by V. K. Ludwig
“Let’s speak bluntly, shall we?” Gral’s hologram shifted as he leaned back, nodding, folding manicured hands in front of his chest. “You might not be aware that Ada has received costly training in crisis management.”
“As a matter of fact, I am aware.” Because, eventually, there had been honesty between them, had there not?
“Hmm,” Gral breathed. “Then surely it has come to your attention that she is very skilled at manipulating situations in her favor, combined with certain other… female advantages.”
And didn’t he know it? He had tasted all of her female advantages, only eating himself into a hunger she now refused to sate. And while he didn’t trust Gral, the male seemed to share his juketar’s concerns. Both questioned Ada’s intentions. Was he missing something? Ignored red flags so obvious to them?
“Her little acts of deceit in order to gain control over Osacore are starting to unsettle shareholders,” Gral continued. “We want her returned before she can do more damage.”
“Her return won’t keep her from doing as she considers right once Osacore is hers.”
“Shareholders hate bad quarterly statements. But do you know what they hate even more?” Gral’s hologram leaned forward, eyes pinning Kerien to his seat. “Red numbers at the end of the year due to bad press involving the Aurani. Osacore can’t afford that kind of publicity. First shareholders are already threatening to dump their stock. She will come to her senses once she realizes that.”
“I see.” Kerien drummed his claws on the table. “I will consult with my juketar,” he said. “I request one hour to consider your offer.”
Kerien politely waited for Gral’s nod, then stopped the transmission with a swipe of his hand, his thoughts a jumbled mess right along with his emotions.
His juketar offered nothing but a probing stare.
“The heiress is worth more than a core, even if it lasted a thousand years,” Kerien said calmly.
“To you.” Thuran’s voice grew severe when he added, “But not to the people you are bound to protect. Pledged to care for.”
Kerien flashed fangs in nothing short of displeasure at his juketar’s comment. He was never supposed to become Varac, had lacked his father’s guidance and affection for it, but he always put his people first.
“Gral is offering us a core, but she is planning to scale back mining, which might enable our return to Xaleon at some point.”
“You heard Gral,” Thuran snarled. “Osacore will either crash the moment she takes over, or she will bend. By bet is on the latter.”
“She will not bend if I’m by her side to give her strength. I can help her see this through, and my warriors can ensure the transition will go peacefully. The day has yet to come where Aurani horns and claws cannot sway minds.”
Thuran lifted a wary brow. “Are you saying she finally agrees to become your Vekoshi before her birthday?”
Kerien sucked in a breath that hitched on every single rib, his voice too small for a Varac. “She refuses.”
“By Drana…” It was all his juketar said as he turned away, spine ramrod stiff.
“I went as far as telling her I will not come if she refuses,” Kerien confessed in shame. And what had that done other than drive a wedge between them?
“Our salvation could be so simple.” Thuran paced along the table, hands clasped behind his back. “I will take twenty of our warriors and return her to Xaleon. Regardless of if she succeeds or fails, she can still become your Vekoshi afterward without putting us all at risk.”
“Afterward? You mean after I betray her by exchanging her for ransom after all?”
“There seems to be no animosity between you for taking her,” Thuran said. “If she truly cares for the people, for you, she will understand why you did it.”
If she cared for him?
Traces of his doubt mixed with the anger his juketar’s wording triggered. What had Thuran doubt the sincerity of her feelings for him?
“If she cares for me?”
Thuran lowered his head. “Didn’t you listen to the things Gral said? Deceit? Manipulation? She confessed that she received training, and it’s safe to assume she is perfectly capable of manipulation.”
After Kerien listened to them both, Gral’s words combined with Thuran’s wariness acted like the mortar between Ada’s bricks of rejection.
“Her motivations changed,” Kerien argued. “She has done a lot for our people”
“That is true,” Thuran said. “But has she done it from the goodness of her heart, or because it served her own intentions? Did you offer to accompany her, or did she ask you to do so?”
“She asked, but not because she expected warriors. That didn’t come up until later.”
Thuran stilled, not turning, but glancing back at him over his shoulder instead. “During all your conversations with her, you never mentioned how you cannot step onto your own planet without escort?”
“No. Or perhaps…” Kerien’s temples throbbed from trying to find the flaw in his juketar’s logic while desperately keeping his own from crumbling. “It, um… I might have mentioned it at some point in the past. But I am certain she asked merely for emotional support, rather than arming herself with warriors.”
Silence.
A beat, merely enduring the exchange of air, yet strong enough Thuran’s next words sliced through him. “I mentioned it to her once. Back when she sought you out at the conservatory.”
Kerien slumped back into the chair, forehead dropping into his palm, as if his sanity was slipping through his hands as he desperately tried to hold on.
“She carried a core around her neck,” Thuran said. “She knew Gral wouldn’t pay a ransom and said nothing.”
Kerien threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Does my mate not share her furs with me each night?”
Thuran walked up to him and leaned against the table, wielding him a cutting glare and yet it didn’t stab nearly as deep as what followed. “And will she share furs with you upon her next heat?”
That stung.
Stung deep and ripped on old scars.
