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  Azaes made a disgusted noise as if reading his thoughts. He had been thinking about teaching Azaes how to use telepathy, believing their connection would allow his twin to learn. But if his brother was going to be as prickly as a starfish, then Mestor would teach him nothing.

  “Yes, we overcame the remaining V’Saar with ease after you dealt with the S’aae. I just wish there had been another way. Not that you were supposed to lead an away team,” his twin goaded. “Once the Feteine arrived, taking the other Terren battleships was easier. But we did not know that at the time,” Azaes allowed.

  Dr. Solon cleared his throat. “Emperor Valdor and Prince Azaes have a meeting soon. I will make this as quick as possible so you can spend time with Prince Mestor before you start your day.”

  On an overhead vidscreen, Dr. Solon brought up body scans. “The first image is Prince Mestor with the poison and infection when he first arrived. V’Saar venom is fast-acting and he was infected by the slop on the floor, not by direct injection. The samples the medtech brought in with Prince Mestor helped us pin down the substance. He had wounds on his abdomen, the sides of his torso, as well as a puncture on his leg where the venom gained access to his system. That V’Saar blood, or perhaps the substance was something like bile, there were so many corpses that the medtech was not sure—whatever the substance, it acted like a corrosive and burned any exposed areas it touched. The investigation staff have several bodies that they are be studying to find out more.”

  Mestor glared at Azaes, remembering that he had kneeled in the viscus goo without a protective exoskeleton. His twin held up his hands to show Mestor he was not hurt.

  “After I washed, one of the Monticore helped me to heal,” Azaes soothed. “Though the Feteine, Zian, had a small problem with the goo corroding the metal on his feet.” Mestor was impressed by the strength of the V’Saar bile or whatever bi-product was on the floor of the Terren ship.

  Dr. Solon cleared his throat. “The nanites are doing their best to combat the venom. It is very destructive, and we had to give him the maximum nanites allowed for our species, which means his body’s natural defense system fought the nanites. We had to give him an intravenous solution that halted his body’s autoimmune response. Two types of nanites were administered. One dose works at neutralizing and pushing the poison out of his body through his existing wounds. The second wave repairs the damage caused by the venom. His wounds were left open for this purpose and will not be closed until his system is clean. Afterward, the dead tissue will be removed and then I will recommend he spend a day or so in the regeneration tank to reduce the risk of him losing mobility from scar tissue. His gel bandages need to be changed every couple of hours. If the injuries are covered, I will not worry about infection. He needs to remain on bedrest. The blood vessels have been cauterized but they will break open with too much activity. Any blood loss at this point will be devastating to his system.”

  “Once the poison is gone, can we heal the wounds? I have Monticore standing by,” Azaes said.

  Mestor made a negative noise. “No one but my amor puts their mouth on me.”

  “Or we can have a psi-healer see to him, but I still think regen tank time will be more beneficial since you will be missing muscle, skin, and scales. The goo burned away the scales on other parts of your body. If you do not spend time in the tank, then not only will you experience loss of movement from missing muscle groups, you will also have expanses of skin without scales with the possibility of the scales not growing back.”

  Mestor felt the loss of each one, the skin underneath painful and hypersensitive. Even the gel bandage irritated the skin like sand in gill slits.

  “Who will be changing his bandages?” Meme asked, stepping away from Valdor. Ariafella rose, allowing Ashari to take her place next to Mestor.

  “I am sure the staff can handle changing my bandages,” Mestor replied hastily, surprised how raspy his voice was. He did not need his family hovering more than they already were. He only wanted Sohm.

  Meme leaned to press her forehead to his, staring into his eyes with a mixture of fury and relief. Was her ire directed at him since he did board the Terren battleship when he was supposed be at Ares Command, or at the medical staff because they had tweaked her tail?

  “Losing you,” she said softly, “would devastate me in ways you cannot comprehend. I do not want to see if I can survive the loss of another youngling. That you are out of the nest, independent, and a devastating power in your own right does not negate the fact that I would lose my mind if you perished.”

