Dearly Despised (Calluvia's Royalty 5)

The beeping of the heart monitor became erratic—and then it stopped, flatlining.

Immediately, the doctors rushed in, but came to a halt.

“What’s happening?” Dalatteya demanded, her eyes wide. “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

The doctor closest to her said, “The king is dead, my lady.”

Dalatteya looked at him blankly, as if she couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words, before her head whipped back to the body and then to the other monitors. “But—this one is still active!” she said, pointing at the monitor that still showed some activity. “He can’t be—he can’t be—”

“It’s a psi-monitor, my lady,” the doctor explained. “It shows his brain activity. The mind of a Calluvian dies last. Typically, the more powerful a telepath, the longer his mind will hang on even if his body is dead. The king was a powerful telepath. His brain activity likely won’t cease for some time yet.” The doctor bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss, my lady.”

Dalatteya just stared at Emyr’s body, her face devoid of any emotion. She remained still as a statue as the doctors left the room.

Then, a horrible noise left her throat, something between a sob and a choke.

Warrehn stared at her, puzzled. Why was she still not dropping the act? There was no one there.

He watched in confusion as Dalatteya suddenly lifted her head, her eyes flashing, as if an idea occurred to her. She pulled out her communicator, and said, “Uriel, I need you to get something for me, now. I’ll message you what I want.” She typed something, her expression resolute. Then she put the communicator back in her purse and retrieved a pair of manicure scissors out of it.

“What are you doing?” Warrehn murmured as he watched her cut a few strands of his father’s hair and hide it in her bodice.

Then she walked to the psi-activity monitor and stared at it with an empty, thousand-yard stare. Her throat kept bobbing, as if she was swallowing something—or struggling to breathe. Otherwise, her expression remained creepily blank.

At long last, a man in a doctor’s coat entered the room. Warrehn frowned, recognizing Dalatteya’s current head of security, Uriel. Why was he disguised as a doctor? Why had she summoned him?

“My lady?” Uriel said, glancing around nervously. “I’ve managed to acquire what you requested, but are you sure? If we’re caught, it’ll be a life sentence—”

“Get to work,” Dalatteya said tonelessly, still looking at the psi-monitor. “We don’t have much time.”

Uriel looked very much unhappy with her order, but he didn’t argue and pulled out some device from the briefcase he had brought.

His frown deepening, Warrehn eyed the unfamiliar device. Something tugged at his memory—perhaps he had seen it somewhere—but it didn’t click until Uriel placed the device on Emyr’s telepathic point.

Warrehn swore elaborately, stunned and furious in equal measure. So apparently it hadn’t been enough for Dalatteya to kill his parents, she had also had to steal Emyr’s mind as well.

That device—the mind vortex—was outlawed on Calluvia for a reason. It had been invented thousands of years ago, when a dying king of the Ninth Grand Clan had decided to cheat death and transplant his mind into that of a young, cloned body. A legal nightmare followed: was the clone entitled to rule or should the king’s heir inherit? The legal dispute had turned into a long, messy, bloody civil war that nearly wiped out the entire clan. Afterward, the Council of Grand Clans had outlawed the mind vortex: using it on common people was twenty years in prison, and using it on members of nobility and royalty was a life sentence for everyone involved—and clones couldn’t rule or inherit. Rich commoners still used the device: what was twenty years in prison compared to a second life? But royals? There was no point, so it hadn’t happened in thousands of years.

Until apparently Dalatteya had done it twenty years ago.

Why?

Warrehn struggled to think of a reason.

“My lady,” Uriel tried again. “Please rethink this—”

“No,” Dalatteya said, her eyes glinting. “Do as I say. I need him—need his mind. It’ll be useful, you’ll see. His knowledge is invaluable.”

On the screen, Emyr’s psi-activity ceased.

Dalatteya made a punched-out noise, her eyes glazing over as she staggered on her feet, swaying a little.

Warrehn frowned, wondering if she had shared some kind of mental bond with Emyr.

“Have you—have you managed to finish the transfer?” she croaked out.

“Yes, my lady.”

Dalatteya closed her eyes and nodded. “Let’s go,” she said tonelessly. “We need to leave before the palace officials come.”

Uriel glanced straight into the camera, swallowing. “But what about the security footage, milady? I will not be able to wipe it.”

Dalatteya’s shoulders tensed before relaxing again. “The videos are automatically privacy-locked. Only his immediate family can access the files. And that would be Emyr’s sons, and they are children. It shouldn’t be an issue.”