GALENA'S FURY
April 1987 — Harmonytis, Aelin
The Day After Hall H
Jace and Samantha were still thirty feet from the Prime Minister's residence when they heard it: Galena's voice, rapid-fire Russian, the kind that means someone is about to get verbally eviscerated.
Nathan appeared at the door, slipped out, and pulled it shut behind him. His expression said everything: DO NOT ENTER.
From inside, Galena's voice continued in full force:
"Не могу поверить, что он это сделал! Не понимаю, зачем он это сделал! Он что, сумасшедший? Он что, идиот?"
[I can't believe he did that! I don't understand why he did that! Is he crazy? Is he an idiot?]
Nathan winced. Jace stared at him.
"What is she..."
Nathan held up a hand.
"Just... wait."
Galena's rant continued:
"Шеймус всегда был занозой в заднице, но ЭТОТ? ЭТОТ GUARDIAN ПРОСТО СУМАСШЕДШИЙ!"
[Seamus was always a pain in the ass, but THIS? THIS GUARDIAN IS JUST CRAZY!]
"Did she just call me crazy?" Jace asked.
"And compared you unfavorably to the previous Guardian," Nathan confirmed.
She wasn't done:
"Нельзя объявлять о своей королевской помолвке фанатам рок-н-ролла! Какая наглость! Какая злоба! Полное и наглое пренебрежение традициями!"
[You can't announce your royal engagement to rock 'n' roll fans! The audacity! The malice! The complete and blatant disregard for tradition!]
Samantha's brows shot up.
"I'm NOT going in there."
"Smart woman," Nathan muttered.
The final explosion came through the door:
"Он большой, высокий, длинноволосый ИДИОТ!"
[He's a big, tall, long-haired IDIOT!]
Jace blinked.
"Did she just call me an idiot?"
"Among other things," Nathan said. "Look, Jace. You really don't want to go in there right now. We need to get to the studio. Rehearsal. Now. Let's go."
"But..."
"NOW, Jace. We're leaving. Samantha, come on."
As they started to walk away, one more phrase drifted through the door, quieter but no less cutting:
"Безмозглый осел..."
[Brainless donkey...]
Nathan muttered under his breath, "She just called you the Russian equivalent of a stupid jackass."
Jace stopped walking.
"She called me WHAT?"
"Keep. Moving." Nathan grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the castle. "Brotherhood Studios. Now. Before she comes after you and we all die, Your Majesty."
Then Galena's voice erupted again, loud enough to ring through the whole castle, followed by the crack of something thrown and broken.
"Тупой сукин сын! Так в Аэлине не принято!"
[Stupid son of a bitch! This is NOT how things are done in Aelin!]
"Run!" Nathan cried. "Quickly!"
Samantha hurried after them, glancing back at the Prime Minister's residence.
"Is she always like this when she's angry?"
"Only when someone does something monumentally stupid," Nathan said, shooting a pointed look at Jace. "Like, say, announcing a royal engagement without telling Congress first."
"I get it," Jace groaned. "I messed up."
"Big time," Nathan agreed. "And now we're going to hide in the studio and pray she calms down before she actually commits regicide."
"Great plan," Jace muttered.
"Best I've got," Nathan replied.
They practically ran the rest of the way to Brotherhood Studios.
BROTHERHOOD STUDIOS, ROYAL CASTLE OF ELDERS
They burst through the heavy doors of Brotherhood Studios and found Erik and Ricky already there, warming up.
Erik looked up from where he was stretching, his massive frame folded into something that had no business working on a man his size.
"Hey! How'd it go with Galena?"
Ricky was sitting with his guitar, plucking out a lead riff, and took one look at Jace's face before starting to laugh.
"Oh man. She went off, didn't she?"
"In Russian," Nathan said, heading straight for his keyboard setup.
"Ten minutes straight," Samantha said. She still looked a little shell-shocked.
Connor emerged from the vocal booth, emerald eyes bright, barely keeping a straight face.
"I heard her from here. The whole 'brainless donkey' bit was particularly creative."
Jace whipped around.
"You HEARD that?"
"I’m the Visionary…" Connor tapped his temple. "Her thoughts were loud enough to wake the dead. And colorful. Extremely, creatively colorful."
Erik stood up, grinning.
"What else did she call him?"
Nathan bit down on a smile.
"Let's see... incompetent poop, brainless buffoon, irresponsible jerk..."
"She threatened to kick my ass!" Jace exclaimed.
