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  Sohm’lan’s body went hot then cold as his stomach rolled. Kryp babbled on, oblivious to his sudden changed from relaxed humor to deadly killer in the blink of an eye.

  “Son, you have to take a breath, otherwise the warlord cannot get a word in,” said a calm voice filled with loving humor.

  Sohm’lan had not noticed that another had followed Kryp into the antechamber and though their voice was light and soft, their gaze was sharp, aware that Sohm’lan teetered on the edge of violence. The sight of the towering, intimidating being was the only thing that kept Sohm’lan from shaking Kryp until he told him what had happened to Mestor. Never had he felt this out of control. He was always cool and collected, levelheaded and able to expertly compartmentalize, but the knowledge that Mestor had fought a V’Saar big enough to crush him… he wanted to be sick.

  “Warlord?” He was staring at the floor, hands fisted as he shook. Kryp’s inquisitive face appeared in his view upside down. “What did I say?” Oddly, Kryp was suddenly much older and reserved, the exuberant youngling gone.

  “Prince Mestor?” he all but whispered, terrified of the answer. The lack of communications, the vagueness of Azaes’ initial reports, made sense if Mestor was in critical condition or dead. Please not dead.

  Kryp made a wounded noise and gestured for the guards to keep away as Kryp took Sohm’lan’s arm and ushered him to a corner farther into the room away from the door. The Dire D’Noss who had come with Kryp ignored Kryp’s imperious gesture.

  “You do not know?” he asked and when Sohm’lan shook his head, shame washed over Kryp’s expression. “I am terribly sorry, my friend. I thought—it does not matter what I thought. Prince Mestor is well, though gravely injured. He is in the palace’s infirmary.”

  Sohm’lan had so many questions, the first being why had none of the Monticore stepped up and healed Mestor? He knew it could be done. But before he could ask, the doors to the conference room opened and Valdor stormed through, scowling.

  “Councilmember Drosl Brouq’yd’Xe, glad you could come,” Valdor greeted, his voice more polite than his frown. “Warlord Sohm’lan, have you seen Empress Ashari?”

  Sohm’lan straightened and saluted Valdor with a fist over his heart. “She was escorting Prince Zeus and Prince Canry to their room and should be along shortly.”

  Valdor’s expression brightened for a heartbeat before resuming the stern visage. “Attend me, Warlord.” He then turned and went back into the conference room.

  Sohm’lan bid Kryp farewell and followed, pausing just inside to get his bearings. The large room was circular and tiered downward to an open lecture area. Valdor did not take the stairs or ramp down but walked along the rim to an area behind the massive columns where no one else congregated. This conference room was set up to accommodate the various species of the councilmembers of the Council of Neighn. There was even a blue-green pool for the Kracciam, who could not leave water.

  He followed Valdor, glad to see his best friend well but filled with trepidation at what he would say. When Valdor halted, he spun and grabbed Sohm’lan in a tight, unyielding embrace. He did not balk or attempt to pull away but leaned into his best friend.

  “My old friend, I am glad to see you whole and unharmed,” Valdor whispered. He shoved Sohm’lan out to arm’s length. “How are my sons?”

  “Exhausted, but well.” He paused, unsure if he should ask Valdor about Mestor. They had not discussed when they would approach Valdor and Ashari about being amors, but he did not care anymore. He could not spend half the day in this meeting without knowing more about Mestor’s condition.

  “Mestor?” he croaked out. “Kryp said something about a V’Saar crushing him and that he is in the infirmary.”

  Valdor’s gaze softened more. “He will be fine in time, the doctors believe. He was wounded and poisoned by the V’Saar venom.”

  “He is my amor, Valdor.” Sohm’lan trembled, struggling with his control. He no longer cared about the age difference between him and Mestor, or what others would say of a waterfather who fell in love with his waterson. If Valdor and Ashari disapproved, then he would work to prove to them that he was the best suitor for their son. But he needed his Mestor, his Tori, like he needed to breathe.

  Valdor moved them farther behind the columns before tugging Sohm’lan into another embrace and he leaned into his friend.

