Line of Fyre Page 3
He chuckled. “I’ll bet.”
“Of course, with the situation being what it is, I imagine anybody could get a good table at a restaurant these days—if they’re open.”
“True that,” he said. “So what’s your opinion of the situation? Does the president have a plan to save us? Or will we be flash-fried?”
So many emotions rushed through Helena, for a moment, she couldn’t answer. The president was not the one running the country, and the one who was, did have a strategy, but not one that would end well. Due to Rhianna’s influence with Prince K’ev, the Draconians had halted the attack—provided a consort showed up for Prince T’mar.
The enemy. The reality of what she’d undertaken packed a wallop. I’m going to become the consort of a fire-throwing alien. What did “consort” mean anyway? Surely he couldn’t expect sex! She shuddered. Wouldn’t he prefer a female dragon? She preferred someone of her own species.
T’mar could kill her with an exhale. One puff would turn her to ash. Biggs, speaking through the president, had lied to the Draconians. Tried to assassinate their king. Colonized the planet they wanted. T’mar had every reason to despise and distrust her. Rhianna, her lone human ally on Draco, likely hated her guts, too.
How had Rhianna managed mating with Prince K’ev? Even in demiforma, a shift halfway between beast and humanoid, dragons were scarier than shit. Razor-sharp teeth, talons, barbed tails, frilled spiked heads. Monsters. Real, live, actual monsters.
Then again, not all monsters were dragons. And her gut said this gambit would be Earth’s last chance to escape annihilation. The sacrifice of one to benefit the many. She wasn’t fleeing just to save her own life but because she owed her planet this. She owed Rhianna.
“There’s a plan I bet,” she finally replied. “But I’m not sure it’s a good one.”
Chapter Two
Unlike the city streets, the spaceport bustled with activity. People wheeled huge trunks to the baggage counter, sending their earthly possessions onto a conveyor to be loaded onto the huge spacecraft. Then the future colonists moved to a long line where security personnel scrutinized their documents before allowing them to pass through to the boarding area.
I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. And stupid.
In her desperation to flee, she hadn’t considered the space facility would follow the same procedures as a commercial airport. She assumed she’d pretend to be a colonist, melt into the crowd, and bribe and brazen her way onto the spacecraft. The odds of that lamebrain idea working ranked between not-a-chance and arrest-me-now. I’m an idiot. Of course, credentials would be required, checked, and double-checked.
If he didn’t already know, Biggs would soon discover she’d fled. Her departure from Bunker One had been noted by staff and the electronic monitors. Hopefully, no one had deemed her departure unusual enough to wake the chief special advisor.
She had no choice but to fake it—march up to the checkpoint and announce she was a last-minute add-on. She was the first daughter. She did have a top-secret security clearance. Technically, she still sat on her father’s strategic team. If the president himself were to show up and demand passage on the craft, no one would deny him. Once the ship launched, it wouldn’t matter what Biggs knew or didn’t know.
Maybe it would work…
And maybe dragons were warm and fuzzy teddy bears.
But returning to Bunker One was not an option. If she couldn’t talk her way onto the spacecraft, she would have to disappear. She’d wished now she hadn’t tipped the cabbie an extra hundred bucks on top of his fare because she would need every dime. She had a thousand bucks left, which wouldn’t go far in a normal situation. When off-brand sneakers and an ugly T-shirt cost four hundred bucks, she was basically broke.
If she’d had a way to contact Patsy, perhaps she could have accompanied her to Henry’s hideaway. However, she’d caused enough hardship for her and was reluctant to put her and her brother at risk by contacting them—not that she could anyway because she’d tossed out her phone.
Fixing a haughty expression on her face, she squared her shoulders, lifted her head high, and strode through the crowd to join the line. Someone jostled her elbow, and she tucked her Drugs & More bag tighter under her arm.
“Jewel! Jewel Radcliff! Wait!”