"In Russian?" Ricky asked, delighted.
"YES, in Russian!"
Connor settled back against his mic stand, still grinning.
"To be fair, you did announce your engagement to a thousand fans before telling Congress. That's kind of a big protocol breach."
"I KNOW," Jace groaned, running his hands through his hair. "I know. But I was tired of waiting, and it just... happened."
Samantha sat down on one of the couches against the wall.
"She's really mad."
"She'll get over it," Nathan said, settling behind his keyboards. "She always does. Remember when I accidentally conjured a rainstorm during a Congressional session?"
"That was different," Jace protested.
"She called me a 'wet-brained moron' in three different languages," Nathan countered. "And then two hours later, she hugged me and helped me clean up the water damage."
Erik set Durandach's case within reach and moved back to his bass.
"So what's the plan? Hide in here until she calms down?"
"That's exactly the plan," Jace confirmed.
Ricky laughed, picking out a lazy run up the neck.
"Solid strategy, Your Majesty. Very kingly."
"Oh, shut up."
"Well," Connor said, "since we're all here and hiding from an angry Prime Minister... should we actually rehearse? We do have a tour starting in a few months."
Jace moved toward his drum kit, which was set up at the back of the studio, his custom drumsticks resting on the snare. The familiar sight of it loosened something in his chest: the double bass drums, the array of cymbals, the worn throne where he'd spent thousands of hours.
"Yeah," he said, picking up his sticks. "Yeah, let's play."
TOUR LOGISTICS
"Alright, alright," Sidney's voice cut through the studio as he entered, carrying his ever-present clipboard. "Before you all get too comfortable hiding from the Prime Minister, we need to talk about tour logistics."
The band groaned. Sidney was unmoved. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression serious.
"Security first," he said. "After everything that happened last year, we're not taking any chances. I've tripled the detail. We'll have rotating shifts, eyes on you twenty-four seven."
"Fun," Ricky muttered, his fingers still moving over his guitar strings.
"And," Sidney said, "we have a new bus driver."
Those words dropped into the studio like a stone.
Jace's hands stilled on his drumsticks.
"A new driver."
"Yes," Sidney said gently. "Your new driver is someone you already know. Someone who wants to protect you the way Dave did."
Nathan's fingers hovered over the keys.
"Who?"
"Gideon."
Erik looked up from where he'd been running through a bass line.
"Gideon from security?"
"The same," Sidney confirmed. "He came to me a few weeks ago. Said he'd driven commercial and military vehicles in the Marines, and that the best way to protect you was to be your driver. Like Dave was."
Connor's voice was quiet.
"Does he know... what happened? In Albuquerque?"
"He knows," Sidney said. "He knows what Dave sacrificed. And he wants to honor that."
"Dave didn't just drive us," Jace said softly. "He protected us. Every single day. And when it mattered most..."
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
They all remembered. The runway in Albuquerque. The bus roaring ahead of the plane. Dave's voice booming through the PA: THIS RUNWAY'S UNDER DAVE GIPSEN PROTECTION TONIGHT! Y'ALL MAKE THIS WORTH IT!
The explosion. The fire. The twisted metal.
Dave, gone.
"And speaking of the bus," Sidney said carefully, "you're getting a new one."
Ricky's hand dropped from his guitar.
"We have to?"
"That bus," Sidney said gently, "is gone, Ricky. It went down with Dave. This new one... it's different. Better. Safer."
He pulled a folded set of schematics from his clipboard and spread them across his knee.
"This isn't just a bus. It's a mobile fortress. I've been working with military contractors and custom builders for the past six months. The exterior is reinforced steel plating. The windows are three-inch bulletproof glass. The fuel tank is armored. This thing could survive a rocket-propelled grenade."
Samantha stared.
"You're joking."
"I wish I was," Sidney said grimly. "But after what happened last year, I'm not taking chances. The bus has twelve bunks because you'll be traveling with Aelinian Intelligence and Security."
"Secret Service," Nathan translated for Samantha.
"Exactly," Sidney confirmed. "They'll be in plain clothes, rotating shifts. You won't always know who they are, but they'll be there."
"Sounds like a prison," Ricky muttered.
"It's protection," Sidney corrected. "And your driver, Gideon, is former Marine Corps. Drill sergeant. Six-foot-six, built like a brick wall. Actually, he's wider than Erik."
Erik looked offended.
"That's not possible."
