Chapter 7
"Sorry."
It took him a minute to calm down from her having insulted his family. Especially one of his favorite members.
Bastien finally cleared his throat and resumed the story. "Anyway, he has a hard time breathing in our atmosphere. It's a different mixture than what they have on Andaria and his anatomy's not quite the same either. So there he was, wheezing, green, yacking everywhere, and about to pa.s.s out. Barnabas wasn't taking a bit of mercy on him and neither was Lil or Quin. They were screaming and shoving at him. Telling him to move his fat a.s.s. I'd never heard so many insults screamed at one person in my life. And I'd had enough of it."
"What did you do?"
"Was my usual charming self. Yanked my helmet off, laid down on the ground, and told them I was done for the day. That my a.s.s was too precious for that amount of abuse. And that I was ready for my nap. To call a transport."
She arched a brow at him. "I imagine that didn't go over well with your uncle."
"Like a labor strike with my sa. He set my precious a.s.s on fire, but it got the attention off Jullien and they finally gave him some peace. So, in my opinion, worth it. And when I got home and my da found out and took a blaster to my uncle... totally worth it. Kept me out of those miserable summer treks in h.e.l.l until well after I hit p.u.b.erty. And even then, I got to go with a security detail that threatened the life of anyone who sought to harm me."
"Is that why he's so skittish of you?"
"Probably. My da's a little overprotective. In case you haven't noticed."
"Oh, I noticed. Hard to miss." She walked into his arms. "She already threatened to have me killed if I break your heart."
Bastien didn't comment as Alura rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Mostly because she'd already broken his heart. She'd done that the moment she'd forced him into a marriage he didn't want.
But he wasn't cruel enough to tell his mother, because there was no telling what she'd do to rectify it. As they'd both noted, his mom could be a bit psychotic and overzealous whenever it came to him.
When Alura pulled away, her blue eyes were filled with warmth. "Love you. And one day, I'm going to make you love me, too."
"Alura-"
She placed her fingers over his lips to stop his protest. "It's okay, Bastien. I know I'm not your first choice. But I can guarantee you that you'll never want another woman after me. That I promise you."
For some reason, those words left him with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He watched as she left to rejoin the party.
It wasn't until he was alone that he realized she'd never answered his question about why Barnabas had come out here with her.
Whatever. His uncle was probably grilling her like he did everyone else.
Sighing, Bastien decided he'd had enough of this fiasco. Not like anyone here could hate him any more than they already did.
"Cald mitta," he breathed under his breath, using the Andarion words for goodnight.
"Later, b.i.t.c.hes" might be a bit more apropos for how he felt.
Peeling off his suit jacket, he draped it over the balcony, rolled the cuffs back on his s.h.i.+rt, then did something he hadn't done since he was a kid skipping out past curfew-he climbed down his mother's prized foliage and snuck across the lawn, taking care to dodge sentries, guard dogs, and cameras.
By the time he made it to the road, he almost felt like himself again.
He crossed the busy intersection on foot, to his private storage unit no one knew about, where he kept a couple of his treasured airbikes his mother would have apoplexy over should she ever discover them. In fact, she'd torched the only one he'd made the mistake of allowing her to see when he'd been sixteen and had been dumb enough to drive it home from the dealers.h.i.+p.
Lesson learned.
Never let his mother know about his addiction to extreme speed.
Bastien shrugged his Armst.i.tch jacket on and reached for a helmet. He swapped his shoes for a pair of reinforced boots before he settled himself onto the bike and started it. The engine roared to life with a guttural sound that caused the bike to vibrate through him. Yeah, this was what he needed to clear his head-warp speed and some gravity-defying flips.
Pulling the helmet on, he took a second to scan through frequencies, looking for some raucous music to accompany his mood.
His family had always despised his taste in music-to the point his father had once confiscated every playing device Bastien owned. Since then, Bastien had learned to tune in to the unlicensed pirate stations transmitting from Kirovarian outposts. They alone played the songs his father's committee had banned from their commercial networks. Music deemed too "corrupt" or "dangerous" for the ma.s.ses.
