“And we all want to have a HeartKeeper,” Flammara said.
“But what if the man you love isn’t the Carrier of the Seed?” Percipia asked. Her younger sisters blinked. Enigma smiled and Bellatora nodded. Percipia knew which of her sisters were as rebellious as her. “What if you want to be with a man you choose, not one chosen for you by biology or destiny or Father?” She continued into the room and took a seat, knowing she had to tell them the rest. “The Carrier of Thalina’s Seed is a cyborg. I heard it on the comm.”
Her sisters gasped but Bellatora nodded. “That’s why they fled. Scintillon’s Law condemns him.”
“But that’s impossible!” Splendea protested. “How could the Carrier of the Seed be a machine?”
“Apparently it’s not impossible,” Bellatora said. “She fled to be with him, because of Scintillon’s Law, and Anguissa helped her. So did Mother. That’s displeased Father as much as the dart of sedative, but I’m glad she made a choice.”
“You wouldn’t choose for love,” Enigma teased. “Neither you or Percipia.”
“No,” Bellatora said flatly.
Percipia smiled. “I might choose to have the father of my child survive. It seems only right.”
Splendea threw herself into a chair. “I’d rather fall in love and be caught up in passion, then swept off my feet until I surrender my heart forever.”
“Me, too!” Peri agreed.
Percipia shook her head, impatient with what she considered to be romantic nonsense. “I don’t understand why I can’t make a sensible match for myself, one that I think will make me happy, instead of waiting on this Carrier of the Seed, who could be anyone at all!” She lifted a hand. “Maybe I don’t even want a partner. Maybe I’d just like to have a little place of my own.”
“Where no one touches your notebooks,” Splendea teased.
“Or messes with your supplies and experiments,” Bellatora added.
Percipia shook her head, knowing that Splendea was the worst about rearranging her things. “I’d like to at least have the chance to try it.”
“Funny you don’t think that about other things you could try,” Enigma purred.
“I’m not interested in sex and passion,” Percipia said. “I have two fireworks displays to plan.”
“How is that going?” Bellatora asked. “It won’t be long until the naming ceremony.”
Percipia shook her head. “I’m having trouble synchronizing the display between here and Regalia.”
“Does it matter that much?” Enigma asked. “Who will know if there are a few seconds difference?”
“It won’t be right,” Percipia said with such vehemence that her sisters smiled.
“Perfectionist,” Callida said, making a note.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Percipia replied.
“What about when you find the Carrier of your Seed?” Bellatora asked.
“I’ll do the responsible thing, of course,” Percipia admitted, hearing how grumpy she sounded. “But it sounds messy and inconvenient, and if there never is a Carrier of the Seed for me, that would be just fine. If it doesn’t happen for centuries, that would be fine, too. I might decide to live with a friend instead.”
“Sansor!” Callida and Enigma chanted together and Percipia felt herself blush.
“We have interests in common,” she said hotly but those two sisters just laughed.
Peri still looked shocked. “But that’s not what we’re supposed to do, Percipia.”
Percipia leaned forward to challenge her little sister. “What about Nero?”
Peri blushed.
Percipia continued. “He’s not the Carrier of your Seed.”
“Not yet at least,” Peri interjected.
“And even if he was, Father wouldn’t let you stay with him. He’s common-born, and Father would think him unsuitable for you.”
Peri looked agitated. “But if he was my HeartKeeper...”
“Father still wouldn’t approve,” Bellatora concluded and Enigma nodded agreement. “Just look at Thalina. She had time to claim the Seed, then they meant to eliminate the Carrier.”
Peri appeared to be very worried at that prospect. “But it’s not fair!”
“Wouldn’t you rather just choose for yourself?” Percipia asked.
Peri looked flustered and unhappy then, and fell silent.
“Same with Thierry,” Bellatora said to Flammara. “Not being the Carrier of your Seed is, I have to say, pretty much the only thing I like about him.”
“He’s a knight!” Flammara protested furiously. “He’s a member of the palace guard!”
“And neither a prince nor a king,” Enigma concluded. “Even if someday he is the Carrier, which I think unlikely, it won’t be enough, Flammara. Without him being the Carrier, you have no chance of being with him for the long term at all.”
“But Troy isn’t a prince. Drakina married him!” Peri argued.
“And a Terran,” Flammara added with a grimace.
“Drakina has always made her own rules,” Percipia said.
“And now Thalina is trying to do the same.” Bellatora added.
“I think we should all choose our own destinies.” Percipia met the gaze of each in turn, then challenged them. “Maybe making the choice changes the future.”
The sisters were divided on that, Percipia could see, and an awkward silence filled the apartment.
“All this serious discussion when what I want to do is go dancing,” Enigma complained, her dark eyes gleaming. “Come on! Let’s take advantage of the disruption in the palace tonight and break Father’s rules.”
“Oh no!” Peri whispered.
“We’ll be together,” Bellatora said. “Nothing bad will happen.”
“It’ll be fine,” Enigma insisted, showing a confidence in the plan that confirmed Percipia’s conviction that her sister often snuck out of the palace at night.
