Constant

by Lexi Ander

  “Sohm!” The Monticore divided, and his beautiful, vibrant Tori was there, gently cupping his face, imperiously demanding Sohm’lan open for him. “Do not dare tell me you are fine. Your barbs are bleeding, your stomach is bleeding, and you were in that ink cloud entirely too long.”

  Grudgingly, he opened his mouth, the motion hurting more than he expected.

  Empress Ashari and his parents arrived, sweeping by Poseidon as if he did not exist. Sohm’lan closed his eyes, biting back inappropriate laughter. A palm pressed against his forehead and when he opened his eyes, Ashari stared down at him.

  “I am sorry you found out about Shaneva like this.” He would never forget her expression as she tried to cross the barrier.

  “No apologies needed. You will allow Mestor to take you home.” Her eyes were filled with sorrow.

  “I need to talk with Poseidon.” Suddenly, he panicked, worried Poseidon had left after he had worked so hard to get him there. He struggled in the guards’ grip trying to see.

  Ashari’s grinned like a shark. “Rest. Your job is done, my friend. I will bring Poseidon home with me and arrange for Nethus’s reparations, whether he likes it or not.”

  “I sank two knives into his flesh.” Sohm’lan swallowed, a few of the ink blisters popping with the action. “One for Shaneva and one for Canry. It is not enough.”

  “Agreed,” Empress Ashari replied darkly. “Mestor will take you to Dr. Solon now.”

  Tori put his shoulder under Sohm’lan’s arm. “By your leave, Empress Ashari,” his amor replied, acknowledging the order they all heard in her voice.

  She gave a regal nod and took Azaes’ arm as she signed to her Monticore, gathering the captains and warlords before heading toward Poseidon. If he was not looking forward to medical care, he would have insisted they stay and watch the coming showdown.

  “I have you.” Tori assured him. The guards folded a sling around him and Tori, readying him for transport.

  He was grateful Tori was staying with him, and he relaxed, knowing he would be watched over and protected while he was vulnerable. The Monticore formed a formidable wall around them as they were towed to the surface. He closed his eyes and fell into blessed unconsciousness.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Mestor

  * * *

  Mestor held Sohm’lan’s limp form, the panic that attempted to overtake his rational thought when his amor lost consciousness was held at bay only when he realized Sohm’lan was still breathing. With his arms wrapped around Sohm’lan, he counted each breath as the water gushed past his fingers from the gills along Sohm’lan’s spine. The Monticore were gentle as they towed them to the surface. Everyone knew the hazards of ink clouds.

  He was glad he was in the sling with Sohm’lan when he was struck by an unexpected farseeing. Mestor stood on a brilliant path, Sohm’lan’s shining spirit cradled in his arms. Many strings of possible futures spun out from Sohm’lan’s form. The paths were covered by a fog that blinded Mestor’s sight, except for one that glowed bright and beckoning. Even though he sensed the thump of a headache coming on, he stepped out on the unshrouded path, knowing he needed to move with care, otherwise he would be incapacitated and unable to tend to Sohm’lan. But he could not turn away from the offered glimpse of this strong possibility that lay in Sohm’lan’s future. Mestor had not been waylaid by an unsought after farseeing since he had the last one that prodded him to be careful pursuing Sohm’lan as a mate. Many moons had passed without another warning, so he had thought he was free of them.

  The veil around the glowing path was not completely gone, but he was still able to glimpse the future through the gauzy material. Snapshots of scenes floated by on bubbles of sunshine. He tried to look at them all but there were too many. Him and Sohm’lan together, sometimes with others, sometimes Sohm’lan was by himself. Then there were action clips. A shimmering wall in space. A rapidly falling shuttle in the atmosphere of a foreign planet. Waterfalls everywhere throwing mist into the air around massive carved stone statues, pockmarked and crumbling. Sohm’lan swimming toward a portal leading dozens, and behind them the brilliance of devastating explosions.

  Mestor backtracked out of the vision, pulling free of the farseeing. He did not want to know how that strong possible future ended. He squeezed Sohm’lan tighter, more determined to never let him go. His amor would be retiring soon, so that future would no longer be impossible.