He actually owed Jullien for this particular skill-his cousin had taught him one summer when they'd been kids, and Bastien had been particularly bored while Jullien had been visiting.
As usual, Quin had ratted Bastien out for violating their father's music policy and gotten him grounded and his room searched. Feeling sorry for him, Jullien had snuck into his room, past their security guards, to cheer him up.
"Don't tell them I showed you this, but..." Jullien had taken apart the intercom in Bastien's
"Where did you learn to do this?" Bastien had asked in an awed tone.
"Spend a lot of time alone. Read a ton. Tinker even more. You never know when it's going to come in handy."
Like now.
Bastien paused his own tinkering as he caught the tail end of a private conversation between short-range devices. He wiggled the wires to clarify the signal, thinking he must have been higher than Jullien with what he thought he'd heard a heartbeat ago.
But there was no mistaking it as it came in loud and clear.
"-Base rotates its patrols every four hours, leaving an opening there. The real vulnerability is at the palace. Cabarro refuses to have security in his private chapel when he goes in with his wife for evening prayer at six. You can set a clock by it. Twice a week, at the beginning and end, his eldest joins them. You could wipe out monidar and heir in one fell swoop."
"What of the other two?"
"They patrol together. One good dogfight and we own them."
Bastien's jaw went slack. He was so stunned that by the time he thought to start recording the transmission, they'd stopped talking.
Dammit!
He kicked his bike on and launched it, then headed straight to the palace. His only thought to warn his family, he ignored the traffic and sent it careening. He also forgot about security at the palace.
They opened fire on him.
Luckily, he was used to dodging s.h.i.+t. Though to be fair, it was usually projectiles Quin was hurling at his head out of anger, and not heavy artillery. But his older brother's temper had honed his reflexes to a lethal level.
Bastien didn't stop until he reached the front door, where he was summarily tackled by their guards. "Oskilir!" he growled at the security guards on top of him. "It's me!" He jerked his helmet off to show them they'd just a.s.saulted a member of the family they were trying to protect.
That succeeded in making every guard near him shrink back in holy terror. To lay a hostile hand to a member of the royal family was a death sentence.
Especially the adored baby son.
Glaring at them, he shot to his feet and shoved his helmet into the hands of the guard who'd tackled him. "Next time, run the bike's serial number."
"S-s-s-sorry, Latenn."
"No problem. Just be glad it's me and not Quin." Unlike his brother, Bastien wouldn't demand the man's head for this. He was glad they were feral in their duties.
Clapping him on the arm, he cut around the guard and ran for the doors that they opened for him.
He didn't hesitate as he rushed for the ballroom. Nor did he stop until he found his father, who was standing beside his brother, uncle, and new father-in-law.
Newell Cabarro turned toward him with a fierce scowl as he took in Bastien's change of wardrobe. "What in the name of the G.o.ds are you wearing?"
"I need to speak with you in private."
"Bastien Aros-"
"Sa! This can't wait! It's important!"
His father let out an exasperated breath. "Everything with you always is."
Brandon Wyldestarrin bit back a smile. "He's young and pa.s.sionate, Alvaldr."
In that moment, Bastien had a glimmer of hope that Alura's father, unlike his, might actually listen to him and take him seriously. "Commander? I just intercepted some intel from the enemy. I need to file a report. Immediately."
Barnabas quirked a brow at that. "In that case, I should probably see to this. It is my job, after all."
His father rolled his eyes. "What could he have possibly intercepted? Especially dressed like that?"
Quin laughed while Bastien bristled under the stinging set-down.
To his credit, Brandon kept his face straight.
True to form, Barnabas smirked. "Well, his dara has always humored him, so I shall keep up the tradition. Come, Bastien. You might as well file it with me, anyway. Not like I don't run the military. Right?"
