by T. S. Ryder
His position was more than just a low-ranking warrior-slave, after all. He commanded a ship, and even though he was stuck on this moon, it didn't mean he could simply forget about the defense of the Demante system. There were plenty of species out there that would gladly invade the rich resources of the outer planets or attack Thoutle itself. It was his duty to keep abreast of the information and ensure that his men were up to date on the possible threats they faced.
Still, leaving Cheryl with Bjorn–leaving her at all–was a difficult thing to do. Hopefully, the reports he would have to listen to would only take a few hours… then, if he ran back to the Shrine, he'd return in time to tear off Cheryl's clothes and throw her into the lake before dark.
***
His lungs burned, legs pumping as he charged down the purple-paved path, grateful that he had elected to stop wearing his heavy armor–he would have had to leave it behind on the ship anyway. He needed to get back to the pavilions as fast as he could.
If he wasn't too late.
Maskin didn't bother checking Bjorn's cabin. The sun was low in the southern sky, indicating it was mid-afternoon. Cheryl always slept at this time of day, and Bjorn would not have left her side.
He burst into Cheryl's cabin. As expected, the human and the prince were lying on the bed, fully clothed, although from the way Cheryl's clothes were disheveled, Bjorn had 'helped her to relax' before she took her nap. The prince started at Maskin's entrance. The queen cried out as the warrior-slave scooped her out of the bed, jostling her awake.
"What are you doing?" Bjorn demanded.
Maskin thrust Cheryl into his arm. "Put your armor on her."
"What?"
"Our ship was sabotaged. Communications and navigation both destroyed. There is somebody on this moon that is after us. Your nanite armor can protect her." Maskin palmed one of the prince's knives and ran back to the door. His chest was heaving from the strenuous run and sweat glistened on his brow. Nothing moving was in sight. He cursed. "I should have checked the ship every day. This is my fault."
"What is? What do you mean, somebody is after us?" Cheryl's voice was pitched with fear.
"The armor is ceremonial," Bjorn said, joining Maskin at the door. They kept Cheryl behind them, their bodies blocking any potential attacks. "Effective against bladed weapons, but not blasters and the like."
"It's forbidden to bring blasters to the shrine," Cheryl babbled. "It's against all the sacred rules—"
"We don't know who sabotaged our ship and why" Maskin interrupted. "We don't know if they're Temadian. It could be that they are another species, trying to kill you to destroy our government. It could be that they're here to ensure that neither Bjorn or I are able to impregnate you. We don't know."
Cheryl clung to his arm, her eyes wide, her face ashen. The ruby-red armor of Bjorn's nanites made her skin look all the paler and her hair all the more golden. If the situation wasn't so dire, Maskin would have suggested that they tie her up and pretend that she was an enemy soldier that they were interrogating–Cheryl liked playing that game, especially when he would 'torture' her until Bjorn would suggest alternative means to make her talk.
But now was not the time for sex fantasies.
Maskin turned to Bjorn. "Do you have any other weapons?"
"Two swords. I expected to be forced to challenge you to death outside the Shrine. They're in my cabin. And your armor?"
"My cabin. Weapons first." He considered for a moment and shook his head. "There's an ancient communication center on the other side of the mountains. If we can get there, then we can call for help. The armor is too heavy for long-distance speed. We leave it behind."
Bjorn nodded and turned to Cheryl. "We'll carry you when we can, but you have to be strong."
"She is strong," Maskin growled. "The strongest woman I have ever known."
Cheryl was still pale, but at his words, a determined look came over her face. Now wasn't the time to tell her that she was one of the few women he had ever met. She would be stronger if she believed herself strong.
They made it to Bjorn's cabin and retrieved his weapons without incident. They headed off at once, moving around the Shrine to a back path that was indicated on the map on Cheryl's holoreader. It would take longer, but hopefully, it would buy them some time.
Darkness fell, and they continued, Bjorn and Maskin taking turns carrying Cheryl when she was too tired to walk anymore.