  The dark waters turned lighter and more turquoise in color. A dark shape created a shadow that blocked out the sun and when they surfaced, Mestor stared at the belly of his Aunt Davina’s airship. A stretcher was lowered, and the medtech leaped into the choppy ocean to secure him and Sohm’lan to the device before signaling. The wind whipped around Mestor, causing a chill to bite at his scales as they were hoisted into the airship. Dr. Solon waited, locking the stretcher in place while Monticore were brought onboard. Mestor rolled off and helped the doctor remove the net, then Sohm’lan’s armor, revealing the true extent of damage he had taken even with the armor doing a good job dispersing the bursts of energy Nethus had hit Sohm’lan with.

  Dr. Solon brought over equipment that he hurriedly employed, not saying anything to Mestor. He did not want to distract the doctor, so he watched intently and jumped to help when Dr. Solon made the slightest of noises. Sohm’lan was rinsed with an antiseptic that removed silt and sand from open wounds and a neutralizer that eliminated any remaining ink residue. Carefully, they opened and sprayed neutralizer in Sohm’lan’s mouth. Blisters had formed on the soft tissues of his gums and throat. Then he was shifted onto his side where Dr. Solon inspected the blisters along the edge of his gills.

  Without Dr. Solon needing to ask, Mestor described the fight. At the mention of how long Sohm’lan lingered in the ink cloud, the doctor cursed and made a call to a clinic on the opposite side of the continent. Kraken territory was in the northern Waters and they kept antidotes on hand for anyone who accidentally crossed paths with the beasts. Several vials would be sent by airship, but it would still be a few of hours before the medicine arrived.

  The most grievous of the wounds were the broken barbs. Mestor was not sure that was something they could heal. Most barbs, if lost, would grow back over time. But it looked as if a good portion of the spines had not been snapped off at the quick but uprooted. The ink burns were serious as well. As expected, Sohm’lan lost a few scales here and there during the fight. It happened to all Mar’Sani. The ink cloud had covered his whole body so that not only affected the soft tissue of his mouth, throat, and lungs but other unprotected areas on his body were also blistered. There was bruising on the exterior of Sohm’lan’s throat and the scales of his chest were blackened around the edges. The latter Mestor assumed was a result of the energy blasts. Finally, there was the three puncture wounds on his lower abdomen where Nethus’s trident had stabbed him. Those were minor compared to everything else.

  “I will need volunteers to help heal him,” Dr. Solon said, giving Mestor a challenging stare, as if he expected possessive pushback.

  He did not like the thought of others putting their mouths on his amor. The few times Sohm’lan had healed him, the experience was one filled with sexual tension. This healing would have nothing to do with sex or their relationship, and he needed Sohm’lan well again and looking at him with those big blue eyes. He shoved away the disquiet. Every single Monticore had answered in the affirmative. Mestor placed his fist over his heart and bowed to them, telling them without words he deeply appreciated and welcomed their assistance.

  He lost track of time as he and the volunteers worked to heal Sohm’lan’s various wounds. The Monticore did not have the stamina that Mestor did, and he wondered why he was steady after finishing and the Monticore were staggering.

  As he suspected, they could not mend Sohm’lan’s lungs or the barbs, but at least the bleeding had stopped. He was deeply concerned that Sohm’lan was still unconscious. By Dr. Solon’s expression, so was he. Mestor hoped the reason
had something to do with the loss of energy while using the trident, or the final blast that had shattered Nethus’s armor. Carefully, they turned Sohm’lan onto his stomach, laying towels on each side of his spine to catch any seepage from the barbs.

  Mestor watched carefully as they approached the palace. The explosion that had happened as they left had been in the back of his mind. The private lagoon’s cream-colored sand was churned as if hundreds had come and gone in the last few hours. Rows of people sat on the incline to the private beach, guarded by Basilisc. Other than that, nothing looked damaged or out of place. The main level of the palace sat on top of the bluff, the floors beneath were identified by the windows in the cliff face. Then they neared the landing pad and there, the edge was crumbled, a rockslide leaving a fresh earthen scar down to the water’s edge.