“I’d rather figure out what’s wrong with this timer,” Percipia said, opening her notebook.
“And ask Sansor for his ideas,” Callida teased.
“You’re going to stay home and read?” Flammara challenged. “After that lecture on making choices?”
“You have to come,” Splendea said, as if the decision had been made.
Enigma smiled a little. “We could ask Arkan for suggestions.” She referred to the viceroy Kraw’s nephew and apprentice, who had recently moved into the palace. “He must know which places are best. Maybe he’d even escort us.”
Percipia heard the approach of a man’s footsteps and turned toward the door, just like all of her sisters. Not surprisingly, Arkan himself stood in the doorway. He was a handsome man, a widower with two children, his hair and eyes dark. His gaze flicked over the princesses and he smiled a little. “Why do I get the feeling you were talking about me?”
“We heard you coming,” Percipia said, knowing he would understand that their senses were sharper.
“Because we were talking about you,” Enigma said before he could be relieved.
He looked alarmed instead. “Why? Have I made a mistake or caused offense, your majesties?”
Enigma smiled encouragement as she strolled toward him. Arkan straightened just a little. “Because we want to go dancing in Incendium city tonight,” she whispered. She tilted her head to study him and Percipia had the sense that hers wasn’t an idle question. “You must know the best places to go.”
Arkan flushed. “Not any more, Princess. I haven’t gone to a dance hall since my wife...”
“Reformed your ways,” Enigma concluded. There was a tension in the room then, as Arkan looked intently at Enigma.
Had they known each other before?
Did Enigma know something about the viceroy’s apprentice?
He frowned and cleared his throat. “I doubt there are any places suitable for the entertainment of princesses,” he said, sounding a lot like his uncle. “I could summon musicians to the hall for you...”
“But
that might disturb Father while he recuperates,” Bellatora said.
“Exactly,” Enigma agreed. “Get your dancing shoes, everyone. Let’s go out. We’ll find a good place ourselves!”
“But...” Arkan protested. He fell silent as the sisters ran to seize their shoes and purses, to toss on a jacket or a favorite piece of jewelry. Percipia didn’t have time to change, but Enigma cast a length of sapphire blue silk over her shoulders. Arkan was still standing in the doorway when they flowed around him in their hastily gathered finery, and he still looked both bewildered and perplexed. “But...”
Enigma was the one to stop beside him. “Don’t tell Kraw,” she whispered, touching his arm quickly with her fingertips. “Please.”
“But...” he protested again, but Enigma laughed as she ran after her sisters.
Percipia glanced back in time to see Enigma blow a kiss at Arkan. The two sisters grabbed hands and hurried down the great staircase, leaving the viceroy’s apprentice watching helplessly.
“He won’t stand aside again,” Percipia warned.
“Maybe once is all we need.” Enigma took a breath, and her eyes danced. “Don’t you smell the Seed? It’s coming from Incendium city. That’s why we have to go tonight. One of us is going to have a very interesting evening.”
Percipia inhaled and realized that Enigma was right. The scent was faint but definitely present. It wasn’t from Thalina’s Carrier, because it was slightly different from the scent in the lower floors of the palace, though just as enticing. As much as she would have liked it to be otherwise, her body responded, her blood quickening and her arousal growing.
“A perfect night to dance,” Enigma said. “What else can a dragon princess do when the scent of the Seed is in the air?”
Percipia didn’t entirely agree. She’d never been much for dancing, and would have preferred to have spent the evening solving that problem—maybe with Sansor’s help. But the scent of the Seed set a fire deep within her, making her blood simmer and awakening a new urge to be reckless and wild.
A night of dancing might be exactly what she needed.
One
No doubt about it, Bond was going to miss the pleasures of the flesh.
His assignment in the mortal realm had been a novelty, both thrilling and terrifying, and there had certainly been moments when he had been impatient for the peril to end. If he’d realized that life was so dangerous, Bond wasn’t sure he would have volunteered in the first place. The celestial realm had its benefits, one of which was tranquility, and he had often wished for that when fighting for his survival or fearing treachery. He had played a complicated game, betraying one morally-bankrupt mortal for another, but all in pursuit of a greater good.
All the same, it was exciting to feel so vital. Even though the sensation had become familiar, he suspected he would yearn for it. Was this curious mix of feelings a mortal curse, too?
Either way, the final piece of the puzzle would soon move into place and his quest would be complete. All he had to do was get to the rendezvous place and summon the Host. His mission would be done, and his time in the mortal realm at an end.
Bond already felt a sense of triumph. Victory was close, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t done yet.
He left the Archangel as soon as the vessel docked at Incendium’s star station, giving no outward sign that he was unlikely to ever see any of his comrades again. He avoided the captain, Anguissa, as she was particularly perceptive. It was imperative that he maintain his disguise to the last moment.
Even if he had become unexpectedly fond of Princess Anguissa and her crew.
There was no time or place for emotion. He had a task to complete, and speed was of the essence. The Gloria Furore were never deceived for long—if at all.
Bond knew that every moment counted.