  “I cannot say it will not happen again, but I will do everything in my power to survive,” he promised.

  “I know. Do not misjudge, I am fiercely proud you singlehandedly killed a S’aae.” The gleam in her eyes turned predatory. “Our people will be singing of the battle for centuries to come.”

  Dr. Solon cleared his throat again. “To answer your question, Empress. The staff have been briefed and there will be no more complications. Do not judge the facilities too harshly. They have not handled V’Saar venom before now. Since Prince Mestor has not been anesthetized before, his records did not show he was resistant. He has triggered many ‘firsts’ for the facility. Now that he is no longer in critical condition, things should go much smoother. As a precaution, I will have two Monticore here in the room when you are gone. They can help put him in stasis, if needed, but I do not see Prince Mestor relapsing. But if he does, Emperor Valdor has already given me permission to do what is necessary, even if it goes against the Prince’s wishes.”

  He wanted to argue, but Meme’s forehead was still pressed to his. She watched his expression intently. He understood Father’s reasoning. He did not have a death wish. That did not keep him from being a little disgruntled. He did not know where this aversion to being touched by anyone other than Sohm’lan or family came from, but the compulsion was strong.

  “What would your amor say if you died because you turned down a treatment that could save you?” Meme asked.

  “Being healed by someone is not as intimate as you think,” Azaes added. “I saw you two. My healing was subdued and interesting but not intimate or arousing. I think the attraction you two have been dancing around played a part in the intimacy you experienced with his healing.”

  His twin had a point. Mestor had come to believe that what he and Sohm’lan experienced was something different, special. After speaking with Shaneva in the Dream, he was positive.

  “When were you injured enough to need such a healing?” Ariafella asked Azaes, taking everyone’s attention off him. There was no jealousy or anger in her question, just curiosity.

  “I told you about the Dream and that tailless-skink Nethus,” Azaes leaned up on his elbow. “That was the only time and it was only a couple of minor wounds. Mestor, on the other hand, keeps getting hurt. I think a couple times it was to entice Sohm to put his mouth—”

  Their father clapped his hands, his tail thumping the floor. “We can talk about that later.” His expression said that he would make Mestor reveal every detail. “We have places to be until midday meal. Dr. Solon, I appreciate your time and expertise. I have no doubt that without you, my son would have died from his injuries. I am in your debt.”

  Though Mestor was relieved he would not have to explain to his family how he became injured while on The Gorgon, in a peaceful, non-violent environment, neither did he want to be left behind. He was a terrible, miserable patient. Ask any palace medtech.

  He savored every press of forehead as his family readied to leave. He made Azaes promise to bring him a hearty meal at midday. Valdor remained after everyone left. He sat on the platform and Mestor attempted to sit-up, but his stomach reminded him he was in no condition to be moving on his own. He accepted help from his father, who found the controls that contorted the platform into a more comfortable position. It was almost as good as being cuddled, almost.

  His father picked up a dark canvass bag from the floor and unpacked the contents
. There was a data pad, a comm device, and a couple of Mestor’s favorite treats including candied grasshoppers.

  “I am not going to repeat what your Meme said earlier. Between you and Zeus, I lost ten summers of life this past week. I do not care how old you are, I will always worry over your wellbeing.”

  “I love you too, Father.” Mestor resisted the urge to squirm under his father’s steady gaze. “I am sorry I worried you.”

  Valdor grunted. “Not only do I need to find someone to tutor Zeus on how to control his lightning, we all need to sit down and have the exoskeletons redesigned to last longer than yours did. We also need to find a substance V’Saar bile does not eat through. After watching the vids, the consensus is that your battlemech was compromised before you crossed swords with the S’aae, by those you killed on your way to the mess hall.

  He agreed. “I fear we will cross swords with more V’Saar before the Galactic Imperials can hand over power to the new Galactic Imperials. Even if the grid is strengthened, those caught on this side will still need to be handled.”

