Sūnder (Darksoul Book 1) Read online

  A’yrē stared at his palm for a second, his awe evident, before he turned his gaze to Sūnder with a wide grin. “No. I shall call you if I need you. When this is over, we are going to talk about the abilities you have been hiding from me.”

  “I shall pack my bags and take my leave while you hold the conference, then.” On the verge of being emotionally overwhelmed, Sūnder fled the room before they could say anything more.

  In the foyer, the druids waited, along with a still-restrained Tālia. The druids had always been courteous to him, and he returned the favor. He’d wondered if his being half dròw was the reason for their careful neutrality, but now wasn’t the time to make inquiries.

  Sūnder bowed deeply to Mèlindria. “Wise one, I hope to see you again in better circumstances.” Tālia made a disgusted noise but he ignored her, instead climbing the stairs to the second floor.

  As he packed, Sūnder thought over what he knew, forming plans, guessing at motives and actions. Valiant needed to decide soon what they would do, before word of Tālia claiming him as her son spread past the knights. There was no doubt L’fÿns would revolt if Valiant named him as heir. Why would Tālia want to start a civil war? Were the people of the Nellá enclave hiding something the druids wished to bring to light? Sūnder could look at the surface of the day’s events and form hypotheses of the different directions Tālia’s actions could lead her people in, but he was no savvy courtier, and certainly unfamiliar with the machinations of both the L’fÿn or Panthrÿn courts.

  Sūnder was a battlefield commander, and while war and politics often mixed, usually the politics were that of other planets and species, with Zëliāns sorting out what had occurred behind the scenes to cause the war. Sūnder’s only responsibility was to bring the fighting to an end and broker a short-term peace treaty, giving the Zëliāns time to pound out something more long term for all parties involved. A’yrē and Valiant were far better equipped to discover the truth of the matter.

  Sūnder filled a bag quickly, knowing the house butler would send his remaining belongings to wherever he settled. Perhaps he’d stay in a hotel in the city. Or he could take a shuttle to his ship… A slow smile lifted the corner of his lips.

  Or he could seek Gabe out and invite him to dinner.

  “Sūnder.”

  Halting in midmotion at the sound of Valiant’s voice, Sūnder stood, his heart skipping a beat. The sound of the bedroom door softly snicking shut caused him to turn around. Was this where Valiant, his father, explained why he couldn’t claim Sūnder publicly, regardless of the door Tālia had opened for them? He needn’t bother; Sūnder already understood. For too many seasons he had purposely shied away from the hope Valiant would one day acknowledge him, the hope of calling A’yrē brother. Such a little thing to want, and he knew, he knew, that he would never be able to have it without causing a civil war.

  Even in travel clothes Valiant had a regal bearing. His midnight skin was flawless, his wide cheek bones and square jaw accentuated by his bright blue eyes and perfectly placed, honey-gold corkscrew curls making Valiant the epitome of handsome in Panthrÿn circles, stunning in Chándariān culture. Next to Valiant and A’yrē, Sūnder felt as if the Gods had hastily slapped him together.

  Valiant crossed the room and pulled Sūnder into a tight embrace, startling him, and didn’t release Sūnder when he struggled. Valiant never, ever touched him. This show of affection just wasn’t done. If they were caught, Valiant wouldn’t be able to deny anything and there would be a war.

  A couple of seconds passed before Sūnder realized Valiant was speaking to him.

  “It shall be all right, my son. I’m not letting you go. Now that they have given you back to me, I shall challenge any who try to steal you away again. You’re mine, and I’ll tell all who will listen. Somehow, I will make those lost seasons up to you. I should never have let my father convince me this was the only way to keep peace. I’m sorry, my son. I should have fought, but I only wanted you freed from harm. Thrice they sent assassins to take your life before you were even six months old, and I needed you to be safe. But now you’re mine, and I will die before they take you from me again.”