"It is," Sidney said. "You'll meet him soon. He came to me and said the best way to protect you was to be your driver. He'll live and breathe keeping you safe."
Jace twirled a drumstick between his fingers.
"When do we see it?"
"Orlando," Sidney said. "First stop on the tour. The bus and Gideon will be waiting for you there."
Silence fell over the studio. Then Nathan started laughing, quiet, a little rueful.
"What?" Erik asked quietly.
"I'm just remembering," Nathan said, "the time Dave banned me from doing any experiments on the bus."
"Oh God," Connor said softly. "The chemical incident."
"It wasn't that bad," Nathan protested.
"Nate," Jace said, already grinning, "the entire bus smelled like a fart for HOURS."
"We were stuck at a truck stop for five hours waiting for it to air out," Ricky added, laughing now. "Dave was SO pissed. He kept yelling, 'No more chemistry, Conjurer! No more!'"
Samantha watched them.
"You made the bus smell like a fart?"
"It was an accident," Nathan said, fighting to keep a straight face. "The formula was supposed to create a pleasant lavender scent."
"Instead, we got 'poo-pourri'!" Ricky laughed.
"Oh, yuck!" Samantha groaned. "And for hours?"
"Truckers kept asking if our black tank was leaking," Jace recalled, barely containing his laughter.
Connor dropped into his best Dave impression.
"One of the boys had an explosion. We'll get 'im some Pepto… he'll be fine!"
Erik's voice was rough with laughter.
"Remember when Dave banned Ricky from teleporting into the cab?"
"Oh man," Ricky said, his voice breaking with laughter. "The lap incident."
Samantha burst out laughing.
"Poor Dave's face!"
"Ricky teleported directly into the cab while Dave was driving," Connor said, eyes bright with tears of laughter. "As a black cat. Appeared right in Dave's lap and started doing biscuits on his jeans."
"Dave swerved," Jace said, barely getting it out. "He nearly ran us off the highway into the Sierras, and screamed so loud I thought he was having a heart attack."
"In my defense," Ricky said, wiping his eyes, "I was aiming for the passenger seat."
"You gave the man PTSD," Nathan said, shaking his head. "He told me he thought he was having a stroke. A black cat just APPEARED on his lap while he was driving sixty miles an hour."
Erik turned away for a second, jaw working.
"And what about us and the weights?"
"Yeah." Jace was laughing again. "We kept dropping the weights and denting the floor."
"Multiple dents," Erik added. "Dave said if we put one more crater in his floor, he was going to make us walk to the next venue."
Connor was grinning now.
"At least I didn't damage the bus."
"No," Ricky said, "you just kept sneaking women onto it."
Connor choked on a laugh.
"The empty bunks incident. Dave found that blonde girl from Phoenix hiding in the storage compartment."
"And the redhead from Seattle in the overhead luggage," Nathan added.
"And the twins from Denver," Ricky started, then paused. "Actually, I think those were mine."
"Look," Connor said, still grinning, "Dave had very strict rules about the bunks, okay?"
The memories kept coming, one after another, and underneath every laugh was the same deep, stubborn love for the man who'd driven them thousands of miles, put up with their insanity, and protected them until his last breath.
"We're going to miss that bus," Jace said.
"We're going to miss Dave," Samantha said quietly. She'd only known him a short time, but his choice, to give his life for theirs, was burned into her.
"I miss him every day," Nathan said softly. "But we're still here because of him. He chose us. He gave his life so we could live."
Sidney stood up, his voice gentle but firm.
"You know what Dave would say right now."
"That we're being a bunch of pussies?" Ricky suggested.
"Maybe," Sidney allowed. "But he'd also say that you honor him by living. By moving forward. By making his sacrifice worth it."
"You're not the same band that started touring with Dave. You're not the same men. You've lost people. You've survived hell. And you've grown because of it, and in spite of it. Dave saw that growth. He was proud of you. And he went out doing exactly what he wanted to do: keeping his band safe."
Sidney's voice was quiet.
"Part of the beauty and the curse of life is in its constant change. We may not like it. Hell, most of the time we hate it. But it's necessary. It's how we become the men, and women, God designed us to be. Dave understood that. He chose his moment, and he chose you."
Nathan picked out a soft melody on his keyboard, something slow and fond.
"New bus. New driver. New tour."
"Same mission," Connor added. "Same fight."
Ricky looked around at his brothers.
"Same Brotherhood, though. That doesn't change."
