Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

tables.
     
    That is, most of the business of peace. For the rest, Conlan and his elite guard met in the war room. Another refuge, though starkly utilitarian. Another scarred wooden table.
    Alexios shook his head to clear it of fancy. The baby and Riley might be dying, and he was thinking about stupid tables. He was a fool.
     
    Or else his mind was trying to protect him with denial. Alexios had seen more than his share of death over the centuries, but the child‟s life had never had a chance to begin.
     
    “Please, Poseidon, hear my plea,” he whispered urgently, a fist squeezing the place inside his chest where his heart had once been. Now, he was sure that nothing but a blackened husk remained of heart and hope. If the baby died . . . but no. He wouldn‟t think it.
     
    He couldn‟t think it.
     
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    Entering the room, he saw Justice and Keely first. Lord Justice, now that they all knew he was half brother to Prince Conlan and his brother, Ven, the King‟s Vengeance.
     
    Not that Ven would put up with being called prince anything.
     
    Justice had his arms around Keely, like he always did. Ever since both the Atlantean and the Nereid halves of his personality had come together and soul-melded with Keely, the warrior was rarely far from her side.
     
    Alexios ruthlessly squashed the twinge of envy he often felt at the sight of them. They were self-contained. Complete in each other, not needing anyone else. If anyone deserved to have that kind of happiness, it was Justice. He‟d fought against a cursed birthright for centuries, unable to claim his own brothers as kin. Now he had a new family: Keely and their adopted daughter, Eleni, a beautiful Guatemalan child who‟d lost her parents to vicious vampire attacks.
     
    They deserved to be happy. All of them deserved to be happy. It was a sign of his weakness and a flaw in his character that he envied even one moment of it.
     
    Keely looked up at exactly that moment and caught sight of him. “Oh, Alexios,” she cried out. “We‟re so glad you‟re here.”
     
    Pulling away from Justice, she ran across the room and threw herself into Alexios‟s arms, sobbing. “Did Brennan tell you? It‟s so awful. Erin is with them, of course, with her gem-singing healing Gift. She‟s helping Marie do everything they can.”
     
    Alexios was so startled by her actions that he almost didn‟t comprehend her words. His instinct to comfort, rusty with disuse, finally kicked in, and he awkwardly lifted an arm to pat her back, warily watching Justice. Justice returned his gaze steadily, his lips quirking into a flicker of a smile that quickly vanished.
     
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    “They will be able to heal Riley and the child,” Justice said, not a shadow of doubt in his voice.
     
    Keely lifted her head from Alexios‟s shoulder and took a shuddering breath. She nodded, scrubbing her face with her hands. Alexios quickly dropped his arms to his sides, releasing her.
     
    “I‟m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “Some tough archaeologist I am, right? I‟m just so glad you‟re all back. Strength in numbers and prayers, you know? Christophe went to help, add his power to Alaric‟s or something, and it‟s just—it‟s just that I‟ve gotten to know Riley so well and if . . . if . . . if something happens to her or the baby—”
     
    Quicker than thought, Justice was beside her, gathering her into his arms. “Hush, mi amara , hush. We will not let any part of our family come to harm. Let us continue to offer our prayers to Poseidon, the gods of the Nereid, and your own Christian god.
    Surely strength in numbers, as you say, cannot hurt with gods.”
     
    Alexios stepped away to give them some privacy and crossed the floor toward Denal, who knelt on the floor, his dark head resting against the arm of the chair. As Alexios approached, he realized the youngling was mumbling an ancient Atlantean prayer under his breath. He stopped, not wanting to interrupt, but Denal raised his head, and Alexios got another shock. Denal‟s eyes were sunken into his skull, and harsh lines had appeared almost from nowhere on the planes and angles of his face.
     
    “She can‟t die,” Denal cried out, his voice a rusty croak. “She can‟t die, and the baby can‟t die. I can‟t bear it if she dies, Alexios. Not again. Not after she sacrificed her life for mine. I‟ve been on my