Puckered skin tore underneath the strain of doubt, exposing putrid exudate, oozing into Kerien’s chest in waves of distrust and ripples of wariness. Had he allowed Ada to make a lovestruck fool of him?
Kerien bit back his grunt which would expose it as a sore subject indeed. “It’s too soon to think of children.”
The words left bitterness on his tongue no matter how reasonable they sounded, because they weren’t his. They were hers. He merely borrowed them to pacify his juketar, although Kerien’s chest ached with the urge to make a family. It was the Aurani way. Drana revealed your mate. You claimed her. You seeded her. You protected her with your life.
“My Varac, even you must see that everything circles back to Osacore. Even if she is sincere, what if she fails?”
The suffering would continue.
And none but Kerien would be to blame.
“Kerien,” Thuran said and kneeled before his Varac, head in a deep bow. “I watched your father’s throat slit with a diamond blade. The blood-choked wheezing of your brother haunts my dreams to this day. Your father was foolish to step onto Xaleon. Don’t allow their deaths to be in vain by repeating his mistake.”
Kerien’s throat had gone so dry he choked on his next swallow. “What would you have me do, juketar? How do you advise me on this?”
“You are risking your people’s future if you don’t take that core,” he said. “By Drana, Kerien, deliver her before the Klaxian changes his mind.”
Kerien’s fangs ached with how he ground them, jawline tense. He was Varac, and his loyalty always had to remain with his people. If Ada couldn’t understand this, support it, then she wasn’t fit to be Vekoshi.
Kerien rose, his joints stiff with dread. “Record a message for Gral. Tell him to ready the core. Get a vessel ready.”
He disappeared into the hallway, sure steps carrying him along the ramp where his heart s
truggled to keep its rhythm even, no matter the speed.
Shaky hands to the metal doors, he pushed them open, his nostrils flaring uncontrollably at the first whiff of her distress. Even after their argument, Ada’s chamber held a warmth he hadn’t anticipated.
“Kerien!” She hurried toward him, but she must have sensed his dark mood once again, because her steps slowed then halted.
“Did something happen?” she asked, frowning.
Kerien stood straight, the words clogging his throat until he wanted to gag. But they needed to be said.
“Ada, I have decided…” His voice slipped off the cold edge on his tone. “I have decided to return you to Xaleon. They are readying the transportation vessel as we speak.”
Kerien watched her chest curl into itself as if her lungs deflated, her voice barely a whisper. “What?”
“Gral offered us a core powerful enough to sustain Aura Station for a century.”
Her lips parted and closed, head shaking as her pupils darted across the room. “I can’t believe this.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, not knowing what else to do with them. “I am Varac, and as such, it is my duty to act in the best interest of my people. This exchange will ensure their survival, and Aura Station will once more thrive.”
Ada staggered back, the only reason no tears fell from her glistening green eyes because she stared at him, unblinking. And then she laughed. Laughed and pressed her hand to her forehead, staring up through the cupola.
“Isn’t this hilarious?” It was that next breathy giggle that forced the first tear from her eyes. “The guy who negotiates with Gral behind my back is the one who doesn’t trust me.”
“It’s not that.”
“Bullshit.” Another laugh. Another tear. “Look at me and tell me that you trust me.”
Kerien’s breath hitched and a sudden onset of nausea put a twist in his guts. “This decision offers the best outcome for the Aurani. You don’t know if you will succeed, Ada.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Kerien knew the moment a beautiful face scrunched up, distorting into pure misery.
“That’s how much confidence you have in me, huh?” She wiped her sleeves over her eyes, and that warmth in them right along with it, her look detached. “I guess my biggest mistake was thinking we played on the same team.”
Kerien reached his hand to her. “Ada —”
“D-don’t touch me,” she said and stomped out the door.
Kerien struggled to breathe, a pain surging through his throat that turned each inhale into heat burning him from the inside. And he knew, right at that moment, that she would never return.
Seventeen
Five minutes.
That was how long it took until Thuran and a handful of warriors to escort Ada onto this transport vessel in silence.
Now she sat on the ribbed metal floor, fusion panels vibrating underneath her. Electronics beeped along the control panel, spiking the air with an ozone and a chlorine-like smell which turned her dizzy.
You don’t know if you will succeed. Kerien’s words wouldn’t stop echoing, pounding up a headache that started at the temples. The very male who’d made her feel as if she could take on the world, now made her want to curl into a ball.
Thuran sat across from her on a pile of stacked cargo, claw whetting on the chain net anchoring it to the ground. He observed her openly but had yet to speak a single word.
“How much longer until we arrive?” she asked.
He smacked his tongue. “Ten minutes perhaps. It’ll depend on surface conditions.”
A nervous flutter brushed against her stomach lining. Ten minutes to get her shit together. Crying over the Aurani Varac who’d traded her for a core after all wasn’t helping.
In a way, she could understand that part. It was his duty to act in the best interest of his people. That he did it behind her back? That he doubted she would return to him? His betrayal and distrust came with a pain so acute each intake of air felt like needle pricks inside her chest.