  “I am sorry I did not tell you about him earlier. You already had two of my sons in your care who needed your full attention. You would have been distracted and violent, knowing your future mate was injured so severely and out of reach. We bulls do not do well when our mates are harmed.”

  “You knew about us?” Sohm’lan rasped, clutching Valdor’s jacket in his fists, happy that Valdor wore a uniform made from gerrho’sauridae hide, keeping his claws from puncturing the material.

  “When Ashari was pregnant with the twins, a farseeing hit me unexpectedly in the middle of a meeting, leaving me with one of the worst headaches I had experienced since I was an adolescent working though the ins and outs of the family ability. It also left me with the surety that you needed to somehow be tethered to my second born. I knew not why but that is how farseeing is. I made you their waterfather. At first, I believed you needed the connection because you mourned too deeply for Niobe and your youngling. But recently, the farsight has given me glimpses of you and Mestor, and…”

  Sohm’lan knew that pause. There was only so much Valdor could reveal about his visions. Sometimes it was utterly frustrating, and others he worked around since Valdor never withheld information without good reason.

  Valdor gripped the back of his neck and the motion helped to steady him. “Mestor could not have picked a better bull to be his amor. Ashari and I will expect a formal announcement from you two, but know you have our blessing. Now, the sooner this meeting starts, the sooner you can see Mestor and tell him how reckless he was. I am sure he has not heard that enough.”

  Sohm’lan took a breath and squeezed Valdor one more time, not letting go until Valdor grunted. Stepping away, Sohm’lan righted his uniform and smoothed out the wrinkles.

  “Let us wait for Ashari in the antechamber,” Valdor said, motioning for Sohm’lan to lead the way.

  When he stepped from behind the statue, he noted that Kryp and the Dire D’Noss councilmember were at the bottom speaking to Azaes. Kryp must have been watching for him because he straightened, his antennae curling close to his scalp. He lifted a three fingered hand hesitantly. Sohm’lan returned the gesture to let Kryp know all was well. He had a feeling the youngling would be searching him out later, and he found he did not mind.

  A commotion in the antechamber caught his attention, and he saw the two guards physically barring the door to the corridor. A Ryden wearing the cross-body ribbon that identified them as a Council of Neighn member was arguing with the guards.

  “Councilmember Elus Crou’Noos, I will not repeat myself again. This meeting is closed. If you are not on the list of attendees, you are not allowed admittance,” Stroid said, his voice cold.

  Curious, Sohm’lan looked back at the councilmember. The Ryden was a species he only knew the bare basics about. Elus’s skin was a sparkling lavender, his eyes large and golden. Though he looked as much like walking art as the Ryden guard, there was something about Elus that whispered here was a being to be wary of. His gaze was direct and unwavering, almost hostile. The Ryden guard stepped in front of his comrade as Sohm’lan moved so he could support the guards if needed.

  “Councilmember, you know the rules. We will not give you names of those attending the meeting no matter how much charisma you wield.”

  “Surely you can tell me the purpose. It is highly unusual that councilmembers are barred from meetings.” Elus’s voice was soft, almost musical. Peering around the guards, Elus’s tinsel-like hair brushed the floor. “You, sir,” he hurriedly said upon seeing Valdor. Now Sohm’lan understood why a Ryden was given guard duty. Charisma was not a psi-ability, or so said generations
of physicians, so Elus’s charisma hit Sohm’lan like three shots of the most potent Blue Ice alcohol.

  His body instantly relaxed and, when the Ryden smiled, Sohm’lan wanted to grin back. That was a weird compulsion, almost like a siren’s call, but he had been exposed to such for hours only a few days ago and as soon as the coercion touched him it slid off, leaving him frowning and moving to block Elus’s view of Valdor.

  He did not ask questions, just pulled his data pad from his belt and contacted Haven’s security. “This is Conference Room Wolf Star. We need backup. Councilmember Elus Crou’Noos is pressuring the guards and guests for confidential information.”