Getting on the spacecraft was the longest of long shots. What if they arrested her for even trying? Biggs would be called—
Who was she kidding? His enforcers were probably the ones checking people in. The Elementa colony was his project.
She halted. This wouldn’t work. I’ll have to figure something else out, find someplace to hide.
“Jewel, wait. Jewel!” Someone grabbed her arm.
Helena spun around. Her jaw dropped. “Pats—”
Her friend grabbed her in a hug. “Don’t say my name. Just play along,” she whispered. She released her. “Whew! Joe and I were afraid we’d miss you,” she said loudly.
Joe, aka an older Henry with scruff and gray hair poking out of a ball cap, smiled. “Glad we were able to meet up, Jewel.”
“Let’s go to the restroom before we board the ship. Joe, sweetie, why don’t you grab us a place in line?”
“Will do.” He ambled off.
“Come on.” Patsy hustled her to the women’s room. Surprisingly, it appeared vacant, and after checking all the stalls, Patsy grabbed the small CLEANING sandwich board from the closet, set it outside the door, and then locked it.
“What’s going on? Why are you here? Why aren’t you in Montana? And what happened to your face?” A large red blotch, almost like a hemangioma, stained Patsy’s right cheek, near her blue eyes? Patsy didn’t have blue eyes. She was a brown-eyed brunette—and only in her mid-forties. When had her hair gotten so gray?
“Change in plans.” She fingered her cheek. “This is a part of my disguise. Reverse psychology. Instead of blending, I’m standing out. People will remember the port-wine stain and won’t associate me with Patsy, who has clear skin. Henry and I are coming with you.”
“You can’t go to Elementa. It’s too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than here?”
Biggs or dragons. A toss-up. Her friend had a point. “But nobody’s getting onboard without the proper documentation,” she said.
“That’s why we brought some.” From her backpack, Patsy extracted an identification card and a ticket. “Since modern phones don’t work from outer space, paper documents are required for travel. These are yours.” She handed them over.
Helena examined her new ID. “I’m not a short-haired blonde, and I don’t wear glasses.”
“You are, and you do now.” Patsy pulled a wig and a pair of black specs from the pack.
Oh my god, this might work! “How did you arrange all this so fast?”
“I have a few connections.” She smiled.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. And Henry.” She hardly knew Patsy’s brother, only having exchanged a few cordial greetings.
“I’m not as altruistic as you assume. I caught on right away what you intended to do, and Henry and I agreed we’d be safer coming with you than staying here. I know too much about what is going on for Jackson Biggs to let me walk away. That puts my brother in jeopardy, too. So we’re helping you out, but we’re also saving our own butts. Remember, you’re Jewel Radcliff, I’m Morgan Huff, and Henry is Joseph Weston.” Patsy motioned. “You’d better put on your disguise. There’s no telling how fast the line is moving.”
Helena twisted her hair atop her head then pulled on the wig, tucking under the flyaway strands. “How did you decide on the name Jewel anyway?”
“Your emerald eyes. Which are no more. Say bye-bye to green and hello to baby blues.” She handed her a vial of tinted contact lenses. “Pop these in. Besides altering your iris color, they’ll also fool the retinal ID scanner.”
“Are you sure you’re my father’s personal assistant and not CIA?”
Patsy laughed. “You wouldn’t believe what my other related duties entailed.”
She inserted the contact lenses, blinked a couple of times to center them then donned the glasses and stared at her reflection. “I look like my fake ID photo.”
“Now for those clothes. You’ll be on vid leaving Bunker One and on any other cameras from any place you visited. I brought you some new stuff.” She handed her the backpack. “I took the liberty of buying you a trunk full of new clothes. It’s been sent on ahead to be loaded on the ship.”
Helena peeled off her multiple layers and donned a pair of black slacks and a nondescript black-and-white floral print blouse. “How were you able to find these? Drugs & More didn’t have anything.”
“Higher-end stores with high-end security still have merchandise.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been shopping.” Since a state of emergency had gone into effect, Helena hadn’t left Bunker One.
