Homelands Pt. 05 Ch. 04

Gabriela nodded.

They needed to put their heads together and come up with a better plan than waiting for the king, and then hoping that if he did show up, that they could subdue him and force him to put his power to work for them. Because that was about as bad a plan as she'd ever heard. Not only was it unlikely that Phil would would ever drop in on them, but it was even less likely that they'd get him to free them.

There had to be another option.

She just had no idea what that might be.

"Well, shit," Gabriela said.

Zoey burst out laughing.

Then Wes followed suit, and soon all three of them were laughing hysterically.

#

"They think we can't handle hearing that they haven't got a clue how we're going to escape," Eric said. "It'd almost be amusing, if it wasn't so patronizing."

"Yeah," Olivia said. "Course, that's pretty much been their thing all along, hasn't it?"

She had a point.

"You'd think that-"

Before she could finish the sentence, his cousin slumped forward, fast asleep, with her head resting on arms stretched across the battlements.

"Liv?" Eric asked. He reached over, grabbed her shoulder, and gave her a gentle shake.

"Now why would you want to go and do that?" came a woman's voice. "I'd just have to put her back to sleep again."

Eric spun around, and found the aunt he'd never known he had until earlier that afternoon standing behind him. Nina Fisher.

"You," he said.

"Me," she replied.

Eric tried his hardest not to let himself get distracted by the fact that she wasn't wearing anything but a set of see-through pink panties and a matching bra, the most substantial parts of which were the ribbons at the center of each. But damn. He could see everything. And he liked what he saw. Liked it very much.

As before, Eric found himself thinking that his aunt somehow managed to appear curvier than she really was, thanks the dramatic difference between her hips and her waist. Her hips were actually relatively narrow, but her waist was insanely small. If his hands were just a bit bigger, he might almost have been able to encircle her waist with one hand. There was no question that he could do so with the two of them. With room to spare. It didn't make any sense at all. Shouldn't even have been attractive. It should have struck him as cartoonish. But he couldn't deny that it was pretty fucking hot.

And though her breasts were not enormous, sitting above a waist that almost made his cousin's look wide, they seemed a good deal bigger than they were.

And they weren't exactly small to begin with.

As if that wasn't enough, she had a painfully gorgeous face. The kind of face that made men go blind, if they were foolish enough to look straight at it for an extended period of time. She shouldn't have had that effect on him. Not with her skin being relatively fair and her hair and eyes being brown. Eric liked his women bronzed, blonde, and blue-eyed. Still, he couldn't deny that Nina had exquisite features, a perfect heart-shaped face, big eyes, and the kind of lips that made men's mouth water and minds drift into the gutter.

He tried reminding himself that he wasn't into super-skinny girls anymore. That a pretty face only went so far, if it didn't sit atop a proper figure. A womanly figure.

But a voice in the back of his head protested that his aunt did have a womanly figure. Not as exaggerated as his mother's, certainly. But he couldn't look at Nina and tell himself that she lacked for curves. Her waist looked like it was about half the size of her hips. And less than half the size of her bust. In what world did that not qualify as voluptuous? She made an hourglass look like a stick figure, even though she was incredibly thin.

He couldn't let himself think such thoughts though. Had to think straight.

Eric made a show of pressing his thumb against one eyelid and his forefinger against the other, while letting out a dramatic sigh. "Why are we having this conversation?"

"I suppose that's not quite `What are you doing here,"' she said. "Technically. But you're sure cutting it pretty close, there, buster."

"It's lovely to see you again, Aunt Nina," he said, deadpan. "That's a nice outfit you're wearing. Really brings out your...something or other. And have you done something with your hair? It looks wonderful."

"Much better," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, nevermind what you're doing here. Let's start with how we get out."

"Oh, that's easy. I let us out."

"That's it?" Eric asked.

"Well, sure," Nina said. "I helped build the place. I know where the seams are."

"You did?" Eric drew a deep breath and turned his back to his aunt. He leaned against one of the tower's broad crenels, hoping the stone could lend him some strength and stoicism. If he let the frustration he felt get the better of him, this conversation wouldn't end well. "If you knew about it," he said, his words coming out slow and precise, "why'd you tell me to go ahead with a direct attack?"

