Page 49 of Lord of Dance and Desire

Because I was monitoring my own emotional state, I sensed an internal wrongness.

I didn't move other than to inhale silently. Inhale, and observe my mind's instinctive relaxation, a smile that wanted to pull at the corner of my lips when I was in no mood for smiling or relaxing. A faint underlying scent of sweets and roses in bloom wafted through the air. I knew the scent intimately, of course, but what had it to do with Hasannah? I followed the tendril of thought for what my mind was trying to?—

“I could even smell the cotton candy in the air.”

Hasannah’s euphoria the day Dartanyon had tried to take her. I’d missed it, and it had been in front of my face. That I’d been self-experimenting with doses of Ixnie in order to build an immunity was no excuse. I didn’t associate Ixnie’s unique fragrance with spun carnival sugar, but that was only because my reference was from my culture, not hers.

I should not be scenting it in the air now unless one of our concerns had come to fruition.

I rose and held out a hand to my mother, and glanced at my sister. “Lord Miahela, assist me in escorting our Lord to her coach.”

My sister was no fool. She stood, expression vaguely bored. I knew her well enough to see the subtle, vicious sharpening of her eyes. In an instant she morphed from pampered princess into sleek warrior, though not a twitch of a muscle gave her away. I felt the telltale stirring in the air immediately surrounding us, warning she was sinking into the well of her power the same as I, and the same as my mother.

Mia knew something was wrong.

My mother was also not an idiot.

The High Lord accepted my hand, rising without further comment. I was her Heir as well as her son; it wasn’t beneath her dignity to accept my aid publicly.

Urgency beat at me to get my family into the coach and away from the building so I could return to Hasannah. With a subtle gesture, I sent another quad to support the one assigned to her as our remaining guards flanked Issahelle and Miahela.

More warriors joined us once we exited the building. My mother was trained, but as Lord of our House as well as the ruler of Casakraine she wouldn't fight unless there was no other choice; that was what Mia and I were for. Besides, she wasn’t highly discriminate on a battlefield; we preferred she simply stay off them.

“What has happened?” Issahelle asked, voice cool as she allowed me to usher her into the coach.

“Ixnie,” I replied curtly. “Someone released it in the vents. The theater will be flooded in minutes.”

There was much more I could tell her about the drug that I’d learned over the last few weeks, from investigation and from direct use, but it would have to wait.

She stilled, a flash in her blue-gray eyes that promised an unpleasant death if I happened to leave any of the perpetrators alive. If Ashlyun had betrayed us, I would leave him alive—my mother’s punishment would be a hundred times worse than anything I could devise.

“And the target of this attack?” she asked.

“I don't yet know.” I glanced at Miahela. “Be on alert, sister. Remain with our Lord in the palace.”

Mia threw me a chilly, unpleasant glare. She disliked being shunted to the side, but I outranked her, and she would obey. Still, I understood the seething frustration in her look.

“I’m not coddling you,” I said, my hand on the coach door. “You'll protect her with your life. Ifyoudon’t like being required to flee, think of how Mother feels.”

She dipped her chin as I slammed the door, and the coach pulled off. Turning on my heels, I dashed back in the building in time to encounter the hot blast of a percussion of power. Either someone was fighting, or someone had tripped wards designed to slow down pursuit. It could also be a distraction.

From what?

I feared I knew.

I braced, gritting my teeth, and pushed through the backlash, my personal shields taking the brunt of the unfettered, undirected power. I knew nothing but fear, and the intense need to get to my bonded.

I hadn't lied to my mother of course; I didn't know who the target was. But I suspected. We still hadn’t found Dartanyon.

I ran into the theater, pushing through the chaos of people fleeing—and the chaos of people descending into a particular kind of mass euphoria. For now. Ixnie always began wonderful, but the aftermath was less so. I was going to root this drug out of Casakraine and burn the chemists who’d created it on stakes. After I crucified them.

“Lord Andreien!” someone snapped, projecting their voice.

I suppressed the urge to eliminate the distraction, and the rage that threatened to distill rational thought down to mindless instinct. The Ninephene female leaped off the stage, approaching me with her hands up.

“The bomb was a distraction. I set it off on purpose to control the damage. There are no injuries.” She paused, eyes hardening. “Dartanyon took Han. I can follow her trail, or I can follow the drug.”

My gaze scored her face. This could be a trap. She was connected to Ashlyun, and though we were now new, tentative allies, this could all be a play. She didn’t appear affected at all. I knew of only one way to develop immunity.

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