"Never," Jace agreed. "And we carry Dave with us. Every show. Every mile. Every fight."
Erik raised an imaginary glass.
"To Dave Gipsen. The bravest driver who ever lived."
They all raised their own invisible glasses.
"To Dave," they echoed. "We'll make it worth it."
"And to Gideon," Connor added quietly. "May he know that he's stepping into a legend's shoes, and that we'll be with him every mile."
"He knows," Sidney said. "He specifically told me: 'I can't be Dave. Nobody can. But I can protect them the way Dave would have wanted.' And that's exactly what he's going to do."
Samantha raised her invisible glass with the rest of them and said nothing.
THE GUARDIAN ARCHIVES
"There's something else we need to discuss," Sidney said, and his expression shifted. "The security measures aren't just precautions. They're necessities."
Jace set his drumsticks down.
"What do you mean?"
Sidney looked at him.
"Have you been to the Guardian archives yet? In the royal residence?"
"No," Jace admitted. "I didn't even know there were archives."
"There are," Sidney said. "And you need to see them. All of you."
Later that afternoon, Jace stood in the Guardian archives, a vast chamber beneath the royal residence, one he'd never known was there. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with journals, scrolls, and bound volumes dating back nearly a thousand years.
Nathan stood beside him, conjuring a soft light to read by. Connor, Erik, and Ricky spread out through the chamber, each pulling volumes from different eras.
Jace found the most recent volumes first: the Sixth Brotherhood, Seamus Greene's generation.
"Look at this," Jace said quietly, running his finger down a page. "Seamus was abducted four times during his tenure."
"Four times?" Ricky appeared at his shoulder. "Jesus."
Nathan pulled another volume.
"Eiran, Seamus's predecessor and the Fifth Guardian, was kidnapped three times." He looked up, his face grim. "And it says here that Seamus's entire Brotherhood was kidnapped as a group. Twice."
Connor's voice was tight when he looked up from a journal, his eyes faintly green.
"One of those group abductions was by Sorienne Nazari."
The room went silent.
"Sorienne," Jace said slowly. "The same..."
"The same sorceress who took me," Connor confirmed. His hands were trembling slightly as he held the journal.
"She abused Visionary Alen. The sixth generation Visionary." He looked up, his emerald eyes haunted. "In a very similar way."
"What does it say?" Nathan asked gently.
Connor swallowed hard.
"Enchanted chains. Soul shard implantation. Forced... compliance." He closed the journal. "She's been doing this for generations. It's not just me. It's a pattern."
Erik pulled more volumes, spreading them across the reading table.
"Fourth Brotherhood: Guardian Brannach, abducted in his third year, held for two weeks."
"Third Brotherhood," Nathan read. "Maethren the Third. The entire Brotherhood taken by raiders. Held for ransom. Warrior Cormac killed during the rescue."
"Second Brotherhood," Connor called from the far corner. "Guardian Gaelen's journals mention being captured twice by Aldus's forces."
Jace moved through the archives methodically now, pulling volume after volume. The pattern was unmistakable, horrifying in its consistency.
Every single generation of the Brotherhood had faced abduction.
Sometimes one member. Sometimes multiple. Sometimes the entire Brotherhood at once.
Sometimes they escaped quickly. Sometimes they endured weeks, or months, of captivity.
And the architects were always the same: Aldus the Conqueror and his disciples.
"It's a tradition," Jace said, his voice hollow. "For them. They don't just fight us in battle. They kidnap us. Test us. Break us if they can."
"Probing for weaknesses," Nathan said grimly. "Trying to break the bond."
Ricky appeared with an armful of journals, all the chaos-goblin energy gone out of him.
"Every generation. Every single one. Aldus or his followers, they all try it."
Connor sat down heavily on one of the archive benches.
"We've already been through two abductions. Mine in 1984. All of us in 1986. Sorienne was acting on Aldus's orders for mine. The 1986 abduction, Lillian and Harvey Marks, was independent of him." He looked up at his brothers. "But if the pattern holds..."
"There will be more," Jace finished. He set the journal down. His hands weren't quite steady.
"There will always be more attempts."
Erik's jaw was set.
"So what do we do?"
"We're never in more danger than when we're on the road," Sidney said from the doorway. None of them had heard him come in.
"Touring makes you vulnerable. Predictable. Your schedule is public, your locations are known, you're in a different city every night, away from Aelin's protections."
"So we cancel the tour?" Ricky asked, but his tone said he already knew the answer.
