“Lash’s father is aware of your financial situation. In light of it, he wants you to become an indentured servant in their household.”
The blood rushed out of Qhuinn’s head. A slave… for the rest of his life? For Lash’s parents?
“This would,” Wrath tacked on, “be after you went to prison, of course. And actually, the race still has one in operation. Up north of the Canadian border.”
Qhuinn just stood there, utterly numb. Man, your life could end in so many different ways, he thought. Death wasn’t the only way out of it.
“What do you say about all this?” Wrath murmured.
Prison… in God only knew where for God only knew how long. Slavery… in a household that would forever hate him until he kicked it.
Qhuinn thought of that walk through the tunnel at Blay’s and the decision he had come to on the far side.
“I have mismatched eyes,” he whispered, lifting his fucked-up stare to the king. “But I have honor. I’ll do whatever has to be done to make it right… provided,” he said with sudden strength, “that no one makes me apologize. That… I can’t do that. What Lash did was beyond wrong. It was intentionally cruel and done to ruin John’s life. I. Am. Not. Sorry.”
Wrath came around the desk and strode across the room. As he passed by, he said briskly, “Right answer, son. Wait out there with your boy. I’ll be with you in a few.”
"Excuse… What?”
The king opened the door and impatiently nodded. “Out. There.”
Qhuinn stumbled from the room.
How’d it go? John signed as he jumped up from a chair that was against the hall wall. What happened?
As Qhuinn looked at his friend, he was not about to tell the guy that he was going to jail and then being released into the custody of Lash’s parents to be tortured for the rest of his days. “Ah, not too bad.”
You lie.
“Do not.”
You’re the color of fog.
“Well, hello, I had surgery, like, yesterday.”
Oh, please. What’s happening?
“To tell you the truth, I have no clue-”
“ ’Scuse me.” Beth, the queen, came up with a grave expression. In her hands was a long, flat leather box. “Boys? I need to get in there.”
As they stepped apart, she ducked into the study and shut the door.
John and Qhuinn waited. Then waited some more… and some more.
God only knew what was doing. Guess it took a while for the king and queen to draw up his Go to Jail, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $500 papers.
John took out his phone, like he needed something to do with his hands, and frowned as he checked the thing. After he texted someone, he put it back in his pocket.
Weird that Blay hasn’t checked in yet.
Not really, Qhuinn thought, feeling like a son of a bitch. The king threw the doors wide. “Getcha asses back in here.”
There was a scramble of their feet, and then Wrath shut them all in together. The king returned to his desk, parked it in the doll-like chair, and propped his huge shitkickers on the mound of paperwork. When Beth fell in by the side of where he sat, he reached up and took her hand.
“You boys familiar with the term ahstrux nohtrum?” When the two of them shook their heads like idiots, Wrath smiled a cold, nasty little grin. “It’s an antiquated position. It’s like a private guard, only they’re allowed to use deadly force when protecting their master. They’re killers with a pass.”
Qhuinn swallowed hard, wondering what the hell that had to do with him and John.
The king continued. “Ahstrux nohtrum may be commissioned only by royal decree, and the standard is kind of like the U.S. Secret Service’s for protection. The subject must be a person of interest, and the guard must be capable.” Wrath kissed his queen’s hand. “A person of interest is someone whose presence is significant as judged by the king. Which is me. Now… my shellan here, she’s the most precious thing in the world, and there is nothing that I won’t do to make sure her heart is protected. Also, in terms of the race as a whole, she is queen. Therefore her only brother most definitely falls into the person-of-interest category.
“As for the qualified-guard part… I happened to know, Qhuinn, that out of the training class, you were the best fighter, aside from John. You’re vicious with the hand-to-hand, a great shot on the range”-the king’s voice grew wry-“and we’re all aware of how good you are with a knife, aren’t we.”
Qhuinn felt a weird rush go through him, like some kind of fog had lifted and revealed an unexpected path out of the wilderness. He reached for John’s arm to steady himself even though it totally slapped the Hello! My Name Is Nancy tag on him.
“One thing, though,” the king said. “Ahstrux nohtrum are expected to sacrifice their own lives for the one they protect. If shit comes down to it, they will take a mortal hit. Oh, and it’s a lifelong commitment, unless I say different. I’m the only one who can issue a pink slip, feel me?”
Qhuinn’s mouth talked of its own accord: “Of course. Absolutely.”
Wrath smiled and reached over to the box Beth had carried in. He took out a thick sheaf of paper, at the bottom of which was a gold seal with red and black satin ribbons. “Gee, would you look at this.”
He casually tossed the official-looking document to the far edge of the desk.
Qhuinn and John leaned in together. In the Old Language, the thing stated that…
“Holy… fuck,” Qhuinn breathed, then abruptly looked up at Beth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to use foul language.”
She smiled and kissed the top of her hellren’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”
“Look at the date,” Wrath said.
It was backdated… the fucker was backdated to two months ago. According to the document, Qhuinn, son of Lohstrong, had been functioning as John Matthew, son of Darius, son of Marklon’s ahstrux nohtrum since late June.
“I’m really rat-ass awful at paperwork,” Wrath drawled.
“I just forgot to tell you two what was doing. My bad. Now, of course, this means that you, John, are responsible for the restitution, because the subject being guarded has to settle all debts incurred as a result of protection.”
John immediately signed, I’ll pay-
“No, wait,” Qhuinn cut in. “He doesn’t have that kind of money-”
“Your buddy’s worth about forty million at this point, so he can handle it just fine.”
Qhuinn looked over at John. “What? Why the hell are you working in the office for clothes money?”
Who do I make the check out to? John signed, ignoring him.
“Lash’s parents. Beth, as the Brotherhood’s CFO, will tell you which account it comes out of, right, leelan?” Wrath squeezed the queen’s hand and smiled up at her. When he refocused on Qhuinn and John, the loving expression was gone. “Qhuinn’s moving into the house effective now, and he’s going to have a salary of seventy-five thousand a year, which you will pay. And, Qhuinn, you’re so totally out of the training program, but that doesn’t mean the Brothers and I won’t… oh, I don’t know, spar with your ass to keep your skills sharp. After all, we take care of our own. And you’re one of us now.”
Qhuinn took a deep breath. And then another. And then- “I need… I need to sit down.”
Like a complete flippin’ lightweight, he stumbled over to one of the pale blue couches. With everyone staring at him like they were about to offer him either a paper bag to breathe into or some Kleenex, he put his hand to where he’d been operated on in hopes of making it seem like he was overcome by his injury, not his emotions.
Trouble was… he couldn’t seem to draw any air into his lungs. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was going into his mouth, but whatever the shit was, it wasn’t doing a damn thing to clear the dizziness in his head or the burning sensation around his rib cage.