Constant Page 58

  House Cordyl was not a single family, but an organization of people who specialized in a field. Cordyl’s specialization was trade, and the members of the house owned many businesses the traded goods on and off the planet. Timsah’s power grab put all the members of the house under suspicion, and they were willingly giving up Timsah’s secrets to keep from being pulled under with him.

  Since the investigators had started delving into matters, at the end of each day, Mestor sat with Azaes and sorted through the secrets that were not related to Timsah’s treasonous acts. He was disgusted that so much abuse and corruption had been right under their noses, proof that once again farseeing did not protect against or reveal all dangers and though helpful, it was not foolproof.

  Today, though, instead of waiting to give a report at the end of the day, the investigators had called for a Vondorian or trusted representative. Since Sohm’lan’s parents had just arrived, Mestor had not wanted to pull him away from the reunion. Instead, he cleared his schedule to make the meeting.

  He breathed deeply, waiting for his stomach to settle. The owner of the shop at his back had been holding extensive evidence of Timsah’s dealings with his young: Rathmar and his younger siblings, the twins Creon and Damae. The shopkeeper claimed Timsah had the means to push them out of this prime location on the corner of the market square. The merchant did not have the clout to stand against Timsah’s forceful offer to join House Cordyl. They could either join and attempt to keep from becoming mired in the house’s corruption or give up their shop. Knowing it was futile, the shopkeeper still refused Timsah, who then pressured him to sell to House Cordyl.

  Just when the owner thought about caving, he had a visit from Rathmar, who gave him an extensive vid library to keep safe. Rathmar selected two vids of Timsah’s dealings with other house members to have the merchant show Timsah; they were not terrible enough that Timsah would consider exterminating the shop owner, but offered enough leverage to keep Timsah at bay. The rest of the library was evidence of Timsah’s maltreatment of his young and employees who felt they had no other recourse but to endure the abuse heaped upon them. A couple of the vids were from the security system of Rathmar’s and Zeus’s nest.

  Mestor closed his eyes as his temper flared, unable to strike the images from his mind. He was sick to his stomach, Timsah’s cruelty and how he tortured not only Zeus but Rathmar made Mestor wish Valespia had sent Timsah back to Atlainticia instead of keeping him at the Galactic Capital. He wanted revenge, for Timsah to pay for his crimes in blood, sweat, and screams. Why had Rathmar kept this from them? Sohm’lan had said that Timsah had doctored evidence that would protect himself, implicating Zeus with false evidence, or something to that effect. He could not quite recall what was said specifically at the meeting. He had been too shell-shocked that he and Azaes had been so completely wrong about Rathmar and that their parents had withheld information from them as if they were young unable to keep their tempers in check. Mestor considered tearing the shopkeeper’s throat out for not immediately turning the vid library over to palace security, but as quickly as the compulsion came, he stomped it down. The shopkeeper was holding the library for Rathmar, and in exchange Rathmar had ensured that Timsah would leave the shopkeeper alone. The merchant did not know the contents until the investigators cracked the encryption and opened the files. The shopkeeper even had a contract to prove his claim. The most chilling clause of the document was that Zeus was supposed to receive the library if Rathmar or his siblings went missing or died.

  Mestor had made the mistake of flipping through the vids while the investigators took the shopkeeper’s statement, running across vids from Zeus’s and Rathmar’s nest. His temper, as well as his guilt, spiked again. He and Azaes had wronged Rathmar. They would carry the burdens of that mistake with them for the rest of their days. And Zeus, they needed to tell him soon. Their parents were on their way back to Atlainticia for Azaes’ coronation and commitment ceremony. With luck, they would arrive in time to see the kits venture from Dargon’s pouch. With everything going on, when would be the best time to talk to Zeus about any of this?

  The longer they waited, the worse Mestor felt, and now these vids proved that Timsah had targeted Zeus, planning to murder him if Rathmar had not gotten him out of that house. The cost to Rathmar… even Father had not gone into detail on what Zeus’s best friend had endured that night he saved Zeus’s life. Nor did his father tell them of the continuing horror Rathmar had endured over the last five summers to shield his siblings.

