“Is this him?” the splendidly handsome one asked.
“Yup,” the King replied, sweeping his arm to the right. “Let’s go in here, Abe—”
“Are you going to kill me?” Abalone blurted without moving.
The queen’s brows popped. “No. Good God, no—why would we do that?”
Wrath put a hand on Abalone’s shoulder. “I need you alive, buddy. I need your help.”
Convinced he was going to wake up at any moment, Abalone followed numbly into a lovely room that must have been for dining purposes, given its crystal chandelier and prominent fireplace. There was no long thin table, however, no row of chairs, no sideboard for serving. Instead, in front of the hearth, a pair of armchairs had been angled to face each other, and there were other comfortable sofas and seats set off to the side. A desk had been arranged in the near corner, at which there was a handsome blond male in a natty three-piece suit shuffling papers around.
“Have a seat, Abe,” the King said as he himself took one of the armchairs.
Abalone obliged—’twas far better than a guillotine, after all.
The King smiled, his harsh, aristocratic face warming some. “I don’t know how much you know about my father. But he used to do audiences with commoners. My wife read your e-mail the night of that Council meeting—and you mentioned you work with an organization of them?”
Abalone looked back and forth between the King and his mate, who had taken a seat on one of the other padded chairs—and was pouring herself a ginger ale.
The pair of them lied, he thought suddenly. They were very much together, their deference and devotion to one another obvious.
“Abe?”
“Ah…” Not at all what he had expected from this on any level—although he was o’erjoyed at the idea the glymera had been thwarted. “Yes, but it’s … it’s more of a loose affiliation, really. There are issues that need sorting, and—not that I was trying to step into your role—”
The King put up his hands. “Hey, I’m grateful. I just want to help.”
Abalone swallowed past a dry throat.
“You want a soda?” someone asked.
It was a Brother with jet-black hair, a goatee, and icy silver eyes—as well as a set of tattoos on one of his temples.
“Please. Thank you,” Abalone replied weakly.
Two seconds later, the fighter delivered a cold Coke in a glass. Which turned out to be the best thing Abalone had ever tasted.
Composing himself, he mumbled, “Forgive me. I feared that I had found your disfavor.”
“Not at all.” Wrath smiled again. “You’re going to be very, very useful to me.”
Abalone stared into the fizzing glass. “My father served yours.”
“Yeah. Very well, I might add.”
“Through your blood’s generosity, mine has prospered.” Abalone took another sip, his shaking hand making the ice tinkle. “May I say something about your father?”
The King seemed to stiffen. “Yeah.”
Abalone looked up to the sunglasses. “The night he and your mother were killed, a part of my father died, too. He was never the same thereafter. I can remember our house being in mourning for a full seven years, the mirrors draped in black cloth, the incense burning, the threshold marked with a black jamb.”
Wrath rubbed his face. “They were good people, my parents.”
Abalone put the soda aside and shifted off the armchair, getting on his knees before his King. “I will serve you just as my father did, down to the bone and marrow.”
Abalone was dimly aware that others had filed into the room and were looking at him. He cared naught. History had come full circle … and he was prepared to carry forward with pride.
Wrath nodded once. “I’m making you my chief cleric. Right here and now. Saxton,” he barked out. “What do I need to do?”
A cultured voice answered smoothly, “You just did it all. I’ll draw up the paperwork.”#p#分页标题#e#
The King smiled and put out his palm. “You’re the first member of my court. Boom!”
“I know where you went last night.”
Xcor stopped in the middle of the alley—and did not turn around. “Do you.”
Throe’s voice was flat. “I followed you. I saw her.”
Now he pivoted on his combat boot. Narrowing his eyes on his second in command, he said, “Be of care what you say next. And do not ever do that again.”
Throe stomped his boot. “I talked to her. What the hell are you doing—”
Xcor moved so fast that it was less than a heartbeat later that the other male was up against a brick building, struggling to draw breath through the hold on his throat.