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CHAPTER EIGHT

Lucienne settled in at the co-pilot seat, a code-secured briefcase at her feet.

She’d changed her attire to an ultra-sleek, black leather jacket and a pair of stretch leather pants that embraced every curve.

A combat knife fastened to her leather boots added a dangerous air to her sexy ensemble that Vladimir couldn’t ignore.

He discreetly checked her out when he thought she wasn’t watching. She was talking to Orlando and the commandos in their form-fitting black suits. They evidently appreciated the new nanotechnology that provided the warriors the advantage of blending into any environment like chameleons.

Her warriors talked to her casually. She knew they regarded her as one of them and Sphinxes as a home.

Jed had been strict on rank. Everyone addressed him as Master Lam.

Lucienne took a different approach, but her men respected her no less.

As a mind reader, she knew they’d walk into a sea of fire for her.

She firmly believed that congeniality and warmth weren’t weaknesses, even in a ruler.

“But your grandfather never had so many enemies,” Kian had once said in dismay .

“His enemies came from the outside; mine are family.”

“You represent change,” Kian said, no longer troubled. “You’ll make history.”

“ We will, Kian McQuillen,” she said. “Together.”

~

“We’ll arrive in twenty minutes,” Vladimir announced, his hand on the joystick.

Lucienne watched BL7 pierce the sunlight-dotted clouds like a god’s arrow above the Pacific Ocean. Ziyi’s voice buzzed through the communication link. “Dragonfly spotted strange life forms heading toward the coordinates.”

Vladimir touched screen next to the control panel. “Link.”

The screen swirled to life—the strange life forms turned out to be a small group of mismatched individuals.

Among them was a beautiful redhead about Lucienne’s age.

A timid-looking farmer couple in their thirties shivered beside her.

Following them were a stocky king, wearing a golden crown and royal purple, and his small-eyed queen.

Stomping beside the queen was a big, blond boy, about the same age as Vladimir.

Nine guards, all brawny and menacing and armed with daggers, flanked the royal family.

The islanders dressed in period costumes and skirts.

“The Aleuts don’t wear thin skirts in the winter,” Vladimir said. “Look at their features. They’re obviously a mixed race. They’re not Aleuts. And the guards are carrying Misericorde daggers.”

“Have Research Team Nova investigate their costumes, Ziyi,” Lucienne said.

Five minutes later, Ziyi’s voice came back. “The team can’t pinpoint the exact period. Their costumes are mixed from different times and different cultures.”

“What about the skirts? Are they Scottish kilts?” Orlando cut in.

Lucienne laughed. “Orlando is half Scott.”

“And half Latino,” Vladimir said.

“You have a problem with that, prince?” Orlando challenged.

“No.” Vladimir shrugged. “Should I?”

Lucienne smiled. “Vladimir, learn to get along with people, so no one will suspect your agenda when you actually don’t have one.”

“Whatever,” Vladimir said. “This lot seems to have interbred for generations.”

As an explorer, Vladimir had lived for short periods with different ethnic groups—an experience his uncle insisted he have.

The man wanted his heir to influence the world and reignite the flame of Czech royal blood.

He couldn’t fathom the thought of the world passing them by, leaving the monarch and traditions behind.

Lucienne believed the old man suffered much worse blow than that when he watched his ambitions, visions, and money disappear as his heir prepared to serve the Siren of the Lams. In his rage, the old Blazek officially renounced Vladimir as a family traitor.

“I’m penniless and homeless now.” Vladimir grinned after receiving the news. “I’m all yours, if you still want me.”

Lucienne embraced him. “But I won’t be buying you any designer clothes from Saks.”

“You mean my wages will be meager?” Vladimir asked, widening his beautiful hazel eyes into mock despair. “I’ll have to shop at Macys?”

“You could do worse,” Lucienne said coolly.

That was right before she and Vladimir had their second disastrous kiss. He lost his title and inheritance for her sake and received nothing in return. Lucienne’s eyes drifted to him, and he gazed back at her, eyes brightened with renewed hope.

Lucienne’s throat tightened. This was the last straw for her and Vladimir. She turned back to the mixed-race group on the screen. “Scout the area within a ten-mile radius, Ziyi,” she said. “Let’s see what is terrifying them.”

“Check to see if there’s a civilization around,” Vladimir added.

Ziyi’s voice sounded stunned over the comlink. “Dragonfly located a climate-controlled town three miles from the gate. ”

“What is the town’s name?” Lucienne asked.

