Edge Of Oblivion

44

The Optimates, the Electi, and the Servorum—the aristocracy, the chosen females of the King’s harem, and the servant castes—lived in nearby catacombs that were accessed by a series of connected tunnels they’d dug themselves. All the catacombs had been deserted for centuries, and many were still undiscovered by the outside world. “And thank Horus for it, because I’m going to have to go somewhere far away to get away from your constant complaining. You’re like an old woman.”

“Watch yourself, beauty queen,” shot back Lix, taking the bait. “Or I’ll torch that shoe collection you’ve got. What are you up to now, about ten thousand pair? And are all those hair products really necessary? You could start your own salon.”

Constantine snorted and tossed his head, sending glossy jet hair spilling over his shoulder. He was, by all accounts, the most beautiful male of the kingdom. Some said he was even more beautiful than the principessa Eliana herself. Females swooned over him, and he took great advantage of it, but he had unswerving loyalty to his brothers and was always the first to put himself in harm’s way for one of them. Which was lucky for him, or else jealousy would have most likely made everyone hate his guts.

“At least I bathe,” said Constantine, taking a loud and pointed sniff in Lix’s direction.

“And you smell like a damn rose garden! Is that perfume?”

“Put a sock in it, ladies,” growled Celian over his shoulder. “Unless one of you wants to be the one to explain our situation to the King.”

That silenced them. No one ever wanted to be the bearer of bad news to Dominus. There was only a fifty-fifty chance your tongue would stay attached.

A few more minutes of walking through the silent underground labyrinth, and finally they arrived.

The corridor opened abruptly into a vast, soaring space decorated like the keep of a Gothic castle. There were no windows in this place, but there were Egyptian statues and ancestral portraits and beeswax candles in iron braziers dripping wax to the stone floor. There was chunky wood furniture and Persian rugs and a long table with carved high-back chairs that seated thirty. Red velvet sofas lined one wall; shining suits of armor flanked a massive glass case of antique weaponry.

In the center of the room sat an elaborate throne of dark wood with clawed feet and crimson cushions. Its back curved up to a high, sharp point, atop which perched a grinning human skull, c****d askew on a spike.

Upon the throne sat a man. He was large yet lithe and dressed in snowy white, as always, which contrasted with the burnished honey-bronze shade of his skin. From his neck hung a golden talisman on a chain: the Eye of Horus, symbol of the ancient Egyptian god of war and vengeance. Dominus believed himself the reincarnation of Horus, and all the warriors had the symbol branded on their left shoulders when they were indoctrinated into the Bellatorum. “Gentlemen,” said the King. His deep voice carried easily over the distance between them. “How fare you?”

“Well, sire.” Celian bowed his head. The others, lining up beside him, followed suit and remained silent.

“Well?” Dominus repeated in a questioning tone. In turn, the warriors each felt the sharp, fleeting sting of the King’s gaze upon them. “Indeed?”

Celian lifted his head and met his master’s gaze. “We four are well, sire,” he equivocated, “but as for Aurelio and Lucien, I cannot say. They did not return to the rendezvous point as agreed.”

All the candles in the chamber sputtered in a sudden cold breeze. Celian felt his brothers beside him tense and concentrated on keeping his own body relaxed, his breathing regular. The King thrived on fear and sensed it like a snake senses a mouse. If he hadn’t seen otherwise for himself, he’d have thought the King’s tongue was forked.

“The rendezvous point,” the King drawled, sardonic, lounging against the back of his throne with one leg crossed casually over the other. “Which means you split up.”

“The male escaped through the wall of the Vatican, sire—”

“Through the wall?” Dominus said, sharp. He sat forward, eyes glassy and hard like obsidian. “You mean he evanesced, as we do?”

Celian took a measured breath, calculating. How to describe it? “I mean he moved through it. He...melted. Into it. He’s impervious to bullets, too.”

The King’s black eyes did not blink. But they burned. By God, did they burn.

“Yes. I found that out myself. Very interesting. And inconvenient.” He paused for a moment, contemplative, then very softly said, “And the female?”

Celian was dreading that. The King had made no bones about his desire for that female.

“He took her with him through the wall.”

The King’s nostrils flared, but that was all. He still hadn’t blinked.

“We reengaged the male outside, but the female was gone. Aurelio and Lucien went after her, and we tried to lead the male in the opposite direction, but he didn’t follow. We circled back but lost his scent. And Aurelio and Lucien didn’t return at the agreed time.”

Celian knew it wasn’t his imagination that had the temperature in the room dropping by several degrees. Next to him, Lix shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Unfortunate,” the King said, with an edge like a blade. “So very unfortunate. Especially since I made my instructions perfectly clear.”