Prophecy (Book One in the Prophecy Series)

by Lea Kirk

  “No.” Graig nudged Alexandra. “Alex, it’s over. Gryf’s here, sora.”

  Alexandra was curled in a fetal position against Graig’s side, her head covered by her arms. Graig moved aside, and she peeked between her elbows. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered with ragged disbelief. “Someone tried to kill me, Gryf.”

  “They tried.” Tried, and failed.

  She stretched one arm toward him. Relief and post-adrenalin rush slammed into him, and he grabbed her hand, hauling her into his lap. He peppered kisses over her face, her mouth, touching her everywhere. She was alive. Safe. “Animi.” He cradled her against his chest. Thank you, Mother.

  Behind him, his father gave the stand-down order to the armed personnel arriving, and put them in charge of taking the bodies to the morgue. Alexandra shivered. Shock must be settling upon her. Her warm palm rested against Gryf’s chest, over his heart. “Gryf, who was the dumbass who insisted that I go unarmed to these negotiations? You should throw her in the brig.”

  He half smiled against her hair. “Perhaps after the negotiations, when you are feeling more yourself.”

  Nick squatted next to him, balanced on the balls of his feet. Placing a glowing hand on his sister’s head, he murmured, “Peace.” Instantly Alexandra’s body stopped shivering, relaxing as it was released from the effects of shock.

  Nick’s gaze hardened. “I got some information that I think we can use. I couldn’t understand the words, but the actions were pretty clear. There may be some question if how I got it was ethical, but since it was my sister they were trying to kill, I feel justified.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Barely ten minutes later, Alex strode through the corridors of the Atlantis toward the viscomm room they’d use to negotiate with the Anferthian Supreme Warden. Her husband and her brother flanked her. The former looked like a Category 5 hurricane waiting to be unleashed, while the latter seemed grim and determined. Ahead of Alex was her father-in-law, and at her back, Graig. All five were now armed with telums.

  In the viscomm room, she stood between Gryf and his father. Zale touched a spot on a console inside the door, and a realistic 3-D hologram of Administer Navigand, the elected leader of the Matiran people, appeared on the other side of the admiral. Now that’s damn impressive.

  “Admiral Marenys,” Navigand’s hologram nodded, and then bowed to her and Gryf. “Profeta, Profetu, it is my honor.”

  Alex inclined her head in unison with Gryf. “On behalf of the Terrian people, Administer Navigand, I thank you for arranging and supporting these negotiations.”

  “I am thankful that you are safe, honorable one. Arrangements are in place for the members of your Earth Council to listen in to these negotiations. They have been briefed, and know you came to no harm during the attempt on your life.”

  “I know they appreciate that assurance. Thank you, sir.” As the head of the newly-seated Earth Council, Moises had probably demanded it. He had begged her to be careful during this trip, but she hadn’t seen where there’d be any threat. She’d be aboard the Atlantis after all, and she couldn’t be safer. Boy, had she been wrong.

  Zale extended his hand to her, and she placed hers in his. His face softened. “As deeply as I regret the events which have brought you to our family, Alexandra, I cannot regret gaining you as a daughter. Please remember this always.”

  Some of the tension drained from her shoulders, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Best father-in-law ever. “Thank you, patre.”

  He released her hand. “Are you ready, cori?”

  “Just let me know when they can see me.”

  Zale gave her a wink. “You will know by their shocked expressions.”

  No doubt she would. The wall screen flickered to life. Supreme Warden Antaro T’lik and his coalition council appeared.

  “Administer Navigand,” he greeted the Matiran leader. The vibration in his voice had a nasal quality. “I trust there is a good reason for this delay in communication.”

  “Our Profeta came under attack by a group of assassins,” the Administer told him without apology.

  “I see.” T’lik tapped his long fingers on the table in front of him, his face a mask. “Then the negotiations are over before they begin.”

  “Not even remotely, Supreme Warden,” Navigand assured the other man.

  “With your Profeta gone, there is no one to speak for the Terrians.”

  “Why would you think that, your excellence?” Zale asked.

