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“I can be discreet,” she muttered as she adjusted her swords.
“Of course,” Lucas said quietly as he shared a knowing look with Marcus. The two Akrhyn turned to leave him when he caught Tegan’s arm, halting her from leaving. “You cannot face it alone, it is too powerful.”
Tegan looked into the Dark Prime Castor’s eyes and nodded slowly. “It causes me fear, I will not run headfirst towards it.”
“Good.” Lucas dropped his hand before he extended it to Marcus and Tegan. “It’s too dangerous out here, I will take you to the gates.” When he portalled them there, both Akrhyn turned to look up at the mansion that was the Ivanov House. “Be strong, be swift, be safe.”
With a brief exchange of goodbyes, he watched the two Akrhyn walk up the driveway. The lights were already coming on from the house. Lucas observed in the shadows how the Elite Sentinels of the house were already dressed in their battle armour. As unease spread through him, he waited until he saw Cornelius come out of the house, Sloane close behind his father.
Lucas knew he should return to Siberia, but he lingered a moment longer as he watched Sloane push past his father and descend the stairs to greet his cousin and Marcus. Lucas turned away to make his way into the trees more. He didn’t want to be caught by Cornelius’s Sentinels, as he didn’t really have a plausible reason for portalling Akrhyn.
“Did no one ever tell you that it was wrong to spy?” a voice said behind him as he felt the cold press of steel at his throat.
Lucas tensed before his shoulders dropped slightly. “They did. They also said be careful whose throat you place your knife against.”
“I—”
The voice was cut off as Lucas portalled out of the hold and appeared behind his assailant. “Because if you don’t know your target, then you will die,” Lucas whispered in the ear of the Akrhyn who would attack him. Grabbing the Akrhyn’s arm, he portalled them both back to the house in Siberia. They needed to plan, but most importantly they needed answers, and Lucas had a feeling he had just found a source of information.
The Sentinel looked down at his arms as he tried futilely to move them. He was not bound, there were no ropes to tie him, and there was no Castor in front of him to renew the spell. The Sentinel had been bound to this chair and left.
For hours.
Again he struggled, and again he couldn’t understand why he was spelled to a chair with no spell.
“Hello!” he called out into the empty room. He had also been calling for hours, and no one answered. He had seen three robes indicating the wearers’ Cast when he was brought here. The dark robes of the one who brought him, the Crimson and the White. A Sentinel in Elite Sentinel uniform had scowled at him and said nothing.
Within moments, he was in a chair, bound and alone.
His House was a lower House, and his great-grandfather, possibly more times removed, had aligned with House Ivanov centuries ago. The males of his House were known to be lazy and idle, hence the fact his House had never risen any higher than it was. He was different though, or so he had thought. Hehadambition, and he was a good Sentinel, competent and able to follow orders. His orders had been simple. Watch the perimeter; any unknown Akrhyn approach, slit their throats.
True, it wasn’t normal orders, but an order was an order, and he was a good Sentinel.
He stilled suddenly when the door opened and the angry-looking Sentinel entered the room. He looked vaguely familiar. Brown hair, longer than a Sentinel would wear, that curled over the collar of his uniform and fell into his grey eyes. Grey eyes that looked stormy with anger as the Sentinel stood in front of him and regarded him coldly. His mouth was set in a tight line, his shoulders straight and broad as he folded his arms across his chest as he regarded him. He was tall, taller than most. As he looked at him and took him in, the captured Sentinel felt a frisson of fear. He had a horrible suspicion which male stood in front of him.
Cord cocked his head to the side, a smile playing about his lips. “Ah, you know who I am.”
The Sentinel was shaking but nodded fervently. “Crimson Castor Ivanov?”
“It’s Lebedev,” Cord told him brusquely as he walked forward. “But yes.”
“I am of your House,” the Sentinel told him, the plea plain in his voice.
“I know.”
“Then why am I bound?”
“You attacked my Mentor,” Cord explained. “And I want to know why.”
“Orders, Crimson Castor, from your father. Attack anyone who approaches the boundary.”
“Anyone? Without thought? Without interrogation? Without justification?” Cord demanded.
“Anyone who approaches the House without permission must be apprehended and dealt with.” The Sentinel was almost robotic in his answer.
“Without cause?” Cord pressed.
“Anyone who does not arrive by vehicle or by admittance at the gate,” the Sentinel told him.