  Sūnder gave in, squeezing Valiant tightly, only letting up when his father grunted. As commander of the royal fleet, he should have reminded Valiant the brink of war loomed over them. His responsibility was to be the voice of logic for his king. Intellectually, he understood the politics behind the accords his grandfather had brokered, but bitterness and anger at the unfairness of it all had grown within him over the seasons. Whether in public or private, Valiant hadn’t ever acknowledged their blood tie, and Sūnder had believed that this moment, the moment when his father called him son, would never come. Except the time had come, and he was terrified, holding on for all he was worth.

  Reluctant, Sūnder eventually released Valiant. “Father,” he whispered aloud for the first time.

  Valiant’s smile, jubilant and unrestrained, showed his teeth, pride written strong upon his features. “Tālia was furious with me when I stole you away. Her father threatened war. Tālia took her animosity a step further by demanding I never claim you as my son, publicly or privately, knowing full well how much that would hurt me every time I saw you.”

  Sūnder was swamped by guilt. He’d never known Valiant had hurt the same as he.

  Valiant clasped Sūnder’s nape. “Now that she has broken the accords, I won’t go back to how it was before. The road ahead of us will be hard, however we are Bálsari, and we shall prevail. But beware, I suspect Tālia’s outburst wasn’t an accident. Something else goes on among the L’fÿns.”

  “What date has been set for the druid’s meeting?”

  “As of this moment, a week after the Festival concludes. The timing allows all who find mates at the Festival to settle into their new matebonds before they come together for the gathering.”

  Sūnder nodded. “Do you think L’fÿns will send darkhunters for me now that my parentage has been made public?”

  The L’fÿn hatred of faeborn males bordered on irrational. When the Accords were forged, Sūnder’s Panthrÿn grandfather, King Leänther, insisted that if Valiant were to lose an heir, then L’fÿns must surrender all faeborn males to the Panthrÿn as soon as they were born. Due to the low birth rates, meticulous records were already being kept of each pregnancy; after the Accords, L’fÿns were required to give birth in medical facilities, witnessed by a druid and a king’s official who rescued the child if it was a faeborn male.

  As a curious young cub who could smell his relationship to the king’s heir, Sūnder had often spied on Leänther and Valiant. On one such childish expedition, he had overheard how the faeborn children placed with Panthrÿn couples were dying of supposed “accidents”, and how they planned to thwart the DarkHunters by placing the children further away from E’drijān. Some would disappear into the vast deserts with Faelÿns, others be adopted by families offworld. Granted, each faeborn male was birthed almost a season apart, but that had still given more than twenty-five children a chance at life.

  Valiant sighed heavily. “I’m afraid darkhunters are a real possibility. L’fÿns are afraid of you being declared my heir. Only Válora’s adoption of you stopped the assassination attempts in the first place. Just in case, I’m sending a few of my personal knights with you.” Sūnder wrinkled his nose at the thought of his father’s safety being weakened by the loss of strong arms. Valiant laughed. “Yes, my son, I am well aware you can take care of yourself. Allow me this one indulgence. If the L’fÿns made a move and you were hurt, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “As you wish, Father. And I shall try to stay hidden until at least the Festival.” Even though Sūnder could defend himself, he was warmed by Valiant’s worry. The sensation felt odd, but was welcome. Sūnder blinked at the fond look Valiant gave him.

  “That is all I can ask. Now, I need to speak to Mèlindria. Perhaps she will give me a hint of what is to come. I think it is obvious that at least the noble
house of Nellá already knows more than I.”

  “Are there really that many dròw converging on Earth? Surely all they want is to attend this conference the High Druid called.” Dròw made up only a small percentage of the L’fÿn population, but even then, the image of them all on the move was staggering.

  “I’m afraid so. My contact tells me there is civil unrest in E’drijān, but the specifics are being held close to the dròw breast. I’m hoping Mèlindria will shed some light upon the situation. In the meantime, touch base with me or A’yrē if anything unusual happens, or if any dròw contact you.” This time, Sūnder didn’t struggle when Valiant drew him into a fierce hug, instead returning the embrace wholeheartedly.