"No," Jace said firmly. "We can't let them control our lives. We can't let fear win."
"But we need to be smarter," Nathan added. "We need to disrupt the pattern."
Sidney nodded.
"That's why the new bus is a mobile fortress. Why you'll have Aelinian Intelligence embedded with you. Why Gideon insisted on being your driver: he's not just driving, he's your first line of defense."
"We need to change our tactics," Connor said, his Visionary mind already working through possibilities. "Vary our routes. Add decoys. Make ourselves harder targets."
"Unpredictable," Erik agreed. "If they're looking for a pattern, we break the pattern."
"Random security checks," Ricky suggested. "Different hotels than the ones publicly listed. Multiple vehicles."
Nathan was already pacing, running the math of it the way only a 198-IQ Conjurer could.
"We could have me create illusions. False trails. Make them think we're in one place when we're in another."
"And I can scout ahead," Connor added. "Use my visions to see potential threats before they materialize."
Jace looked at his brothers. Not fear in his chest. Determination.
"They've been doing this for nine hundred years," he said. "Every Guardian, every Brotherhood, has faced this. But we're different. We have the tri-fold bond. We have abilities no other generation has had."
"We're the ones meant to end Aldus," Connor said quietly. "The prophecy says so."
"Then let's start by ending his traditions," Jace said. "No more easy targets. No more following the pattern. We disrupt everything."
Nathan smiled grimly.
"Smarter security. Better tactics."
"Different rules," Erik added.
"Same Brotherhood," Ricky said.
"Same Brotherhood," they echoed.
Sidney watched them, pride written plainly across his face.
"Then let's get you prepared. The tour starts in three months. We have a lot of work to do."
As they filed out of the archives, Jace paused at the door and looked back at nine hundred years of journals, scrolls, and bound suffering.
"We're going to be the last ones in these archives," he said quietly. "The last Brotherhood that has to deal with this."
"Because we're going to end it," Connor agreed.
"Because we're going to end him," Nathan corrected.
Jace nodded.
"Yeah. We are."
He closed the archive door behind them.
YARA'S WARNING
The doors to Brotherhood Studios opened, and Yara stepped in, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes were doing something else entirely.
"Nathan," she said. "Galena is on her way."
Nathan's head snapped up.
"Is she still steaming?"
Yara's lips twitched.
"She's still pretty hot. But she's calmed down quite a bit. She's settled into speaking English now, so... that's progress."
"English," Jace repeated. "That's good, right?"
"It means you won't die," Yara said dryly. "But you're definitely getting a lecture."
Samantha stood up from the couch.
"Should I..."
"Stay," Yara advised. "She'll want to see both of you. Just... brace yourselves."
Connor caught Yara's eye.
"How bad is it really?"
Yara considered.
"On a scale of one to ten? She's about a seven. Earlier she was a fifteen."
"Great," Jace muttered.
GALENA'S LECTURE
The studio doors opened again, and Galena Dallenger swept in.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore a tailored navy suit that left no room for argument. This was the Prime Minister of Aelin, the woman who had negotiated with presidents and kings, who had stared down the White House itself.
And right now, she was looking at Jace like she wanted to strangle him.
"Everyone out," she said calmly.
It was not a request.
Erik and Ricky practically scrambled for the door. Connor moved more slowly, shooting Jace a sympathetic look. Nathan hesitated, looking at his wife.
"Including you, lyubov moya," Galena said softly. "This is between me and the King."
Nathan kissed her cheek.
"Go easy on him."
"No promises," Galena replied.
Samantha stood to leave, but Galena held up a hand.
"Not you, Miss Wallace. You stay. This concerns you as well."
Once the studio was empty except for the three of them, Galena walked to the center of the room and stood there, arms crossed, heels clicking to a stop on the floor. She looked at Jace with an expression that was equal parts disappointment and fury.
"Do you have any idea," she began, her voice dangerously calm, "what you've done?"
Jace opened his mouth, but Galena continued.
"You announced your engagement, the engagement of the High King of Aelin, to a room full of fans before informing the Aelinian Congress. Before consulting with me. Before following any of the proper protocols that have been in place for nine hundred years."
"Galena..."
"I am not finished," she said sharply. "Do you understand how this looks? The King, making a unilateral decision about something that affects the entire nation without consulting his government? Without even the courtesy of a private conversation with his Prime Minister?"
"I didn't plan it. It just... happened."
