Demonkeepers

She closed her eyes on a spasm of the grinding, wrenching, nausea-inducing pain in her stomach that made her want to cross her arms over herself and moan. She didn’t, though, because that would accomplish exactly nothing. Back during the early days of their marriage, Brandt had loved it when she played girl and leaned on him, needed him. These days, though, he took any sign of weakness as an excuse to take over and start making unilateral decisions, pushing her aside.

She didn’t know if his Borg- like assimilation into the Nightkeeper ways was what had caused him to put his responsibilities to his family behind his duties to the magi and the end-time war, as demanded by the writs. Maybe the magic itself had changed him, making him harder and uncompromising, or maybe he’d always been that way and she hadn’t noticed because their needs had coincided rather than clashed. Whatever the cause, the small disagreements had snowballed, then avalanched, until she barely knew him anymore.

“You agreed to that. I just didn’t argue,” she said softly, still facing away from him. Then, avoiding Strike’s eyes because she didn’t want to see the sympathy she knew was in his expression, she turned to face her husband. Her heart clutched a little at the frustrated anger in his gorgeous brown eyes and model-perfect face, the lines of tension in his big body.

Despite everything they’d been through lately, she still felt a gut-deep kick of desire, and heard a faint, egotistical whisper of, The other girls can eat their hearts out. He’s mine. That was pretty much the first thing she’d said to him six years earlier, when she’d awakened beside him in a Cancun hotel room in the midst of spring break. Her brain had been full of disconnected images of the previous night’s hard partying, her bed had been full of gorgeous guy, and both their forearms had been marked with what they had thought at the time were tattoos of Mayan glyphs, but had later proved to be so much more. It was that more that was screwing them up now, she thought. Or maybe they’d been doomed from the start, and it’d taken them this long to figure it out.

She waited for his eyes to soften, waited to see some of the old wonder in them, the look that had made her believe he was just as awed as she was by what they’d found. But he stayed annoyed. More than that, he looked hurt, which was ridiculous. He’d been the first one to suggest sending the twins away, after all. She’d initially believed it had been Strike’s idea, but Brandt had later confessed that it had been his. He might’ve thought knowing that would help her resign herself to the separation. He’d been wrong.

Looking past her, he said to Strike, “Sorry. I thought we’d settled this.”

“Don’t apologize for me,” she snapped, anger rising. “You don’t own me, and you don’t speak for me.”

“Clearly.” He moved up beside her, still looking at Strike. That forced her to turn, as well, so she and Brandt wound up standing shoulder-to-shoulder, facing their king. But although the shift created an illusion of their joining forces against a common enemy, she knew that was far from the case. She was on her own in this one, not part of a team anymore.

“I want to hook you up and let you visit,” Strike said. “And gods know I’d love to bring them back here, not just for you guys, but so Hannah and Woody could come back, too, and because we all enjoyed having the kids around. But at the same time, I’m not willing to bet that the Xibalbans are out of the equation, not the way you’re proposing. Similarly, I can’t rule out the Banol Kax. They don’t seem to be able to get through the barrier right now . . . but is that a reality, or is that what they want us to think? Not to mention that they may still be able to punch through the barrier to create an ajaw-

makol, even if they’re unable to pass through themselves.”

Patience gave him credit for talking to her rather than Brandt. She probably shouldn’t have been mildly surprised—Strike was gender-blind when it came to warrior stuff, assigning duties based on skill rather than sex. And she had a feeling that Leah had likely cured him of any residual chauvinism that might have come from his being raised in the human environment, by a royal winikin who was firmly entrenched in the Nightkeepers’ patriarchal, male-dominated society. The queen had managed to maintain her individuality without losing her mate’s regard. Patience envied that.

“I know it’s a risk,” she said now, softly, “but aren’t we all taking calculated risks these days? And let’s be honest—we may not have lost the war yet, but we’re not winning it yet, either.” She took a deep breath, only to find that the air carried a hint of the aftershave she’d bought her husband for the wayeb festival—the Nightkeepers’ nod at a Christmas-type holiday. Not letting herself dwell on the scent, or the low churn it brought to her midsection, she said, “I don’t know whether we’re going to win or lose this war, but either way, I know for certain that I don’t want to spend my next—maybe my last—two and a half years separated from my sons. I’ve already lost a year with them. I’m asking you

. . . I’m begging you. Let me at least see them. Just a glimpse. That’s all.”

She paused. To her astonishment, Brandt reached over and took her hand, squeezing tightly. She thought his fingers might even have trembled a little, letting her know that he cared far more than she’d realized. Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She was a warrior, after all.

Sighing heavily, Strike shook his head. “I hope you both know how much I wish I could authorize a visit. The council has brainstormed some options, even, but we just can’t see a way to absolutely protect Harry and Braden while giving you access. They don’t have their bloodline marks and they’re not connected to the barrier. Which means that as long as we don’t contact them, and vice versa, there’s no way for the Xibalbans or Banol Kax to find them. They’re absolutely safe.” The king paused, looking suddenly far older than his thirtysomething years. “This is one of those times when I have to be the bad guy. As much as I understand how awful this is for you, I have to do what I think is best.”

Patience’s mouth dried to dust, and dull anger kindled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. “You have no idea what I’m going through. None of you do. Or have you lost track of the fact that Brandt and I are the only ones here who are actually married, not just jun tan mates, and we’re the only ones who are parents?”

“The winikin—” Strike began.

“The winikin raised us, but they’re not our parents. There’s a difference.”

“Not to some of them, there isn’t.” But Strike didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to tell you where they are, and I’m not going to arrange a meeting, or even an invisibility-cloaked look-see. I want you to stay away from them. Let Hannah and Woody do their jobs while you do yours.” He fixed her with a stern look and reached for his belt, where he wore his father’s ceremonial knife. “I want you to swear to me, on your—” The normal-size door inset into the heavily carved ceremonial panels guarding the royal suite swung open and Leah stuck her head through, interrupting with, “There you are! Hurry up, will you?”

Strike broke off and swung around. “Did you get Anna on the line?”

“Yeah, but she’s trying to escape. Better move your fine ass.” Leah’s attention shifted from Strike to the others. “Unless you’re busy?”

“We’re done here,” Strike said, thoroughly distracted now. Brows furrowed, expression suggesting he viewed the upcoming convo with his sister with both anticipation and dread, he turned back, reached out, and gripped Patience’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said for the second—or was it the third? —time. “Be strong and do your best. That’s all any of us can do.” Then, shooting Brandt what she strongly suspected was a mated man’s look of commiseration, the king turned on his heel and beat it for the royal suite. Moments later, the door swung shut at his back, leaving Patience and Brandt out in the hall. Together. Alone.

Before, what seemed like an eternity ago but had been only a couple of years, they might have taken the opportunity to sneak a few kisses, maybe more. Now, although Brandt kept hold of her hand, he scowled down at her. “What the hell was that?”

She bristled. “Excuse me?”

“Please. You know damn well you agreed to hold off on talking to the king.” But his eyes softened and he caught her other hand, holding her still when she would’ve shifted away. “We’re on the same side here, sweetheart. I want what you want.”

I thought you did, once, but I feel like I don’t know you anymore. I knew Brandt the man, not the White-Eagle mage. The man had loved their sons to the exclusion of everything else except her. The four of them had been a unit, a family. But he’d changed since their arrival at Skywatch, which had been followed by the revelation that they’d both been hiding their true natures, pretending to be human when their respective godparents—aka winikin—had raised them to be more. He was harder now, and had lost the playfulness she’d loved about him. And his sense of humor wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared; so had her belief that he put his family first, no matter what.