Entwined Fates (The Infinite City Book 1)

by Tiffany Roberts

  Entwined Fates

  The Infinite City #1

  Tiffany Roberts

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Author’s Note

  Also by Tiffany Roberts

  About the Author

  Blurb

  He met his destined mate too soon.

  Bold, kind, and adventurous, Kiara was everything Volcair needed in his stiff, formal life. Along with his pet inux, Cypher, the three were inseparable during Volcair’s years on Earth. But the same winds of fate that brought them together as children tore them apart again. With half a universe separating them, years sped by, and Kiara seemed lost to him forever. Angry and bitter, he threw himself into military service for the Entris Dominion, seeking escape from the pain of loss.

  When chance brings them together again nearly two decades later, Volcair finds that his feelings for Kiara have only grown—he needs her. Have they been granted a second chance, or has time opened a rift between them that cannot be crossed?

  Copyright © 2019 by Tiffany Freund and Robert Freund Jr.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including scanning, photocopying, uploading, and distribution of this book via any other electronic means without the permission of the author and is illegal, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publishers at the address below.

  Tiffany Roberts

  authortiffanyroberts@gmail.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration © 2019 by Cameron Kamenicky

  Created with Vellum

  To those who believe in love and second chances.

  Special thanks to Veronica Scott and Pauline Baird Jones for including us in the Pets in Space®

  4 Anthology so this story could be written.

  One

  London, Capital of the United Terran Federation, Earth

  Terran Year 2075

  Volcair folded his arms across his abdomen and looked down at the floor. This was his last chance, his final opportunity to make an escape. He was doomed if this didn’t work.

  “I do not feel well, Father,” he said, hunching forward for added effect.

  Cypher turned his four yellow optics up toward Volcair. The creature was an inux, a robotic companion of sorts, and currently resembled a zeget—a long-bodied, four-legged creature with a featherlike crest along its head and a short, stubby tail. Zegets were native to Volcair’s homeworld, Korous, which he’d not seen for years.

  Tilting his head, Cypher produced a series of concerned warbles and clicks. His silvery metal scales rippled as though he were about to change shape.

  “Oh?” Ambassador Syntrell Vantricar Caltraxion put his hands on Volcair’s shoulders, turned the boy to face him, and knelt. His long, blue hair, so similar to Volcair’s, fell forward to frame his narrow face. “Your stomach, is it, Son?”

  Volcair studied his father’s faintly glowing qal, the markings every volturian was born with. Vantricar’s qal was like Volcair’s in pattern and coloration—flowing blue-white lines and circles that emphasized musculature and bone structure, exemplary of their ancestral qalar, the Syntrell. Vantricar’s markings were far fuller and more intricate, however, because he had followed the old tradition of having his mate’s qal added to his own to solidify their mating bond. Volcair could not look upon his father without seeing his mother’s markings.

  The reminder of his mother, Commander Syntrell Aliari Morenna—dead five years now—produced a sinking feeling in Volcair’s belly. If nothing else, it added a touch of truth to his ploy.

  He frowned as deeply as he could and nodded.

  Vantricar glanced up at the elevator’s floor indicator.

  Volcair was unfamiliar with most of the terran symbols it displayed; he knew the numerals for the floor upon which he and his father kept their quarters and those for the ground level and the commissary, but everything else was foreign to him. Only two things were certain—their destination was on the building’s top floor, and they were nearly there.

  Once they arrived at the party, Volcair would be trapped. Vantricar tolerated no interruptions while he was working.

  “Strange. You have not mentioned anything before this point,” Vantricar said. He gently pressed his hand to Volcair’s forehead.

  “I did not want to disappoint you, Father.” Somehow, Volcair forced the corners of his mouth farther down. “I know this is important to you. I will return to our quarters and rest, so as not to trouble you.”

  “What a considerate son I have.” Vantricar’s lips tilted in a smirk. “But I cannot bear to leave you alone, my child. Perhaps there will be a couch at the gathering upon which you may rest.”

  Volcair’s brows fell. “I…I would be more comfortable in our quarters, Father. And I would not be alone. Cypher will accompany me.”

  Cypher’s scaled head feathers perked, and he clicked in agreement.

  Vantricar smoothed back Volcair’s hair before returning his hand to the boy’s shoulder. “You will attend this function alongside me, Volcair Vantricar. Our relations with these terrans are young—younger than you. Our qalsarn would like our peoples to be good friends, and to become friends, we must freely explore the things we have in common. Family is one of those things.”

  “But all that is your job. You are the ambassador, Father, not me. The qalsarn did not appoint me to a post.”

  “Regardless of your position or lack thereof, you have a duty to our people, and I expect you to honor it.”

  “Mother is dead because of duty!” Volcair pulled back, but his father did not release him.