  Holding Sūnder still, Valiant ran the ridges of his nose from Sūnder’s chin to his ears several times, marking him, claiming Sūnder for all Chándariāns to scent. Sūnder swallowed convulsively at the tender, fatherly touch.

  “I shall stay out of harm’s way,” he promised. Stepping away to quickly finish his packing, Sūnder then shouldered his bag. As he left the room, Sūnder felt a great deal lighter in spirit than he had when he’d entered.

  In the hallway, A’yrē and Válora waited.

  “Mother.” Sūnder beamed, taking her into his arms. When he released her, reassuring her he would be careful, he got an armful of excited A’yrē. Sūnder laughed loudly.

  “Finally, my brother,” A’yrē breathed. Clapping Sūnder on the arm, he glanced at the bag over Sūnder’s shoulder. “Come on, I shall walk you out.”

  Leaving the house with the knights smartly coming to attention, fists clenched over their hearts, was surreal. He’d known there had been knights present when his father ran with him from the people of Nellá, but he’d never known which ones, as they’d been sworn to secrecy. Many of them had likely already moved on or retired, but there were a few knights whose expressions weren’t filled with the same awe as the others’. Instead, they radiated a deep pride, each giving him a slight nod of acknowledgment. Sūnder struggled to fight the urge to pull them aside and ask of his birth, to hear from them what had happened that day. But now was not the time.

  At the vehicle, the driver took the duffle from him. Sūnder embraced his cous— no, brother, again, burying his face in the soft curls of A’yrē’s mane. “If you need me, call me. I shall bring my men immediately,” Sūnder whispered.

  “I shall,” A’yrē promised, his voice holding the sound of a smirk. “Don’t get into any trouble with your nurse.”

  Sūnder said nothing, only released A’yrē with a wide grin and climbed into the transport with the four knights assigned to him.

  5

  THE CROOK OF Gabe’s elbow was tender. He could have sworn the techs who’d drawn his blood were trying to drain him dry, as much as they’d taken. Did they really need that amount to run tests?

  When he and Ronan had approached the center with their invitations, he’d half hoped they were too late. Most people got their testing done months in advance, not a couple of weeks prior to the Festival when the events were already under way. But the perky receptionist had ushered them in to separate rooms with a bright, cheery smile. They’d spent all day taking cognitive tests and answering questionnaires, and he’d spoken to a shrink who gave him the stink eye through the whole hour. He’d thought his issues with being abandoned by his parents would bar him from the Festival. Nope. He’d passed, and the only things pending were the blood tests.

  His best friend stumbled through the swinging reception door an hour later looking exactly how Gabe felt.

  “I’m starving!” Ronan announced when they stepped outside onto the sidewalk. “For a moment there I thought they’d keep me overnight.”

  Dusk was falling fast, so they picked a deli within walking distance.

  Ronan’s shoulder brushed his as they walked. “That questionnaire was crazy. How do you feel about a marriage with multiple parties? Would you consider donating sperm or eggs for a fertility program?”

  Gabe chuckled. “I almost skipped reading the pregnancy disclosure because, really, I’m gay and the last I heard, Chándariān males don’t have the capability to become pregnant.” They entered the deli and gave their orders. After they claimed a table, he continued, “I read it anyway because I figured they’d stick something unrelated in the clause.”

  The Chándariāns had some strange rules on males and females. Like who took whose surname, and the legal and financial obligations of each parent. He wondered if women ever paused over the portion that said they were required to reside on Slorèx until the cubs were at least twenty seasons old.

  Ronan swallowed and sipped his drink. “Yeah, it made me wonder about the matings. The way everybody talks about the couples who leave the Festival together, I assumed there was a low relationship failure rate. I thought everyone got their happy ever after, you know?”

  Gabe watched as Ronan chased catsup around the plate with a fry, brows drawn down thoughtfully. “From what I’ve gleaned working with Chándariāns, they do mate for life when allowed to choose their own partners, but it isn’t always a bed of roses; they work hard to keep the relationship healthy. Imagine the culture shock people like you and me experience when mated to one of the Chándariāns. Even though people think they’re prepared, they aren’t really. I hate to say it, but some probably don’t have the fortitude to wade through the issues that crop up and stick with it through the bad. Plus, after only a few weeks at the Festival, would they really know the being they end up mated to?”