  A pair of multicolored antennae caught his attention, yanking him out of his morose thoughts. He needed a distraction and remembered that the palace medic, Vyx, was accompanying Kryp and Matsya to the market. He motioned to his guards and stepped into the crowd that filled the cobbled street. The way Kryp’s antennae waved telegraphed his alarm and caused Mestor to quicken his steps.

  “What kind of nanny are you that the youngling cannot speak?” barked an incredulous voice that made the surrounding crowd hush and stare. A group of young bulls and females stared at Kryp with hostility.

  “The size of that youngling indicates an age at which she should be walking,” added a female, her derision rich and overflowing. “She cannot talk, cannot walk, and yet you are still employed. What is the family name, Outlander? Who would be stupid enough to hire someone like you to care for and teach one of our young?”

  Matsya was sitting in a sling that was looped diagonally around Kryp’s torso, her little face scrunched and her thin, tentacle hair waved madly. Diminutive Vyx stood between Kryp and the group, unflinching when the strangers loomed over him in challenge. “I am the palace medtech and I assure you, her development is—”

  “Subpar,” growled one of the larger bulls. He pushed Vyx, trying to move him to the side. “What family does the youngling come from? We will take her and find a new family to better care for her.”

  Matsya gave a shrieky scream when Kryp caught Vyx, keeping him from falling to the ground. She spit a glob of mucus that landed on the aggressor’s coat sleeve. Mestor could not see Kryp’s expression but was sure the Dire D’Noss had already devised a way to kill anyone who attempted to take Matsya from him. Mestor considered holding Matsya and letting Kryp loose on the group of idiots, but he had been furious all afternoon with no way to vent his frustration. Teaching these fools a lesson appealed to him and put a spring into his step.

  “You dare lay a hand on what is mine?” Mestor roared. The group froze, and he grinned, showing all his needle-sharp teeth as he sprang into their midst.

  All Mar’Sani were trained in combat, starting at the age of fifteen. Some entered the military several summers later and others did not, but most people practiced their martial arts, making the group competent fighters. These were not military trained, however, and were strangely clumsy with their tails. Mestor entered the group with glee, jumping and spinning, using his tail then his hands and feet to deal incapacitating blows. It did not take much effort before his opponents were on the ground, having acquired a few bruises and staring up at him with stunned expressions. He was not even breathing hard and though he wished he’d had a better fight, the release of some of his anger helped to calm him.

  “Captain Hesperos, take the names of these idiots. They and their families are to report to the palace in three days to address their behavior toward my foster daughter and her waterfather. Plus, I want to know if they have taken any other young away from families. If so, I want all parties found.”

  The more he thought about it the more sour his thoughts turned. “On second thought.” He waved over a couple of constables jogging up the street. At least someone had called for help. “I want all of them arrested.” He could not take the chance that they were simply antagonistic and bluffing.

  The bull Matsya spit on hissed and rubbed his sleeve on the cobblestones then quickly took off his jacket. Mestor looked from the scorched hole in the fabric of the sleeve and dress shirt to his foster daughter. As a youngling, she s
hould not look so smugly satisfied.

  “Who in the ten planets do you think you are?” the bull sputtered, throwing his smoking jacket on the ground with an indignant huff.

  Mestor wore the black uniform of a warlord, gerrho’sauridae entwining the sleeves. Perhaps this group was from a more rural area and did not take note of the attire, but it was suspicious that they did not recognize Mestor belonged to the royal family. His scale coloring and red ridge said as much without Mestor needing to announce his title. The blustering bull glared at the constables who went about securing his friends.

  “Do you know who I am? You will regret you ever–” The bull’s ranting stalled as Mestor crouched and slowly released his red barbs. The bristling crest not only gave away his lack of patience but was a warning that the idiot finally understood.

  Only an off-worlder would not understand that the color of his barbs marked him as of royal blood. Matsya squealed and clapped her hands, though Kryp attempted to keep her excited vocalizations to a low pitch.