  He stared unflinchingly as the councilmember huffed and blustered in denial, all the while his sharp eyes glared at Sohm’lan. He had made an enemy. He would make sure this information was passed on to the Galactic Emperors. Elus could just be nosy, but with traitors afoot they could not take any chances.

  There must have been security close by. When Elus turned to storm away, four guards in Haven’s uniforms caught him in only a couple of steps. The two guards in the antechamber turned to Sohm’lan and bowed, thanking him for his assistance. With quick efficiency, Elus was escorted away and two additional guards were stationed outside the door.

  When he was satisfied security was handled, he went back to Valdor. “That is not the first time Elus has attempted to gain access to a meeting I attended,” Valdor murmured.

  “We should report the incident,” Sohm’lan replied, disconcerted.

  “Oh, we will,” Valdor promised grimly.

  The Galactic Emperors and Crown Princes arrived and greeted him and Valdor before entering the inner chamber.

  The door opened again and Empress Ashari entered, unbuckling her weapon belt, then handed it to the guard at the door. Behind her, Princess Athena was walking away.

  “Greetings, Empress Ashari.” The Dire D’Noss accepted her belongings from the door guard and took them to the safe. “You are the last to arrive. I will notify the Galactic Imperials.”

  Valdor crossed to Ashari. Sohm’lan glanced at the time on his data pad, hoping he was wrong, and the meeting would not last as long as he suspected.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mestor

  * * *

  Mestor was restless. He had reviewed the communications Sohm’lan had sent to Azaes sometime that morning. Sohm’lan would be arriving today with the bulk of those stranded outside the mountain pass.

  He was feeling slightly better and was able to use the lavatory and shower on his own, though he trembled with weakness by the time he returned to the sleeping platform. Knowing that Sohm’lan would soon be in Haven Palace was driving him stir crazy. The walls of his room were closing in on him.

  Guilt also plagued him since he had not sent any communications to his amor. Sohm’lan did not need any additional distractions while on the edge of a wilderness that might harbor stray V’Saar. That his father and Azaes had come to the same decision did not alleviate the gnawing guilt that continued to eat at him despite knowing his silence was the correct action. So, he read through Sohm’lan’s communications and watched the few reporting vids. He also watched the vid of the battle so many times he had it memorized. Sohm’lan’s expression of sheer terror when Zeus jumped in front of that Hunter would forever be etched in Mestor’s memories. Sohm’lan was usually a rock, emotions hidden from everyone while logic and order ruled. He had lost his composure in public only one other time that Mestor recalled, and that was when Canry had disappeared.

  He ground his teeth together. He wanted Sohm’lan and was losing all patience. He wanted to pace. He wanted to be there when Sohm’lan’s transport landed. He had memorized the day’s schedule and was aware Sohm’lan only had a short span of time from when he arrived to make his debriefing.

  Captain Hesperos stood in the corner closest to the door while the second Monticore was next to his sleeping platform. Both were ignoring his sharp hisses as he uselessly adjusted the bedding. He was tired of the room and the people coming in periodically to change his bandages and make him drink nutrient solutions for the nanites.

  An idea struck him, and he rose from the sleeping platform and packed his things in the duffle his father had left him. But before he could follow through with his ill-advised plan of escape, Dr. Solon and Ariafella were at the door. He nudged the bag under the platform with a foot, trying to look innocent.

  Dr. Solon was distracted but Ariafella narrowed her ruby eyes. “Azaes could not come, and I told him I would keep you company,” she said as she ushered him back to the platform. She wore deep blue robes that made her scales appear a brilliant white. The red belt that matched her eyes and the silver circlet were the only splashes of additional color. It was not lost on him that she wore Azaes’ colors as Atlainticia’s Heir Apparent.

  Her formal dress said she would be attending to Atlaintician business later. Mestor was jealous.

  Dr. Solon approached the platform with a set of clippers and a tray of new gel wraps. “We will also be doing a few scans to see how far along the nanites have come. Their progress has been good and if all goes well, then we should be able to schedule your time in the regen tanks in a day or so.”