Thuran hopped off the cargo, metal moaning underneath the mass of his body, pushing a gun into his chest holster. “We will accompany you inside headquarters, where Gral will be waiting for you.”
“Okay.”
And what else was there to say?
Right now, she was nothing but a game piece that Kerien had pushed across the board of big corp and politics. There was nothing she could do. But what happened once he finished his turn?
She breathed deep into her belly, bringing that nervous flutter to an abrupt stop. Trade embargoes, political alliances, contributions to the UFG in order to buy corrupt politicians. Thanks to Kerien, Ada wasn’t so naive anymore.
Her turn was up next.
She could either fret and go hide in her bubble, or finally join the game. What did she have to lose? Osacore Estate? Oh please… If all else failed, she’d get herself a job on one of the farming planets and pick legumes for a living. She’d gotten rather fast at it.
Thuran reached a hand out and helped her up. “Please hold on to one of the overhead handles. Touchdown might be shaky.”
All around her, warriors checked the weapons in their holsters, and sheathed dagger-like blades. Armed like that, horns, fangs, and claws included, they looked like a small raiding party, and Ada was the spoils.
“I couldn’t say goodbye to Vohri,” she said, clasping tightly to the handle overhead as the vessel shook and jolted her around. “Please tell her that I’ll miss her, and I appreciate everything she did for me.”
Thuran tilted his head, his eyes more of a soft orange than gold, creases forming between his brows. “She was a suckling when her mother got killed. Spending time with a human female helped her understand why she isn’t like others.”
Ada dipped her head. “I’m sorry you lost her.”
Thuran offered a curt nod.
The vessel touched down with one final jolt, the bolts which stemmed the frame screaming their age. Fusion panels hummed their final phwet… phwet… phwet until they idled into silence. Across from her, the ramp opened with a hiss.
Engine oil.
The greasy smell registered immediately, the wind blowing it generously through the growing gap of the ramp.
“Heiress.” Thuran’s hand pushed into her vision, and she took it mindlessly as hesitant feet carried her down the ramp. “You have to watch your step since there’s no docking station.”
She braced into his hold and carefully breeched the gap between metal and stone ledge. “Why does it smell like smoke?”
The answer came the moment she stood firmly planted on Xaleon, gaze lifting, her lungs faltering to a stop. This planet wasn’t dying. It was already dead.
Thuran shook his head, lowering his gaze as if he couldn’t bear looking. “The trees are burning from the inside out. Osanium creates so much power, it generates massive heat. With the deforestation and nowhere else to go to balance it out, it infects the roots and penetrates the trunks from there.”
Aurani warriors formed two lines, one on each side, walking in cadence while Ada’s feet somehow moved right along with them by sheer muscle memory.
“Headquarters?” Thuran asked one of the human workers.
The man stared at the Aurani wide-eyed and lifted his arm. “That building over there.”
Trucks the size of houses rolled about, several rows of spinning blades attached to the front, and osanium piled in shades of blue on the dump body. Those small craters they left in the dirt? They turned the path to the headquarters into an obstacle course.
“This is awful,” Ada said, her pupils tracking down several old landslides and sinkholes. “Worse than I expected, and certainly nothing like what Kerien described.”
“Our Varac left Xaleon a very long time ago.”
She tortured her lip with such force, almost as if she punished herself for Dad’s wrongdoing. “It’ll take forever until he can return.”
Beside her, Thuran stiffened. “R
eturn?”
“The original mining contract,” she said, kicking the gray mud off her slippers as she stepped onto the stairs to HQ. “I found some old correspondence about it and created a holographic imprint. My plan was to justify scaling back with it, but now I’m not sure anymore if that’ll be enough.”
By the looks of it, Xaleon needed more than that.
“Are you saying you are still planning to return this planet to the Aurani?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes?”
The juketar stopped and placed a hand onto her shoulder, as if giving his next question the weight of his limb. “Even after he made the decision to exchange you?”
“Exchanging me was the decision of a Varac who cares for his people,” she said. “Justifying it with how I wouldn’t become his queen before my birthday was Kerien’s pitiful attempt at trying to manipulate me because he doesn’t trust me. One is a virtue. The other a flaw.”
“Smarter than the two of us combined,” he said quietly, almost as if mumbling to himself.
She climbed the final step. “I should probably stay on Xaleon until my birthday. Assess just how bad it is.”
Ada took another deep breath and reached for the door handle, ignoring fear and doubt. Just another crisis. She could do this. Step one: establish her presence at HQ. Step two: tell Gral to go fuck himself.
She pulled the door open.
She stepped inside.
Her foot never reached the floor.
A tug on her shoulder, and Ada stumbled backward. Thuran’s broad back replaced the sight of warm light reflecting on the polished marble floor that had been there just a second ago.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
But Thuran only glanced back at his warriors, nostrils flaring. “The building is scented.”
Now that he mentioned it, there was no denying the traces of mint coming from inside. “What does that mean?”
“It might mean nothing,” he murmured and stepped inside, prodding her along. “Or it might mean I’m a terrible juketar.”
Footsteps resonated, and the unhurried self-importance immediately gave them away as Gral’s.