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The two men showed little emotional response to Demetria’s appearance. That said, either of them looked as if they’d have no hesitation going for their swords if Roldon ordered it. However, neither they, nor the children, nor Roldon’s wife continued to participate in the moment. Anthony figured that Demetria hadn’t literally stopped time itself, but rather done something to their minds to put them on ‘pause.’
“Lady Talvoss.” Roldon narrowed his eyes. “What have you done to them?”
“Do not worry.” Demetria fanned herself. “I did not wish to be rude and interrupt their meal. Once I leave, they will not remember having seen me here.”
Roldon glanced at Anthony. “Who is that? I wasn’t aware you had a son.”
“Bite your tongue.” Demetria gasped. “Do I look old enough to have had a boy his age?”
Lord Barathor furrowed his brow. “There’s something unusual about you. Not just anyone could barge into my home, stand before me, and curse my entire family as well as my two closest friends.”
“An astute observation.” Demetria wandered past him to the window. “I’m not here to cause you misfortune, dear Roldon. In fact, I have come to suggest we may be allies in this coming storm.”
Roldon, clearly not wanting Demetria behind him, stood from his chair and faced her. “What do you know of this ‘storm?’”
“The assassination attempts.” She turned to look at him. “They have thus far been sloppier than the Romanian liaison for the Dutch East India Company.”
“Whatever are you going on about, woman?” blurted Roldon after a moment. “You speak nonsense.”
Demetria fanned herself again. “That was quite a fiasco. Only an absolute imbecile could have set it in motion.”
Lord Barathor glanced at Anthony. “Do you have any concept of what she’s speaking about?”
“Not really.” Anthony fidgeted. He’d heard ‘Dutch East India Company’ somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it. It made him think of pirates and sailing ships.
Demetria let out a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind that. The assassinations. Someone, specifically one of the other heads of house, is trying to take the crown by force.”
“We have a queen.” Barathor frowned. “Such as she is.”
“Oh, come now, Roldon… as soon as there are none of you left with a claim to the crown”—Demetria walked up to him—“it will be a simple matter to eliminate a child monarch and take power… if the poor dear hasn’t already been done away with. Tell me, when was the last time she showed herself in public?”
Roldon gasped. “You’re suggesting the queen is dead? Who could do something so dastardly?”
“That is what I’d like to find out.” Demetria snapped her fan closed. “I am not certain the poor child is dead. Yet, it does seem rather suspect she’s nowhere to be seen. We should prepare ourselves for the imminent reality of the crown being vacant. The queen is, to put it blunt, not cut out for rule. It would not surprise me if she fled into the night, having seen what happened to her parents.”
A low grumble leaked from Roldon’s throat. “Tis easy to frighten the young.”
“All the more reason it is foolish to insist a kid rule a nation,” said Demetria.
Anthony leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching Demetria and Roldon discuss the assassinations. Lord Barathor struck Anthony as being too simple to be responsible for such scheming, thus most likely not Nesanth in disguise. Simple as in plain and direct, not given to complex Machiavellian schemes. The man reminded him quite a bit of Kingsley, both of them lacking the patience for playing political games. If Roldon Barathor wanted the crown, he would take it by force, kicking down doors and busting heads open himself.
Whatever Demetria brought up in regard to the Dutch East India Company had likely been meant to bait a response from Nesanth. It hadn’t worked, or so Demetria’s body language suggested. On its own, the lack of a response to a provocation didn’t prove much. Nesanth might be able to control herself. However, on top of Anthony’s general read on the man, he decided to remove Roldon Barathor from the list of potential dark master clones. Add to it the expressions and body language on the woman and children in the room. They all appeared at ease. Had Nesanth killed and replaced Roldon Barathor, at least some of his children would have picked up on the change.
In the midst of Demetria going back and forth with Roldon as to his opinions on which house was responsible for the violence, a billow of inky blackness welled up at the back corner of the room by the windows. One after the next, three black-cloaked assassins sprang out from the cloud. The first lunged at Roldon while the two behind him rushed toward the stunned children.
Bellowing in anger, Roldon hurled himself at the lead man about to plunge a dagger into the neck of his daughter, thus leaving his back exposed to the first assassin. At the same instant, a fourth assassin rushed in through the dining room entrance, heading for the smaller boys seated on the near side of the table.
Anthony, being right next to the door, kicked the legs out from under the assassin, who fell flat on his chest like a plank.
Roldon grabbed the forearm of the assassin attempting to kill his daughter while hammering his right fist into the man’s head, knocking his skull into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster. Simultaneously, Demetria swiped her claws at the throat of the assassin going for Roldon’s undefended back, moving so fast her arm blurred into a smear. Blood flew from her fingertips, spraying on the wall and windows. The man dropped his knife to clamp both hands over his throat as he collapsed, gurgling, to his knees.
The assassin who tried to kill the daughter collapsed in a heap, bleeding from the ear and thoroughly unconscious if not dead to a crushed skull. As if he could somehow see behind him, Roldon spun to his left, throwing a punch at the exact place the second assassin went before he even started to move. The man attempted to swerve around behind him to get at the boys, only to find his forehead lining up perfectly with a large set of hairy knuckles moving at great speed.
Anthony rushed forward to put himself between the doorway assassin and the boys on his side of the table. The man pushed himself up from the floor, then lunged at him, stabbing at his gut with a dagger. Anthony ducked and weaved like a boxer, blocking two thrusts by bumping the incoming arm aside, then delivering a series of rabbit punches to the man’s chest. Strength beyond human rocked the assassin back with each hit and left him winded, barely able to draw in a breath.
Nearby, Roldon’s roar of anger was accompanied by a sickening wet crunch.
The assassin in front of Anthony slashed and stabbed in a wild flurry, obviously frustrated at his inability to land a fatal strike on a young, unarmed man dressed like a minor noble. Supernatural strength in Anthony’s punches only served to further unnerve the man. He threw caution to the wind and scored a minor slashing strike on Anthony’s forearm, but paid for it by eating a haymaker to the nose. The assassin lost consciousness in midair; the punch carried so much force it flung the man out into the hallway.
