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  “Does Azaes know how bloodthirsty you are?” Mestor chuckled, relieved to put the issue of his health aside for the time being.

  “I would not describe myself as bloodthirsty. I am my father’s daughter and he raised me to be utterly ruthless. I happen to believe it is one of the reasons Azaes loves me.” Her grin was unrepentant.

  She glanced at the display on the vidscreen and made a disappointed sound. “My meeting starts soon. I must go.” She pressed her forehead against his and caressed his cheek. “The Galactic Imperials received word that Sohm’lan’s transport would arrive early and moved up the debriefing. He landed about half an hour ago.”

  She quickly rose and hurried to the door. “It is a closed meeting and will most likely last the rest of the day. Zeus and Canry came with Sohm’lan and both are in a healing sleep. Expect everyone to visit you this evening after the meetings.”

  Once the door closed, Mestor moved to the edge of the platform. Captain Hesperos handed him an extravagantly-colored robe from the closet. “We have little time to locate the warlord before he will be sequestered. I do not expect you will be turning down our help.”

  Smiling in relief that he did not have to fight with his guards to leave the infirmary, he dressed as quickly as he was able. Though he was excited to see his younger brothers, Mestor needed Sohm’lan. If he could make it to Sohm’lan’s apartments without shaming himself by fainting, he would be a happy bull. He almost squawked a denial when a Monticore brought in a hoverchair.

  “You are delusional if you think you are going to get anywhere quickly by walking. I know you do not like others to see your vulnerability, but it is either this or we wait until after the meetings,” Captain Hesperos chided.

  He grudgingly acknowledged the truth in the captain’s statement. He could not walk long distances. Trips to the lavatory left him weak and shaking. Captain Hesperos retrieved the bag he had kicked under the bed and set it on his lap when he sat.

  Captain Hesperos spoke into his comm-link, and Mestor listened to his guard clear the way for him out of the infirmary, making his escape quite uneventful. First, they headed to the quarters set aside for Sohm’lan, but they found nothing, not even a scent of Sohm’lan’s pheromones. Then he was taken to the suite of rooms set aside for him and Azaes. There, he caught Sohm’lan’s scent and there was luggage set on the inside of the double doors covered in Sohm’lan’s pheromones.

  “He came here looking for me.” Mestor’s heart thumped hard and fast with his growing excitement.

  “Upon not locating you, he would probably head to the meeting rooms. I have the location if you want to try and catch him before the debriefing starts,” Captain Hesperos offered.

  “If you know where to find him.” Before he finished the sentence, Captain Hesperos and his six guards were moving him back through the broad, high-ceilinged halls. Though no windows were open, the humidity was thick. Any other time, he would have found the sight of the multitude of waterfalls and deep pools visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows a beautiful sight, but his mind was not on the austere beauty of the palace but on seeing Sohm’lan again.

  Captain Hesperos stepped ahead of the group as they neared a closed doorway guarded by a Dire D’Noss and a Ryden.

  “I am sorry,” the Ryden said, “but if you are not on the list, you are not allowed entrance.”

  “The meeting has already started?” Captain Hesperos asked.

  Mestor deflated. They had not been quick enough. Something cracked open in him and he could barely breathe. He’d had such high hopes. He had no doubt his meme would be knocking down his door if he made a spectacle.

  “I am sorry,” the Dire D’Noss replied, his gaze on Mestor. “You resemble the Atlaintician Heir Apparent.”

  “I am his twin,” Mestor replied, suddenly exhausted.

  “Would you like to leave a message for Prince Azaes?” the guard offered.

  He could imagine the disruption he would cause when his family found out he was not in the infirmary. “That will not be necessary,” he replied.

  They moved away from the doorway before Captain Hesperos asked where Mestor wanted to go. “Take me back to the infirmary,” he replied, even though returning did not appeal.

