Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Franco: If you want to defect to the Trinity Masters, we’d protect you.
Franco: You and anyone else you wanted to bring.
Franco: It would mean war, but Juliette has control of the U.S. nuclear arsenal.
Franco: Not that we’d use it…
Colum: Why does she have nukes?
Franco: YOU WANT THE U.S. GOVERNMENT TO BE IN CHARGE OF IT?
Colum: Valid point.
E ric was ready for this fight.
The fight he had with Nikolett back in Dublin had been less of a fight and more of her justifiably calling him an asshole and a coward.
But this? Now they were going to fight, and not as Eric and Nikolett but as the fleet admiral and the admiral of Hungary. He rarely pulled rank on her, and there were relatively few circumstances where he really could pull rank.
Forcing her into marriage had been one of those few.
He wasn’t going to think about her marriage or his own failure to find a way for Colum to have everything he wanted. Everything he deserved—a job he loved, a trinity he loved.
Hell, Eric hadn’t even really listened to Colum when he called, going on about something convoluted, somehow related to the admiralty of France and annulments. Whatever that conversation was, Eric knew it needed his full attention, and he couldn’t focus on anything else until he saw Nikolett.
Nikolett.
He was going to demand that she explain why he had to hear from Juliette Adams that she’d been attacked.
And he was going to ignore the fact that flying here to have this conversation rather than just calling her wasn’t something he’d have done for any other admiral. And he was going to ignore the sick, churning fear in his gut that she’d been in danger, and he hadn’t known.
Hadn’t protected her.
Not that his protection ever did any good. The women he loved still died.
His combative anger lasted until the moment he actually saw her.
One of her harcosok had let him into the house, after using a fingerprint scanner to verify his identity. Since he’d been a part of her getting the ridiculous new security system, he didn’t complain.
He also didn’t wait for them to verify Regina’s and Tobias’s identities and let them in.
He stormed into the house, heading right for her first-floor office. This wasn’t her real office; that was upstairs. Nikolett’s house was set up so the first floor was for territory business, with offices for herself, her vice admiral, security minister, and headquarters for both her harcosok and security officers.
Nikolett wasn’t in her office.
Eric turned for the stairs, planning to head to the second floor and her real office.
“Fleet Admiral.”
The cold voice stopped him, and he spotted Nyx, Nikolett’s vice admiral standing at the entrance to a branching hallway. Eric turned, stalking toward Nyx, who, without a word, turned as he got close, leading him to a small lounge room.
Had this part of the house been an actual home, it would have been a cozy living room, but as it was, the room felt closer to a waiting room in a private doctor’s office, with sturdy but comfortable couches and chairs set in two groupings. Grigoris stood in the corner, still and cast in shadow, like a dangerous potted plant. Eric took it all in with a quick glance—old habits die hard.
Then he saw Nikolett.
She was sitting on a small couch, half turned with one leg stretched across the cushions. Her back was straight, shoulders back, her expression one of cool indifference that bordered on disdain.
But her leg was in a cast and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked battered. Wounded.
The bubbling anticipation of a good fight flatlined and died.
As he stared at Nikolett in shock, Eric was forced to acknowledge something he hadn’t let himself consciously think before now.
He’d forced Nikolett into a trinity marriage, knowing it would end their messed-up, undefined romantic and sexual relationship, but he’d convinced himself he wouldn’t lose her. Not all the way.
Because they’d always have this—the uniquely divisive fleet admiral and territory admiral relationship. He might not be able to hold her or kiss her anymore because she belonged to others, but her marriage hadn’t truly been goodbye. She’d always be one of his admirals, and unlike the others who kept to themselves and rarely contacted him—usually he was the one reaching out to them—she insisted on getting involved in everything.
She’d been his loudest critic when he abandoned his duties as fleet admiral to hunt the people responsible for Josephine’s death.
She jumped in offering advice and help when other territories had problems, and every time she had, they might not have been successful without her.
Eric didn’t dare love her, but he hadn’t really let her go, either.
“Nikki,” he whispered, feeling sick that he hadn’t known she’d been hurt. He’d seen her only a few weeks ago at the Trinity Council meeting and she’d been fine…
Hadn’t she?
“No, Fleet Admiral,” Nikolett said in a calm, formal voice. “I don’t think nicknames are appropriate.”
