Free Parallel Heat by Deidre Knight Page B

say now that you’ve come into my camp?’’
    The man inclined his head, never daring to look Jared in the eye. ‘‘That, just as the lieutenant says, we are your sworn servants from birth.’’
    ‘‘I don’t suppose you need me to point out that the Madjin vanished long ago.’’
    ‘‘We’ve been’’—the dark haired one turned slightly toward his companion, but the other man kept his eyes down—‘‘waiting for this time, my lord. We’ve been training, honing our skills.’’
    ‘‘You don’t expect me to believe that the Madjin would ever run from battle?’’
    ‘‘No, my lord. Not running,’’ the dark one said. ‘‘Preparing. Waiting. Biding our time until the right moment. Guarding you from . . . a distance.’’
    Jared couldn’t contain a snort of disbelieving laughter. ‘‘Were you watching from a distance when Veckus captured me? Were you there those three days when he beat me within an inch of my life?’’
    A brief spasm of pain contorted the dark one’s face. ‘‘No, my lord,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Even we can not protect you when you insist on participating in aerial combat.’’
    Beside him, Scott Dillon chuckled low. ‘‘Well, now, these boys really do know you, Commander.’’ Jared felt his face flush hot.
    Jared leaned his palm on the table until he pulled his face close to them both. ‘‘For what possible purpose would you have gone into hiding?’’ he insisted. ‘‘Tell me that—make me believe you—and I’ll accept that the Madjin have returned.’’
    ‘‘We have but one purpose, my lord and king: To put you—once again—upon the throne of Refaria,’’ the leader answered, inclining his head low and spreading both palms open on the table until his forehead nearly touched the polished wooden surface. The man couldn’t bow, not in his seat, but Jared understood his posture nonetheless. It was that of a most loyal Refarian servant.
    ‘‘I don’t believe you,’’ Jared countered evenly.
    ‘‘That is your prerogative, of course, my lord,’’ the man’s companion interjected. ‘‘But we do serve you. Completely.’’
    Jared’s thoughts went to Sabrina, his beloved protector, who had been more a parent to him than his own mother had been; or his father, for that matter. She had raised him until he was ten years old, nurturing him, training him, teaching him. When she had vanished shortly after his parents’ murders, a part of Jared’s heart had died and grown cold. It had stayed that way for far too many years to count. Sabrina, why aren’t you here now, my teacher?
    What the strangers claimed was beyond the realm of possibility. So what purpose did their lies serve? And how did it, perhaps, relate to the mysterious arrival of the letter?
    ‘‘Tell me your names,’’ he demanded, something eerie chilling his body. ‘‘Each of you.’’
    The leader of the two remained with his forehead pressed almost flat against the gleaming table, and in a confident voice proclaimed, ‘‘I am Marco McKinley, personal protector to J’Areshkadau Bnet D’Aravni. I am Madjin, forevermore.’’
    ‘‘I am Riley McKinley,’’ his companion began, but Jared could hardly hear a word he said, for it was Marco’s name ringing in his ears, deafening him. He turned to one of his soldiers, demanding a pen and paper.
    When they delivered the items, he slid the paper before Marco. ‘‘Here, write your names—both of you.’’ But he was only asking for proof. The mysterious letter in his jacket pocket already heralded the truth like a bold shout from the mountaintops.
    With his left hand, Marco took hold of the pen, tilting the page slightly as he began to scrawl his name. Even from where Jared stood, he could see that he had difficult, crude handwriting. Not as if he were an unlearned man, but rather that it was something to do with his left-handedness.
    When he finished, Marco handed the slip of paper back to Jared, averting his eyes. The Madjin