  Before they rounded the corner, a door behind them opened. He turned, hope flaring before it was dashed once again. Kryp was leaving the meeting room. Mestor supposed Kryp’s undercover mission was part of the investigation to uncover the plot to keep the Bespoken from returning to Valespia. When Kryp’s bright eyes rested on him, he wondered how much dignity he would lose by telling his guards to run with his hoverchair?

  “Prince Mestor!” Kryp rushed to his side, stealing Mestor’s only chance to escape. “You are supposed to be in the infirmary! What are you doing here?”

  He bared his teeth at the youngling and got a beaming smile back.

  “Your family said you were still very ill,” Kryp continued as if Mestor was not trying to ignore him. “When I told Warlord Sohm’lan about you, I thought he was going to snap off my antennae.” The appendages in question turned a deep green hue. “He had not heard you were wounded. My caregiver—parent as you would say—chastised me after Emperor Valdor took Warlord Sohm’lan away. I am terribly sorry I upset him. Your warlord has been generous to me and I repaid his kindness by causing him extreme distress.” As he spoke, the vibrant youngling had begun to droop, even his antennae hung over his brow, looking quite wilted in his dejection.

  “I decided that after I gave my statement, I would come visit you and keep you company. Surely Warlord Sohm’lan will once again look upon me with respect if I guard his mate until he comes.” Kryp’s huge powder-blue eyes stared imploringly at Mestor.

  He did not want to be responsible for entertaining the wayward and impulsive youngling of the Dire D’Noss overlord’s family line. He snarled grouchily when he realized he could not turn Kryp away. When he met Captain Hesperos’s gaze, his guard grinned as if taking pleasure in Mestor’s predicament.

  “Are you still returning to the infirmary, Prince Mestor?” Captain Hesperos asked much too innocently.

  “I want to go to my suite.” He would not be able to stay for long since he needed his nutrient solution, and someone to change his gel bandages. He just could not spend any more time in that small room, not if Kryp was coming. Being trapped with the Dire D’Noss would strain his patience too much. Plus, Sohm’lan’s scent was in his rooms. He would not spend too much time away, he promised himself.

  Kryp’s expression sharpened but he said nothing. Instead, he kept up a steady one-sided conversation as he walked next to Mestor’s hoverchair. All the while, Kryp’s gaze kept sweeping the area, his three-fingered hand on his belt knife in a protective gesture that Mestor found cute. He was a minnow acting as if he were a barracuda.

  “My grandfather was—is—very upset with me. He thinks me too young to do anything important. My homeworld is even farther than Atlainticia from this solar system. He commanded me to stay here with my caregiver. He wants to retrieve me himself, especially after he confirmed Valespia was under siege. Your father was kind enough to send out vids of the siege to the planets of the councilmembers, informing them of what had been transpiring. When my grandfather watched the vids of the V’Saar piled in the corridors of the Terren battleships, well, he was displeased to hear I followed Prince Azaes to help you.” Kryp sounded like a youngling caught stealing fish before late-meal.

  Mestor was pleased he could tell when Kryp was embarrassed by the color of his antennae. “To be loved like that is a gift to be cherished,” he counseled.

  “His love for us does not embarrass me. If you know anything about my people, you know that there are some who care not for our wellbeing. Our caregivers are exceptional beings compared to those who created us. I always strive to be like Grandfather Wrik. There are none like him.”

  “Perhaps he only wishes for you to be yourself.” Mestor felt like he was channeling Sohm’lan. “He obviousl
y adores you just as you are.”

  They arrived at his shared suite and several guards entered, clearing the rooms before Mestor was brought inside. Kryp seemed to be taking his words to heart, staring almost vacantly in thought.

  The chaise looked fluffy and comfortable and he directed the Monticore to take his hoverchair to the sitting area instead of the sleeping chamber. He was so tired of sleeping platforms. Soon enough, he would be back in the infirmary, but until then he would enjoy this.

  With a sigh, Mestor leaned back into the mound of stiff brocade pillows, soaking in the sense of freedom, false though it was. The size of the sitting room added to the feeling of calm he’d had trouble grasping since arriving in Haven. The infirmary room had felt as if the walls would collapse in on him, especially with two people with him at all times.