"Because I'm trying to help you."

That again.

"By getting me and my family imprisoned?"

"Oh, for ten minutes," she said. "Cry me a freaking river. Granted, that's been more like ten hours back in Summer, but whatever. That's not the point. You haven't endured some great hardship, so don't get all sanctimonious on me."

Eric stood there, silent, too stunned to talk.

" Besides, it was all part of the plan. I just couldn't tell you, because I knew you'd react...well, sort of like how you are reacting right now."

Another deep breath. Then, as calmly as he could, he asked her, "Is there some reason I should trust you?"

"Here," she said. "A token of good will."

Suddenly, the air hummed with energy, and Eric felt something warm against his back.

He turned around.

His aunt handed him a longsword. Counting the hilt, it had to be close to five feet long. There was a blue nimbus surrounding it, so faint he almost didn't notice it.

"It's beautiful," he said.

It had an oyster shell in the pommel, and blue waves were stained into the length of the fuller. The blade was bright and smooth, long and double-edged.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?" his aunt asked, pulling the sword back away from him.

The damn thing was nearly as tall as she was, yet with the way she wielded it, it seemed like it weighed no more than a table knife.

"I tend to think that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is," he replied.

She stared at him flatly for a few moments before saying, "Okay. It was a gift from my brother, who got it from the king, who took it from your uncle."

Eric stared at her in disbelief. She spoke so casually of the uncle who, thanks to the king, he'd never met. Of how her brother came to possess his uncle's sword. As if it had been the king's to give in the first place.

Nina rolled her eyes. "This was all before you were born. Would you even have known that it had been taken from your family if I hadn't said anything?"

He didn't reply.

"Exactly," she continued. "So can you do me a favor and not stare at me like I'm some grave-robbing murderous thief?"

"Did you know him?" Eric asked.

Her expression softened. She reached out, as if she was going to put a hand on his shoulder, then stopped and let her arm return to her side. "No." She stared into his eyes, and the genuine warmth he found there made Eric suddenly feel very ashamed of how hostile he was being towards her. "Your father did. But Hank's always encouraged me to stay away from Summer as much as possible. I've been around a lot longer than you, but Summer still feels like a foreign land, and its people are all strangers."

Eric nodded.

"Anyway," his aunt said, her tone returning to normal. "Every family that's worth a damn has got one of these puppies." She raised the sword up for emphasis. "They're serious weapons. Imbued with the same energy that fuels our powers."

Every family had one.

So much for thinking it was going to give him some great big advantage.

"The king's got one just like it?"

"Well, no, not just like it," she said, looking away and burying her ultra-white teeth into her lower lip. "The Bravos have a nasty piece of work known as a bardiche. Long handle, like a spear, but with a huge axe blade mounted on it instead. More than two feet from top to bottom. Sort of like what you'd use if you were an elephant-headsman."

"I see," Eric said. "Clumsy, though, right?"

"In the wrong hands...," she said.

"Which Phil's are not," Eric finished for her.

His aunt gave him a sympathetic, almost apologetic, frown.

Lovely.

"Forgive me for needing to ask this, but why are you giving it back? Why not keep it for yourself? Why come here and help me escape?"

"What's in it for me, you mean?" Nina asked.

Eric shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"The king's death."

That would do it, yeah.

She wrapped her willowy arms around herself the way she might if a chill wind had suddenly picked up. "I want my brother back." She wiped away a tear before continuing. "He hardly ever has time for me anymore. And when he does, he's not the same as he used to be. Colder. Harder. Distant."

"So why not do it yourself?" Eric asked, his tone more curious than skeptical. Or so he hoped. "You're obviously stronger than I am."

"Stronger, yes. Strong enough to do it alone? No."

The wind that wasn't there pebbled Eric's skin with goose bumps.

How strong must the king be?

"But between you, me, and the raiding party you've assembled, we might have a shot."

"Might?" Eric asked.

Nina didn't reply.

"What about your brother?"

"Oh, if he were with us, the odds would definitely be good," she said with a tone of exasperation. "But Hank doesn't put his life on the line when the odds are good. They need to be downright overwhelming."

