Kaji Warriors: Shifting Strength

by Kelly A Nix

  “You did really well. You’ve earned this,” Schinn says. He slips his hand over her fingers on the wall, and she meets his silver gaze with pressed lips.

  “Schinn-”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I lied to you. I should’ve told you everything.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she says. Her stern tone is unforgiving, much to Beast’s delight and Schinn’s chagrin.

  “In the beginning, I was doing what I was told, and lying was the easiest way to get you to comply.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Afterward…I was uncertain…” Schinn pauses to gather his courage, and Atae waits for him to continue. “I was uncertain about us.”

  “Us?” Atae asks. Her heart pounds, and her stomach flutters with possibilities.

  “Atae,” he whispers before pulling her into a kiss. His lips caress her, and she opens her mouth so he can dip deeper. Schinn presses her against the wall as their tongues intertwine and explore each other. Atae tugs at the silver heir for more, but he pulls away, breathing hard against her.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you.” She offers a content smile. Then Beast reminds Atae of Schinn’s lies with angry red spears to her mind. “You can’t lie to me again. Not ever.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “You’re pack now. I have to be able to trust you.”

  “I promise that I will never betray you again.”

  Atae smiles at him, enjoying his affectionate expression and the warm passion it creates within her. Atae possessively clings to the emotion as though to declare it separate from Beast and her overwhelming presence. This belongs to Atae and to her alone. Watching Schinn, she wants to kiss him again and see what other wonderful sensations he can create within her.

  Meanwhile, Solum frowns at Atae’s public display of affection. From across the room, he can see her lean in for a second kiss with the silver heir, and the royal advisor twists away. Affectionate displays are commonplace at these types of parties; in fact, at least two other couples celebrate against the same wall. Regardless, Solum does not wish to witness his daughter’s infatuation.

  “Leave them be,” Feku says. He smiles from Solum’s side as they stand in the center of the room, sipping on their drink of choice. “They’re celebrating a job well done.”

  “I know what they’re doing,” Solum says. Feku chuckles and raises a glass before finishing his drink.

  “Well, at least we have the answer to our question.”

  “What question?” Queen Sula asks as she joins the two warriors.

  “Whether Atae could shift or not,” Feku says.

  “I didn’t realize that was still in question.” Sula raises an eyebrow at her royal advisor.

  “It wasn’t, but Feku had this insane idea-”

  “I wouldn’t call it insane-”

  “It was an insane idea,” Solum says. “He thought Atae might be hiding her shifting ability so that I wouldn’t pull her from the tournament and Gridiron.”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” Sula glances at the blue hybrid while Schinn tugs her to the dance floor.

  “And absurd. Atae wouldn’t be able to hide that from Feku or me-”

  “And the tournament cameras,” Feku says.

  “Yes, I suppose that would be too difficult for a youngling,” Sula says.

  “Even so, I felt it might be possible given her new association with Schinn.”

  “So how did you settle this?” Sula asks. She accepts a glass of her favorite drink from a servant.

  “The trestoids did that for us,” Feku says, and Sula nods.

  “She didn’t respond to the poison just like every other hybrid.”

  “Exactly, so it’s done,” Solum says.

  Sula smiles at her friend before glancing at Jent in contemplation. Hybrids are odd creatures, and no one truly understands their physiology yet. The feathered Kajian stands next to Tukk as they toast to their success, and Sula notes that the one hybrid with a shifting ability wasn’t affected by the poison either. Like so many other secrets, the queen keeps this new one to herself and continues to celebrate with her subjects.

  On the other side of the room, near the corner bar, Debil and Seva stand to the left of Sloan with his arm wrapped around Debil’s waist. Seva describes how the two purebred females avoided the trestoid poison after they observed the effects on other students. They were among the first twenty competitors to reach the gate. Debil rubs her hand along Sloan’s recovered shoulder and speaks with a sultry voice.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “All better. It wasn’t anything one night in a recovery tank couldn’t fix. I’m just sad that I was there all alone.” He offers a suggestive smirk.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Debil sticks her lip out in faux concern. “I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

  “Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

  “Good, as long as I’m the only one,” Debil says. She snatches Sloan’s chin, and he stares into her dark eyes, spotting the insecurity and concern hidden under her combative nature. So Sloan squeezes Debil against him, savoring her scent, and kisses her to assure her of his intentions. Without his beast riding him to pursue every female his red-eyed companion deemed acceptable, Sloan finds that he prefers Debil’s company the most. Her complicated personality compliments his twisted persona well.

  After a moment, Sloan slips away to the bar with a promise to return with drinks. Marqee greets him as Sloan gives the servant his order.

  “It looks like you’re in for a fun night,” Marqee says.

  “You have no idea,” Sloan says.

  “You seem different lately. Less…”

  “Tense?”

  “Sure, let’s go with that.”

  “I’m free. I can breathe and feel and think about the things that I want. I don’t fight about everything anymore.” Sloan beams with an excitement Marqee’s never seen from his packmate.

  “Your beast submitted? How? You’ve been trying-”

  “Not me. Atae.”

  “Atae made your beast submit?” Marqee asks, and Sloan nods. “How is that even possible?”