  Cypher whimpered and curled around Volcair’s leg.

  Vantricar’s jaw muscles ticked, and he tightened his grip on Volcair’s shoulders. “Your mother died protecting our people. There is no greater form of heroism. What I ask of you is a tiny thing compared to that, but it will be of great benefit to our people.”

  Tears stung Volcair’s eyes. He’d only been four years old when his mother was killed in combat, but the pain had never faded. Cypher—who’d been a gift from Aliari when Volcair was only two or three—kept the memory of her close to the surface all the time. Sometimes, that meant joy. Others, it meant pain.

  “I would rather have her here, with us,” Volcair said.

  “As would I,” Vantricar rasped, “but we have only each other, Volcair, and you must remain with me. Besides, this may not be as boring as you expect. I have been told the terran Minister of Interplanetary Relations has a child close to your age.”

  Volcair wiped his eyes before any tears could fall and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to attend this gathering; he’d endured a dozen such functions on half a dozen worlds over the last few years, and each had been, at best, tedious. “You always say I will make friends with alien children, but we never stay anywhere long enough for that to happen.”

  “I think this world will be different,” Vantricar said gently. “The nature of my task here is not the sa
me as the other places we have been. Try for me, Son. Give me one hour. If your mood has not changed by then, I will allow you to return to our quarters.”

  To nine-year-old Volcair, an hour at a boring party was the most torturous experience possible—especially when he was forced to wear this formal Volturian suit with its high collar and snug fit. He’d never understood why ambassadors and diplomats were always interested in meeting each other’s families. Volcair had never been asked to contribute to any of the negotiations his father was involved in, so why did he need to memorize the names of foreign government officials and their immediate families? What did it matter whether they knew who he was?

  Volcair was old enough to know this was important to his father. Vantricar treated his duty to the Entris Dominion as the most important thing in his life—especially since his mate’s death.

  A tiny thing.

  Releasing a shaky, frustrated breath, Volcair nodded. “One hour. No longer.”

  “Thank you.” Smiling, Vantricar released Volcair’s shoulders and rose, turning to face the elevator doors.

  Moments later, the elevator’s gentle hum ceased. The doors slid open with a soft ding.

  Volcair, with Cypher in tow, followed his father into the hallway. He couldn’t help but look upon his surroundings in wonder. The lower portions of the walls were crafted of dark, polished wood with a hint of red. The wood was carved with flowing, intricate patterns that enhanced its strange grain, making it unlike any wood he’d seen.

  They stopped at a pair of large doors. Several guards representing the species of the various envoys who’d gathered on Earth—volturian, borian, vorgal, and azhera—stood to either side of the doors, with a pair of terrans on the inside.

  The terran and volturian guards turned toward Vantricar and bowed their heads in a display of respect.

  “Ambassador Syntrell Vantricar Caltraxion,” one of the terrans said, his accent putting a unique spin on the name, “it is our honor to receive you.”

  Volcair’s translator implant granted him understanding of the words spoken in the terran’s native language, which his father had called English. He’d seen many terrans in the few weeks he’d spent on Earth with his father thus far. They weren’t very different from volturians in size, shape, and appearance, though their features were a bit softer. The strangest things about them—apart from their language—were their coloring and lack of qal.

  Vantricar bowed his head deeply. “It is my honor to be received.”

  The terrans pulled the doors open. Vantricar, Volcair, and Cypher proceeded into the room beyond.

  The space they entered was large and high-ceilinged. The wall straight ahead, along with a portion of the ceiling over it, was comprised almost entirely of glass, offering an open view of the blue sky and the city outside—London—stretching toward the distant horizon. Several diverse groups of people were clustered around the tables, engaged in conversations that filled the room with a soft, warm hum. It was strange to have diplomats from so many species meeting at once outside of Arthos, where countless peoples came together, but the terrans were new to the intergalactic community. Vantricar had explained that these people were still forging alliances and establishing their place in the cosmos.

  Volcair shifted his focus to the tables, all of which were arranged with a variety of utensils and settings. Each bore a large, circular display at its center, laden with assorted foods from different worlds.

  “Father,” Volcair said, “they seem to have mixed up the table settings.”

  Vantricar paused to glance at the nearest table. “Did they?”

  He often spoke in that tone when he wanted Volcair to look closer and think.

  Volcair furrowed his brow. “No?”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because they want…everyone to sit together?”

  Vantricar nodded and turned his attention to a pair of approaching terrans. “Minister Moore, I am honored by your invitation. Thank you for having us.”

  Volcair studied the terrans. One was male and the other female, both tall with dark hair and brown skin. He wished he’d denied his father’s request and returned to their quarters; he had no problem with these terrans, but the conversations his father had with such officials were boring and always saw Volcair forgotten within a few minutes, regardless of the species involved.

