Higher Power (Prophecy Of The Cataclysm Book One), page 15
Loren stood in the open doorway, dozing on his feet as all the castle guard had been taught to do. Simon glanced at the window. Going out was not an option as Loren would surely be awakened by the noise. Which left him no choice but to leave from the room.
He watched Anastasia and Charles for several long moments, wanting to be certain both were sleeping before he went. Neither stirred. Still, he hesitated. Last night he would have willingly revealed himself in order to protect the siblings, but now danger was past he felt that old fear creeping over him again. The one which insisted they could never love him if they knew what he truly was. Then he would lose the only real family he’d ever had.
But the time was drawing near when the choice would be taken from him. Last night had proven it. And if it came down to possibly losing Anastasia’s love or making a mistake which could get her killed, he had no choice to make. He had to see Fate. He had to know what was coming.
Simon drew a deep breath, let it out slow, and shifted. One moment he was standing in a luxurious bedroom in the Duke’s manor on the lesser plane and the next he was in the high realm at the edge of a little clearing. In the center of the clearing sat the log cabin Selene shared with her sisters. Warm, yellow light spilled from the windows; a column of smoke drifted up from the chimney into the starry sky.
At Simon’s approach, a slim black dog stood up on the porch and let out a warning growl. “Easy, Boris,” Simon whispered holding his hand out for the dog to sniff. “It’s only me.”
Boris whined, his whip thin tail wagging. He pushed his narrow head under Simon’s hand for an ear scratch. Simon was happy to oblige, both because he liked the dog and because it gave him an excuse to avoid knocking on the door for a few more precious seconds.
But he knew he couldn’t distract himself with the dog forever. So he straightened, climbed up the steps, and rapped his knuckles against the door. As he waited for the answer, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs.
The door swung open. “My, my, look what the cat dragged in.” Priscilla leaned languidly against the doorframe; her sheer pink nightgown draped across her supple body in a way which left little to the imagination. “We didn’t expect to see you around her again.” Her cornflower blue gaze roamed slowly over his body. “You look good as a human.” She ran her tongue across her lower lip. “Very good.”
Simon smiled patiently. “And you look lovely, as always.”
“Only lovely?” She pursed her lips into a pout. “So cold. You break my heart.” She moved closer, her warm breath brushing his face. “But I bet you could make it up to me.” She trailed one pink nailed finger down the center of his chest. “Somehow.”
“Stop fondling him, you shameless hussy.” Dorothea grabbed her younger sister’s arm and jerked her away from the door.
Priscilla glared at her, showing the icy rage barely concealed beneath the seductress’ facade. “How dare you? I should--”
“What?” Dorothea asked with a disdainful expression. “Please, do tell us what you intend to do, sister. I’m sure we would be fascinated to hear.”
Breathing heavily, Priscilla bared her teeth, her fingers curling into claws. She looked as if this time she might actually launch herself at Dorothea. And if she did, Simon was uncertain what he should do about it. Getting in between two higher powers, particularity these two, was not his idea of a good time.
Priscilla spun around and flounced from the room. “Frigid bitch,” she called over her shoulder as she turned the corner.
Dorothea shifted her disapproving gaze to Simon. “Really, must you encourage her bad behavior?”
“I can assure you she was getting no encouragement from me,” Simon said. “Is Selene here?”
“Of course. Where else would she be at this indecent hour?”
“Is she asleep?”
“You know she doesn’t sleep,” Dorothea snapped. “I should tell you to go, but I suppose it’s her place to do so. Come in. “ She stepped back.
“Thank you.”
The interior of the cabin did not match its humble exterior in the least. For one thing, it was much bigger inside and at the moment garishly decorated with garlands of bright flowers and gauzy curtains. Plush, pink furniture and cherry wood tables with gold filigree finished out the feeling of overdone opulence.
Dorothea made a face and with a wave of her hand, the room changed. Fluted marble columns appeared alongside elegantly carved tables and chairs. The newly austere and stern atmosphere matched Dorothea’s disposition as well as the previous decor had matched her sister’s.
“Selene is in the kitchen,” Dorothea said. “I presume you remember the way.”
“Yes.” Simon strode across the room attempting to exude a self-confidence he didn’t feel. After such an icy reception from Dorothea, he could only imagine how Selene was going to react to his return. His stomach fluttered at the thought.
The kitchen was twice the size of the one in the DeHaviland manor and equipped with every form of cooking apparatus imaginable. Selene stood beside one of the counters in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and splattered with flour, flattening dough with a rolling pin.
Something about the familiarity of the moment froze Simon in the doorway. Missing her had been a constant ache at the back of his mind all these years, but he’d forced himself to not dwell on it. To focus, instead, on the task for which he’d been sent to the lesser plane. But seeing her now, it all came flooding in so strongly it stole his breath.
Strands of brunette hair had slipped from the messy bun on the back of Selene’s head to fall across her cheek. She absently reached up to brush them aside and caught sight of Simon in the doorway. Her hands stilled.