"And even with all seven of us, they wouldn't be?"

"Maybe. Probably." his aunt said. "But it doesn't matter. Your father's out. Doesn't even know that I'm planning on going up against the king in fact. So this is it. We do it ourselves, or we don't do it at all."

"I'm starting to like the idea of staying here for the rest of time," Eric said.

His aunt narrowed her dark eyes at him. "You don't mean that."

Of course he didn't.

He should have, from the sound of it. Apparently that was the choice his father would make, were he in Eric's shoes. And he wouldn't be surprised if his Uncle Wes suggested the same. But it just wasn't who Eric was.

"And afterwards?" Eric asked.

"If we succeed, you mean?" she said, stepping closer to him. The sword dragged along the smooth marble of the tower, its tip leaving a trail of sparks behind it.

"Yeah. If," Eric said. "Assuming I even agree to this."

His aunt planted a palm on his chest. "We'll need a new king, then, won't we?"

"Suppose so, yeah," Eric said breathlessly.

"The king can do as he pleases. Take whatever he wants," she said, her voice sultry.

"Okay." Eric told himself that his aunt's unspoken promise had nothing to do with his decision. He'd made up his mind before she'd turned on the charm, after all. "Let's do it."

Nina gave him a naughty smile as she handed him his uncle's sword.

His mind had already been made up, yes. But the prospect of getting between his aunt's legs helped ease any doubts he might have had.

#

Her father took her by the hand and led her away from the cabin.

"Are we going to the lake?" Annie asked.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. It wasn't an angry look that he gave her, exactly. In fact, there was no real expression at all on his face at all. But his eyes briefly lit up, causing the dark of night to recede, and that was more than enough to communicate his irritation.

Such an impatient response should have given Annie pause. Should have set off alarm bells and forced her to admit to herself that she really didn't know her father and could only guess what plans he had for her. All it did, though, was make her tingle between her legs. She barely managed not to whimper.

Any unspoken commands he might issue with those emerald orbs, she'd hasten to obey.

He'd come for her. Not Veronica. Not her mother. But Annie the Overlooked. That he might have chosen her because she was the youngest and least experienced probably should have occurred to her. But that was a thought her fragile ego dared not allow her to entertain. It wasn't her vulnerability that drew him to her. It was that he saw something special in her. Something the others didn't see. Had to be.

They stopped at a clearing in the middle of the woods. With a wave of her father's hand, a mossy log became a king-sized bed covered with a deep green quilt. Then he swept his hand in an arc before him, and Annie saw the air shimmer. Some sort of dome formed around the clearing. For the briefest instant, it was like they were inside the largest soap bubble the world had ever seen. Or something more glamorous.

If she'd been a little less stunned, maybe she'd have been able to think of a better metaphor. But it was hard enough just remembering to put one foot in front of the other without trippig over any upraised roots.

Whatever it was that her father had summoned, though, all visible signs of it were gone a moment later. The air suddenly felt warmer too, and Annie realized that the cool breeze that had been blowing through the woods no longer reached them.

"So no one will disturb us," her father explained.

She nodded. Then, with butterflies in her stomach, she took her father by the hand and started towards the bed. For a brief instant, she was afraid he wouldn't follow. That he'd snatch his hand back and rebuke her. But, to her relief, he trailed after her silently. When she sat down on the bed, though, he remained standing.

Annie's throat constricted. That was why they came here, wasn't it?

Why else would he have made them a bed? Had she done something wrong? Were the stockings and heels too much? Was she supposed to wait for him to make the first move?

She drew a deep breath and tried to relax.

For the most part, she failed though.

"My little girl's grown up to be such a beautiful young woman," her father said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Annie stared up into her father's eyes. The way they stood out against the dark of night reminded her of that stupid Sin City movie Veronica had made her watch. Like the only color in the entire world came from those gorgeous green orbs. Everything else was painted in various shades of gray.

His fingertips brushed her cheek lightly before his hand returned to his side. That sent a jolt through her. She shuddered as it ran down her spine.