Eric took a step and realized his muscles were shaking, a fine shivering twitch in his biceps.
“Your leg,” he said, voice low and rough with worry.
Nikolett’s mask cracked just a little as she took an unsteady breath.
“It’s just a broken leg.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why would I?”
Because I love you and I worry about you and I need to know you’re safe.
“What happened?” he said instead.
Nikolett exhaled sharply. “Fleet Admiral, why are you here?”
Eric knelt in front of the couch, one hand raised, hovering over her injured leg. There was a small pillow tucked under her knee, and she wore soft leggings rather than the more tailored pants or skirts she usually had on.
“Don’t touch me,” Nikolett snarled.
Regret and heartbreak battled for the emotional top spot. He couldn’t say any of the million things he wanted to say to her, so he retreated to the original plan.
Fight.
He stood, ignoring the way his knees and back protested the movement. “I got a call from the Grand Master of the Trinity Masters. Why the fuck did I have to find out from her that there have been seven assassination attempts on your life in the past six months?”
Nikolett froze for a moment, clearly surprised he knew about it, and then her eyes narrowed. “It’s an internal territory matter. There was no reason to tell you.”
“Yes, there was, and you know it.”
“Why? Would any other admiral have told you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“My people oversaw the security upgrades after the assassination attempt a year ago. If those upgrades weren’t sufficient, we needed to know.”
“My people have since made additional upgrades, and the house is secure.”
“How’d your leg get broken, Admiral Varda?”
“It’s being handled, I don’t need or want your help.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted help. I asked you how it happened.”
Nikolett smiled a fuck-you smile and said nothing.
“However that happened,” he pointed at her leg, “could be part of a larger threat against the society.”
“It’s a territory matter.”
“Really? Because if this is connected to everything that happened in Crimea, then it’s a Masters’ Admiralty issue, since it involves two different territories. Yours and Hande’s.”
“Crimea may technically be in Ottoman, but?—”
“And the Spaniard just attacked Colum in Dublin.”
Nikolett reared back in surprise.
Realizing she was craning her neck to look up at him, Eric yanked an armchair until it was close to and facing the couch, then dropped into it so they were more or less level.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nikolett asked.
Eric stared at her. “Really? I should tell you stuff when you don’t tell me anything?”
“You know we were working on the investigation into the Spaniard.”
Eric narrowed his eyes. “I thought Hande and Ottoman were working on it, because the Spaniard told Vadisk to say hello to the admiral…”
The expression on Nikolett’s face caused a sinking feeling in Eric’s stomach.
“The Spaniard told Vadisk to say hello to the admiral,” he said slowly, watching her expression carefully. “Meaning, say hello to Hande , since we know the blackmailer had information on the leadership of the Ottoman territory.”
“Technically, he told Vadisk, ‘say hello to your admiral,’ not the admiral. But the grammar of that statement can be tricky in Russian.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Nikolett? In the debrief, Vadisk said ‘the admiral.’”
“That is a possible translation for the statement.”
Rage—real rage born of fear—gripped him. Eric laced his fingers together and bowed his head, forcing himself to stay in control. He waited, expecting to feel her hand on his shoulder or arm. She could always tell when he needed that grounding touch.
Except this time, Nikolett didn’t touch him.
“We’ve been investigating the Spaniard for several weeks,” Nikolett said. “Tell me what happened in Dublin?”
Some dark, cruel part of him wanted to say, “Why don’t you call your husband and ask him directly?”
“How did your leg get broken?” Eric demanded instead.
Nikolett was quiet long enough he was tensing with increased frustration.
“A bear trap.”
Eric stared at her, confusion muting the frustration.
“Someone dropped a bear trap into the back garden using a drone and I stepped on it.”
He saw it in his mind’s eye—the massive metal jaws cracking closed on her leg. Nikolett falling to the ground, screaming in agony.
“No,” he breathed. “That’s… A bear trap?”
“Yes.”
“What about the others? Juliette said there were seven attempts in the past six months. She didn’t know about the snake a year ago, so what’s the real number, Nikolett? How many times has someone tried to kill you?”
For the first time, Nikolett wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Eric looked to Grigoris. Usually, it was Vadisk who stood silent witness to his and Nikolett’s fights. But Vadisk was gone, married to two Americans.