“There’s no record.”

Could it be Eterne? Lucienne felt her heart skip a beat before hammering her ribcage.

The inscription on the scroll said the Destined One, descendent of the rightful bloodline, would activate the Eye of Time.

Only when that happened could they find the path to Eterne.

The unnamed village can’t be the quantum realm, merely one of the lost cities.

“If the lost city exists, then the scroll is accurate. Eterne is real .” Lucienne gazed at Vladimir.

Her eyes reflected the sunlight, turning the color of champagne.

“We’re getting there, Lucia,” Vladimir said. His callused hand reached out and for the first time in months, their fingers interlocked.

“Visual on the town,” Vladimir said.

A futuristic town, embedded in an evergreen garden with lovely blossoms, came to light on the screen. The camera lens continued to pan, pulling in a long shot of snow-covered Alaskan islands, and then a bird’s-eye view of silvery mountains encircling the sparkling town.

“A paradise on Earth,” Orlando murmured from the back of BL7 amid the humming of the machine.

“How is it possible to hide a place like that for centuries?” Vladimir rasped.

“A membrane.” Lucienne drew a shaky breath. “Forget about the town. We must secure the Eye on the gate.”

The screen switched back to the bleak wilderness, where the gate had materialized. As the lens of the Dragonfly zoomed in on the Eye, the blazing Eye stared back, as if sensing it was being watched.

“What are those people doing at these coordinates?” Lucienne scowled. “Pan on them.”

The lens swept in an arc, catching sight of the group as the howling wind assaulted them, their thin outfits clinging to their trembling bodies. As the wind passed by, an empty wheelchair rolled toward the group out of nowhere.

The blond boy stared at the wheelchair and cursed, and the redhead lunged at him.

Three guards shoved the girl away. She fell, her back hitting the wheel of the wheelchair.

Her head slammed against a button. A stream of blood mixed with sand shot straight out at the blond boy from the chair’s handle.

Lucienne wondered why anyone would equip a wheelchair with homemade weapons.

The queen rushed to the screaming boy, frantically wiping the blood off his face with her sleeves, saying something and looking daggers at the girl.

“Can Dragonfly pick up sound, Ziyi?” Lucienne asked.

“Sorry, there’s no audio sensor at the coordinates.”

“Then close in on whoever speaks.” Lucienne leaned toward the screen to read the queen’s lips, but the queen’s words were beyond her understanding, even though she spoke seven languages fluently and could identify many others.

“I’ve never heard a language like this before,” she said.

But to her surprise, the boy answered in English mixed with Spanish.

“Mother,” he wiped his face and stared at the blood on his fingers, “Ashburn Fury has been planning to murder me. He might have just done that!”

“It’s not your blood, heart,” Lucienne lip-read the queen’s Spanish.

“Then whose blood is it?” the prince demanded.

“It’s . . . pig’s blood,” the male farmer said sheepishly, also in Spanish. “A few nights ago I saw him mixing the blood with sand. He was only experimenting. He didn’t mean harm—”

“Didn’t?” the prince yelled in English. “He’s built many nasty things trying to get to me, the Crown Prince!”

“I’m very sorry for my son, Your Highness,” the female farmer explained in Spanish. “There must be a misunderstanding. I—”

Lucienne had a hard time keeping up with this multilingual group.

“There’s no misunderstanding! You raised a rotten son!

” The king backhanded the female farmer across her cheek.

He was a big man and she was petite. The force of the blow sent her to the ground.

The king rotated his wrist, as if he had hurt his royal hand.

He then cocked his chin toward the guards, and two of them advanced on the woman with a lewd smirk.

The male farmer lunged, covered his wife with his body, and looked over his shoulder at the king, pleading. “Please don’t hurt her, Your Majesty. I’m the one who spoiled my son.”

A leading guard, whose legs were thicker than tree trunks, delivered a hard kick to the man’s gut. The other guards joined him.

Lucienne narrowed her eyes. “How soon can we land?”

“One and a half minutes if I push it,” Vladimir said. “We’ve entered the sky over Attu Island.”

“Push it,” Lucienne said, her eyes locked on the screen.

The redhead slammed into one of the guards beating the couple, but the youngest guard grabbed her from behind. The girl fought to break free but was overpowered.

“Peder, no. No!” the female farmer shouted, trying to shove her husband off her. “Let them hit me! You’ve just recovered from pneumonia. You can’t take any more blows.”

But the husband shushed her, hugging her tightly to protect her.