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  There was not a path from the landing pad to the meeting circle, which was odd. All documentation said there would be.

  Zeus pointed. “The meeting circle is this way.”

  There was something about the sand that put Sohm’lan on edge. He continually scanned the landscape searching for the reason. Everything was unusually quiet, only the sound of the wind grated against his earholes. Then he found it. The sand moved against the wind.

  Once he identified the issue, the white desert was no longer simply the landscape but something foreign to Sohm’lan’s experience and knowledge, almost seeming alive. He watched how Zeus struggled to walk between the dunes. Everyone found the way strenuous and slow going and he wondered at the purpose. A sliver of foreboding settled into his gut. If they did not need the Qrxzl’s help contacting the Feteine, if Canry had not said the Feteine were necessary, Sohm’lan would have advised Zeus to turn back. Suddenly sticking to this plan and allowing Zeus to lead just became exponentially harder. When the circle of red paving stones surrounded by tall, gleaming white obelisks came into view, he met Dargon’s steady green gaze over the top of Zeus’s head. There he found his worries mirrored, but he also saw firm resolve. He hoped they would not come to regret not returning to the shuttle.

  Mestor

  * * *

  “Brother, you need to remain calm.” Azaes sounded infuriatingly peaceful.

  Mestor barely refrained from snarling. His twin meant well, but Mestor could not stay still for all the M’Cathian crystals in the galaxy. Azaes knew what caused Mestor’s agitation, and yet he still sent Mestor soothing reassurance through their empathic link. How could Azaes be so… so… unaffected? Mestor wanted to be on the planet with Zeus and Sohm, but he knew that many various incidents could happen if they arrived before there was an indication of danger.

  Azaes watch the vidscreens with one eye while giving Warlord Zachaios his orders. The warlord would oversee The Gorgon while Azaes and Mestor were gone. Warlord Aspasia conferred with the leader in charge of the cohort accompanying her, Azaes, and Mestor. He knew he should be doing something other than pacing the grating off the dock floor, but he could not pull his mind from his imaginings of what was going on planet-side.

  Eleven vidscreens had been assembled in the shuttle bay. Azaes did not want to waste time traveling from The Gorgon’s bridge to the docks after receiving evidence of the away team’s danger. Mestor agreed with the decision. They could launch a rescue party much quicker this way. The screens relayed the health status of each member of Zeus’s diplomatic party. All the heart rates were elevated, Sohm’lan’s more than the others, and Mestor knew that was his fault for confiding some of the things he had foreseen.

  Sohm’lan.

  The last couple of days, with Sohm’lan spending his spare time with Mestor, were a gift. He was so close to getting the warlord to agree to see him officially he could taste it. But if Sohm died while planet-side… “Whatever you are thinking, you have to stop,” Azaes said patiently. “You are depressing me.”

  Mestor felt chagrined. Of course, the empathic link between them went both ways, but he could not help himself. “I saw—”

  Azaes smacked him with his tail. If they had been in private, Mestor would have taken that as an invitation to spar and tackle his twin to the floor, venting his frustration in an altogether different way.

  “You think I do not know?” Azaes asked, incredulous.

  He shoved his brother back, but only halfheartedly. He knew that Azaes would have attempted a farseeing after Mestor made a spectacle of himself in the training ring. “Warlord Sohm’lan did not take any weapons. He has only the six Monticore when he should have taken more.”

  “And broken protocol?” his twin challenged.

  “Captain Dargon and Alpha are royal consorts. He could have added another four to the detail.”

  “You know very well he could not. Captain Dargon is not officially anything to Zeus. He is Galactic Imperial Patrol along with the Chi-Lin healer, Madux, and the navigator, Axis. Including Warlord Sohm’lan, there are ten military personnel for Zeus’s detail. He could not add any more.” Azaes sighed and used his tail to bring Mestor closer so he could wrap his arm around him. “Zeus is the only one in the group that does not technically have military training. The training he had in his youth does not count since all royals receive advance martial arts and tactics. But Zeus failed to graduate from the Academy and did not serve in the military, making him the only civilian.” Even then, he was able to defend himself, Mestor well knew. Had Zeus not crushed the pirates when he had set out to free The Gorgon? And with only one tiny Catalani assassin and an Orion to aid him. It was a testament to his skill and leadership that he had found and gathered stray soldiers on his way to the bridge. Mestor, Sohm’lan, and a handful of Monticore had barricaded the way to the bridge and were barely holding the pirates at bay when he saw his youngest brother.