"It JUST HAPPENED?" Galena's voice rose. "You stood on a stage, in front of a thousand people, and announced that Aelin would have a queen, and it JUST HAPPENED?"
"Yes!" Jace stood. "I was tired of waiting, Galena. I was tired of keeping it a secret. I love her, and I wanted the world to know it."
"And what you wanted supersedes centuries of tradition?" Galena demanded. "What you wanted is more important than protocol, than procedure, than the government you are supposed to lead?"
"I AM the King," Jace shot back.
"Yes, you are," Galena said coldly. "And with that title comes responsibility. It comes with obligations. And the understanding that your decisions don't just affect you, they affect an entire nation."
The silence that followed was tense and crackling.
Galena took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but no less intense.
"Jace. I understand that you are young. I understand that the weight of the crown is... difficult. But you cannot simply do whatever you want because you are King. That's not leadership. That's tyranny."
Jace flinched.
Galena continued, "There are protocols for royal engagements. First, you inform the Prime Minister privately. Then, together, we present the information to Congress in a closed session. They debate, they discuss, they vote to accept or reject the match. Once approved by Congress, we make a public announcement through official channels. THEN, and only then, does the public learn about it."
"Why does Congress need to approve who I marry?" Jace asked, frustrated.
"Because you are not just a man," Galena said. "You are a King. Your spouse becomes Queen, co-ruler of this nation. She will have power, influence, responsibilities. Congress has the right, and the duty, to ensure that the person you choose is prepared for that role."
She looked at Samantha, her expression softening slightly.
"I do not doubt that Miss Wallace is a good woman. From what Nathan tells me, she is intelligent, capable, and deeply devoted to you. But the process exists for a reason."
Jace sat down heavily.
"So what happens now?"
Galena sighed.
"Now I have to do damage control. I've already scheduled an emergency session of Congress for tomorrow. You will formally present your engagement to them. You will apologize for the breach in protocol. And you will ask, FORMALLY ask, for their approval of your marriage."
"And if they say no?" Jace asked quietly.
"They won't," Galena said. "But they need to be asked. They need to feel respected. You undermined them, Jace. You made them look foolish. They learned about their King's engagement from Aelinian Intelligence, not from their King himself."
Jace went very still.
"I didn't think about that."
"No," Galena agreed. "You didn't. And that is the problem."
She walked over to where Samantha sat, still and quiet on the couch. Galena sat beside her, her voice gentle.
"How are you handling all of this, dear?"
Samantha looked up.
"I'm... overwhelmed."
"I imagine so," Galena said. "Being thrust into royalty is not easy. There is much you will need to learn. Protocol, history, diplomacy. But Nathan speaks highly of you, and Jace clearly loves you. That is a good foundation."
"I want you to know: I am not angry at you. You didn't ask for this chaos. But you will be Queen. And that means you will need to learn how to navigate it." She took Samantha's hand and held it.
"I'll try," Samantha said softly.
Galena smiled.
"That's all anyone can ask. I will help you as much as possible."
She stood and turned back to Jace.
"Tomorrow. Congress. Ten in the morning. Wear your formal attire. Both of you. And Jace?"
"Yes?"
"Do not ever do something like this again."
"I won't," Jace promised.
Galena walked to the door and paused with her hand on the frame. She turned back, and for the first time, her expression softened completely.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I am happy for you. Both of you. You deserve this joy. You've been through hell, and you've earned some happiness."
She smiled, small but real.
"But next time you want to make a major life decision, TALK TO ME FIRST."
And with that, she swept out of the studio.
Jace leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"That was worse than the Russian."
Samantha put her arm around him.
"At least she didn't kill you."
"She might tomorrow," Jace muttered. "In front of Congress."
"We'll face it together," Samantha said.
Jace looked at her and found a small smile.
"Together."
"Always."
THE TOMATO BISQUE INCIDENT
The tension broke the moment the studio doors swung shut behind Galena. The band retreated to the royal castle's kitchen for a late lunch, still wrung out from the day.
Nathan stood at the counter, holding a wax carton of tomato bisque soup, his hands glowing a soft red as he fed heat into it.
Connor looked up from the sandwich he was building.
"Nate. You should poke holes in that."
"No," Nathan said confidently. "That would ruin the heat distribution. I need it to heat evenly."
"Nathan," Connor insisted, his Visionary senses prickling. "Poke. Holes. In. The. Carton."
"I know what I'm doing," Nathan replied.