  T’lik visibly stiffened. “Surely you do not suggest that your Profetu negotiate for both peoples? We will not negotiate with a Matiran for the Terrian prisoners.”

  “Forgive me, Supreme Warden, for my poorly-chosen words.” Zale smiled thinly. “I meant to ask, why would you think that the Profeta is gone?”

  Amazing. This is going exactly as planned. Alex sent the thought to Gryf. I hope I do half as well. It’d be shame to mess up all of your father’s groundwork.

  Gryf rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. I won’t let you fall.

  She gave him a grateful smile. I know.

  “Terr’s Profeta is alive and well, I assure you, Supreme Warden,” Navigand said.

  Hm, that’s an awful lot of surprised faces. Only a few of the Anferthians did not seem affected by this news.

  Gryf’s chuckle rolled gently through her mind. Are you ready, animi?

  As I’ll ever be.

  “Then where is she? Show her to us.” T’lik smirked. His arrogance was mind-boggling.

  Gryf squeezed her hand before releasing it. Her father-in-law ran his finger across the flat control panel in front of him. All sets of Anferthian eyes settled on Alex. She smothered a grin. It was clear they saw her now.

  The Administer extended his holographic hand in her direction. “Supreme Warden Antaro T’lik and esteemed Coalition of Anferthia, it pleases me to present the honorable Profeta of Terr and the Profetu of Matir.”

  She and Gryf inclined their heads when introduced. About half of the Anferthian Coalition returned the acknowledgement. One of them, an elder coalition member, asked, “Admiral, is this not your son?”

  “It is, Member K’nil. And as fate would have it, he stands at the side of my daughter-in-law.”

  Member Fynn K’nil and my father share a mutual respect for each other. Gryf explained. Of all the coalition members, his heart is the most true to his people.

  “So you are the Profeta of Matiran legend.” Supreme Warden T’lik leaned back in his seat. “I had expected more.”

  “I had not expected it at all.” Take that, you condescending weasel.

  Member K’nil’s black eyes focused on her, as though measuring her up.

  T’lik frowned, his coarse, pale brows drawn together over his glare. “Let us dispense with formalities and get right to the point.”

  This is a grave insult, Gryf warned. Force official acknowledgment of your status.

  Well, that was easier said than done. She pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. “Supreme Warden and esteemed Coalition, I greet you as the Profeta and the voice of the people of Earth.”

  For several heartbeats, T’lik clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Greetings, Profeta, on behalf of this coalition and the Anferthian people,” he ground out.

  “Thank you, Your Excellence, and coalition.”

  Member K’nil addressed her, “Profeta, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I am glad you survived your ordeal this day.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She felt herself warming to his tactful diplomacy. But only a little.

  T’lik narrowed his eyes. “Clearly Senior Captain Helyg has scant control over his crew if they are attempting to assassinate his wife.”

  Whoa. Had he just said that? “We never said that my attackers were Matiran, Supreme Warden.”

  Dead silence. T’lik’s face went from a condescending sneer to horrified panic. And there was no way he could retract his ill-chosen words. He stood up and pounded his large
fist on the table in front of him. “These negotiations have ended. We will not negotiate with you. End the transmission.”

  The Anferthians disappeared and Alex gaped at the blank viscomm wall. Well, shit. Now what? She turned to Zale. “Can you get them back?”

  He shook his head. “If we did, they would take it for a sign of desperation. We would lose credibility in their eyes, and weaken our position.”

  Double shit. “But trying is better than doing nothing, isn’t it?”

  “We must try something different, cori,” her father-in-law murmured, staring hard at the blank tabletop in front of him. “What we did did not work.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I screwed it up. I can’t believe it.”

  “You did no such thing.”

  Yeah, sure. “So, now what?”

  His eyes flicked up and he gave her an apologetic look. “We wait.” Then he went back to contemplating the blank table.

  Dammit. We almost had them. How had she been so horribly wrong?

  Gryf touched her elbow. “Come with me, animi.”

  He led her to a corner of the room, the others seemingly oblivious to the Profetae’s retreat. Stepping into his embrace, she touched her forehead to his as comfortable warmth spread through her chest. Strength, well-being, and peace flowed through her. His love wrapped itself around her heart, setting her universe in balance once more.