  Aunt Davina requested clearance to land, and they circled the area as they waited for a reply. They were directed to the pad farther from the cliff and Aunt Davina set the airship down. A group waited for them and he immediately recognized his father, Ariafella, and Rathmar. But the black-scaled Mar’Sani with the white ridge he did not know.

  Dr. Solon activated the stretcher and Mestor did his best not to hover as he and his guard followed the doctor down the ramp. The Monticore immediately took up a protective stance even though they were on home ground. Zeus’s Gaziniti medtech, Mayra Seneca, met them and Dr. Solon crouched to speak to her in confidential whispers.

  “Mestor!” his father called as he rushed over, catching him up in a back-breaking embrace.

  “Azaes will be arriving with Meme,” he said upon seeing Ariafella search the ramp behind him. “They were held up by Poseidon.”

  “Oh!” Her exclamation was a lyrical note that filled him with warmth. “He actually came, thank haven! I hope he makes the Numina squirm on the hook before he feeds them to barracudas.”

  “Barracudas, eh?” Mestor teased, his gaze already on the Mar’Sani he did not recognize.

  “You have been gone so long, we were concerned that the gyre circle was a Numina trap, especially after what happened here,” said the Mar’Sani Mestor did not recognize… except he knew that voice.

  He stared into silvery-white eyes, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. “Zeus?”

  His father kept an arm around him as if he expected Mestor to topple over. He would never do such a thing in public, but his knees did wobble as if he had run up the slopes of Mount Rhodes. He glanced at Ariafella and Rathmar. The happy grins practically spilt their faces in two. Father’s rumbling chuckle vibrated his side.

  “Zeus?” he croaked again. Disbelieving. He looked hard at the strange Mar’Sani who comically waggled his brow ridge.

  “Pretty amazing, is it not? Rheax said she would show me how to morph back, but I wanted to wait and show everyone.” Zeus’s eyes grew big. “And look what I have!” He spun and almost knocked Mestor over with his tail. Looking over his shoulder, Zeus waved his new appendage at Mestor with the excitement of a youngling. His expression was full of joy and wonder.

  “What in the stars did you do while we were gone?” he gasped.

  “Zeus beat the Numina with their own tails,” Rathmar replied with a devious smirk.

  “Those who Alpha did not convince to surrender, that is,” Ariafella clarified.

  Mestor could not take his eyes off Zeus. From the very first day, Meme introduced him as her son. They had said Zeus was Mar’Sani, despite his form. His actions, his heart had proved as much. Zeus accomplished everything the Mar’Sani did, always striving to do it better. Now the outside matched what they had always sensed. Mestor’s eyes burned as he leaped on his youngest brother, catching Zeus off guard. Instead of tussling, Zeus clutched him and pressed his face into the pliant scales at Mestor’s neck.

  “You will have to tell me what happened,” he said, petting the white ridge in wonder.

  “After we get Sohm’lan settled,” Zeus replied, urging Mestor to the hovercraft that Sohm’lan had already been loaded onto.

  He sat next to his amor and placed his hand on Sohm’lan’s head as he talked about the challenge and Poseidon’s arrival. He considered whether he should also tell them about Shaneva’s treatment at Nethus’s hands. Since it was the reason Sohm’lan became her champion and the details had been given at the challenge, everyone who attended would be talking about it. With reluctance, he told them about that, as well as Meme’s reaction.

  “The gyre circle spoke and gave her the right to name the reparations?” Ariafella asked, not sounding surprised that the structure was sentient or about Meme’s demands.

  “It did. She managed to hold her temper, and once the challenge was completed she did not violate the rules of the gyre circle.” Sohm’lan had won. No other fighting was allowed. Mestor was not sure he wanted to see what the circle could do if the rule was broken.

  “Has everyone returned? Are Kryp and Matsya well?”

  His father grunted. “It is as if I am not the emperor anymore. I told them to stay overnight at the safe house and an hour later they were coming through the front gates.”

  “They wanted to help,” Ariafella explained tiredly, as if this was not the first mention of the family’s disobedience. Mestor laughed with Zeus at their father’s expression. “They were determined to do their part.”

