elsewhere when your man began following me and brought an assault with him.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you know how to help me find Rasputin’s corpse?”
Alec snorted. Richard guessed Beth had communicated his memories telepathically to her lover.
“I wouldn’t be so flip about Rasputin. And I wouldn’t bring a civilian into the quest,” Drake said.
“Why not? What do you know?” Marian asked.
Drake stared off into space for a moment as if deciding how much to say. Or perhaps speaking silently to his foster daughter.
“Rasputin’s said to be responsible for a deadly curse,” Drake said.
Alec cut the air with his hand. “Could you please back this up for me? Beth says you want Rasputin’s body. Drake says he’s cursed. But I’m not even sure what a Rasputin is or why he’s so important.” He set his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got some serious gaps in my education.”
Unusual for someone of that power level to openly admit his ignorance. Maybe Farley was exactly what he said he was.
“Rasputin’s a little obscure, unless you’re an expert in Russian history,” Marian said. “He was born in 1869 and died 1916 and was known as ‘the Mad Monk’, which isn’t really appropriate because while he was from the lower classes, he wasn’t crazy. The name comes from his supposed miraculous power of healing. The last czar’s only son was a hemophiliac, a disease in which the blood refuses to clot. The czar’s wife, the empress Alexandra, grew convinced Rasputin could heal her son. He became her most trusted advisor.”
“And so members of the czar’s court killed him because he had an unnatural influence on their leader,” Drake finished for Marian.
She nodded. “But the legend goes that Rasputin also had the power of prophecy. He was said to see the future and even predicted that if he was murdered by members of the court, it would all end badly for the royal family. Which it did, as they were all killed in the Russian Revolution.”
“Rasputin was poisoned, shot, stabbed and drowned, I believe, before he was pronounced dead,” Drake said. “I’m guessing he was one of us, a psychic healer?”
Richard nodded. “We can only heal ourselves. Rasputin could truly heal others. So we’d like his genetic code for my court, as there are injuries that even we can’t recover from. As is evidenced by my brother’s death.” He frowned. “Why do you speak of a curse, Drake?”
“Lansing spent some time undercover in the Soviet Union studying their program to develop psychics as weapons. The Soviets thought Rasputin’s story might provide some answers. They put a team of researchers and scientists together. Within a year, all those team members died violently. Add that to the massacre of the royal family that Rasputin predicted, and the story of a curse was born.”
“Lansing obviously survived,” Marian said.
“His CIA handlers grabbed him and pulled him back to the States.”
Drake came closer, close enough to lock gazes with Richard.
“I don’t believe in curses. But psychic abilities that look like curses are real. Whatever or whoever wanted the truth about Rasputin buried, it’s likely still out there. You’re taking this girl into a wildstorm.”
“I’m not a girl,” Marian snapped.
Richard stood to be face-to-face with Drake. “You’re concerned about her?”
Drake shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been studying European history and gathering artifacts for a long time,” Marian said. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of Rasputin’s curse.”
Again, Drake shrugged. “Keep poking around, and you probably will hear it from multiple sources, especially as the Soviet system is all gone now and the secrets are out.”
“Do you plan to stop me? Any of you?” Richard asked.
He waited, intensely curious about what they would all do next. The firestarter was little more than a boy, only halfway into his twenties. Yet he controlled his immense power well. He also had a dream, if Montoya’s claim about setting this place up as a safe haven for psychics was true. Marshal’s report said the same, but the report also expressed skepticism at the openly stated goal.
Perhaps Marshal forgot that the Court had been created originally to help gifted psychics.
“It would take a battle to stop you from doing this,” Alec said. “That’s not what we’re about.”
“In that case, you should let us walk out of here. We’ve done nothing to you,” Richard said.
“I wouldn’t want to walk all the way back to my office,” Marian said.
That made Farley smile. “You were always free to go, Miss Doyle. And Drake’s advice is usually good, even if he’s snarling when he gives it. If he says this is a wildstorm, then it is.”
Farley stood “You’re still dangerous to my people,” he said to Richard.
“We could each try to destroy the other. Whoever wins would be safe. But that’s never been my way.” Richard shrugged “I’d rather hit the beach.”
“To make use of Rasputin’s genetic code, you need a living womb. Attached to a living person,” Beth said. “Edward helped impregnate a woman against her will. Will you do the same?”
“If it comes to that, the Court will find volunteers.” Why Edward hadn’t used one of them, Richard couldn’t guess. The families that served the Court no doubt had enough daughters who would volunteer to serve as surrogates.
“What about if I volunteer?”
All attention turned to Montoya, who’d been observing silently for some time.
“You’re not the right gender for a womb.” Farley grinned.
“I meant as a bodyguard for prince guy, here. I owe him for taking the bullet. If what Drake says is true, it’d be safer for Marian if I went with them to find Rasputin’s body. And we’d know if we could trust each other after it’s all over.”
“Daz, you have got to be kidding,” Farley said.
“Now, that’s an interesting offer, Mr. Montoya. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man-at-arms,” Richard said. “However, our mysterious sniper was shooting at you, not me. Bringing you along may bring him along, and I don’t want to be shot again on your behalf. No offense.”
“None taken, but look at it this way: after today, our sniper probably thinks we’re working together. You may be in the line of fire now, which makes it a good idea to bring a bodyguard. Plus, if I go with you, I can keep you informed on the investigation of the sniper from Alec’s end.”
He wanted to accept the offer. Montoya was good, despite not having spotted the sniper. Richard hadn’t spotted him either, so he could hardly find fault on that regard. He turned to Marian.
“He’s right. We could use a bodyguard. His motives are somewhat pure given how he tried to ‘rescue’ you from me and he also came back while we were under fire, so he doesn’t abandon comrades. He should be fine.”
“Gee, prince, I’m all warm and fuzzy from your praise,” Montoya said.
“The downside is that he’s a muttonhead,” Richard added.
“You’re asking me to make the final call?” Marian asked.
“I hired you for your expertise. Would he be a help?”
“Do you speak any European languages?” she asked Daz.
“Spanish and enough French to get by. A little German. I spent some time stationed there.”
Farley grabbed his friend’s arm. “Daz, wait a minute, what are you doing?”
“He saved my life, Alec. I owe him. It’s a debt I’d rather repay ASAP.” Daz crossed his arms over his chest. “And it’s obvious I can’t tail him in secret. If you’re serious about some kind of truce, this is a good start. I keep an eye on him, he keeps an eye on me, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“I could tail him in secret,” Drake said.
“You could, but I think the area between my shoulder blades would get far too itchy with you out there in the darkness.”
Drake tilted his head as if in agreement.
“We might have to deal with people on the black market,” Marian said. “That’s always a little difficult and somewhat dangerous. Extra protection could be a big help, even if there’s nothing to this curse.”
“All settled then,” Daz said, looking at Alec.
“Bitchin’,” Richard said.
“You talk strange for an immortal prince,” Daz said.
“And how many immortal princes have you met?” Richard offered his hand. Montoya shook it. No hesitation, strong, firm grip. This would be a good man to know. Daz Montoya had no fear of what Alec Farley could do. Such a man was worth being around.
If he kept his word.
“There’s a bond of honor between us now, Daz Montoya. If you break it, then there will be that fire and blood.”
Montoya grinned. “Likewise, prince guy.”