His gaze jumped back to Nikolett. “You tried to tell me,” he said, in dawning, horror-filled realization. “At the Trinity Council meeting, you said you needed Vadisk. You meant you actually needed him.”
“It’s almost like I meant what I said,” Nikolett purred, eyes flashing. “And yes, I felt that losing my top security officer at this point in time was going to negatively impact my territory. Which is why I objected.”
“This…this happened because I took Vadisk and left you vulnerable,” Eric breathed.
“No, Fleet Admiral, I’m afraid you’ll have to find a different source for your self-indulgent guilt.”
“Self-indulgent guilt?!” Had she actually just said that? It wasn’t self-indulgent to feel guilty because he hadn’t saved his wives or Josephine. It was his fault, all his fault?—
“Even if Vadisk had been here,” Nikolett said briskly, “he wouldn’t have done a sweep of the garden before I went out to get fresh air. We believed the security we had there was sufficient.”
“Clearly it wasn’t.” Eric stared hard at Grigoris.
“We’ve upgraded the cameras with three-sixty motion tracking,” Grigoris said.
“What happened in Dublin?” Nikolett demanded.
“How many times has someone tried to assassinate you?” he countered.
Their staring contest was broken by a soft knock at the closed door. Grigoris answered, speaking softly with the person on the other side.
“What is it?” Nikolett asked when Grigoris shut the door.
“A delivery.” Grigoris was frowning. “It can wait because it appears to be a page from an old journal. The package has been tested for anthrax, and the envelope X-rayed so we know it’s safe.”
A page from an old journal. Eric put his head in his hands, scrubbing his scalp with his fingers.
“What language is it in?” Nikolett asked. “Do we need a translator?”
“English.”
“Okay. Maybe Nyx can?—”
“Bring it to me,” Eric commanded, raising his head.
Nikolett opened her mouth—no doubt to object—but closed it when she saw his expression. She looked up, nodding at Grigoris.
A few minutes later, Grigoris carried in a clear acrylic case about the size of a ream of office paper. Inside was a faded piece of paper with a familiar looping handwriting.
It looked like one of the pages out of the manuscript Colum was hunting.
Eric whipped out his phone, shooting a message to the Spartan Guards he had stationed in Dublin. A tense second later, they confirmed that Colum, Xavier, and Annie were all still in the archive and okay. It hadn’t been broken into in the past hour since Colum called him.
This page wasn’t from the sections Colum had already discovered. It was from the still-missing pieces.
And it had been sent to Nikolett.
Fuck.
“What is it?” Nikolett asked, twisting to try to read the elegant script.
“Someone is playing us,” Eric said, his brain trying and failing to piece everything together in a way that made sense. “Playing with us,” he added, not sure which was right. He shook his head, heavy dread settling in his stomach.“Okay. Nikki, you’re coming with me.”
“That is definitely not happening,” she said calmly.
“This?” He held up the page. “This relates to what Colum is working on, and the Spaniard just attacked him.”
Nikolett frowned in thought, opening and closing her mouth several times.
“Exactly. Let’s go.” Eric stood and reached down to help her up, but Nikolett struggled to her feet on her own, some of the blood draining from her face.
Eric pulled out his phone and called Colum, shoving his other hand into a pocket to keep from reaching out to steady her.
“Colum,” he said, when his brother’s face appeared on screen.
“Eric.” Colum’s voice was cold and remote. Almost angry. Why was Colum angry? Ah, that’s right, he’d cut him off. He hated himself for doing that, since it was usually hard to get Colum talking, but on the flight here, he’d been choking on his fear for Nikolett.
Now? Now it was crisis mode.
Eric shook off his regret for not listening to Colum earlier. He’d deal with it later.
“Colum, get to Triskelion Castle. You. Xavier. Annie. I expect you to be there by the time I land.”
“What? Why?”
“Could someone in this damned society just do what I say?”
“No,” Nikolett and Colum said at the same time.
Colum’s expression went grim when he heard Nikolett’s voice, and then painfully blank when, a second later, she was visible over Eric’s shoulder.
“Eric—”
“Triskelion,” he repeated. “And once we get there…” Eric looked up, watching Nikolett make her way out of the room on her crutches. “We’re going to figure out who the fuck the Spaniard is and what he wants.”