"I need rest," Bjorn said halfway through the night. He sat, head sagging. "I was not genetically programmed for this like you were."
Maskin nodded. He peered into the surrounding trees but in this darkness, even he couldn't see what lay beyond them. He let the prince rest, standing on guard himself. Nothing was going to hurt Bjorn and Cheryl. Nothing and no one.
He would die before he let that happen.
Chapter Seven: Cheryl
Cheryl yawned as she stumbled along the path. Her legs ached and her feet felt like two blocks of blistered wood. The light was cresting the horizon. At least they would have light to travel by. The dead of night had been so dark that she hadn't been able to see the forms of the two men walking with her.
"How much further?" she asked, trying not to show how bone-weary she was. She wasn't sure that she would be able to take another step but somehow kept her legs still moving.
"We'll get there by noon," Bjorn said.
Maskin grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground. Cheryl cried out as the rough stones tore her palms. But before she was even down, a dozen warriors leaped from the surrounding bushes. They moved silently like shadows, but the swords that gleamed in their hands were all too solid. Cheryl screamed as the nearest one stabbed at Maskin. He deflected the blow with his own sword, putting his dagger to the attacker's throat. His feet were planted firmly as he fought off the attackers.
On her other side, Bjorn danced and leaped like a flame. His movements were so quick, she could hardly tell where his arms ended and his sword and dagger started. The warriors that crowded him soon found themselves with gashes over their eyes or in their throats.
Together the two men stood over her, trusting one another to hold their backs. Cheryl curled into a ball, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Twice she saw an open space and threw rocks at their attackers, but the defense of her men was so tight that she saw very little but them.
The warriors suddenly broke off their attack and fled back into the trees. Bjorn growled and took a step to follow, but Maskin grabbed his shoulder.
"They are trying to lure us away from Cheryl."
"Are they trying to steal her or kill her?"
Maskin shook his head. His body was still tense, eyes scanning the tree line. "I couldn't tell. But they were lying in wait for us."
Cheryl's heart was in her throat as she scrambled to her feet and shivered, glancing around. "They guessed that we were coming this way? So we have to go the other way?"
"No, my Lapis Lazuli." Maskin put an arm around her. "If this path is guarded, then the other one will be as well."
"Unless they weren't laying in wait at all," Bjorn argued. "If they were merely checking if we were coming this way, we can still reach the communications bunker before they can move their soldiers to block our path."
The prince took a step down the path.
Maskin grabbed him again. "If they were looking for us on this path, that means they know where we are headed. If our quarry is smart enough to check all possible routes to the bunker, they will have it heavily guarded. We won't be able to make it."
"Can we fix communications on the ship?"
"No."
Cheryl pressed both of her hands to her mouth, feeling sick. Intermittent tremors moved down her spine and she pressed herself to Maskin's side, grabbing Bjorn's hand as well. His nanite armor was stiffer than she expected, making it difficult to breathe. Even though the fear pounded through her, there was a sense of calm as well. Whatever happened, she knew that her two men would allow no
harm to come to her.
But what if they died protecting her? How could she be queen without her kings?
"I don't want to be queen if I can't have you," she blurted out, looking between them. "Both of you. You were both chosen by the Gods to be king, I don't care what Quincy said, you are both my kings!"
Bjorn kissed her forehead. "Hush. You don't have to choose between us."
"But—"
"We can worry about being kings after we leave the Shrine alive," Maskin said grimly. "If we can't call for help, then we will have to wait until help comes to us."
Bjorn glanced over his shoulder. "If we are going to wait, then we need a place to hide. An acolyte kitchen is a place we can fortify. We have to get back to the heart of the shrine unless we can fly the ship without navigation."
Maskin gave him an annoyed look. "Can you fill a cup that has a hole drilled through the bottom? Carry her. We'll go through the forest. The path is too dangerous."