"I have to ask you something," he said, softly. "You're not going to want to answer, but it's important that you trust me. Okay?"

Annie nodded. She'd have told him, "Anything," if her mouth was working.

"Your brother and sister aren't planning on withdrawing from the court, are they?"

Suddenly, the spell was broken.

His eyes were no less mesmerizing than a moment ago. But his words popped Annie out of the dream. Reminded her of all the things she'd just as soon forget.

Her father might have said that he wasn't here as the king's Shadow, but that tone wasn't one of fatherly concern. He was conducting an investigation.

"You're right. I don't want to answer," Annie said softly, looking away.

Fuck.

Why did she have to be such a fool? The king had only pledged to pretend that this little pocket of the Hardt family island didn't lie within Summer, wasn't part of his dominion, because her grandparents had withdrawn from the court. Now that they were providing comfort to enemies of the throne, that was out the window. None of them were safe here anymore. And she'd walked off into the night with an agent of the throne.

She needed to get away. Not just for her own safety, but to warn her grandparents.

Except they already knew.

They had to. As soon as they'd opened the door for Veronica, they'd thrown away the quiet little life they'd built for themselves, and they'd done so knowingly. By all accounts, her grandmother knew exactly how this game was played.

Why hadn't they said anything?

"It's okay," her father said, pressing one finger against her chin, beckoning her to look back into those disarming eyes. "You can tell me."

Reluctantly, Annie turned back to face him.

"What if they're not?" she asked. "Are you going to...," she paused, searched for the right words. She failed to find them, but she proceeded anyway. "Bring them to justice?"

He didn't answer.

"Oh, god."

"Relax," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing like that's going to happen."

"Really?'

Annie wanted so badly to believe him. Those green eyes couldn't lie, could they? They were too beautiful to be dishonest.

"How's that brother of yours brother doing, anyway?" he asked, with genuine warmth in his voice. Less like an inquisitor asking after a fugitive than a father asking about his son.

With a sigh of relief, Annie said, "Oh, no, he's fine. You'd think he was going to die, the way Veronica is moping about, but Grandma healed him up good."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "She did, did she?"

"Should not have told you that," Annie mumbled to herself.

Was she that stupid? Or desperate to believe that they could be one big happy family? Of course he wasn't concerned about Nick.

"No, it's good that you did," her father said.

"You're going to tell the king."

Her father didn't reply at first. Then he said, "There's no need to mention how I came to possess such information, or that I might have passed up an opportunity to apprehend those who sought to kidnap his sons. But your grandparents have put themselves back in the game. That, the king needs to know." He paused for a moment. "I take no pleasure in it, understand. You have to believe that. But while he hasn't exactly got me on a short leash, if I stray far enough, bad things can happen."

Suddenly, Annie remembered her grandfather's story about how he met her grandmother. How House Fisher had nearly wiped his entirely family out of existence. Her father was a scion of that very same house. She and Nick and Veronica might mean something to him, she hoped, but he had no reason to give her grandparents any special treatment.

"Then what?" she asked.

"I think you know," he said.

Tears welled in Annie's eyes.

"But it's nothing your grandmother hasn't been through before."

"Oh?" she asked, with a choking sob.

"Hasn't she told you?"

"Told me what?"

"About all the years she spent in exile?" he asked, calm as you please.

"No!" Annie said, suddenly mad at her grandmother.

And at her father. And the king. And the horrible shit they all did to each other. And the whole damn Homelands and all its damn rules.

"This was some time ago. Before my time, or His Majesty's. But he still talks about it, any time anyone mentions the name `Hardt."' He grinned in amusement. As if it were all okay! "It started with the Playground. A dozen men were killed within two months. When their bodies were found, there were certain parts missing."

"Ick."

Her father snickered at her reaction before continuing. "It was only when the killer claimed not one but two of House Moody's sons that the queen realized that it had to be one of us. Mortals might get lucky against one of our kind, but not two at once."

"I don't like where this is going," Annie said.

"Well, in your grandmother's defense, the police later determined that none of the victims were innocent. Every single one of them had either been accused of beating their wives or girlfriends or date rape or some other crime against women."

"Oh," Annie said.