  He was tired of hurting, but he would not complain. He did refuse pain blockers since he did not like how they made him feel. Dr. Solon removed the soiled bandages, the smell coming from the wounds was nauseating. Ariafella took his hand and he immediately felt soothing waves of calm and reassurance. He needed that. Every time he looked at the gaping, ragged injuries he was reminded how close he came to being gutted. The dark, scaleless skin looked puffy and bruised, the tears along his sides and across his belly were inflamed. A brown fluid seeped from the wounds, the poison being pushed from his system, and the doctor wiped it away, lightly prodding the tender flesh. The hole in his thigh where he had fallen on a broken table leg was just a gruesome as the claw wounds.

  “You will need to step away while I run the scans,” Dr. Solon told Ariafella.

  She gave Mestor a soft smile and rose, taking with her the sense of calm. Mestor clenched his hands and remained still as a large device lowered from the ceiling. He could barely discern the noise as it ran through the protocols. Across the room, the vidscreen lit up with one-dimensional views, each one different from the others. Dr. Solon’s body language gave away that something alarmed him.

  “What is it?” he asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

  “One moment, please, Prince Mestor, there are two more scans to go,” Dr. Solon replied not glancing at him.

  When the device retreated to its casing, Ariafella retook her seat on the platform next to him, reclaiming his hand. Her expression said they could get through anything, he knew that, but he had spent the last several days vulnerable in one way or another. But he could not take his frustration out on the person who had made sure he had survived. He waited as Dr. Solon re-bandaged his wounds.

  “Most of your scans are good. The nanites’ progress removing the poison is better than I had anticipated. Others show the injuries the poison caused and the nanites report almost no issues.”

  “You said, most,” he prompted.

  Dr. Solon grimaced. “Do not misunderstand. You will survive and have little to no complications that we can tell. But the V’Saar clawed you close to your reproductive system. That, along with your perforated bowel and the blood poisoning, were our main worries. The bowel was repaired, and its contamination taken care of right away. You are healing well, but with the venom and that sludge that was circulating through you when you first arrived clouded some areas on the scans. Only now are we getting accurate data on those obscured areas. The highest concentration was here,” Dr. Solon touched Mestor’s lower abdomen just above his groin.

  Mestor swallowed hard. “What? Am I… am I impotent?”

  “No, the tissue and blood supplies are not impaired. But your testes are severely damaged. We will not know how badly until after you have spent t
ime in the regen tank. If the organs are dead, they will not regenerate. There is a high chance that even if the organs survive that you will be sterile.”

  He did not know what to say. That was not what he was expecting. He thought one of his other organs had been damaged beyond repair, so relief warred with worry.

  He needed some clarification. “Are my testes the only remaining internal issues? No other—”

  “No, the harm the venom caused was not beyond what could be repaired by the nanites,” Dr. Solon reassured.

  “I do not understand why it is not the same for my testes.” He squeezed Ariafella’s hand, wishing Sohm’lan was with him.

  “It is a part of the venom’s purpose. Certain V’Saar can subvert their victims and make them into a sect of sexless servants. The venom attacks the sex organs and then the brain. These hybrids become a part of the V’Saar hive, doing for the V’Saar what the bugs cannot do for themselves, such as manipulate devices not designed for them. We do not know why the victims are made sterile. Perhaps it keeps their numbers down and reduces the chance of rebellion. There are others who are researching this.”

  “Is there anything I can do to encourage healing?” he asked, looking for a way to improve his chances of fathering young. Even though he had stored sperm at the surrogate agency and he had not planned to build a family for another ten summers or so, to lose the ability altogether…. He could not wrap his mind around the possibility.

  He did not know how long he had been lost in his thoughts. When he blinked, Ariafella was thanking Dr. Solon and walking him to the door. When she turned back to him, he did not see any pity, for which he was grateful.

  “You and Sohm will need to make a formal announcement. Those playful limpets you entertained the last several summers will not believe you are claimed and will pursue you. Many houses would then be wearing veils of mourning for I cannot see Sohm allowing such trespasses to go unchallenged. He will be utterly brutal with those first would-be-suitors, making sure there are no further misunderstandings.” Though Ariafella’s voice held a grave note, her eyes gleamed with laughter.