He had known a lifetime’s worth of concern for his extraordinary mate over the years, but seeing her like this raked him wide open.
The strangled cry that tore from his throat brought Caleb running to him. Panic filled the boy’s face. He stared at Brock with a thousand-yard gaze, perhaps because of Jenna’s unusual appearance, or because of the emotion in Brock’s eyes that he was powerless to hide.
Caleb swallowed. “Is she--”
“No.” The answer burst out of Brock like a curse. “Go get help, Caleb. Find anyone you can in the mansion. Tell them where I am. Hurry.”
The boy nodded vigorously, then took off in a blur of motion.
CHAPTER 12
Seated on the elaborate throne in the hall of the grand palace, it was an effort for Selene to listen and smile approvingly as a group of Atlantean musicians played the piece they had composed in her honor.
The music itself was lovely. The angelic voices of the three females and two males filled the palace as if it were a cathedral, while soaring strings and playful horns parried and danced with the ethereal notes of an elegant harp.
Music and art were revered among the Atlantean people. Selene normally enjoyed both, but today her mind was restless. She shifted on the velvet cushion of the fussy throne made of carved white marble with inlaid jewels, pearls, and abalone shells. Personally, she’d have preferred something less ostentatious, however, the piece had been crafted for her as a gift from the realm’s best sculptors as part of the new palace’s construction.
Her fidgeting drew the attention of one of the musicians, who apparently mistook her distractedness for displeasure and nervously plucked a discordant note on her harp.
The mistake drew gasps from a few of the courtiers and royal attendants who had gathered in the palace to enjoy the entertainment at Selene’s invitation. As the song ended, total silence filled the chamber.
Gazes lifted to the throne on the platform at the top of the marble steps, everyone waiting for their queen’s response to the imperfection.
Did they truly think her such a tyrant?
Selene didn’t want to know. She shouldn’t need to fret over what her people thought of her. Her sole comfort came from the knowledge that every citizen under her rule was kept safe and protected because of her. Because of the sacrifices she had made in order to preserve the Atlantean way of life.
Whether they feared her or despised her was of little consequence so long as each man, woman, and child was able to thrive in peace and harmony. At least, that’s what she told herself at times like this, when several hundred faces were looking toward her as if she might erupt with lightning shooting out of her fingertips and her hair on fire.
“Delightful,” she declared coolly, giving a mild nod of approval to the group of musicians.
Applause broke out at once, an almost palpable wave of relief sweeping over the cavernous room.
The troupe bowed and curtsied, happy smiles beaming. As they collected their instruments and departed the chamber along with the rest of the audience, Selene’s attention drifted to her seer, who stood over her scrying bowl in the salon just off the main chamber. Nuranthia’s dark brows were knit as she swept her hand across the surface of the water in the golden basin.
Selene tried not to stare, but her every instinct was pricked with warning. The hubbub of the departing citizens faded to background noise as Nuranthia glanced up and her troubled eyes met Selene’s gaze.
Something was wrong.
As soon as the hall had emptied, Selene descended the steps from the throne and crossed the gleaming floors to where Nuranthia waited. The woman was nervous as Selene approached, restlessly folding and unfolding her arms across the front of her.
“What is it?” Selene asked, her own anxiety making the question sound like a demand. “What do you see?”
“Your Grace, I--” Nuranthia flattened her lips, her eyes darting from the bowl to Selene and back again as Selene approached. “I’m not sure why this vision has appeared. I don’t know who this is, but doesn’t she look a bit like . . .”
Selene peered into the bowl. Her breath rushed inward and stayed there, frozen in her lungs as the name Nuranthia was hesitant to speak rang like a clarion in every fiber of Selene’s being.
Soraya.
Except the beautiful blonde woman strolling through the sunlit garden bursting with ripe lemon trees and bushes laden with enormous roses wasn’t Selene’s deceased daughter. It was Jordana.
She smiled as she paused and brought one of the velvety red blooms to her nose. The pureness of her joy brought a lump of raw emotion to Selene’s throat.
Her granddaughter looked close enough to touch.
Of its own accord, Selene’s hand reached toward the water in the basin, hovering above the liquid image of the one person who meant everything to her.
As Selene stared at the vision in the seer’s bowl, someone else stepped close to Jordana, drawing her attention away from the rose. Selene’s outstretched hand closed into a fist as the face of Jordana’s companion came into clearer focus.
