Bravery’s Sin: Masters’ Admiralty book 5 Read online

  Bravery’s Sin

  Masters’ Admiralty, book 5

  Mari Carr

  Lila Dubois

  This story is dedicated to Lila’s mom and her ankle. Her surgery and hospital stay while we were writing the book inspired the character, Patty--that poor, poor woman. - Mari

  * * *

  Patty was the name of my mom’s drug-seeking, TV hoarding, oversharing, hospital roommate. She deserved it. - Lila

  * * *

  The hospital stay is also to blame for two-thirds of the violent acts in the book. Lila doesn’t do well in hospitals. - Mari

  * * *

  The therapist said I should get a healthy outlet for my feelings. Imagining ways to kill people is healthy, isn’t it? - Lila

  * * *

  If I ever go missing, tell the police it was her. - Mari

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Authors

  Prologue

  “What’s happened?” Nyx asked, in lieu of a greeting. On her laptop screen, the image clarified, revealing a picture of Josephine with her bright red hair, freckled face, and ever-present grin.

  “How are you feeling, Nyx? Oh, wow. You look loads better.”

  Nyx considered the other woman, who hadn’t answered her initial question. As was her habit, Nyx remained silent. She found that silence made other people nervous; however, she enjoyed it. It made it easier to think and wonder.

  Josephine fidgeted. Though Nyx could only see her from the waist up, she was sure the other woman was bouncing her heels against the floor. Josephine was never still, a trait that occasionally made Nyx want to tape the other woman to her chair.

  “Why does something have to have happened? Can’t a woman call her girlfriend to check up on her?”

  They were friends? Nyx blinked several times, still silent.

  “I’ve been worried about you, Nyx.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” Nyx frowned. She hadn’t been trying to sound rude, but more than one person had told her she could come off that way if she wasn’t careful. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I am much better. And I do appreciate you thinking of me.”

  “Is the infection cleared up?”

  Nyx pressed a hand against her lower abdomen, over the spot where a knife had sunk in deep. When people looked at her, they could see the first wound she’d suffered that terrible day in Bucharest—a long scar bisected her cheek from eye to jaw. It had healed, and in a testament to the skill of the surgeons who’d helped her, the scar itself was a thin, pink line that would fade to white in time, but the slice had cut through muscle. Damage to the underlying tissue had resulted in a slight furrow. She could cover up the scar itself with makeup, but no makeup could hide the crease in her face or the unevenness of her smile.

  “Yes, thank you.” Nyx lifted her hand off her abdomen. Josephine had been referring to the other wound, the less visible one. She’d also been stabbed, and it had perforated her bowel. She’d developed sepsis and been ill for months. “And the wound has closed.”

  “You could have come to Dublin. Colum and I could have taken care of you.”

  Nyx blinked again. “You would have taken care of me?”

  “Of course!”

  “I… Thank you.” Nyx smiled, before she remembered she shouldn’t do that anymore. It didn’t look right. “I would have enjoyed meeting the archivist.”

  “Oh yeah. Well. I should warn you now. Colum doesn’t have my people skills.”

  Nyx was amused. Josephine did have a way of endearing herself to others.

  “He prefers books to people.”

  “Something he and I have in common,” Nyx mused.

  Josephine’s eyes widened. “What? You’re great with people.”

  Nyx had no idea what she’d done to give Josephine that impression, but this conversation had already taken too many odd twists. “So your brother is shy?”

  Josephine shook his head. “No. Just socially awkward. And he’s smart enough to know that’s a shortcoming, so he basically stays away from people.”

  “All people?”

  “He’s okay with me and Eric, but that’s different, isn’t it? He’s uncomfortable meeting new people, and don’t get me started on crowds.”

  “What happens in crowds?” Nyx had been curious about the Archivist prior to this conversation, merely because the academic in her wanted access to the historical documents surrounding the Masters’ Admiralty. Now her interest had been piqued by the man.

  “Colum prefers one-on-one conversations, in private. When there are three or more people in a room, he simply shuts down, unable to concentrate on anything. He’s always been that way. Eric and I get it. It’s one reason why Colum could never be placed in a trinity marriage. He’d probably implode.”

  Josephine grinned at her own joke.

  “Thank you for explaining that to me. I shall keep that in mind should I ever have the opportunity to meet your brother,” Nyx said. “But I would still like access to the archive.” And Colum was the only one who could provide it. Nyx loved information. She loved the way information influenced belief, and in turn, influenced behavior.

  “Brilliant. When you’re better, we can make a day of it, sure we will. We could go to tea at this little inn near Trinity that does lovely scones. There are a few shops around there as well. Then we could hit the archive.” The Irishwoman was grinning, her fingers drumming rhythmically.