Unfortunately, the Star Station was jammed with disappointed travelers. He wasn’t sure why the king had forbidden all departures, but the station was crowded as a result. Every bar and restaurant was filled to capacity, with a line of waiting and impatient would-be patrons. Every corridor was crowded with throngs of passengers with nowhere to go, impatient freighter crews and more luggage than he’d ever seen in one place. The line for the shuttles to Incendium city’s starport looked to be endless, and the lines for the security check were even longer.
There was nothing to do but get in line and wait.
By the time Bond stepped out of the Incendium starport and took a deep breath of the familiar scent of the city, the sky overhead was becoming dark. He treated himself to a last survey of this place that had become the closest location to a home for him. He glanced back up at the station in orbit and the double column of shuttles, rising and descending, admiring the lights. He eyed the palace that dominated Incendium city, built on a mound in the midst of the plateau that was the site of the city, its pennant snapping from its highest tower. In the distance, on the far side of the city, he could see the snow-topped peaks of the Algor Mountains stretching into the distance.
The city itself was prosperous, its inhabitants affluent and content. Most of the shops were closed by this hour, but there were people in the streets, meeting friends for a drink or a meal. Bond’s footsteps slowed of their own accord on the cobbled streets of the old city as he looked and admired and savored for the last time. The shop windows were filled with glorious things: finely made shoes, lengths of shimmering cloth, fat books with gold embossing on their leather covers, spectacles and pens and furnishings for the home. The jewelers were removing their wares from the windows, as were the specialists in computing and communications devices. He paused to watch an automaton at the clockmakers, smiling at the mechanical dragon soaring around a city that looked a lot like Incendium.
Who would have guessed that dragon shifters would build such a society as this? He passed an apothecary just as a tall blond man was taking in the sign from the walkway. That man glanced up, a question in his eyes, but Bond shook his head and continued on. He could smell delicious food and hear laughter, the rattle of coins, the clink of glasses raised in toasts, the conversation of friends.
If he was to live anywhere in the mortal realm, Incendium city might be his choice. Bond was glad to be returning to the celestial realm and looking forward to the restoration of his wings, but all of this activity and passion tugged at his heart, making him want to stay just a little longer.
Would he forget it all? That was what he’d been told to expect, but Bond had a hard time believing it. Mortals lived with such color and passion, and his experiences were so vivid in his memories. How could he forget it all?
Would they forget him? The notion troubled him, although he wasn’t sure why. He’d come to complete a quest, not to make friends or memories. What he had learned was of no relevance in the celestial realm, where thoughts were shared, motion was effortless, and serenity ruled.
Would he be bored?
Bond shouldn’t have been surprised that his footsteps turned toward the river, down to the less reputable part of the city and the part he knew best. He inhaled with pleasure as he entered the market: he could smell the spices and foods sold there in the mornings, even though those vendors had packed up their stalls hours before. He didn’t intend to walk further than the port itself. He’d planned to rent a vessel and sail out of the city as soon as possible, heading down the River Nebula to his destination, but realized it was late to embark on his journey. Those who rented boats had closed up their businesses for the night.
And he was hungry, a sensation that always surprised him.
Then he saw the sirens and a different appetite was awakened.
They were in the street just ahead, promoting their charms, calling to potential customers. They were beautiful and beguiling, each and every one of them, and Bond couldn’t resist one last walk through their midst.
He turned away from the docks and continued into the region thick with clubs, bars, and dancehalls. He flirted with a few women, wanting to take memor
ies of their beauty to the celestial realm. The lights flashed; the music was loud; the laughter was deeper. There was a hum of sexual tension, even in the street, and Bond admitted that this was the part of mortal life he’d miss the most.
If he could remember anything, he’d choose to remember sex.
His footsteps halted in front of a club that hadn’t been open when he’d last visited the city.
Ambrosia.
Temptation flooded through him.
He would be gone from this realm in less than three days, never to return.
Never to taste and feel again.
The music coming from the establishment had an insistent beat and he could envision the dancers within. Another pleasure of the flesh. How many times had he been part of the throng, moving to the beat, seduced by the sound and smell and touch of his fellows? How many times had his heart beat faster and his body perspired as he danced long after he should have stopped? How many times had he sung along, or shouted for more?
Could there ever be enough times?
His need for sensation was sudden, poignant, and piercing.
Ambrosia was popular, sufficiently popular that a dozen people stepped around him and entered while he hesitated. In the end, Bond couldn’t resist the temptation to just take a peek. He wasn’t disappointed. This club was different from the others, more luxurious, lit by pulsing lanterns that threw colored light onto the dance floor. The floor was so crowded with beautiful beings that Bond’s mouth went dry. He gazed upon them hungrily, loving how they painted themselves and adorned themselves, how they groomed themselves in pursuit of pleasure—and the prospect of sex.
This facet of mortal life was one that Bond intuitively understood. If he had been mortal—if he hadn’t had an assignment—he would have spent all his time and money in a place like this one. He might have owned a place like this one. He would have watched the dancers, both sirens and regular people; he would have danced with them, and he would have seduced them repeatedly. He would have reveled in it all, surrendered to sensation completely and never would have wanted to be found.