  He would never forget how Zeus silently ran along a length of the wall over the heads of the Dire D’Noss and Quell, flipping and landing in the middle of the mass. Immediately, blood, arms, antennae, and heads had begun to fly. Zeus had always been devastatingly beautiful to watch on the practice field. No stroke of the sword was wasted, his opponents incapacitated or dead within seconds.

  In the beginning, many fighters looked down on him. Not only was he soft-skinned, but he was tailless. That was like being without a limb. But the Monticore had seen something in Zeus that others did not, and they participated in Zeus’s training. Their encouragement told Zeus he could do anything, and his brother had believed every word they said. After Zeus gained his eyesight, the Monticore brought in vids of fighting styles of other species with only four limbs and Zeus learned them all. Running on walls was only one of the extraordinary things he could do. Mestor had seen him jump incredible distances without the help of a tail and leap across spans between buildings or fall several stories to land on his feet. But even knowing this, Mestor worried.

  He, Azaes, and Warlord Aspasia stood in the shuttle entryway with the assembled cohort simply waiting. On the screen, Sohm’lan’s heart rate rose a little more but remained steady. Curiously, Dargon’s did the same. From the moment Zeus put on the monitoring bracelet, his pulse had been all over the place due to nervousness, and that did not change as they watched.

  “They have reached the meeting circle,” Warlord Aspasia said just as the heart rates of the whole party kicked up, even Sohm’lan’s, but then his went back down within moments. Mestor did not take that as a good sign. He had seen the calm that came over Sohm’lan when he faced an opponent.

  Minutes slipped by and Mestor barely breathed. When Zeus’s pulse continued to climb, Azaes ordered the cohort to board the shuttles. The soldiers grabbed subsonic rifles from the weapon’s rack. Projectiles would work fine on Qrxzl, but the subsonic charges would be more devastating.

  All the monitors gave warning blares as every member of the away team except Zeus pressed their emergency buttons. Mestor was behind Azaes as they hurried aboard their shuttle. The feed was switched to Azaes’ personal data pad. Zeus and Dargon were in cardiac distress. Mestor barely refrained from throwing the device into the wall. He handed it back to Azaes with a trembling hand. Anger bloomed deep and bright in his core, and he could almost feel it pulse under his scales. His core heated with burgeoning battle rage.

  Across from him sat one set of the deadliest of the Chimera triplets, Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix Narkis. Most Mar’Sani never laid eyes on the revered triplets unless they were family. Even most soldiers hardly saw or interacted with Chimera. They were secretive, and the Crown helped them maintain that level of privacy. Especially since the Chimera usually worked for the emperor to uncover secrets as spies and/or assassins.

  Chimera worked with only a select few in the military, and many soldiers mentioned within Mestor’s hearing how uncanny the white scales were, the signature color setting the Chimera apart from the Mar’Sani. Some even equated Zeus�
��s deadliness with the Chimera simply because his skin was that same color, calling him Striker in awed whispers. Those officers eyed Zeus during practice and speculated if there were two more of Zeus in the universe somewhere.

  Unlike most Mar’Sani, the Chimera’s scales were smooth and devoid of spikes, bony ridges, or barbs. With brown eyes so dark they were almost black, the three stared beyond the pilot to where the world of water and sand took up the view. Their expressions were blank, giving away nothing. If they were nervous or excited, he could not tell.

  The trip to the landing pad was uneventful. Strangely, there was a ship on the pad next to Zeus’s shuttle. It was a small one-man pod. They had not detected another’s approach after Zeus landed, and the idea that someone had slipped by their scans was unnerving.

  The cohort assembled after everyone disembarked, waiting for Azaes’ orders… All noses lifted to the wind. A hint of copper floated by. Mestor inhaled deeper and the red haze of battle rage threatened to overcome him. Zeus was injured, the scent of his blood tainted the air. He could not detect any other wound-scent, and he fervently hoped they arrived in time.

