Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(59)

But caution in the face of unknown wards was always the wisest course of action. Despite his anger, Khalil slowed as he came closer.

He was unsurprised when Soren noticed his arrival first.

The Councillor arced up to meet him. To Khalil, Soren’s presence was a hot blaze, but it was not formless. Rather, it was patterned with aspects of Soren’s personality. Soren had set aside involvement in House Marid concerns when he had taken his position on the tribunal. Khalil had not seen him in some time. Like Khalil, Soren was very male. The two Djinn stayed a respectful distance apart from each other. Carling had once remarked acerbically that male Djinn were like betta fighting fish and flared in aggression if they got too close to each other. Khalil had to admit, the Vampyre did have a point.

Councillor, Khalil said in greeting.

House Marid, Soren replied. What brings you to this place?

Khalil’s reply was edged with his anger. I would speak with Carling, if she is allowed visitors.

She is allowed visitors, said Soren. But she may not leave this place.

I have no interest in that. Khalil thought of Grace’s vision. He said, I would also speak with you afterward, if you have the time. It is a matter of some importance.

Certainly, said Soren. The elder Djinn’s courtesy was impeccable. I will be waiting for you in my living quarters. Until later.

Soren cared for courtesies, so Khalil spoke the traditional parting phrase. May you enjoy peace this day.

And you, Soren replied.

Soren withdrew, and Khalil plummeted to the earth.

Now that he had gained access from one of the wardens, he did not bother quite so much with being quiet or courteous. He arrowed into the villa’s great room with enough force to rattle the two-story windows, and in a whirl he created his physical form. It knocked the sofa and chairs around the room and the artwork hanging on the walls askew. His violent entrance was an expression of his extreme displeasure, and all the forewarning Carling and Rune would get.

Rune raced into the room, followed closely by Carling. They drew up short when they saw Khalil. He studied them coldly. The couple, he thought, were a surprising match.

Carling had been ancient at the time of the Roman Empire, but she still had the face and figure of a thirty-year-old human. By modern standards, she was an average height for a woman, with a slender, exquisite bone structure; smooth, luminous skin the color of honey and a sensual mouth. Until recently her dark hair had been long, but now she wore it short. The choppy style emphasized her patrician Nefertiti-like neck; long, almond-shaped, dark eyes; and high cheekbones. She wore soft, gray trousers and a sleeveless shirt, and was, as her usual habit, barefoot.

Carling’s new mate, Rune, was barefoot too and bare-chested, as he wore a pair of denim cutoffs. Rune was an immortal Wyr. As such, he carried an intense furnace of energy that rippled the air around him. He stood six foot four, with sun-streaked, tawny hair and the body of a natural swordsman. He had sun-bronzed skin and lion-colored eyes that were normally smiling. Khalil noted Rune’s smile was absent. His handsome face showed the marks of recent strain.

He had also been Dragos’s former First sentinel for a reason. He looked at Khalil, his face hard, but he kept his voice even. “Came in a little rough on your landing there, Khalil. Care to tell us why?”

Khalil ignored him. He had no interest in conversing with the Wyr. He looked at Carling and spat, “In all the years of our long association, I never thought I would be calling you honorless.”

Twelve

Carling’s expression sharpened. Even though Rune had not moved, his Power spiked with aggression.

Khalil did not mind that in the slightest. His own Power flared into battle readiness.

Carling’s hand shot out, and she gripped Rune’s muscled bicep. “Easy,” she murmured to him. In a louder, calm voice, she said to Khalil, “Clearly I have caused offense to you when none was meant. I would be grateful if you would instruct me on the nature of my transgression, so that I may make amends.”

“You don’t owe amends to me,” Khalil said. “And I am not your keeper.”

Rune had begun a low, barely audible growl. Carling whispered to him, “Stop it, please.” She looked at Khalil. “The only way I could have become honorless to you is if I did not meet my side of a bargain. Khalil, I want you to hear me on this. Rune and I have been under a lot of strain.”

“That holds no meaning for me,” he snapped.

“I know. The Djinn keep an immaculate accounting of favors owed and favors paid. But you and I have had an association that has been filled with honor for many centuries. We struck a bargain a long time ago, and yes, you paid me three favors, but I helped you first with something so dangerous I might not have survived to collect. I’m asking that you remember that and let it weigh against your anger. Please understand, at times these last few weeks, my thinking has not been very clear. If I owe someone, it is a mistake, not a choice to live without honor. I want to pay the debt.”

He struggled to hear what Carling was saying. She was right, his sensibilities were outraged. For the Djinn, only pariahs behaved in such a way, but Carling was not Djinn. And the Djinn might suffer from damage, but they did not suffer from disease. He could not calculate or fully understand what effect that may have had on the clarity of her thinking.

The Oracle’s website had explained everything perfectly. Khalil didn’t know who had created the content, but the webpage devoted to donations had been gracious and well written. A short paragraph described the history of the ancient social contract and the reasons why the Oracle would not speak of such matters whenever someone came to make a petition.