  Kryp sat on the love seat closest to Mestor. “You could be correct. We Dire D’Noss are always striving to be the best at everything, from fighting to exercising wisdom. Grandfather Wrik leads our people for good reason. He is the wisest and no one can stand toe-to-toe with him in a fight. Plus, he has spent years helping our people change our culture.”

  Mestor’s brain was having trouble deciphering what Kryp meant. He should know what the youngling was talking about, but thinking was getting difficult. He blamed the pain nullifiers Captain Hesperos had given him, insisting he take them before they left the infirmary. He should have retired to his room where Kryp would not dare follow but instead Mestor attempted to play the good host.

  “He has convinced newer generations to change loyalties?” He was not sure that was correct. He had delayed reading about the Dire D’Noss to pursue Sohm’lan. It made him a bad warlord, but in the end, Sohm’lan had become his, so he refused to feel guilty about shirking his duties.

  Kryp sniggered and hiccupped, his laughter causing him to fall on his side on the loveseat. “I am sure that his generation and older would view the change that way.”

  Sitting up, Kryp smoothed out his short robes and took off his over-the-knee boots revealing a set of stockings that were brightly striped in every known color. Some were probably on a spectrum Mestor could not see appropriately.

  “We are a highly competitive species and I have sat through more than one late-meal, listening to grandfather rhapsodize about redirecting our competitiveness to more fruitful endeavors. For so long we have idealized the strongest, most vicious of us, striving to be better than them. He has said many times that we can be more, accomplish more than fighting other species’ battles. He is an advocate of taking our natural competitiveness and finding new targets for us to overcome and specialize in. Those who choose to find their futures on our homeworld, Sirbolli, idolize him, and the people listen to him, willing to try something new.”

  “Wise male, especially since the Dire D’Noss in the mercenary guilds are garnering deadly reputations as outlaws and pirates.” Mestor mumbled, closing his burning, tired eyes. “You are lucky to have such a good leader who sees the potential for growth, instead of capitalizing on behaviors that will be detrimental to your homeworld in the future.”

  Kryp made a noise that Mestor could not decipher. “He always said those complacent in the status quo gave him the power he has now. He had explained it, but I did not know what he meant until I joined the mercenary guild as a secret agent for my caregiver. I have never spent time with others that held onto the old ways. Our females are quite vicious but the older ones I found to be more so. Several generations ago, the females began to pair that viciousness with pettiness. Our people have many sexual orientations, and a good portion of those who became renowned warriors had no interest in breeding, ever. The females knew this but still pursued the warriors, sure they could seduce even those who had no desire to participate in the breeding pool. Rebuffed, the females had to pair with ‘lesser’ warriors, which made them more petty. Dire D’Noss offspring are little more than savage beasts when they are weaned from the egg. In the past, offspring-less males who permanently resided on our homeworld were chosen to foster the offspring, taming them. When the parents returned, they took their adolescent offspring offworld into the mercenary guild.”

  Kryp sighed. There was more rustling and Mestor opened an eye to see Kryp lying down, curled up on the loveseat.

  “It became a trend for the petty females to leave the offspring with those who had shunned them. Grandfather was one of those males who turned down breeding. The first time the offspring were left with him, he saw an opportunity. He taught them the value of loyalty, and sacrifice. He showed us that we were capable of love and compassion, that we were worth more than what we accomplished. My caregiver, our Seclord and Councilmember, is from that generation. We honored our caregivers, unlike the generations that came before. We were raised in large families, which I think was necessary in the beginning. Fifteen offspring were left with Grandfather Wrik that first year of change, and there were more every year afterward. We are still competitive, especially with each other, but at the end of the day we stand together, and we lift each other up instead of trying to tear each other down. Our strength is our bond with each other. Sometimes, I forget that. And perhaps spending too much time listening to offworld rhetoric from guild Dire D’Noss caused me to doubt myself.” Kryp gave a loud sigh. “You are a good friend, Prince Mestor, for reminding me I am loved.”