It was Bastien's turn to smirk as they headed away from his family. "Such wonderful patronization. So glad I almost busted my a.s.s and got shot at to get home to protect everyone. Makes the effort so worthwhile."
With scoffing derision, Barnabas led him toward his father's study. "So what did you hear?"
"It was a report on my father's daily habits and that the enemy knows I'm Lil's wingman."
Closing the door to the study so that they were alone, Barnabas appeared less than impressed with the revelation. "Everyone knows you're Lil's wingman. That's not much of a report, burr."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Bastien gave him a droll no-s.h.i.+t glare. "It means there's a spy in our ranks. Someone sending reports to the Eudorans about our routines. I know what I heard."
"Bas... you're under a lot of stress."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that sometimes our minds play tricks on us. Don't you think that if there was an imminent threat to the royal family that I'd be the first in line to nip it before it blossomed into something dangerous?"
Barnabas's calm, rea.s.suring tone began to soothe his ragged nerves. His uncle was right. A large part of his job as the prime commander was keeping up with just such espionage. Especially while they were at war. If a threat were looming, Barnabas would be the first to know.
His uncle patted him on the shoulder. "Now tell me again what happened? Start from the top."
"I was getting on my airbike."
"That your dara won't allow you to ride?"
"Yeah."
"And what? You were planning to run away from your responsibility?"
That p.i.s.sy, pithy tone rankled. As did the obvious condescension. Honestly, he was getting really sick of the way his uncle and brother looked down on his every word and deed as if he had a head injury and they had to wipe his a.s.s for him. "Not permanently. I just wanted to clear my thoughts for a few minutes."
"Mmmm. Well, it seems to me that your subconscious picked up on that and ran with it. Probably out of guilt, it concocted this elaborate death plot to make you fear for their safety so that you wouldn't flee, but rather stay here and face what you've done."
Bastien gaped at his censure. He'd taken full responsibility for everything from the beginning. At no time had he denied it or tried in any way to get out of a single bit of this. h.e.l.l, he'd even gone alone to the Wyldestarrins and told both Alura's mother and father what had happened and a.s.sured them that he wouldn't scandalize their daughter. Whereas Barnabas's sons would have forced an abortion and then exiled Alura out of the empire, he was marrying her and giving both mother and child his full protection.
For that matter, Barnabas had ruined the lives of three different women that Bastien knew of.
So had Bastien's father. Well, not three, but he knew of one in particular the courtiers whispered about whenever they didn't realize he could overhear them. A ma.s.sive scandal that had almost ended his parents' marriage.
To this day, Barnabas paraded mistresses around his wife and children with no regard for either. So how dare the hypocrite stand there and lecture him about morality and responsibility!
"Meaning what, Uncle?"
Barnabas narrowed his gaze on Bastien, but that was the only sign he gave of his anger as he refused to answer the question. "Did you record any of the conversation?"
"No. I didn't think to."
"Then how can you be so sure you heard what you think you heard?"
Because he wasn't an idiot. But he knew that look in Barnabas's eyes. b.a.s.t.a.r.d wasn't listening. And no amount of argument would sway him. Bastien had bashed his head against this wall enough to know the migraine before it began.
Sighing, he backed out with as much dignity as he could. "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Now be a good boy and return to your wife. She's been looking for you. Don't you think you should take her home and consummate the wedding?"
Not really. He'd rather set fire to his crotch.
But his uncle was right. This was expected of him.
"Fine. Thank you, Barnie."
There was a subtle yet visible tensing at the nickname Barnabas despised. "Any time, slim."
As Bastien left the room, he pa.s.sed by his other uncle, Jackson, in the hallway. Much shorter than Bastien, Jax barely reached his shoulders. With brown twinkling eyes, he'd inherited all the humor his other siblings lacked, and was by far Bastien's favorite of his parents' siblings.
They exchanged a subtle head nod before Jax stepped around him and went into the study to see Barnabas.
The moment he did, a peculiar sensation went down Bastien's back like a phantom chill.