  “You did nothing wrong, animi. Such is the nature of negotiations.” The rhythmic stroke of Gryf’s hand over her hair drained away the tension and her shoulders relaxed. “In the worst case, T’lik will realize that negotiation is the only way he will get out of this with his life. Unfortunately, the Arruch Union will use this to convince the Anferthian people that duress was involved in the negotiations, and that the agreement is not in Anferthia’s best interest.”

  “What’s the best case?”

  “We pray that Member K’nil can turn coalition opinion in our favor.”

  Alex drew back and locked gazes with her husband. “You mean Member K’nil is on our side?”

  Gryf shrugged one shoulder. “I believe your people would refer to him as the ace in our pocket.”

  Well, that was unexpected. “But, Gryf, what if he can’t? We have to have a back-up plan.” She pulled away from the comfort of his arms and paced the floor. What could they do?

  Nicky moved to take a seat farther down the table. Alex came to a stop behind Zale and squinted at her brother. There was something they had that the Anferthians did not. Nicky met her gaze, furrowed his brow, and mouthed “What?”

  “I think I’ve got something.” She tapped her father-in-law’s shoulder. “I need to talk to Moises.”

  Her father-in-law gave her a curious look, then nodded.

  “Alex, my star child.” Moises grinned at her from another screen a moment later. “We’ve been listening in like Big Brother. Anything you need, just tell me.”

  No doubt about it. Moises had just rocketed to the number one position on her Most Favorite People list. If this worked, it would be because of him. And it had to work, because they were out of options.

  ~ * ~

  The moment T’lik had cut the transmission, the coalition chamber had burst into a cacophony of noise, everyone vying for vocal dominance. Amid the impassioned words of retribution against Terr and Matir, Fynn K’nil remained seated. He glanced down the table at Antaro T’lik. The slimy ball of muck would be the downfall of the Anferthian people. Too many had lived in fear of the political party known as the Arruch Union since the untimely death of the last ymero, Zular B’aq. More deaths would come if the Arruchs were not stopped, and that did not sit well with Fynn. He and his daughter had sacrificed much to ensure a future for his grandson, and he would fight to the death for the boy.

  Fynn exchanged a look with the only other member not participating in the uproar, Holt Hunnu. Having an ally was a dangerous luxury, but on more than one occasion the much younger man had proven his allegiance to breaking the iron grip of the Arruch Union.

  “They avoid the one question that would end this,” Holt murmured, his words cloaked by the shouts around them.

  Fynn nodded. “Patience, Holt.”

  T’lik banged his fist against the smooth, jade-colored tabletop. “We will turn our firepower on them. They must be reduced to space dust!”

  Some of the others roared their approval, but not all. It seemed the division of ranks had begun. Fynn shifted and leaned forward in his chair catching T’lik’s defiant gaze. “Do you truly believe Divine Warden T’orr will approve this action, Antaro?”

  “I have his ear, K’nil,” T’lik sneered. “Why would he not?”

  Fynn gave his shoulders a casual shrug. “There is the matter that our few ships are surrounded by a full two-thirds of the Matiran fleet.”

  Member Pren worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “They do outgun us, Antaro.”

  “Silence! Or I will have your tongue cut out, Pren,” T’lik snapped back.

  Pren flinched. If she, T’lik’s staunchest supporter and frequent bedmate, was questioning him, then far be it for Fynn not to sow that seed of distrust. “Do you still have the authority to do such, Antaro? I am of the opinion that your presence here no longer serves the best interest of Anferthia. I fear what other damning words might escape your mouth.”

  T’lik did in fact open his mouth, but the words everyone heard were from a far more beautiful voice.

  “Citizens of Anferthia, I greet you as Alexandra Gaia Bock, a citizen of the planet Terr, and the Profeta chosen to fulfil the ancient Matiran Prophecy of the Guardians.”

  The young Terrian woman’s image appeared on their viscomm. Fynn fought to keep his face impassive, though his heart rhythm near quadrupled in his chest.

  A wordless shout of rage came from T’lik. “Stop her! Cut her transmission!”