She crammed her own clothing into the pack and started to shove in the Drugs & More bag, when Patsy stopped her. “You don’t need to keep that stuff. Throw it away.” She pointed to a trash can.
“I paid more than $400 for it!”
“When did you become so cost conscious?”
The old Helena would have tossed it without a second thought. “When I saw how bad things are on the outside.” When an honest cab driver couldn’t afford to shop at Drugs & More—not that there was anything left to purchase. “Besides. We shouldn’t leave a trail that could be linked to me.” She hugged Patsy. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Henry.” Without their assistance, she would never have made it on board the spacecraft.
“You would have managed fine. You’re resilient and smart. Biggs will spit nails when he finds out you flew the coop!”
“We’re going to be okay.” Helena grinned.
“Yes, we are.”
Patsy unlocked the door and stowed the CLEANING sign in the closet. “Oh, by the way, if anyone asks, you’re a volcanologist. That’s Jewel’s occupation.”
“A volcanologist? I don’t know anything about volcanos! That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Everyone sent to Elementa must have one of the required skill sets. I thought it sounded exciting.”
“It’s going to be exciting if somebody asks me to explain something!”
Patsy elbowed her gently. “You’re a politician’s daughter. You can talk around a subject without saying anything, can’t you?”
“Ouch! What are you?”
“I’m a climatologist.”
Helena conceded her occupation was fair, then. Patsy had no training in meteorology, let alone weather on alien planets.
The line had shortened, and Henry waved from the front. Relief cleared the anxiety from his face. “I’m engaged to Joe, a physician’s assistant,” Patsy added.
“You’re engaged to marry your brother?”
“Biggs will have put out a bulletin for a brother and sister traveling together. We needed a cover story.”
“Maybe we could have a double wedding,” Helena quipped.
“Double wedding?” Patsy arched her eyebrows.
“You and Joe, and me and the dragon prince.” Her joke didn’t sound funny at all.
Chapter Three
In the courtyard of the star-shaped harem, a life-size statue belched flames and perfumed the air with the fragrance of sulfur. T’mar strode around it, hoping no one had seen him walk in through the servants’ arm.
Maybe this time will be different.
As he entered A’riel’s private space, she sprang to her feet. The surprise and pleasure on her face needled him with guilt. He’d neglected her. All of them.
“May I serve you, Your Highness? Would you care for a drink?” His first and favorite concubine smiled, happy to be of service, and hurried to a bar. In demiforma, she moved the way she flew, gracefully, her shortened tail swishing. Beneath the transparent orange drape she wore, grayish-green scales shimmered. The intelligent, ochre eyes of a hunter glowed in a beautiful face framed by a spiked neck frill and a horned forehead.
One of the most attractive and sexually accomplished dragonesses in all of Draco was ready and willing to service him, and he felt…nothing. If anything, a greater numbness spread through him. The failure to arouse his desire wasn’t her fault. None of the others could stir him, either. It had been this way for months. Months amounted to a mere blink in time, but for a randy prince accustomed to daily carnal calisthenics—often multiple times a day—it was disturbing.
The problem went deeper than a lack of desire. An unshakeable ennui gripped him, resulting in a loss of interest in pursuits he’d once enjoyed, like hunting, flying, treasure-seeking, and fire sports.
A’riel handed him a drink, and he took a sip, letting the spicy liquid slide down his throat. What do I want? He asked himself that question often. The answer never came to him.
There was no lack of matters of import to keep him occupied. Draco’s molten core was dying, and soon the entire population would be forced to relocate to Elementa. As King K’rah’s eldest son, he’d been tasked to lead the transition and oust the human squatters. Why his father had backed off just exterminating the pestilence, he couldn’t be sure, but he had a hunch it could be traced to the human his younger brother Prince K’ev had taken as his mate.