  “Chimera!” Azaes called and the two teams of triplets came to attention. “Lead the charge.”

  With unnerving expressions of predatory glee, the teams followed the red paving stones at a light jog. Unlike the cohort, the Chimera did not carry weapons. They were a weapon unto themselves, able to take on the Three Form. Mestor had heard the whispers of those who speculated whether the triplets were psionics, creating the illusion that they merged into one being. He had only seen a team change one other time and it was not a sight he would soon forget.

  Now they led the way through the maze of the dunes. The cohort was thoroughly worked up over the scent of Zeus’s blood, many calling out chants of retribution. The dry wind carried their yowling hisses ahead, and Mestor hoped the sound instilled fear into their enemies.

  Mestor kept pace with his brother right behind the Chimera. Warlord Aspasia was behind them leading the cohort. As they rounded the last dune, the scene unfolding before his eyes was not what he expected. The Monticore bristled in a protective circle. He was relieved to see Sohm’lan towering over everyone in the center. He and Madux were a head taller than everyone else and easy to identify, though Dargon should have been with them. That he did not see the signature copper braid of Zeus’s mate did not bode well.

  The Chimera ran around the circle of standing stones, looking as if they glided over the ground. Their white scales were paler than the surrounding sands, making their transformation to the Three Form seem ethereal as the air visibly shimmered around them. Breaking into two groups of three, the Chimera melded together, their bodies melting and reforming into two massive, towering beasts, each with three heads. The two outer heads had a sharp set of horns arcing backward over their necks. Long, angular muzzles revealed double rows of sharp teeth when they opened their mouths to roar. One of the outer faces appeared more reptilian, while the other seemed more amphibian. The center head was rounded, like a lioness, with smooth, white scales and no horns, baring a pair of fangs instead of rows of deadly teeth. Their clawed feet churned up sand as they ran. A pair of huge, delicate leathery wings shot out of the upper spine to catch the wind.

  The Chimera veered off sharply, their large, soulless eyes locking on a target as they ran behind Zeus’s diplomatic team. Curious about what they had seen, Mestor moved beyond the Monticore’s protective circle and barely refrained from releasing a bellow of rage. On the opposite side stood several Feteine and three V’Saar. The bugs possessed a thick armored plating over most of their bodies. They had three sets of eyes, an extendable lower jaw, and a scorpion-like tail arched up over their body. They made a formidable enemy if the one in The Gorgon’s holding cells had taught them anything. The difference between these three and the one in their custody was the trio of bright blue stripes over their noses. Mestor was clueless as to what it meant, if anything. The Chimera spewed warning gouts of flame.

  “Poseidon’s balls,” Azaes murmured next to him before ordering Warlord Aspasia to send soldiers to back up the Chimera.

  The rest of the cohort surrounded Zeus’s diplomatic party. Mestor followed Azaes as he pushed his way through the throng, going directly to the two Monticore who held Zeus and Dargon in their arms. Mestor touched Dargon’s bare neck where Alpha should have been.

  “Where are Alpha and the younglings?” Anger made the question a harsh demand.

  Madux moved forward, raising his arm so everyone could see Alpha clinging there, and Mestor breathed a small sigh of relief. Sohm’lan moved with Madux, remaining less than an arm’s length from the large Chi-Lin as he guarded Alpha. With both Zeus and Dargon incapacitated, though secured by the Monticore, the safety of Alpha and the kits he carried was Sohm’lan’s top priority. The blank mask he wore hid his emotions well, except for when Sohm’lan glanced at Zeus. Mestor knew his future amor well, had spent lovesick summers watching him and was able to read the smallest tick in Sohm’lan ‘s expression—if he happened to slip up. That was not an occurrence that happened often, but as Sohm’lan’s gaze raked over Zeus’s limp form, his mouth and the scales around his eyes tightened, practically screaming guilt and worry.

  As Sohm’lan gave his incident report, Mestor grabbed a speaking stone for him, Azaes, and Warlord Aspasia. He wanted to hear these skink Qrxzl himself. The more he listened the angrier be became. He would back any course of action Azaes decided on and he would relish showing the Qrxzl the consequences of harming his brother.

