17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter 17
T he woman and the flames hypnotized Dante. He wanted to reach out and touch both of them.
“I think I just died,” Rieka muttered under her breath. The fire behind her flickered to life; the flames matched her eyes.
The kitchen was muted, the stillness unnatural compared to the chaotic atmosphere it normally held. They were alone. He had ensured that there would be no intrusions. Tatiana guarded her kitchen with a ferocity that would impress experienced generals, and no one in their right mind dared to contradict her. But he had been one of the few Atlanteans granted access. An honor that he had never understood as a child. And one that he did not use lightly. This was his favorite time, the calm before the storm. When the stillness within the kitchen was tangible. He had never shared this moment with anyone else.
The kitchen appeared unchanged, even after four centuries. Large marble stone tops dominated the room. Someone had discreetly added modern conveniences such as ovens over the years, but the original hearth remained one of the focal points.
The food was exquisite. Tatiana had outdone herself, as always. One of these days, Dante was going to convince the head chef that she should work for him in New York. He had more than enough room for Tatiana and her consort.
“And she won’t move?” Rieka asked between bites.
They sat at the only table, half-hidden in the room. It gave the observer an unobstructed view of the kitchen. He had spent hours here as a child watching Tatiana command the kitchen, and it had been far more of an influence on him than anyone could have predicted.
“A sense of loyalty, I assume,” Dante dryly answered. “She has worked for Anhur for more than one thousand years.”
Rieka’s eyes widened as she glanced around the kitchen before focusing back on him. She did not trust him, not entirely, but that was to be expected. He didn’t have the time to draw her out of her shell; he needed to push at her boundaries and get what he wanted. If it required him to reveal information about himself that he would not share outside of these circumstances, he was more than willing to take the gamble.
The fire behind them cast her in a warm glow. It highlighted the red hue in her black hair. Frankincense and myrrh lingered in the air; someone must have added them to the stone hearth. “Why did you choose to study Atlantean archaeology?”
Rieka glanced at the fire before she turned her attention back to him. Her eyes matched the roaring blaze behind her, licks of gold interwoven with vibrant red.
“My mom. She was obsessed with the tomb despite not having formally studied anything to do with archaeology. She was a bit of a free spirit.” Rieka sighed, looking down at her plate as she pushed away the remnants of the chocolate cake. “It makes me feel closer to her.”
Lilian Sinha died well over a decade ago, according to the files he had sourced, but for Rieka, the memory must still be raw. Every time she talked about her mother, pain flickered through her; it was almost palpable when he was this close to her. Grief could leave invisible scars on the body and the mind. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what that would be like to feel the way humans did. Their lives were brief, but they could burn brighter than most Atlanteans. It was hard to lose the allure of life when a life span was less than a hundred and fifty years. Unlike his species. It was ironic that most Atlanteans lived to be over three thousand years old, but after living for a couple of hundred years there was a danger of everything fading into mundane routines and obsolete memories.
“If we are being honest with each other, what drives you, Dante? Wealth, legacy?”
“Power,” Dante acknowledged. He never kept it a secret. It was what they’d drilled into him as a child. The only currency his family understood. Everything else was secondary except for protecting the purity of their bloodline. Even if some considered his father’s pursuit for the tomb of Vandana madness—Talal’s bloodline had been faultless. And his mother’s was just as impeccable. The only blight on the Delacroix family was that Dante was the first male born to the matriarchal line in over nine thousand years. But they had absolved his mother of that little sin with the arrival of his twin sister.
“Power isn’t everything.”
“It is in my world.”
Rieka frowned, as if his response offended her. “Surely there is more to near immortality than power.”
“It is one of the few absolutes,” Dante said. It had driven his every interaction. “Atlanteans are not as prone to emotional attachments as humans. When you live as long as our species, emotions become a commodity at best or a weakness that can be exploited.”
“I never would have thought I would feel sorry for you—as a species—but I do. There is more to life than power.” Rieka tapped her plate. “I wouldn’t ask for near immortality if I lost the ability to feel.”
Rieka said it with such honesty and frankness, Dante almost doubled back. No one had ever questioned his drive; it had always been the opposite. The ruthless ambition had been fostered and encouraged. Despite the veneer of civility Atlantean society cultivated, it never pretended to downplay the importance of power and wealth.
“Does it ever get tiring?” Rieka asked.
“Tiring?”
“To live as long as you do?” Rieka added. “Does it all merge into one long memory?”
“There is always something or someone that can reignite the allure of living.” It was the truth. But those interests were becoming few and far between. And more difficult to find. “You would have to ask the elders. I can only imagine after three thousand years that it becomes a blur.”
Rieka sighed. “That is disappointing.”
“Nothing lasts forever, Rieka. Dynasties have risen and fallen throughout our history.”
“Near immortality does not sound that appealing.” Rieka pushed back against the table. The brown leather necklace peeked out from her shirt.
“The pendant? What is it?” Dante asked.
Rieka’s eyes widened at his question.
“You don’t just play with your hair when you are concentrating.”
Rieka tugged at the brown cord, pulling the pendant from beneath her T-shirt. “My mom gave it to me before the plane crash. Just a pretty Atlantean trinket,” Rieka said as she lifted it. The silver glowed bright against the fire. “It’s all I have left of her.”
Dante froze for a second. Rieka didn’t notice as she held up the pendant for him to see. Five circles were intertwined with what appeared to be a trident running through them. An ancient symbol of House Atlas. One that Talal had shown him in secret, and he’d never seen again.