  Sohm’lan was taken to the palace’s small medical ward. There were patients everywhere, people who had been injured in the Numina’s initial attack. Zeus told him about the clashes and how it was supposed be a diversion. He proudly described Alpha fighting alongside Kryp. Mestor glanced at Zeus’s neck, but Alpha was not with hm.

  “Alpha is back with Dargon, resting,” Zeus explained, concern entering his expression. “He communicates through touch. He can use telepathic speech, but it is hard for him. I think if there were more… pieces of him together, it would have been easier. He put all his attention and concentration into convincing the Numina to surrender, revealing he sired Poseidon. Some Numina left the fight when they learned that.”

  “Then there were the brainless who sided with Bucca and thought they could save their way of life,” Rathmar added, his smile pulling grotesquely at the scarring on his face. “The three of us plowed through them, with the Monticore and Basilisc incapacitating any who got by us. Canry sang this song that…” Rathmar looked to Zeus and Ariafella. “I do not know how to explain it. It was as if I were a hero from the ancient stories.”

  Ariafella smiled fondly. “We fought together as a team like we used to. It felt wonderful.”

  “Where is Canry?” Mestor glanced around the infirmary, looking for a familiar yellow and green form. A pang of guilt hit him. Had he walked by his wounded brother?

  “He is sleeping,” Valdor replied. “The song took a lot out of him.”

  Mestor regarded his father. “Why are you upset?”

  “I wanted to stand beside my sons, be the blade protecting their backs.” His father was… Mestor would never, ever, say pouting, but that is what it looked like. Zeus and Ariafella stifled laughter. “Instead, Zeus ordered one of his Orion to grab me and roll me to a position behind our force.”

  “Do you know how many times Sohm’lan repeated the phrase, ‘a king would not’ after we landed on Valespia and I was preparing for the battle against the Terrens and V’Saar?” Zeus replied.

  Mestor quickly looked away, choking on a laugh. When did Zeus master the art of sounding exactly like Sohm’lan?

  “Wait.” Zeus turned his large silvery eyes on their father. “Sohm’lan has kept you out of fights all these summers. You were looking forward to handing the Numina their tails.”

  Their father gave them an innocent expression. “I only wanted to stand next to my sons, show them that I am confident in their abilities, but I am also a force at their back to catch them and hold them up. Now, if my blade happened to make the Numina think twice about us inferior Mar’Sani…”

  Mestor along with everyone else laughed. That one statement
let them know Father was not angry about being directed to the sidelines, though he had been hopeful for something more.

  “You are the one who raised me, where do you think I—” he pointed at Mestor— “We got our recklessness from. I knew it would be useless arguing with you. I made sure you were safe, just in case I lost, and the Numina did take me.”

  Rathmar snorted. “As if that could happen.”

  Zeus turned sorrowful eyes on his friend. “I was once taken down in an ambush. It was a hard lesson to learn that I was not infallible, and my failure hurt someone I care about. I will do everything in my power to keep from being taken again, but I will always plan for my failure.”

  Rathmar looked pained. “That was my fault. I should have never contacted you or sent you that coded message. I thought the cottage was safe. I wanted privacy to wish you luck on your trip and warn you that father had taken an unhealthy interest in you. I am sorry for that.”

  Zeus sighed. “It is not your fault. I was distracted, too. I knew our relationship was coming to an end, and I wanted to keep our friendship. If I had not been preoccupied, then I would have noticed the signs that something was wrong before I stepped into the trap.”

  Mestor made a rude noise. “Timsah… That bull was power hungry and speciesist. He abused Rathmar and others in his house. He did not care who he hurt or killed to reach his goals. Neither one of you are responsible for his actions.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Father replied, tapping his chest with his fist. “He will never be a free bull again. Soon all his accomplices will be gathered up and sent to Valespia to stand trial with him.”

  “Good riddance!” Rathmar murmured.

  Mestor could not have agreed more.

  Meme’s return took longer than he had anticipated. He ate a meal at Sohm’lan’s bedside, and his attendants brought one of his uniforms. He worried over his amor’s continued unconsciousness, but Dr. Solon said he was stable.