The trees were so thick that Cheryl didn't know how Maskin and Bjorn found a way to move through them, but they did. Maskin led, sword strapped to his back, dagger in hand. They moved quickly, and far more quietly than Cheryl had expected. They ran into no more enemies as they made their way back to the heart of the Shrine.
Once there, Maskin retrieved his armor and they made their way to the acolyte kitchen. The acolytes themselves seemed to have disappeared. Cheryl shivered as they entered the kitchen. What could have happened to them?
Every open space was boarded over and fortified, except for a single slot by the door where Maskin stood watch. Bjorn found some food and urged Cheryl to eat, but her stomach churned too much to swallow anything down.
"Why are they attacking us?" she asked.
"We can't know for certain." Bjorn smoothed her wild hair from her face. "I suspect that someone's angry that Maskin, a warrior-slave, was permitted the chance to become king."
Maskin shook his head. "I disagree. They may have been a little more reluctant to attack you, but they were still going for the kill. I suspect that someone has decided they want to be king and is after Cheryl."
The human shuddered. "But the Gods decided on you and Bjorn. It's my choice."
"When has a queen ever chosen her king?"
Cheryl had no response to Maskin's question. If somebody was after her–and that seemed like the most likely scenario to her–then they didn't care what she wanted.
"This is why I wanted to be king," Bjorn said, putting an arm around Cheryl as she shivered. "The injustices that we live within our society are reprehensible. We need a king who will evoke change, not think of expansions or increasing his own wealth."
Cheryl glanced at Maskin. It was almost exactly what he had told her about why he wanted to be king. Now he stared at Bjorn with surprise in his eyes. "That's why I looked to become king as well."
Both men eyed each other. Cheryl's heart skipped a beat. She could actually see respect dawn as they regarded each other. And despite being locked away in the acolyte kitchen with who knew how many warriors out there hunting them for reasons that were yet unknown, her heart rose.
Maybe there was a chance that they could get along. The hostility between the two of them had been steadily declining since that first night that they had shared her. She still didn't know who had claimed her rose, and who had been at her back, but it didn't matter.
They were hers and she was theirs.
Cheryl had made her choice at long last. Both of them. And they would be good kings. Maskin had warrior's knowledge to protect the system, Bjorn had knowledge of politics that was needed to invoke change from the inside. They were like two halves of the same coin, and they were her kings.
Her heart sank as quickly as it had risen. The choice wasn't hers anymore. When they left the shrine, one or both would be put to death, depending on whether or not she was pregnant. Then what was she supposed to do?
Chapter Eight: Bjorn
Bjorn found a closet with extra linens in it and made a bed for Cheryl on the floor. They didn't know how long they would be here, and she was exhausted. She clung to him as she fell asleep. Fortified in the kitchen, the prince found the night's march catch up with him and he drifted off as well.
When he woke, Cheryl was still deeply asleep and Maskin was still standing watch. The glow coming in from the window in the door was a pale shade of green. Planetlight. The sunrods had been switched to low light, though they still emitted warmth.
The prince stood and did a few stretches to loosen his stiff muscles before he joined Maskin at the window. "Anything?"
"I've seen a few warriors. Nothing else. They know where we are. They're waiting for something. Or someone."
Bjorn nodded, looking through the window himself. "Perhaps they're waiting for a priest to bless their blades, so they can kill on this sacred land without their souls being destroyed. Or perhaps they are hoping to draw us out."
"Perhaps. Or they could be coming at us from the side or the back. If they set fire to these flimsy wooden structures, we'll perish." Maskin glanced at him. "Whatever they're after, you should rest. We will need all the strength that we can muster when the attack comes again."
"I slept most of the day. It's your turn to rest. I'll keep watch."
A wry smile twisted Maskin's face, making the diamond tattoos under his eyes look like two spear points. "You will watch over me? I was bred for this work. You were bred to sit on soft chairs and flatter others from the noble houses. I can go without sleep for a week and still fight a warrior's battle. Can you?"