Rieka stared at it for a second longer before she returned it, slipping it under her T-shirt where it would be nestled securely between her breasts. He could scent no lie from her. She did not know what the pendant was. Otherwise, she likely wouldn’t have shown it to him. Or agreed to the contract.
“The design appears unusual.”
“Mom said she was given it by her mom when she was a child. Turns out the Sinha women tend to leave their children behind.” Rieka smiled to herself. The memory was tinged with sadness. She shook her head, her wild curls bouncing. And like that, the scent of the sadness was gone. “Enough about me. How does the child of a scholar and the matriarch of the House Mneseus end up owning half of New York City?” Rieka asked as she continued to move the chocolate cake around her plate.
“The House doesn’t own it; we are heavily invested in it,” Dante said. He’d taken a chance that none of the Houses had had the foresight to act upon, and it paid him dividends. “I saw a business opportunity and exploited it.”
Rieka looked surprised at his response. “That was it?”
“I migrated to the city in 1706,” Dante stated. The pull to have something that belonged solely to him had been far too strong. Moving to the young country had been an opportunity to expand House Mneseus’s influence and create his own space. It had been a vastly different world back then. The city had been full of hope and broken dreams, reality not quite matching what people had been sold. “Atlanteans do not live for an eternity. Our life span does not exceed four thousand years in most circumstances.”
A distinction most humans glossed over.
Rieka waved her chocolate-covered spoon around as if it was a minor detail. To humans, it doubtless was. Near immortality was as far out of reach as immortality.
“What was young Dante like?” Rieka asked before she slowly licked the spoon.
The low moan she released set his body on fire.
“The chocolate frosting is to die for.” She looked at him mischievously and licked her lips, drawing attention to her wicked mouth.
The simple action sent a jolt of desire through him, his arousal unmistakable. In less than a second, the temperature in the room had gone up.
Dante reached out; his hands brushed Rieka’s. She shivered under his touch. He traced her inner wrist, following the outline of the lilies. Rieka’s breath hitched as he continued the path up toward her arm. Her skin was silky smooth to his touch. The small involuntary shivers urged him onward as the scent of subtle desire darkened the room. The fire that threatened to take over his mind made him realize he wasn’t immune to Rieka’s reactions and was not in as much control as he had initially thought. He should pull back. But Rieka was proving to be intoxicating. She was highly intelligent, which coupled with her beauty, had the potential to be a lethal combination. It was Rieka’s zest for life that drew him in, like a moth to a flame. She showed it in everything she did. The type of passion that was reserved for those who knew that every single moment counted. A foreign concept to him.
Rieka slowly pulled her hand back. A red blush stained her cheeks.
“I was exactly as you imagine.”
Talik stood quietly at the door, half-hidden by the shadows. Dante wanted to ignore him, but there was only one reason Talik would interrupt him. Aadya had decided that she would meet with him. His paternal grandmother was many things, but maternal was not one of them, and she would not have granted his meeting without extensive consideration.
“Precocious and intense?” Rieka laughed. She nodded at Talik. “I assume you have to leave.”
It would not be long before the kitchen bustled to life again, and they would be unceremoniously kicked out. Some things never changed. “I must attend a meeting. Talik will escort you to your room.”
“It’s fine. I know the way.”
“Not everyone at the Jimourt will be as welcoming as Anhur is,” Dante said, as Rieka picked up her backpack and placed it on her lap. She used the backpack like a physical barrier. “The Houses may appear civilized, but they will do anything to remain in power.”
Rieka stiffened. “And you?”
“I would exploit any weaknesses they have.”
A wave of iciness went through Dante as Rieka walked out of the kitchen. Rieka’s presence felt like a burning flame, something he wanted to touch—to understand how close he could get before it affected him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had not been focused exclusively on his work or finding the tomb. They sold the Jimourt to the outside world as a celebration, but to the key players, they knew what it was. A time when they could conduct ruthless acquisitions and amend alliances. Not a time to show any form of weakness. And he was fast realizing that Rieka may become one of his. Dante could not afford to be distracted, not even by his unexpected attraction to Rieka. He should have been able to control it. Instead, he’d reacted on pure instinct and desire. It was slightly disturbing that Rieka could evoke such a visceral reaction from him.
It didn’t take him long to reach his destination. Large, ornate metal doors closed behind him and sealed him away from the rest of the Arx. The great circular room was empty save for the four statues facing inwards. The closest figure was of a woman holding a crossbow in her hands, her body arched gracefully as if she was mid-turn. Wild brown hair flowed to her waist, the rich color mixed with hues of chestnut and red. It complemented her bronze skin.
Two of the statues carried swords, and the fourth, had a chakram held tightly against her chest. The women appeared to be forever memorialized as warriors.
Dante knew better.
He continued his walk down the center of the room, the thick bloodred rug muffling the sound of his movement as he crossed the room. Moonlight streamed through the aquamarine stained-glass dome and cast dark shadows along the walls. He kept his attention straight ahead.
The elusive immortals. The descendants of the last of the high priestesses who had guarded the royal family of House Atlas. Traditionally, they wore loose dark attire and a mask that concealed their identity to the outside world. It was believed that their name did not come from their ability to cheat death, but rather because if an immortal died or was unable to protect the royal family, they were immediately replaced. Today, only a select few of the immortals remained loyal to the Houses; preferring instead to offer their skills to the highest bidder, human or Atlantean. The four within the room were loyal to Khalida, and protected Aadya.
As he walked past, the auburn-haired statue holding the chakram winked at him.
A reminder that not all was what it seemed.