  “She scared the shit out of him. Her beast is terrifying under all that blue.”

  “Really?” Marqee glances at the hybrid across the room with an incredulous expression.

  “I know. It doesn’t make any sense to me either, but I’m not questioning it,” Sloan says. He accepts the drink a servant hands him before shuffling the rest of the order over to Debil and Seva.

  “Do you think this will last?”

  “No, absolutely not. I can already feel him growing impatient. Soon he’ll grow brave and start testing my control again,” Sloan says, sipping from his glass. “And I’ll be back to square one.”

  “What are you going to do then?”

  “I’m going to stick by Atae and hope she saves my ass again.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan,” Marqee says sarcastically. Sloan chuckles at his packmate, but before he can comment, a familiar warrior with silver eyes steps up to join him.

  “Sloan.”

  The dark heir recognizes the silver warrior’s voice before seeing his round face and weak chin. Sloan remembers his companion’s silver, braided hair and the scowl glued to his face. Sloan motions for Marqee to leave, and the dimpled youngling steps away to join Jeqi on the dance floor.

  “Father,” Sloan says. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “I’ve come to congratulate you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I see you haven’t changed at all.”

  “And I can see that you have. You’ve aged.”

  “Watch your mouth, whelp,” the older warrior says. “I’ve come to speak with you.”

  “Careful, the more time you spend with me, the more others might think we’re related. Should I address you by your name instead of ‘Father’?”

  “Sloan,” he says.

  “Yes
, Devun,” Sloan finally spins around to face his father. “Why are you here?”

  “To speak with you,” Devun stares at his son with a twisted sneer, his silver gaze as cold and uncaring as Sloan remembers.

  “About what?”

  “About your duty to your crest?”

  Sloan chuckles at the earnestness in his father’s expression, and the youngling shakes his head before swiveling back to the servant at the bar. He raises his glass to ask for another, then finishes the one in his hand.

  “I have no duty to the Levia crest. You made that clear to me long ago.”

  “Things have changed. There are opportunities-”

  “You mean stealing the throne from the rightful heir.” Sloan narrows his eyes at his father, but Devun shakes his head.

  “The Gridiron will determine the rightful heir.”

  “Nah. Win or lose, I like the side I’m on now.”

  “I told you, Father,” Royce says. She slips in next to her brother, opposite Devun. “Sloan has too much pride and honor to be swayed so easily.”

  “Great, now there’s two of them.” Sloan glances on either side of him and sighs. “What do you think is going to sway me, Royce? What could you possibly offer me that would convince me to forgive you?”

  “I don’t want your forgiveness. I could not care less about how much you dislike me.” Royce accepts a drink from the servant and sniffs at the new glass before sipping from it.

  “Oh, good, then we’re done here.” Sloan motions to leave, but Devun grabs his arm. The red-eyed beast growls in the back of his mind, and Sloan echoes his counterpart with a threatening snarl. He yanks his arm free, glaring at his father.

  “We all know you aren’t going to survive the Gridiron, no matter how well you performed in the tournament. That hybrid is the only reason you made it through the last round, and everyone knows it. Can’t you see it every time someone looks at you? The pity in their eyes?” Royce says to her brother. Her sympathetic voice spills down Sloan’s spine like ice. He stiffens and twists away to finish his drink. He flinches when Royce continues.

  “Ferogs do not survive the Gridiron.”

  “What do you want from me?” Sloan asks.

  “I want you to help me. I want you to fight by my side as a brother should. I can’t save you from the Gridiron. You know that the family forces every heir to compete. It can’t be helped. But I can honor your memory afterward. I can make sure you are remembered as an honorable warrior who fought by his sister’s side when she earned the right to the throne. Isn’t that better than dying at the beck and call of a spoiled, hybrid prince?”

  “Why are you so certain that you’re going to win?” Sloan grits his teeth.

  “Because someone has to. Someone will defeat Truin. With this many entries, it’s statistically impossible for him to survive. And your friends will be at the mercy of whosoever bests him. If you help me win, I’ll take care of your friends afterward. I’ll keep them safe. I promise,” Royce says. She slips a gentle hand over Sloan’s fingers on the bar. “Help me, brother.”

  Sloan stares into his sister’s silver eyes and wonders at her sincerity. Would she keep her promise? Could she really win? Sloan doesn’t have the answers, but he’s never considered what would happen to his packmates in the Gridiron. His pack is much larger now, and he kind of likes each of them in their own way. Can he protect them all in the Gridiron? No. He can’t even defend himself.

  Sloan glances across the room at each of his packmates. Jeqi tries to teach Marqee how to tie a fruit stem with his tongue, and she laughs at his odd expressions while he tries and fails. Schinn leads Atae in a slow dance and tucks a stray hair behind her ear as she blushes. Debil and Seva chat with Trikk next to the wall of names, and Trikk points to one from a few seasons ago. Truin listens to an eager youngling speaking with animated gestures, and several other students huddle around, waiting for a chance to talk with the royal heir. The prince glances up at the perfect time to catch Sloan’s eye and meet his gaze. His questioning expression makes Sloan turn away and reach for his drink again.