  What Josephine was describing sounded like something out of a movie. Nyx had always assumed no adult women actually did anything like that. Though she had come close once, during the day she’d spent with Leila Virtanen in Bucharest. They’d walked and shopped. She’d even bought the Finnish woman a gift because she’d seen something that she’d thought Leila would like.

  Of course, they’d been bait, trying to lure out Ciril, one of the mastermind’s many puppets. No part of that excursion had been about friendship.

  And the day ended with her in the hands of a killer. She would have died if Leila hadn’t shot the man between the eyes, even as he’d held Nyx in front of him as a shield, his knife buried deep in her abdomen. Lucky for her, her pretend girlfriend, Leila, was a sniper.

  Josephine’s fingers hadn’t stopped tapping, and Nyx twitched with the urge to reach through the computer and put her hand on Josephine’s to make her be still.

  “Anyway, we can do all that when you feel better. And when things are calmer.”

  When things are calmer. What a lovely euphemism. Leave it to someone from Ireland, a nation that called their civil war “the troubles.”

  She and Josephine were both members of the Masters’ Admiralty, an old and powerful secret society. They’d been secretly ruling the world—well, Europe—since the Black Plague. Membership was selective and based on merit, even for people like her, whose parents were members. As a legacy, she’d still had to prove hersel
f worthy of joining.

  Though in her case, there had never been any doubt she’d be accepted, not when…

  She pushed that thought away, focusing on the present.

  She was a religious scholar, which was far less practical than being a politician or barrister, but the Masters’ Admiralty valued not only the traditionally powerful, but scholars and artists. She’d originally planned to study law, but after her eighteenth birthday, things had happened that made her choose a different path.

  In the recent past, the society had been terrorized by a killer they’d dubbed the mastermind, a ruthless villain determined to bring the Masters’ Admiralty to its knees. In order to catch the mastermind, she and Josephine, along with several others, had been recruited into a think tank, a group they called the librarians. The more dangerous and deadly members of the Masters’ Admiralty were tirelessly hunting the mastermind, following the clues left behind by the various and many crimes. She and her fellow librarians weren’t meant to face down danger. They were instead studying the case, analyzing and hypothesizing.

  They weren’t supposed to be “in the field” as crime dramas would term it, but each of them, besides Josephine, had ended up in harm’s way.

  Every time they thought they’d gotten close to discovering who was pulling the strings, more unraveled. The mastermind had acquired an entire network of apprentices and “pets,” who helped him carry out his crimes. One of whom was the serial killer Ciril, who had first kidnapped and tortured Leila and Karl—another librarian—before taking his knife to Nyx.

  “How is Karl?” Nyx asked. A second after she asked the question, she realized to Josephine it would have sounded like she was changing the subject, since Josephine was not privy to Nyx’s thought process.

  Josephine’s restless tapping stopped for a moment. “He’s holding it together. Things are tense for him and his new trinity. No honeymoon for them.”

  The founding principle of the Masters’ Admiralty was an arranged ménage marriage. When the society first started, powerful couples were matched with a third, who at that time were priests. The concept was created in an attempt to counter the influence of the church. Over time, it had evolved into the merging of powerful trinities, unions meant to strengthen society through politics, economics, the arts.

  “Unfortunate,” Nyx said. She made sure no expression marred her face. She didn’t like to think about the trinity marriages.

  Josephine wrapped her knuckles twice on the table, like she was knocking on a door. “I know what I wanted to say. Did you read that article in Stern about mobile phone usage?”

  Nyx leaned forward, as if by peering at the screen she could make sense of Josephine. It was, as much as her question about Karl had been, an abrupt change in subject. Was Josephine trying to alter the course of their conversation, or was this the genuine reason for her call?

  “Stern?” Nyx asked.

  “I assume you read it.”

  “I do.” Nyx read the German newsmagazine on a semi-regular basis, though it was more for entertainment, as she preferred other sources for actual news. It was a rather odd thing for Josephine to assume she read, though the librarians had once had a side conversation about their favorite light reading. Maybe she’d mentioned it then.

  What had Josephine’s original question been? Something about an article about mobile phone usage. She thought for a moment before remembering. The article had been about the history of communication, a sort of pro-con argument about whether the ease of communication was good for human behavior.

  And it had started with an amusing anecdote about the telegraph.

  “I thought it was just fascinating,” Josephine continued, her fingers tapping on her desk once more.

  The article hadn’t made any new observations or contributed any original research. Nyx found it highly unlikely that Josephine, who was a brilliant scholar, found it “fascinating.”

  “I did read it,” Nyx said slowly.

  Josephine said something else, but Nyx ignored it. She was listening to the sound of the tapping.