  The bull continued to stare and then frowned, his gaze darting back to Matsya. Not afraid but calculating. Mestor thought Sohm’lan was being overly imaginative to suspect the Numina had spies among the Mar’Sani. But at that moment, his own suspicions reared up like a snake ready to strike. Next time, he would not so readily dismiss Sohm’lan’s concerns.

  When the bull reached for his belt, Mestor did not think, merely reacted and pounced. The Monticore, ever in sync with his nonverbal cues, rushed the group with him. He was on the blustering bull so quickly, the bull could not evade him.

  Unlike earlier, the bull fought back with a ferocity that gave away skills he had not shown earlier. All pretenses were shed in the blink of an eye. Though the bull fought better, he was still not good enough to take on a warlord in hand-to-hand marital arts. Instead he grappled with Mestor, limiting Mestor’s ability to administer harsh blows that would take his opponent out quickly. Once more, Mestor noted how the bull was not using his tail properly. It was as if he had learned to use it differently, and that thought only confirmed that this bull and his friends were not raised on Atlainticia, and if they were, then not on land.

  Mestor’s mouth watered and his gums tingled as he wished he had the incapacitating bite of his great-grandmother. Some Vondorians throughout the centuries had paralytic venom but the characteristic sometimes jumped several generations before showing up again. The bull was excellent at grappling, as slippery as an eel and not giving Mestor a chance to get in a good strike. He was knowledgeable enough to stay clear of Mestor’s barbs. If Mestor wanted him dead then he could win easily with two blows, but he needed the bull alive to answer questions. This wrestling was not allowing Mestor to end the fight quickly.

  Frustration boiling over, Mestor lunged forward and cracked his brow ridge against his opponent’s and then gave in to the urge to bite, sinking his teeth deep past scales and into muscle, hoping to break the bull’s concentration and allow Mestor to finally get the upper hand. Unexpectedly, the bull convulsed and went slack in Mestor’s grip. He withdrew his teeth from the meaty part of the bull’s shoulder and promptly rolled so that Mestor was on top and he grabbed the shackles a constable held out. Mestor did not stop and really look at the bull until he was secure. Was the bull playing dead, pretending to be cowed? His behavior did not make any sense.

  Vyx knelt next to Mestor and sniffed the bite wound, then looked at Mestor, his expression filled with surprise. “I was not aware you produced a neurotoxin, Prince Mestor.”

  He did not reply, not wanting to give away the fact that he had not known either. His mouth still watered as if he was getting ready to sit down to eat his favorite foods.

  To the constable he said, “Have them stripped of everything before transporting them.” He did not want these strangers close to the water, especially if his suspicions were correct. He would have them taken to a military base on the other side of the mountains.

  He motioned to Captain Hesperos, glad that someone who knew of and understood the danger of the Numina was with him. He stepped to the side, watching in case the constables had trouble subduing the rest of the group. “I want them observed at all times. Keep them separated from each other. They probably can use telepathy so I would spread them out over a couple facilities. Take every precaution you deem necessary. I believe they were after Matsya.”

  Captain Hesperos’s expression darkened. “Can you bite the others? Well, unless your bite poisoned that bull.”

  Mestor immediately understood what the captain was after. If they were incapacitated, it would make transportation easier and they would not know exactly where they were once they reached the location they would be held at.

  He looked for Vyx, finding him standing with Kryp within a circle of Monticore. He waved Vyx over, asking if it would be safe for Mestor to bite all the strangers. When Vyx had smelled the venom, he recognized the scent and immediately knew what it was since the palace medical staff used it in many procedures, making it safe to use.

  Reassured, Mestor went around to those who still struggled against the constables even though they had already been shackled. Methodically, he bit every single one of them, deriving a small amount of sadistic glee as he watched their defiant expressions turn to fear and then go slack as the venom took effect. There was something extremely satisfying about watching their eyes roll back in their heads before their eyelids closed. He had been tempted to grind his jaws and cause them more pain, but gallantly refrained. They had attempted to take his foster daughter in broad daylight, confident that no one would stop them. Had they done this before, snatched a youngling from unsuspecting nannies or parents? He had only suspicions and no proof, but until he could confirm he was wrong he would not take any chances with Matsya’s or Kryp’s wellbeing.