Jace looked up from the table, his drumming fingers going still.
"Nate, maybe you should..."
"I have it under control," Nathan said.
Erik stood and quietly started moving toward the door.
"I don't like where this is going."
The carton began to swell slightly. Ricky stiffened.
"Uh, guys? That's... that's not good, right?"
"It's FINE," Nathan insisted, though his hands were glowing brighter.
The carton swelled more, bulging grotesquely at the sides. Connor's eyes flared green: a vision, sharp and immediate.
"Nathan, it's going to blow..."
"I SAID I HAVE IT..."
The carton swelled to nearly twice its size, trembling in Nathan's hands.
"CONNOR!" Ricky yelped, backing away.
Jace was already moving.
"Where do we..."
"HIT THE DECK!" Connor screamed.
Jace dove under the dinette table. Connor threw himself to the floor. Ricky teleported behind the refrigerator. Erik flattened himself against the wall.
SPLOOOOOSH!
The carton exploded.
Hot tomato bisque erupted in every direction: a geyser of red that hit the ceiling, the walls, the counters, the light fixtures, the floor, and everything in between.
Slowly, the four band members emerged from cover.
Jace had soup in his hair. Connor had a streak of it across his face. Ricky's shirt was spotted with red. Erik had a splatter pattern across his chest.
But Nathan.
Nathan stood in the epicenter of the explosion, completely drenched. Tomato bisque dripped from his hair, ran down his face, soaked into his shirt, and pooled in his shoes. He looked like a soup-soaked version of Elmo from Sesame Street.
His hands were still raised in the exact position they'd been holding the carton. His expression was utter defeat.
"I... had it... under control," he said weakly.
"You REALLY didn't," Ricky said.
The kitchen door opened. Galena walked in, Samantha right behind her. They both stopped dead.
Galena's gaze swept the room: soup on the ceiling, soup dripping from the light fixtures, soup pooled across the floor. Then her eyes landed on her husband, standing in the epicenter of the disaster like a very soggy, very defeated Conjurer.
She walked slowly around Nathan, heels clicking on the soup-covered tile, expression perfectly straight-faced, taking in his body language, his defeat, his total need for a bath.
"Nathan," she said calmly. "Were you planning to visit a family of Aelinian skunks? Is this some kind of preparation ritual I'm unaware of?"
Nathan looked at her through the soup dripping from his eyebrows.
"Very funny. Very cute."
"Da," Galena agreed, "I am!"
Connor snickered.
Samantha surveyed the other four, all spotted, none of them anywhere close to Nathan's state.
"The tomato soup fallout wasn't limited to the Conjurer," she observed.
Jace, Connor, Ricky, and Erik straightened up one by one, looking like they'd just witnessed a knifing. Guilty. Shell-shocked. Covered in evidence.
Galena's eyes narrowed.
"I will hear no excuses," she said firmly. "All of you, go to your chambers like the naughty little boys you ALL are and get cleaned up. Then you will ALL return here and clean this kitchen. Every. Single. Drop."
Ricky opened his mouth.
"But I didn't cause the..."
Galena whirled on him, rattling off in rapid Russian:
"Прекратите! Я не потерплю вашей глупости, Страж! Идите все в свои покои!"
[Cease! I will hear none of your stupidity, Sentinel! Go to your chambers, all of you!]
Ricky's mouth snapped shut.
Nathan didn't move. His voice carried authority even through the bisque dripping from his face.
"Move. Now."
The four band members shuffled toward the door.
"Move FASTER!" Nathan barked.
They ran.
Samantha glanced between Galena and the soup-covered kitchen, then at Jace's retreating bisque-speckled form.
"I'll... go help the King now."
She ran after them.
Nathan and Galena stood alone in the kitchen. Soup dripped from the ceiling with soft plop-plop-plop sounds. Nathan looked at his wife, total resignation on his face. Soup was still dripping from his chin.
"I'm going to regret this later, aren't I?"
Galena's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. She leaned close and whispered in Russian:
"Ты никогда этого не предвидишь, моя любовь!"
[You will never see it coming, my love!]
Nathan sighed.
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
Galena cupped his cheek briefly, getting soup on her hand.
"Go clean up, lyubov moya. Before you start attracting flies."
As Nathan squelched toward the door, leaving soupy footprints behind him, he could hear Galena laughing, fully, helplessly, the way she only ever did when it was just the two of them.
It had been a very, very long day.