He couldn’t imagine anything worse than sexual congress with a human. His brother appeared happy with the creature, but he knew the king accepted her only on sufferance and rued the day he’d suggested Earth officials dispatch a consort to Draco to demonstrate their goodwill. It was incomprehensible his father would entertain such a proposition. No one despised humans more than the king.
Although T’mar placed a close second. He hated to wish misfortune upon his brother, but he thanked the sacred fyre K’ev had been the one ordered to take the human and not him.
Once mated, a couple bonded for life, but beforehand, dragons could acquire many concubines. Of eight siblings born to the king and queen, only he and K’ev had remained unmated, but T’mar was the oldest. It could have been me. He shuddered. Instead, his youngest sibling had taken the hit—and ended up mated to the human. How was that possible? Humans had no fyre.
“You seem distracted, Your Highness.” A’riel peered at him with concern. “Is everything all right?”
Once A’riel had been his confidant, but about the time the ennui had gripped him, he’d found himself loath to share his thoughts with her. Besides, although he couldn’t fathom what had prompted the king’s irrational decision or K’ev’s reaction to it, he would not speak ill of them in front of a concubine regardless of how long or well she’d served him.
“I met with our volcanologists.” He offered a serious but safe explanation for his distraction. “The core of Draco is cooling faster than projected. We’re going to have to move up the timetable of the relocation.” The once-mighty Lavos had been reduced to a sliver of a river, its lava stream thinning and cooling. Craggy black rock now replaced the lava flows. Eruptions decreased every year as volcanoes went extinct. Fewer fumaroles spewed volcanic gases, eliminating the atmospheric vog that once had created glorious star sets. Colors had become faded.
His planet looked the way he felt. Muted.
He sank onto a gilded marble bench. Curling her tail around her, Ariel sat at his feet. “How soon?” she asked.
“Within decades,” he said grimly.
“I thought we had many millennia left,” she gasped.
“So did I. And perhaps we might have a few centuries, but that’s still not much time to establish cities and a new temple for the Eternal Fyre and relocate our entire population.” He scratched a horn on his forehead. “It’s a logistical nightmare. The process can’t begin too soon.”
“Why isn’t Prince K’ev handling it?”
“I had expected him to be the king’s choice to lead the tr
ansition since he has visited Elementa the most. However, since mating with Princess Rhianna he has been preoccupied.” Referring to a human as princess left a nasty taste in his mouth, but he had to maintain the façade of acceptance—another incomprehensible edict. Whenever the king spoke of Rhianna, he exuded the reek of disapproval. It made no sense he would order that no one criticize her.
“Yes, the human.” A’riel’s sneer and sour exudation, a direct disobedience to the king’s command, required correction, but there was no one to hear her slight, and T’mar shared her opinion. He caressed the frill framing her face, with fondness but no heat.
She purred against his hand, reminding him again that months had passed since he’d availed himself of her or his other two concubines. Did each assume he visited one of the others when he wasn’t with her? The concubines could become quite jealous of each other, and once they’d suffered burns when an argument ended in a fireball-spitting match.
That’s why he’d had the harem constructed in a star shape. Five wings extended off a pentagon courtyard, giving each female private space. His three concubines occupied three of the arms, a fourth arm awaited the addition of another female, and the fifth was used by servants.
A’riel peered up at him, hope and desire glinting in her eyes. The spicy scent of her arousal wafted to his nose, but once again, it failed to stir him in the slightest. What is wrong with me? There isn’t a male on Draco who wouldn’t trade places to enjoy the favors of the three most beautiful, sexually adept females on the planet.
He needed to leave before an awkward situation turned humiliating.
“Begging your pardon, Your Highness.” A royal page stood poised outside the open chamber. He bowed. “His Majesty King K’rah Qatin requires your presence in the Great Hall.”
“Now?” The speed with which he disengaged from A’riel testified to the seriousness of his affliction. One dreaded a summons from the mercurial firebrand king. One did not leap up with alacrity.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The page thumped his chest, bowed again, and departed.