  “It’s not being directed at us, Supreme,” Member Pren reported. “It’s being sent to all of Anferthia.”

  “Jam it then.” T’lik’s eyes bulged. If the situation were not so serious, Fynn would have let go the laugh building within him.

  “Not possible. The source is shielded,” Pren replied.

  “…came in good faith to negotiate for the release of the Terrian and Matiran prisoners being held aboard those slavers. Unfortunately, on my way to these negotiations, there was an assassination attempt on my life. We have indisputable evidence of who masterminded this treachery.” The words of the Profeta filled the room.

  T’lik roared and slammed both his fists on the table. “She spews lies like the Lokat’a Tar Pit spews its black ooze!”

  Holt leaned back in his chair. “I find the lady has an enchanting voice. Like stream water flowing over rocks. Much nicer than the gravel you expel, Antaro.”

  Fynn tensed, bracing for the tirade that was sure to come.

  “I’ll have you brought up on charges of treason for helping her, Hunnu!” Spittle flew from T’lik’s lips.

  Holt moved with the speed of youth. Fynn had hardly blinked before T’lik’s throat was in danger of becoming intimately acquainted with the lethal labu-ba pressed to it.

  “Stand down, Member Hunnu.” Fynn used the same soothing voice he used when reading to his grandson. As much as he’d like to be rid of T’lik, he wouldn’t condone bloodshed in this chamber. “Supreme Warden T’lik, it does not appear we have as superior a stance as you hoped. We must listen to the Profeta’s message in order to run an effective negotiation.”

  Holt gave him a slow grin, and the short-blade disappeared. “You are fortunate Fynn likes you, Antaro.”

  “…not to mistake Terrians as easy prey for conquests. Even though we find peace preferable, we will fight with our souls to defend our home world. And I will defend fyhen, my own.”

  That caught the attention of everyone in the room. She knew of fyhen? If only Zale’s daughter—and she was a daughter to his old friend, Fynn had seen it in the Matiran’s eyes—knew how much chaos h
er words were causing in this room. And, likely, all over Anferthia.

  “It is important that you know, since the annihilation of seven billion of my people, we Terrians have been experiencing preternatural changes in ourselves.” The Profeta raised her hands, her palms toward them. Fynn squinted, then leaned closer. A faint golden glow surrounded them. And in her eyes as well. Did she carry the Matiran Gift? How was this possible?

  “It’s a trick,” T’lik spat. “A Matiran is lighting up her hands and eyes.”

  Fynn shook his head. “If that were the case, wouldn’t her hands glow blue like a Matiran’s?”

  “My Gift was discovered before I came into my destiny as Profeta. But there will be doubters. So….” A young Terrian male stepped next to the Profeta, his eyes and hands glowing as hers did. Golden, like clouds at sunset. “This is my brother, who also carries a Gift. And finally….”

  The screen split at the center. To the right of the split were a group of Terrians, at least a dozen. And every last one of them demonstrated the Gift they carried.

  “So, Terrians carry the Matiran Gift,” Holt breathed. “In Matiran, terrania means kindred. No wonder the Matirans have guarded them so well. They are kin.”

  “The people you see on the opposite screen are being viscommed in from Terr.” The Profeta lowered her hands. “They are only a small sampling of our remaining population, and as Gifted as my brother and I. We expect to find many more Gifted Terrians in the future.”

  T’lik made a scoffing noise.

  “Cease, T’lik, and let her finish,” Holt hissed.

  “I will not!” T’lik slammed his hand down on the viscomm control, and all the Terrians disappeared. “We must attack now, while they’re distracted.”

  “Enough of this,” Holt snarled. “Someone gag the Supreme Warden. For the sake of Anferthia, I want to hear what this Profeta has to say.”

  There was a brief struggle before T’lik was subdued by the Coalition Guards, and forced to sit in his chair. Fynn tapped the control, bringing Alexandra back to the viscomm wall. The effect of her presence, even filtered through a transmission, was mesmerizing. But was she aware of the one damning piece of evidence that would end T’lik’s career—and possibly his life, once he faced Divine Warden T’orr?