  Ronan chewed on the tip of a fry, considering. “The participants do go to the gatherings that are organized before the Festival. And have access to the database on the Chándariāns attending. I can’t see why someone wouldn’t know enough.”

  Gabe laughed. “How many people do you think actually read through the biographies, though?” He’d read Commander Alārd’s, but he wasn’t going to share that with Ronan. “I can guarantee most humans are expecting the Chándariāns to do all the work with their scenting abilities. They expect to walk around the Festival, allowing others to scent them, and then have a male or female beat their chest and claim them like some bodice-ripping novel. The whole system needs to be rethought and overhauled, if you ask me.”

  “Or they can include a clause saying there is no divorce. I bet that would chase away those who weren’t serious about the process.”

  Gabe wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t keep out the fools who believe in love at first sight. Love isn’t… isn’t like instant coffee. You can’t just add sex and boom, have a lifetime relationship. What happens when things don’t pan out like they imagined? Then ‘I love you but I’m not in love with you’? Makes me feel sorry for any being shackled to a fickle human.”

  Ronan snorted. “You’re seriously jaded. You know that, right? That’s obviously what some of the examinations are supposed to eliminate. Otherwise, why have the testing at all?”

  Gabe reluctantly conceded the point. Shoring up his courage, he broached the question he was afraid to ask. “So, you’re serious-serious about this, then? As in ‘reading the bios’ serious?”

  Ronan looked down at his plate, the shyness unusual for his best friend. “I am reading through the biographies. I know you think this is a sudden decision on my part, but it’s not. This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, although I haven’t told my parents yet.”

  Gabe released a steady breath. He’d thought as much. When Ronan made up his mind about something, he committed fully to the action. “They’re going to balk at you leaving Earth, but they’re like me, they only want to see you happy. Who knows, maybe your mom will convince your father to move offworld with you?” He laughed at the face Ronan made.

  “That’s just wrong, Gabe. And you’d better not plant that idea in her head.” Ronan suddenly sat up straight to stare at something over Gabe’s shoulder.

  “What?” Wondering what caught Ronan’s eye, Gabe turned, glancing around the deli. Movem
ent on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows drew his attention. There, pacing the sidewalk in front of the deli, was the Panthrÿn from the other day: Commander Sūnder Alārd.

  If anything, he was more alluring than Gabe remembered. Gabe’s whole body reacted to the sight of the commander prowling back and forth, his tail flicking in agitation. Before Gabe could decide what he wanted to do, Ronan slid out of the booth and crossed the deli to stick his head out the glass door. Commander Alārd stumbled to a halt to listen to whatever Ronan said. When the Panthrÿn looked through the window at him, Gabe held his breath. Was Ronan asking him to join them? He swallowed thickly when the commander followed Ronan back to their table.

  “You’re really doing me a huge favor.” Ronan pushed Commander Alārd down into the seat he’d vacated, shooting Gabe a mischievous grin. “Sorry, Gabe. I have to run, but the big dude here said he’d walk you home.”

  Confused, Gabe gawped at Ronan. “Walk me home? But I rode my bike—” Ronan was out the door and gone before Gabe could mutter, “What the fuck?”

  “How does he know who I am?” The question brought Gabe’s attention back to the commander, who had one of those neutral expressions that said the Panthrÿn didn’t appreciate Ronan’s actions any more than Gabe did.

  An embarrassed flush warming his face, Gabe gave Commander Alārd a tentative smile. “Because he caught me staring at your— you the other day at the hospital we both work at. He’s my best friend, and sometimes he helps me out in ways I would rather he didn’t.” There was no way Gabe would confess Ronan caught him searching for the Panthrÿn’s contact information. He’d wanted to know more about the male who’d tongue-tied him with a simple smile. “He knew I found you attractive.” Gabe hadn’t believed he’d run into Commander Alārd again. Well, at least, not before the Festival.