  Perhaps he could sneak out and hang around the guards; they usually had more interesting things to say than the diplomats they protected.

  As though aware of Volcair’s intention to flee, Cypher positioned himself behind the boy’s legs and brushed his metal scales over Volcair’s pants, cutting off Volcair’s only potential escape route.

  Volcair glanced down at the inux and muttered, “Traitor.”

  Cypher’s crest feathers twitched, and his lips parted in a grin, displaying his sharp, metallic teeth.

  “Ambassador Syntrell Vantricar Caltraxion,” Minister Moore said with a smile, spreading his arms wide, “I’m pleased you could join us.”

  Volcair’s father dipped his head. “The pleasure is mine. And let it be Vantricar, shall we?”

  Minister Moore bowed his head in return. “Of course! As long as you call me Isaiah.” He stepped back and slowly swept his hand to the side, motioning his family forward. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Jada.”

  Jada lowered her chin with a smile. A few strands of her long, braided hair fell forward. “It’s good to finally meet you, Vantricar. Isaiah has told me so many wonderful things about your homeworld. It sounds beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Vantricar replied. “I have found great beauty here on your Earth, as well. I am glad our people can be friends.”

  “As am I.”

  “And this”—Isaiah twisted to reach behind him—“is our daughter, Kiara.” Placing a hand on his daughter’s back, he urged the little female forward.

  The girl stood no taller than Volcair’s shoulders. Her soft yellow dress billowed out in layers at the waist, its hem resting atop the toes of her white shoes. The fabric’s color complemented her dark skin. Her black hair was smoothed down in front but erupted in a mass of curls at the back of her head, which bounced with each of her little movements.

  Kiara kept her hands clasped behind her back and her body angled slightly away from Volcair, but when she lifted her head and smiled, something heated in his chest. Her big, warm brown eyes shone with inner light, and her smile was so bright and confident that it was completely at odds with her demure posture.

  The heat in Volcair’s chest spread up to his face.

  “We are honored to meet you, Kiara,” Vantricar said. He placed a hand on Volcair’s shoulder and guided him forward. “This is my son, Volcair Vantricar, but just Volcair will do.”

  Volcair’s throat constricted as he stared at Kiara. He’d never experienced anything like what he was feeling; this was something new, wonderful, and mysterious, something exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

  Kiara stepped away from her parents to stand directly in front of Volcair. Without hesitation, she reached up and trailed her fingertips over the qal on his cheek. “You’re so pretty. Like a star.”

  “Kiara!” Isaiah and Jada said simultaneously.

  Volcair’s skin tingled at her touch; the sensation coursed along his qal in a low, steady thrum. He recoiled—not because it was unpleasant, but because it was unexpected. Because it was powerful.

  Isaiah grasped Kiara’s shoulders and pulled her back. “Please, accept my apologies. My daughter means no offense. She is young and enthusiastic, and often lets her excitement overpower her judgment.”

  Kiara frowned, tipping her head back to look up at her father.

  He bent down until his mouth was next to her ear. “It’s rude to run up to someone and touch them, Kiara. Those markings are called qal, and they are very important to our guests. Qal represent their qalar, which is like their clan, or their extended bloodline.”

  “But they glowed, Daddy.” Her
voice was soft, sweet, and lilting.

  Cypher forced his way through Volcair’s legs, tilted his head to one side, and raised his crest feathers.

  Vantricar gave Volcair’s shoulder a gentle squeeze; the bewildered boy knew the gesture was a prompt, but he wasn’t sure what his father wanted him to do.

  Volcair glanced up to find his father staring at him with a furrowed brow and a small frown. After a few moments of scrutinizing Volcair, Vantricar lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head toward the terrans.

  “Um, I…” Volcair pressed his suddenly dry lips together and looked back at Kiara. Seeing her appear so deflated after her father’s admonishment made Volcair’s heart ache. “There is no need for apologies, Minister Moore. I have taken no, um…no offense.”

  “We can all learn much from the innocent enthusiasm of our children,” said Vantricar, patting his son’s back. “The young see past the differences by which we divide ourselves as adults. It is a beautiful thing, is it not?”

  “It is,” Jada said, smiling at Volcair before turning to brush her fingers down Isaiah’s arm. “Why don’t we let the children get better acquainted while we introduce Vantricar to the other guests?”

  Isaiah straightened and dropped his hands from Kiara’s shoulders. “Yes. I’m sure they will enjoy some time away from us adults.”

  “Behave yourself, Volcair,” Vantricar said, “and be polite. You need only endure fifty-five more minutes and you may leave.”

  Volcair looked at Kiara again; her smile had returned, though it was softer and subtler. “I think I might stay, Father. I am…feeling a little better.”