  “You are wise, even if you are reckless. The Pact worlds could possibly see battle before all is said and done. We have to plan now.” Valdor pressed his forehead to Mestor’s. “You fought with heart and valor, putting the welfare of your warriors first, giving them the best chance to win against the odds. There is not a Mar’Sani alive who would not be proud to call you son.”

  Valdor rose and crossed to the door, leaving Mestor speechless. Before exiting, he looked back. “I uploaded the vids from Zeus’s battle if you want to see how your brothers protected the pass to Haven.” Then he was gone.

  Mestor breathed through the rush of emotions his father had evoked. Belatedly, he realized that he had not thought to say anything about Shaneva and the Dream. He had given her a vow of silence and found it disconcerting that keeping her secrets was not as hard as he had imagined. At least he would be able to speak openly with Sohm’lan. Besides, his parents had enough strife on their roster, especially with spies on Valespia. He had forgotten to ask about the rest of the battle. His family mentioned things were fine without giving details.

  Shortly after his father left, two Monticore entered his room, and he picked up the data pad. “Have either of you seen Zeus’s confrontation?”

  At their denials, he invited them close while he located the vids. Someone had already placed the clips in sequence in one large file. When he pressed play, Zeus stood at the top of the ramp with Sohm’lan standing next to him. Mestor was entranced from the moment Zeus sang the first note of the war chant.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sohm’lan

  * * *

  They were stuck in Valespia’s wilderness longer than Sohm’lan would have liked. Zeus and Canry continued to sleep, hibernating as Mar’Sani did when they were extremely ill or utterly exhausted. Dargon did not leave Zeus’s side, giving Sohm’lan disbelieving glares when he professed that Zeus was fine. In the evenings, he swam to meet Shaneva and she taught him how to shield himself, so others like Nethus could not easily detect he had quickened. He learned how to direct his energy, which would come in handy if Mestor insisted on charging into danger.

  For several days now, he had been fighting a growing unease. At first, he thought it had to do with a combination of post-battle jitters and worry over the wounded. The healing saliva of the Mar’Sani was put to the test with good success, and their physicians would be scrambling to take a closer look at the new procedure. But as they spent day after day waiting for Valespia’s ground forces, combined with the Feteine, to track down and eliminate the V’Saar threat on the surface, he acknowledged that his disquiet had nothing to do with those under his protection. No, what concerned him was the lack of communication from Mestor.

  He read and re-read the reports Azaes submitted regarding their encounter with the V’Saar on the Terren battleships. There was a vague entry about the wounded, but no other information listed. That, coupled with Mestor’s radio silence, did nothing to ease his concerns. When Azaes updated his location to Valespia, there was still no word about, or from, Mestor and his inquiries went unanswered. His imagination supplied a host of problems and scenarios, each one more horrifying than the last until he was ready to drag Zeus and Canry on pallets through the mountain pass to Haven. Only the news of incoming transports put a stop to his crazy plan.

  Now on the landing pad above Haven, Sohm’lan impatiently waited for Zeus and Canry to be carried from the belly of the ship. The Monticore bristled with menace. No one liked how vulnerable their princes were. Unsurprisingly, Ashari was there when they disembarked and the sight of her helped him rein in his riotous emotions and claim some much needed calm.

  That calm came crashing down the moment she realized Canry was with them, hitting Sohm’lan hard again. For a split second, he could hear her desperate wails as she searched for her son. Her calls were vocalizations he himself could not give; her tears were as his own as she lent her voice to his own sorrow.

  Sohm’lan breathed a sigh of relief as they finally left the landing pad behind and rode down the mountainside to Haven. After a brief confrontation with Princess Athena over Zeus, Ashari took charge of Dargon, Zeus, and Canry. Sohm’lan left in search of Mestor. He was not in his suite of rooms delegated to the Atlaintician royals, but neither was Azaes. Out of time, Sohm’lan rushed to make his debriefing on time. The twins would be present for the proceedings, and having Mestor in the same room, even if he could not take him somewhere to ravage him, would be a welcomed balm.