  “I’m so sorry,” Vyx said, wringing his hands. “At first, they were nice, cooing over Matsya and asking questions. Then they turned hostile, acting as if Kryp had done something terribly wrong.” Vyx shuddered. “Do you think they would have taken her, stolen her away like a qalupalik?”

  Mestor frowned grimly, acknowledging, if only to himself, that a Numina could be that youngling-snatching monster. But they were on land in the middle of the city while the shore was not close by. The Numina hated land and those who dwelled there, but that did not mean they could not send teams to watch the Mar’Sani or that they were not stealing young. He scanned the crowd searching for those who moved wrong, who seemed uncomfortable or regarding him with hostility. Vyx seemed to take Mestor’s silence as an affirmative answer and wrapped his arms around himself.

  Taking Vyx by the nape, Mestor steered him to where Kryp was guarded. Captain Hesperos trailed behind them, communicating through a comm-link and bringing additional Monticore to the market square to help with transporting the strangers. Even though he spoke quickly and in a low tone, his gaze was constantly searching the crowd for a threat.

  Kryp rushed to Mestor, his antennae wiggling, the color fluctuating so fast they reminded Mestor of a beacon. Was this a Dire D’Noss trait that called others to a distressed caregiver?

  “Your barbs are much more spectacular in person than in the species drawing we were taught when just out of the egg,” Kryp said enthusiastically. Mestor fought a grin and put a protective arm around him.

  Matsya watched everything with bright eyes from her sling. The device allowed Kryp’s hands to remain free. Even now, Kryp gripped one of his two knives, ready to defend. Dire D’Noss were lethal from the moment they were weaned which was the same time they were freed from their shells. Not many Mar’Sani interacted with Dire D’Noss to recognize the danger, and Mestor had no doubts that Kryp would have killed half of the strangers before being overwhelmed. The two Monticore assigned to him would have increased the odds of his survival, and if Kryp had switched the sling so that Matsya was on his back—Mestor did not want to think about Kryp needing to fight while holding her. They should have been safe no matter where they went on pal
ace grounds or in the city. Matsya chattered non-stop as if she was desperately trying to communicate but only nonsensical noises emerged.

  Mestor looked over the crowd again. If he had sent an extraction team, he would have also sent a second, backup team to make sure the job got done if team one failed. His gums ached again, and liquid pooled in his mouth at the thought of biting every single person who ventured too close to Matsya and Kryp. Biting was not normally his first response to a threat, removing body parts with his sword was, though. But if his bite was paralytic, then that made the removal of limbs much easier.

  He tongued his guns along the roof of his mouth, wondering why he had developed poison after reaching adulthood. Something to ask the family historian.

  “I will stay behind and handle the prisoners,” Captain Hesperos said quietly. “Warlord Zachaios is sending reinforcements and transportation for you.”

  Mestor nodded. “I want more Monticore assigned to Kryp and Matsya. After this incident, I do not foresee them leaving the palace anytime soon.” The palace sat on the edge of the Waters of Poseidon with many ways into the stronghold. They had never worried about a threat from the Great Sea. Now he was seeing weak points in the palace security. He would have to apologize to Sohm’lan for not taking his concerns of spies seriously.

  “When you return to the palace, plan on having late-meal with us,” Mestor advised Captain Hesperos. They would not speak of business while eating, but afterward plans would be made to ensure his youngling and friend remained safe.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sohm’lan

  * * *

  As soon as Sohm’lan’s head broke the surface of the pool, he sensed something was wrong. His mother was playing with Matsya. His Tori sat nearby with Kryp and Vyx. He had not anticipated being gone all day, but his father had been thorough in teaching him how to utilize his quickening, as well as how to fight with a trident underwater. There would be many more lessons to come, but Sohm’lan had a feeling that time was running out. He needed all the help he could get from his father.