Atlantis Betrayed

Chapter 36

“If he’s hurt, I’ve done it. I had to play ninja and my actions had repercussions. If they hurt Declan, or worse, it’s just the same, you see?” She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, aching with the need to cry, but her burning eyes were dry as death.

“You think you’re like your grandfather?” Christophe shook his head. “Never, sweetheart. This is not your fault. We’ve been through this. If you need to blame somebody, blame me.” He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away.

“No. He’s mine. If he’s in trouble, I’m the one. I’m just as bad as my grandfather, playing at ninja and theft, only to have the hurt fall on the innocent. My grandfather got my father killed. Now I . . . now I . . .”

She curled over into a ball, willing herself not to vomit. Sick and weak and shaky, she was no good to Declan.

Christophe paced back and forth, back and forth. “You don’t even have to ask, you know. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could feel his sincerity and his love lighting up the connection between them like a sun gone supernova, and she wanted to roll around in the heat and light, but she forced the door in her heart to close. It hurt too much, otherwise.

“I’ll trade myself for Declan,” Christophe said, spelling it out. “You don’t have to ask. My head will make that plate look good.”

His feeble attempt at humor died in the air between them, but she appreciated the effort. It was far more than she could do.

Flashes of memory of Declan kept shooting through her mind. Him as a baby, as a toddler who followed her everywhere, calling for his “Fee Fee.” She’d hated that; thought it made her sound like a French poodle. Fifi Campbell.

School days, protecting him from the bullies who thought an orphaned pair might be fair game. They’d learned otherwise quickly enough.

“Oh, Dec,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m coming for you. Your Fee Fee is coming.”

Christophe lifted her clear off the chair and then sat down with her in his lap and simply held her while she finally cried. By the time the rest of the Atlanteans returned, she’d cleaned away any trace of tears and was ready to plan.

When they entered the room, Christophe stood and introduced them to her. “Lady Fiona Campbell, this is Lord Justice. He’s okay in spite of the hair.”

Justice faked a swat at Christophe’s head and Christophe ducked and grinned. Fiona caught a flash of true fondness from Christophe’s emotions and was glad for him.

“Just Fiona, please,” she said, shaking hands.

“And simply Justice, for us,” he said, oddly referring to himself in the plural. He was tall, dark, and gorgeous, like they all were, but with a streak of wildness in his eyes. Probably why his hair was in a braid that fell to his hips and he wore such a huge sword.

“Is there iron in that sword?” She knew she was being abrupt, but she didn’t have time to waste on courtesies when Declan’s life hung in the balance.

“No iron, but it has its own unique properties,” he said. “It will send the Fae running.”

“Brennan is the one with the sense of humor and the very bad jokes,” Christophe said, and the one who’d told Christophe he really liked her nodded.

“Bastien is the giant. Also a damn fine cook.”

Bastien inclined his head. “My pleasure, Lady Fiona.”

“Now what?” She looked around at each of them in turn. “You’ve faced them before, I have not, so I repeat, now what?”

Sean walked into the room rolling a cart. “I think I have an idea.”

He opened the top of the cart and Fiona saw every type of iron weapon she could possibly have hoped for, all stacked and shining like a murderer’s dream.

“Have you tried to reach Denal on the mental pathway?” Justice asked Christophe. “Do you want any of us to try?”

Christophe shrugged. “If you can, please do. Maybe you’ll have better luck. I have had no success at all. Wherever he is, he either can’t hear me, or he doesn’t want to answer.”

He refused to think of the third possibility.

Hopkins walked in and Fiona almost fell over. He wasn’t wearing his suit, for perhaps the first time in her life. Instead, he was dressed all in black and he looked tough and deadly. He calmly began fastening a shoulder holster to himself.

Justice wandered over and picked up an iron sword and checked its balance. “This one is good,” he told Hopkins.

“We’re taking the butler?” Bastien asked. “I mean you no offense, sir, but—”

“I prefer these,” Hopkins interrupted Bastien, but he was answering Justice. He chose an assortment of guns, loaded them, and holstered them in various places around his person, all in record time. “Not much for swords, but I caused some trouble with guns, back in the day.” He met Fiona’s gaze. “I plan to do so again tonight.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Hopkins. You’ve always been there for us. I can’t imagine surviving tonight without you.”

“You don’t understand, Fiona,” Christophe said. “The Fae said only the two of us. The Summer Lands have a magical entrance, similar to the Atlantean portal. It will only admit the two of us, and it won’t let anyone at all enter carrying weapons.” He forced the words out. “None of this does us any good. Once we’re in there, we’re on our own.”