  Mestor frowned. He had said no such thing, only allowed Kryp to ramble on about his people because he was too exhausted to participate in the conversation. Kryp had come to that conclusion himself.

  Younglings.

  He meant to snort but yawned instead, listening to Kryp ramble on about the overlord coming to Valespia. The Feteine had agreed to help the planetary leaders travel quickly to Haven for the super-secret meetings that Kryp was not supposed to know about.

  Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se should either recruit Kryp as a spymaster or find something else to keep him busy. Kryp sounded like a youngling who would walk into trouble simply because he was bored.

  Mestor breathed out, relaxing. Perhaps he could nap before he returned to the infirmary. The medicine Captain Hesperos had given him banked the ball of fire in his abdomen. Kryp’s rambling kept him from dwelling on Sohm’lan, mostly. He was safe here. Who would have the audacity to tangle with the Monticore? Someone insane, obviously.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sohm’lan

  * * *

  Sohm’lan stared at the infirmary staff, sure he had not heard them correctly. “What are you saying? An injured Prince of Atlainticia is missing and you notified no one?”

  The staff did not answer but several flinched. Valdor had told him they had been dealing with his and Azaes’ tempers. When Mestor was brought in, Valdor had yelled loud enough to cause them to cower like a herd of gazelle. They had to be desensitized to the bellowing of the Mar’Sani bulls by now, which was good. That meant he did not have to chase them down in order to ring answers from them. How had they lost his amor?

  “His guard notified us they were taking the prince for a stroll. The head physician, Dr. Solon, approved as long as they used a hoverchair, which they had already requested. They said they would return in time for his bandage change, which is not for another hour.”

  Sohm’lan scrubbed his hand over his face, hissing his frustration. He should not terrorize the palace medical staff more, but he really wanted to rage.

  For the debriefing, Valdor had made sure Sohm’lan went after Kryp’s quick and succinct recap of his stint with the mercenaries tracking the Fal’Amoric. The youngling was released and told he would have a later meeting after his data chips were reviewed. Sohm’lan could barely remain calm as he was debriefed, answering questions from not only Valespia’s intelligence but from the Galactic Emperors and Crown Princes. After several hours, he was dismissed and informed he would be recalled later as well. He did not care. He only wanted to see Mestor but was cruelly denied when he walked into the empty infirmary room. The staff was unconcerned over Mestor
’s prolonged absence. Valdor had told him they had not closed Mestor’s various injuries and why, which meant his amor was traipsing around Haven Palace in no condition to do anything but sleep and eat.

  The medtech was a Ryden, and they attempted to calm Sohm’lan. Ryden had a way of soothing people in high-stress situations. Sohm’lan did not want or need their help. He would be fine once he found Mestor and wrung his neck before bringing him back to the infirmary for treatment.

  “At what time did he leave his room?” he asked with as much patience as he could muster.

  The answer they gave made him pause, stealing any angry response he would have dealt. Mestor left his room shortly before the meeting began. Had his amor gone searching for him? Had they somehow missed each other in the hallways?

  Hurrying, he rushed to his rooms. The faintest hint of Mestor hung in the air outside his door and stronger on the inside, but there was no Mestor. The corridors for the Atlaintician royals and guests were guarded by Basilisc who had travelled with Empress Ashari. The majority of the Monticore had been with Valdor and on The Gorgon when she left Atlainticia, so Ashari had absconded with the palace guards for hers and Ariafella’s protection during their offworld travel. There were eight and they stood at attention, allowing Sohm’lan to pass without challenge.

  If Mestor was not waiting in Sohm’lan’s suite, perhaps he went to his own. His guess was confirmed when he turned the corner to find another eight Basilisc outside the princes’ suite where he had dropped off his bags earlier.

  When he went to enter, his way was blocked. The hulking Basilisc did not flinch at his glare. “Sorry Warlord, Captain Hesperos said Prince Mestor was not to be disturbed.”