  “Think about it, Son,” Devun says. He slides his arm around Sloan’s shoulders and squeezes. Sloan’s stomach tightens at the term of endearment from his father, and he nods. Royce and Devun leave the dark heir alone with his thoughts, and Sloan nurses his drink in silence. Several moments later, Debil joins Sloan at the bar and slips a hand around his arm.

  “What was that about?” She asks. Sloan shakes his head.

  “Just the typical family drama.”

  “Do you want to escape into the night?”

  “More than anything else in the universe.” Sloan offers an empty smile, and Debil leads him away.

  In the far corner of the room, Prince Truin watches Sloan and Debil leave the party, and he considers following their example. Unfortunately, his mother has some type of psychic ability that senses when he’s about to do something of which she’d disapprove. Like clockwork, Queen Sula slips in next to her son.

  “How is the party?”

  “Boring,” he says. “Why am I here?”

  “These are the Kaji that are most likely to support you in the Gridiron. You must win them over now,” Sula whispers around her drink. Truin rolls his eyes at her.

  “They’re your supporters, not mine.”

  “Perhaps they’d become your supporters if you mingle,” she says. “Now, go.”

  Truin returns to the bustle of socialization and networking with the new Sula Academy graduates and their families. Queen Sula watches her son for a few moments with an amused smile before catching sight of Atae and Schinn as they step out onto the balcony. She deposits her empty glass with a servant and follows the blue hybrid. Sula slips past the dark privacy curtain that’s draped over the doorway to the balcony and finds Schinn whispering into Atae’s ear.

  “You’re not distracting my protégé, are you, Schinn?”

  The silver heir jumps away from Atae as though he were doing something wrong. “Of course not, my queen.”

  “Good, now run along,” Sula says. She waves her hand at Schinn to dismiss him, and he hustles back into the party. Atae watches him leave then salutes Queen Sula in greeting.

  “My queen.”

  “You did well in the tournament. You and your hybrid packmate,” Sula says. She frowns when she can’t remember the blonde’s name.

  “Jeqi,” Atae says.

  “Yes, that’s it. You both did well. As did Marqee and Sloan, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Atae flashes a proud smile. She’s uncertain what else to say when the most powerful person in the empire, perhaps the Universe, compliments her. Beast, on the other hand, bubbles with an uncomfortable suspicion and warns Atae to be careful.

  “Are you certain that you’re prepared for the Gridiron? It’s going to be much more difficult than the tournament, exponentially so.”

  “We have six months to train. Jeqi and I will be ready.”

  “What kind of warrior would you like to become?”

  “Um…a strong one?” Atae’s not sure that she understands the question.

  “And what does strength mean to you?” Sula asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and raises both eyebrows, but Atae shakes her head in confusion.

  “Uh…I don’t…”

  “When you imagine the strong warrior that you want to become, what do you see?”

  Atae remembers a similar exercise that Solum asked of her many weeks ago. Looking back, it feels like it was a lifetime ago. So much has changed since then. Has the image of her perfect warrior changed, too? She closes her eyes and imagines the warrior she wants to emulate. She finds her warrior beset by enemies with no escape, but still he fights. He brawls against every blow, every block, every sword, and every other attack that is thrown his way. When he stumbles, her warrior climbs back to his feet and clashes again. With every breath he draws, her warrior swings his fist or his blade. Even as he falls to the enemy, the warrior continues to figh
t with his last breath. Beast swirls around Atae’s imagined warrior and smiles in approval.

  “I want to be the warrior who never quits. She never gives up and dies fighting,” Atae says.

  “That’s not good enough,” Sula says. “I don’t want you to die fighting. If you’re dead, you can’t help my son. Do you want my son to die along with you in the Gridiron?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then, perhaps you should aim higher.”

  “I won’t give up. I will fight until my mission is complete.”

  “That’s better,” Sula says. “I suppose I can do something with that.”

  “My queen?”

  “Have you forgotten about my promise to train you,” Sula waves her hand with a frown, “and the other one?”

  “No, Jeqi and I are eager to learn from you, Your Majesty.” Atae brandishes an excited grin that pleases Queen Sula.

  “Good. We start tomorrow.”

  Epilogue

  Queen Sula stares at the small moon that hosts her son and the other Gridiron entries. The cruiser’s orbit is so close that the moon encompasses her entire viewing screen. She lies back in the cushioned chair as she envisions her son’s struggles in the Gridiron. Sula sits alone in the dark, wrestling with the nightmares and fears that plague her mind. She sips from her glass in hopes of numbing the borderline panic crashing through her body. Her son descended to the surface days ago when the Royal Gridiron began, but she can’t stomach the idea of watching him struggle against the enemies she set upon him. Despite her protests, Solum insists on updating her at regular intervals.

  He’s alive.

  She clings to that simple thought like a life preserver. She wraps it around her heart and begs her drink to numb the fear and anxiety that rages against her peace of mind.

  He’s still alive.

  A knock on the door interrupts her inner turmoil, and Sula frowns. It’s too early for one of Solum’s reports, so she wonders who would risk her wrath. Then a horrifying thought stabs at her heart.

  What if it is Solum? What if my son is…