  Two guards stood in the small antechamber to the conference room. One was a Dire D’Noss who was bulkier than normal. His large lavender eyes watched Sohm’lan intently as he unlatched all his weapons and handed them over. The other was a Ryden, who looked more like a work of art in armor than a competent fighter. Ryden were a willowy, androgynous species who were generally soft-spoken and reluctant to use violence. The being’s skin was pale hues of yellow that sparkled but not as sharply as the gold tinsel-like hair. He wondered why a Ryden, who was probably from the Galactic Imperial’s intelligence department, was playing guard at a high-level meeting. Curious as he was, there was no use mulling over the question when he would find out soon enough.

  The Dire D’Noss accepted his weapons, three fingers curling around the utility belt that held his knife, sword, and pistol.

  “Name?” the Ryden asked, delicate fingers hovering over the data pad.

  “Sohm’lan Myrmidon, Chief Warlord to Emperor Valdor Vondorian of Atlainticia.”

  The Dire D’Noss paused, antenna turning a vibrant blue-green as his red-tinged green eyes snapped back to him. Quickly he put the belt in the safe and hurried back. “Warlord Sohm’lan, we Dire D’Noss have heard much about you from young Kryp.”

  Sohm’lan perked up. “Kryp Istere’Se is here?”

  The corner of the Dire D’Noss’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “His true name is Kryp Brouq’yd’Se. He is the offspring of our Seclord. Kryp took another name for his ill-advised adventure.” Sohm’lan had forgotten the Overlord had said as much. The Dire D’Noss continued. “He and his siblings are precious to both the Seclord and their grandfather, Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se. I am sure both will want to speak to you as soon as they discover you have arrived in Haven.”

  “Emperor Valdor and Prince Azaes will be delighted to meet both in person,” Sohm’lan replied diplomatically.

  “And you,” the Dire D’Noss reassured with confidence. “They will want to speak to you. Kryp is experiencing a bit of hero worship. All he can talk about are the Mar’Sani’s fierce fighting style and about the warlord who looked at him and saw past the subterfuge with one glance.”

  “Plus, he is in love with your empress,” the Ryden added. “He has been working up the courage to invite the Vondorians to late-meal.” He pointed at the Dire D’Noss, lips quirking in wry amusement. “He keeps asking advice from Stroid here and Stroid keeps taking the conversations to his Seclord.”


  “He will not listen when I say his father will take care of introductions.” Stroid shrugged. “He has been too long among the mercs, not daring to trust and demanding to do everything himself. He is too young for such independence.”

  “What is done sometimes cannot be undone,” Sohm’lan replied in Kryp’s defense. The youngling was inexperienced in many ways but mature beyond his age in others. “Kryp learned some hard lessons among the mercenaries and will no longer be as trusting. That he is more self-reliant is not a terrible thing either.”

  He made a note to speak to the youngling about this supposed crush, though.

  “Perhaps I will relay that to my councilperson,” the Stroid replied before the doors to the hallway was thrown open.

  Kryp looked the same, no injuries that Sohm’lan saw. Before he could give greeting, Kryp was wrapped around him like an octopus. “Warlord Sohm’lan!”

  Carefully, he peeled the over-exuberant youngling off him one limb at a time. Kryp never stopped speaking or gave him time to answer his many questions.

  “You are all right. The palace has been abuzz with rumors of how the Mar’Sani protected the pass through the mountains. Everyone is talking about a being from the ocean who sang so poignantly that humans abandoned their quest and threw themselves into the sea. And Prince Zeus! Is it true he singlehandedly killed the largest bug and came away without a scratch? They say that his battle cry called lightning and he only needed to touch the V’Saar to bring them low. I bet that was a miraculous sight to see! Has Prince Zeus returned with you?” Kryp looked around Sohm’lan’s body as if he might find Zeus there. “Do you think he will pose for a picture with me? No one is going to believe I know him or Prince Mestor. I would not have believed Prince Mestor’s battle prowess if I had not been watching the vid with Prince Azaes. That V’Saar was three times his size. When it crushed him, I thought that was the end of Prince Mestor.”