  Azaes flexed his fingers into fists, placing them on his hips. “What is your suggestion? What they have done—”

  Mestor’s speaking stone glowed and he heard the whispering voices layered over each other, becoming a din of sound. “He is here. He has come. He will speak for us.”

  The soldiers shifted restlessly, hyperaware as their gazes roamed the sand dunes.

  “Star Eater comes. He comes. He will tell you. You will see we are right. We are just. We meant no lasting harm.” The Qrxzl sounded relieved, almost gleeful.

  Mestor stared back from where they had come, sensing something… he was not sure what was coming.

  “Who is Star Eater?” Azaes asked as he signed to Warlord Aspasia to be ready.

  Before anyone answered, a tall figure, almost as tall as Madux, strode confidently around the sand dunes following the red paving stones. His hair was so crimson, the color of the stones looked washed out in comparison. The sunlight glinted off the waist-length tresses. His bronze skin shimmered, and his whole being seemed to… shine was the word that popped in Mestor’s mind, but he felt the definition too tame. When the soldiers parted for Star Eater, Mestor took in the upturned dark eyes and long, pointed ears that stuck out of his hair. Much like the Dar Massaga’s, Star Eater’s ears were adorned with multiple piercings. He was dressed simply in a tan short-sleeved tunic and pants with dark thigh-high boots covering his long legs.

  This male carried a power that Mestor had only felt the likes of twice in his life. The first time when Canry had disappeared. The second was when Zeus had been introduced to the Waters of Poseidon. The energy coming off Star Eater in thick waves was not the same but similar and just as strong.

  Unerringly, Star Eater went directly to Dargon and Zeus. His neutral expression turning into a disapproving frown. Star Eater’s thumb brushed the green dot on Zeus’s forehead. With narrowed eyes, he slowly looked around the group. Mestor shifted, instinctually reading the danger signs of a top predator going on alert. He was ready to pounce if the newcomer made any sudden moves. When Star Eater’s gaze stopped on Madux, his eyes widened slightly then his gaze dropped to Alpha, clinging to Madux’s forearm.

  He was not prepared for the bright, toothy smile that broke over Star Eater’s stern expression. “Father!”

  He barely heard the rest of what was said, stuck on that one word. Father. Alpha was a father to this being? He was having trouble wrapping his head aro
und the concept. The two were so different and Alpha so small. Perhaps Star Eater had been brought into Alpha’s family like Zeus had been made a part of theirs?

  Then Alpha said something that would change the universe as Mestor knew it—again.

  “Prince Azaes, Prince Mestor, please meet my son, Star Eater, one of the last members of the species known as the Ancients.”

  He thought he was handling the knowledge that Poseidon was still alive well. Now Alpha casually referenced the Ancients as if it was no big deal. Across the galaxy, all the peoples of the Valespian Pact believed the Ancients, the first people of the Pact, were long dead. How was it that one was standing before them, and he was the son of an Alpha-Zetamite? He needed to sit down, but it would be a long time before he would have that luxury.

  Azaes leveled an expression on Alpha that said he would demand answers later, after everyone had been safely returned to The Gorgon. Mestor would not miss that conversation.

  “Son, would you please examine my bonded? The Qrxzl have injected something into Zeus,” Madux relayed for Alpha.

  Mestor strategically sidled closer to Sohm’lan while Star Eater examined Zeus’s wounded hand, demanding answers from the Qrxzl as to why they would violate the treaty by attacking an Atlaintician prince and the bonded of an Alpha-Zetamite. Alpha Trines were rare and cherished by the Dar Massaga and it seemed the Qrxzl knew exactly what a Trine was and what it meant, and yet disregarded the bond due to their own prejudice. The longer Mestor listened to the conversation, the more his fury built. Azaes practically vibrated with rage.

  Two squat, azure-colored crystals burrowed up from the sand. “We believed him to be a human who had captured and subjugated those you see here.”

  Every single time someone went out of their way to hurt Zeus, their reason always boiled down to how Zeus looked. He was raised Mar’Sani within the Vondorian Family and yet he was constantly judged by his exterior. Quite frankly, Mestor was tired of hearing the excuse used to justify prejudice and bigotry.