“Hello, Selene.” He felt the wrongness of the words even as they came out of his mouth. This wasn’t what he wanted to say, not even close. It was certainly not anything he’d imagined saying to her when first they saw each other again. But he found his mind suddenly blank. Empty of all other words.
She turned to the sink. “Simon.” His name didn’t fall sweetly from her lips as it once had, instead it grated as if forced, as if it had been so long since she spoke it she had almost forgotten how. She turned the water on and stuck her hands under the faucet.
The gurgle and splash of water sounded loud in the room, a kind of condemnation of his poor choice in words of greeting. Or so it seemed to Simon. He swallowed and tried again. “I know it’s been a long time and you probably wonder where I’ve been. But I can explain. You see --”
“I don’t need to hear it.” She lifted a blue bowl of sugar and carried it over to the counter. “I know where you’ve been.” She sat the bowl down with a thump, never once looking at him. “Morpheus told me.”
“Morpheus?” The name filled him with as much unease as the man’s actual presence would have done. “I didn’t think the two of you were on speaking terms.”
“As you said, it’s been a long time.” She scooped up a handful of sugar and sprinkled it across the dough. “Things change.”
“Oh. Well.” Simon cleared his throat. “If Morpheus explained things to you then I guess you can understand how I had no choice in the matter.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Selene took up a star shaped cookie cutter and stabbed the dough in short, quick jabs. “Mishkael spoke and you jumped to do his bidding, probably without a question or a thought. And then you whisked off to the lesser plane to be born as a human without even bothering to tell anyone what was going on. Perfectly reasonable. I completely understand.” She tossed the cookie cutter aside and grabbed a slim knife, which she used to slash the excess dough away.
“I would have told you what was happening, but he gave me no chance.” The words sounded weak even as he spoke them. “Not even an archangel can oppose the will of the God Above.”
Selene picked the cookies up one by one and slapped them onto a tin sheet. “No. Wouldn’t even dream of trying.” She shoved the sheet into the nearest over and slammed the door, then stood with her back to him and her arms crossed. “Why are you here?”
Simon hesitated, but he could not turn back now. Not if he wanted to keep Anastasia safe. “I need your help.”
Selene exhaled a bitter laugh. “With what?”
“I need to talk to Fate.”
“You ask too much.” She moved again to the sink and absently wiped at a plate with the dishrag. “Fate has distanced herself from the rest of us. She...she’s angry.”
“When is she not angry?” He studied the side of her face. A face he knew as well as any. “Are you saying she won’t see you? You’ve always been her favorite.”
Selene stared down at the plate, then dropped it and the rag into the sink and leaned against the counter. “Something’s wrong. Not long after you disappeared, Fate locked herself away in her glass tower. She hasn’t been heard from since. I couldn’t even get her to let me in so she could tell me what happened to you. So I went to Morpheus.” Her fingers tightened around the plain marble.
“I was surprised he would talk to me,” she said. “But I think he took a sort of pleasure in telling me you had gone off to do Mishkael’s bidding. And yet I could feel something...off with him. He seemed uneasy in a way I’ve never known him to be. His swagger was there, but it felt pressed on rather than natural. And they aren’t the only elder powers who have been acting oddly all these years you’ve been away.” She turned her face toward his. “Simon, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “Which is why I must see Fate. The woman the God Above sent me to watch over is in danger. I have to protect her. Not only because he ordered me to do so, but because I can’t bear to see any harm come to her. And if whatever is threatening her is the same thing which has the elder powers acting this way, then
she’s in even graver danger than I imagined. Won’t you help me, please?”
Selene studied his face. Something she saw there caused a flicker of pain to flash through her eyes. Simon wished he could reach out to her and pull her into his arms as he once would have. But he was uncertain how she would react, so he kept himself still instead and waited to hear her reply.
She looked away. “I’ll take you to the tower, though I can’t guarantee Fate will see you. But you know how long a journey it will be.” Her tone plainly begged him not to say what she must surely know he had to say in answer to her words.
“Not if we pass through the Land of Dreams.” To risk crossing paths with Morpheus again was dangerous, he knew. The last time they met the man had almost killed him. And though Simon was stronger now than back then, he was under no illusions he might be a match for a higher power.
“I was able to get you out of there alive once. I may not be able to do so again.”
“It’s the only way,” Simon said. “I can’t risk leaving Ana any longer than I have to. She was attacked by a demon tonight. Once whoever sent it to kill her realizes it failed, they may try again.”
Her gaze searched his face. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Very much so.”
“Enough to risk losing your life?”
“Enough to risk losing my soul, if it came down to it.”
“I see.” Selene stepped past him. “It would seem Mishkael has chosen a better champion than perhaps even he knows. We should go.”
Simon sighed with relief. Part of him wanted to assure her he wouldn’t have made the suggestion to enter the Land of Dreams if he thought for one moment she might be in danger from Morpheus. His life, his soul, he would risk a thousand times over for Anastasia’s sake, but nor for anything would he ever place Selene in harm's way.