"If these attacks are a protest against you being allowed to fight for the throne, then you are the one in more danger. In which case you need your strength more than I need mine."
"It also means that as much as I have yearned for the crown, you're the one more likely to be able to protect Cheryl and get her out of this. Not that I care about you." Maskin's wry smile increased. "But if you really want to change our society…"
Bjorn sighed, understanding Maskin's words. But just because he was a prince, it didn't mean he was useless in a battle. And it certainly didn't mean that he wanted the warrior-slave to die. It would break Cheryl's heart.
That was the only reason he cared.
"I thought you would be too war-like to be an effective king," Bjorn admitted. "I thought you were after your own glory."
Maskin laughed. "I thought the same of you. And all the Lords of the noble houses. I didn't think any of you knew how to tie your own bootstrap."
"And why is that?"
"The Apdratee invasion."
Bjorn nodded for him to continue, leaning against the wall and looking out at the other buildings. The heart of the shrine looked utterly peaceful and still. The absence of the usual acolytes was perhaps the most disturbing. Would their attackers really destroy the Shrine's workers? If so, there was nothing to protect them.
"I served under Lord Aich during the invasion. I am called a hero because I took command after he was killed by the Apdratees. But if the truth were known, I would be executed for treason."
"Did you kill him?"
Maskin shook his head.
"What then?"
"I disobeyed his orders. He told us to retreat, to flee with him and leave our brothers' flanks unprotected. Instead, I drove into the heart of the invasion. I had every intention of dying that day. When I survived and he died, unable to tell anyone about my disobedience, I saw it as a sign from the Gods. I was meant for greater things than my birth."
Bjorn looked away. As a warrior-slave, Maskin would still be executed if his actions came to light despite the fact that he ended the invasion. Slaves were meant to be utterly complacent to those who commanded them. Those who had minds of their own were dangerous.
Where did that put Cheryl? She was a slave, yes, but also a queen. She was greater than many of those from noble houses, and yet lesser.
His shoulders sagged as he stared out the window. Even though he had only known Maskin for a shor
t time, he had come to respect him greatly. He treated Cheryl like she was the finest-cut sapphire. Even when he was rough with her during their lovemaking, he always put her pleasure before his own. He would have made a fine king if that option had ever been truly open for him.
"You're an honorable man. You've risked your life for the chance to become king."
"As did you," Maskin said. "You fought in the tournaments and defeated your enemies. You have more skill than I would have given you credit for if I had not fought you myself."
"The moons were never in alignment for you." Bjorn turned from the window and bowed his head in shame. "When the priest declared we would come here and work to impregnate Cheryl, he was declaring me king."
"I think not."
Bjorn took a deep breath and made himself look his once-rival in the eye. "He was. Few people know, but warrior-slaves are made sterile when they are taken from their families. Warriors cannot increase their own numbers and rise against the houses. You could never impregnate Cheryl, Maskin. The priest made this test so that you would fail, and it would be seen as the Gods punishing you for daring to rise above your station."
Maskin stared back at him. His eyes were cast in shadow, but the rest of his face was utterly neutral.
"I knew." Bjorn swallowed. "And I said nothing."
The warrior-slave turned back to the window. He remained hard-faced. Bjorn waited. He wouldn't blame Maskin for whatever he did next. It seemed like forever before the warrior nodded.
"Thank you for telling me. It makes the choices from here on easy. Just promise me one thing, Lord of Leshire."
Bjorn nodded.
"Take care of our Lapis Lazuli. Give her everything she wants and the life she deserves."
Bjorn was surprised to find a lump in his throat. He nodded. "I will."
"Good."
The prince hesitated, but put a hand on Maskin's shoulder. "Go lie with her. Rest. I'll keep watch."
For a long moment, he thought Maskin would refuse, but the warrior-slave nodded. Bjorn turned his back to let the man have peace with their queen. He watched the bright, planet-lit night, and tried not to feel how much his heart was sinking.