Atlantis Rising

had died. And Conlan still hadn't told her yet what had happened with Reisen and the Trident.

As she washed her back, her fingers touched an odd raised ridge on her shoulder. Her memory flashed back to the searing pain she'd felt when Poseidon accepted her offer.

Surely he hadn't cut her open?

But then again, what did she know about what a god might do?

She pushed open the shower door and hurried to the mirror, grabbing a towel to wipe the steam off the surface. Then she turned her back to the glass and awkwardly contorted her neck so she could look back over her shoulder.

At the scar—no, the brand—that marked her.

'Oh, my God! He branded me!'

She didn't realize she'd shrieked the words until Conlan yanked the door open and ran into the room, daggers in his hands. 'What is it?'

She looked up at him, then back in the mirror at the six-inch-long image burned into the flesh on her shoulder blade. 'He marked me, Conlan. That's a… that's a—'

'That's the Trident.' He sighed, wrapped a towel around her, and held her for a long moment. 'We have to talk to Alaric to find out exactly what it means.'

Riley wasn't sure she wanted to know.

They dressed silently and went downstairs to find breakfast. The smell of frying bacon had persuaded her to leave the room and venture out, in spite of her reluctance. Riley knew that the room had been an oasis—a mirage of peace.

'It's over now, isn't it? The illusion of safety we created last night. Back to reality,' Riley said, reaching for his hand.

'I will protect you with everything I have and everything I am, aknasha.' Conlan stopped on the stair landing to draw her close for a quick hug. 'Never doubt it.'

She smiled, but it was more of a gesture for his benefit than a real reflection of any happiness. It might be a long time before she had any reason to smile again.

Bastien reigned in the cheerful red-and-white kitchen, flipping omelets and frying bacon with the skill of long practice. 'What can I get for you, Lady Riley?'

She closed her eyes and inhaled, deciding to bliss out and enjoy the moment. A girl couldn't fight a battle on an empty stomach. 'I'll have some of everything. I'm starved, and it smells great! And just Riley, please, Bastien.'

He grinned at her. 'Everything it is.'

As she poured herself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot on the counter, she studied the men in the room. Ven and Christophe were finishing up their own breakfasts and, after quick smiles and nods to her and Conlan, they resumed their argument about the relative merits of Italian versus German automotive engineering.

Conlan put his hand on hers, but what she'd taken for a romantic gesture was really a sneaky way to get his hands on her coffee mug. She scowled at him, trying not to grin and ruin the effect. 'Hey! Get your own coffee, prince boy.'

He laughed, took a sip, and handed the cup back to her, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 'No respect for my royal self at all.'

'Not a bit.'

Ven looked up at them, speculation in his gaze. 'Well, you gotta love that in a woman, bro. It must make for a nice change from all that sucking up you get from the women back home.'

Riley's happiness fizzled out like air from a pricked balloon. The women back home. His intended queen.

She sat down at the enormous wooden farmhouse table, her appetite suddenly gone, and stared at her mug. Ven seemed to realize he'd stuck his foot in his mouth and groaned. 'Hey, sorry, I didn't mean—I just was digging on the fact that you two look so happy and teasing Conlan a little, and—oh, shit. I mean, excuse me, Lady Sunshine.'

His remorse was painfully evident, and she tried to smile reassuringly. 'No worries. I'm just tired.'

Conlan leaned over and smacked his brother upside the head, then sat down beside Riley and put an arm around her shoulder. She could feel his concern, but she didn't have the energy to reassure him, too.

Just as they were finishing their breakfast, the energy in the room changed abruptly, almost as if a frigid wind iced through the kitchen. Riley looked up, hands clenching into fists, ready to defend.

To attack.

Even as a tiny part of her wondered what she was turning into.

It was Alaric, spreading the warmth of his personality in front of him.

'We need to talk,' he said, gaze arrowing in on Riley.

'Hello to you, too. Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she returned, heavy on the sarcasm.

Jerk.

He inclined his head, a tacit acknowledgment of her point. 'How are you, Riley? More to the point, how is your shoulder?'

'You knew about that? What is it?'

Conlan stirred in his chair. 'Perhaps we should discuss this more privately.'

Ven shoved his chair back, stood up. 'Yeah, well, it sounds like something I need to know about, too. Christophe, you're on KP duty since Bastien cooked.'

Christophe groaned. 'Man, somehow I always get sucked into—' He looked up, met Riley's gaze, subsided. 'Yeah. I got it.'

As Alaric led the way out of the room, Bastien put out a hand to lightly touch Riley's arm. 'We've got your back, okay? Don't stress about any of this stuff. We'll take care of you.'

She opened her shields and sent a wave of warmth and gratitude to him. Watched his eyes widen as he received it.

'Wow. You really—hey, this aknasha stuff is pretty cool,' he said, grinning. 'And you're welcome, but no thanks were necessary.'

'Good manners are the last bastion of a civilized society,' she murmured.

'What?'

'Oh, something my mother used to say a long time ago. Your name reminded me of it. Thank you for the wonderful breakfast, too.'

Conlan called out to her from the hallway, and she sighed. Squared her shoulders. 'On my way.'

Chapter 32

Conlan watched Alaric pace the large room—some kind of a den, all leather and wood—and the repetitive motion pissed him off. 'Cut it out. Just let us have the bad news, already. Trying to be diplomatic is wasting our time, and it's not your style, anyway.'

Alaric's eyes flashed bright green briefly, but at least he stopped the damn pacing. 'I have facts, and I have speculation. I'm going to give you both, and identify which is which. Then we must decide how to proceed.'

Riley spoke up, her voice small and quiet. 'This is about me, I'm guessing?'

Alaric said nothing. He didn't have to. The look on his face said it all.

She tried to smile, tightened her grip on Conlan's hand. 'Okay, fire away. And I meant that figuratively, in case you were wondering.'

'First, the facts. You offered yourself to Poseidon for Denal and Brennan. He chose to let you live. However, he branded you with the mark of the Trident that only priests bear.' Alaric ticked off items on his fingers as he spoke.

'Second—'

'What do you mean, that only priests bear?' Riley interrupted. 'I don't even really believe in him. I mean, clearly I believe he exists, after what happened, and I know he has some pretty amazing powers, but I'm strictly a