He turned to follow her, keeping these words buried inside of his head along with all the rest.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Daniella shrieked as she threw a vase against the wall. It shattered, scattering bits of pale blue glass across the carpet. She glared at the shards as if they were the source of all her trouble. The nightmare had failed. It had returned to the aether without her permission, as if her power were no more significant than a puff of wind.
The demon had reported its failure, but not the cause. She assumed it had to do with the archangel, but she would never know for certain now. It had to have been the angel. Daniella could not imagine what else might send a nightmare fleeing back to the aether in such a manner.
With a growl, Daniella paced to the window and threw open the shutters. A cool, rain scented breeze brushed her face. Scarlet light streaked the sky in advance of the dawn. But her eyes could see no beauty in it. Everything was spinning out of control, driving spikes of doubt into her mind. Was it possible she was incapable of changing the future the crystal ball had shown her? Might it be she and Richard were doomed to die without ever gaining the power they so rightfully deserved?
“No,” she whispered into the fading night. “No. I’ve done too much, worked too hard, to see it all unravel now. There must be a way.” But if a nightmare could not rid her of Anastasia, what could?
A scream ripped through the castle. Daniella whirled away from the window, her heart leaping into her throat. Running feet sounded from the other side of her chamber door. Then came a pounding on the door itself and Daniella tensed. Was it possible the castle had been overrun? She’d heard the rumors of a brewing rebellion, but discarded them as meaningless talk. Her hand reached for the hidden dagger. It was small, but at least it was something with which she could defend herself.
“Your Highness.” A sobbing voice accompanied the pounding. “Your Highness. You must wake up.”
Daniella recognized the voice as belonging to one of her maidservants. Frowning, she went to the door. “What is it?” She laid a hand on the door, but was not yet willing to open it.
“I-it’s H-his Majesty, the k-king. He..he...” The woman’s voice trailed off into incoherent cries.
A rush of emotion swept through Daniella. She jerked the door open. “What? What about the king?”
The trembling maid only cried harder, pressing both hands to her face. Daniella grabbed the woman’s arms and shook her roughly. “Speak, you stupid twit. Tell me about my father.”
“He...he’s dead. Oh, God Above, the king is dead.”
Daniella released the maid and took a step back, hardly noticing when the woman collapsed to her knees. Dead. The word rang through her mind like a hundred joyous bells. Her father was dead. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Just when everything had seemed darkest, a ray of light came shining through.
She left the grief stricken maid and rushed down the hall to her brother’s chambers. He hadn’t come out to see what the fuss was all about so either he was asleep or engaged in one of his trysts. Either way, Daniella had to share the good news or burst from it. She fairly glided through the sitting room to his bedroom door.
Richard was alone in his bed. Asleep, as she had thought. She grabbed the lamp he kept lit by
the door and stepped up beside him. “Wake up.” She grasped his bare shoulder and gave him a shake. “Something wonderful has happened.”
His eyes opened and he glared up at her. “Go away.” He rolled over on his side. “I’m asleep.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Daniella said, far too happy to be annoyed by his rudeness. “You’re going to want to hear this. Trust me.”
With an agitated sigh, Richard rolled over onto his back. “What?”
Now, here in the privacy of her brother’s room where the servants could not see and whisper about the impropriety of it, Daniella allowed herself a smile. “Our father is dead.”
“What?” Richard pushed himself to a seated position. “Are you sure? He’s truly dead?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Can’t you hear it?” They both fell silent, listening to distant cries as news of the king’s death spread through the castle.
A giggle slipped past Daniella's lips. How odd. She could not recall the last time she had laughed. But now she felt like doing more than laughing. She felt like dancing and singing and screaming with joy.
“I’m king.” A look of wonder crossed Richard’s face. He laughed. “I’m king.” He jumped from the bed and did a little dance, then surprised Daniella by grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off her feet. “You did it.” He spun them both around.
“Put me down.” She swatted his arm, but with no real malice. She was feeling equally as giddy, she simply had better control of herself. “You’re behaving like a child.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He put her back on her feet and took a step back. “I forgot myself.” He ran both hands through his hair, a smile creeping back onto his face despite his obvious efforts to compose himself. “But I am king. And that means,” his gaze darted to the bed, “I will soon have Anastasia right where I want her.”
Daniella frowned. The mere mention of their cousin was enough to drain her joy away. “Is that all you can think about? Your petty need for revenge is the least of our concerns now. Or have you forgotten about the matter of the High Priest?”
He waved her words away. “No one will dare contest my right to the throne.”
“You never know,” she said. “I doubt father has any bastards running around, but it doesn’t necessarily keep any number of power hungry cretins from crawling out of the woodwork claiming royal blood. Each claim will have to be investigated by the Temple and dismissed before you can wear the crown.”
“A mere formality.”
“Perhaps. But until the High Priest proclaims you the one and true heir, Jana is still regent. She can still harm us. So your revenge is going to have to wait. Besides,” she fiddled with the lace cuff of her nightgown, “our cousin may be beyond your reach in any case.”
Richard’s expression darkened. “What do you mean?”
“She and Charles have sought refuge with Duke Victor. And you know how he hates you.”