  Morse code.

  Nyx was chagrined that she hadn’t realized earlier. Josephine must have been incredibly frustrated by how dense Nyx was being. In her own defense, Josephine was always in motion, so the tapping hadn’t seemed out of place.

  Suddenly, this phone call made sense.

  Josephine smiled even wider as she stopped tapping for a moment. Then she began again. Probably from the beginning.

  Nyx reached for a pad of paper and a pen, keeping both of them out of sight of the camera. If Josephine was going to all the trouble of using Morse code, hiding the real communication inside an otherwise unremarkable video call, it meant she thought their communications were being monitored. The Masters’ Admiralty had encrypted email systems, secure phone lines, and courier services.

  Apparently, Josephine didn’t think any of those could be trusted.

  Nyx listened, writing down each letter as she heard it.

  “Ah well, listen to me,” Josephine said after she stopped tapping, her voice lilting. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  “Yes.” Nyx forced herself not to look at the paper and begin deciphering the message. “Thank you for calling, Josephine.”

  Perhaps it was foolish, but the other woman’s smile seemed genuine as she said, “I really do hope we can get together in Dublin, Nyx. For tea and shopping and the archive.”

  “I…would like that,” Nyx said, and it was the truth.

  They ended the call, and Nyx turned off her laptop, just to be safe, before pulling the paper toward her. She had a long list of letters written at a drunken angle across the page. Picking up her pen, she tried to simply divide it into words. That yielded nothing useful, so she treated it like an anagram, but again, she couldn’t make it work.

  Code. It was in code.

  Ten minutes later she’d figured it out. The message was in Welsh with a Caesar substitution cipher applied.

  Nyx sat back, propping her feet on the balcony railing. From here, she had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean Sea. This chair, this spot, had brought her peace during her long recovery. And her host had made her feel safe.

  There was a knock at the door. Nyx knew who it was, knew the cadence of that knock, but still, she turned around to look as she called out, “Come in.”

  She couldn’t stand to have someone behind her.

  Grigoris Violaris opened the door, leaning in and smiling at her. His Greek heritage was obvious in his appearance. In a word, he was beautiful. With olive skin, straight nose, large dark eyes, and brown hair, streaked with gold, he was a prepossessing vision.

  As always when she saw him, her feelings were a tangled mix of longing, relief, happiness, regret, and desire.

  She wanted him, wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any man. He hadn’t hidden the fact that he felt the same. The moment she’d met him there’d been a spark of connection. When she’d been well enough to leave the hospital in Bucharest—and she’d been frantic to leave—he’d swooped in and brought her here, to his home on Cyprus.

  He was a patient man. It was what made him such a good and dangerous predator. She knew he was waiting for her. Waiting for her to tell him, either by words or action, that she was ready to acknowledge the attraction between them and act on it. Ready to slide herself into his arms and raise her lips for a kiss. He thought she was still hurting, emotionally if no longer physically, and that was why she kept him at arm’s length.

  But it wasn’t.

  If she wasn’t lying to him every single day by omission, she would have gone to him right now. Kissed him and then pulled him to the bed. She wanted the man’s hands on her the way a woman in the desert wanted water.

  “How are you today, o ángelós mou?”

  He’d started calling her his angel in Bucharest. The term of endearment always touched her heart, made her feel warm and cherished.

  Nyx held up the pad. “We need to go to Dublin.” r />
  He frowned and stepped into the room. “What do you mean?”

  She quickly explained about the call, and the Morse code message, which in turn needed a cipher.

  Grigoris took the pad from her hand, reading the translated message aloud. “Dublin Friday at close. War council. Bring the Greek.” His face took on a grim expression. “How sure are you about this message?”

  “Very. Josephine is friends with the fleet admiral.”

  “Friends? With the fleet admiral? Is that a thing?” Grigoris raised a brow.

  Nyx smiled, remembered, and quickly dropped the expression.

  Grigoris caught the movement. “Don’t hide your smile. It’s beautiful, and you are too.”

  Nyx looked away, her heart aching. She had to tell him the truth about who she was.

  But not now. Not today. She wanted—needed—more time.

  “I am sure,” she said again. “I think you were just invited to a meeting of the librarians.”

  Chapter One

  Grigoris stayed at Nyx’s side. He would have preferred to fall back, to protect her from anything coming up behind her. Tactically, that would make sense, since she was the one who knew where they were going. But Nyx couldn’t bear to have anyone at her back, and that, plus the physical scars she bore, were his fault. He’d been in charge of the operation in Bucharest that resulted in her nearly dying.

  “A moment,” Nyx murmured, placing her fingers on his arm.

  Besotted fool that he was, he felt that touch through his whole body.