Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1)

by C. M. Michaels

  Sedated. This just kept getting better. I’m sure the queen had left Armiele no choice—or maybe she’d even asked to be drugged. Couldn’t say I’d blame her given the circumstances. Being told that your body would be kept in chains, with the male you were presented to holding the key, had to make her feel like she was a slave being sold at auction rather than any kind of royalty. Which, in her case, wasn’t far from the truth.

  Her fertile, genetically pure body had been literally created by our gods; a miracle we could never count on happening again. And while we were still maintaining hope that Naome and Serienne would be able to bear our offspring, the results of the labs taken during their surgical procedures weren’t promising. Even the most optimistic of our reproductive specialists only gave the women a seventy percent chance of surviving a Syreni pregnancy, and only a forty percent chance that they’d give birth to live young. In all likelihood, Camithia was all that stood between our kind and extinction.

  In order to ensure the legitimacy of her royal bloodline, she’d be required to bear her young through natural means from conception through birth. And there wasn’t much time. Her womb needed to be heavy with child before the first ice formed on the Great Northern Ocean. There had been far too much at stake—the very survival of our species—for myself or King Celandor to convince the Throne of Nine to wait any longer. If she wasn’t ready to give herself to her assigned mate by The Icing, she’d be subdued and taken against her will, even though the barbaric act would have no chance of resulting in pregnancy. Syreni females had to desire to conceive with their mate. The council’s twisted thinking was that she’d become more malleable in time once she realized the end result was inevitable.

  That’s why I hadn’t fought the king on his plan to decree our pairing later tonight. Had I refused, the queen would’ve end up being bound to a general from another region, leaving me helpless to protect her even if I wasn’t executed for treason. Given that my refusal would have resulted in Celandor being immediately usurped as king, it’s likely he would have seen to it personally that my soul was delivered to Caelum before the dawn. My new servant, Ellieandra, had spent hours tattooing the elaborate emerald glyphs onto my left shoulder and chest that would forever mark me as royalty. Once she’d finished, I’d been bathed and veiled in the flowing red robes of a Syreni prince, my armor now reserved only for battle.

  I’d have less than three months to help Camithia come to terms with her new life and win over her shattered heart. If she didn’t desire deep within her soul to conceive a child with me by then—allowing me to initiate her wanting—we’d be fleeing Halon’s Gate and spending the rest of our lives on the run. Of course if I somehow succeeded in my quest, I’d be breaking the most sacred vow I’d sworn to Pulchra, mating with another female rather than following the honorable path and embracing celibacy as a testament to the love we had shared. The feeling of betrayal burned like waterkite venom inside my chest. Even so, I couldn’t deny I’d already started to bond with Camithia, even if our relationship was entirely one-sided at this point. I was willing to betray my own race to protect her.

  As the sitting king, it was Celandor’s right to pair the new queen with any male from his region deemed worthy by the Throne of Nine. The reason I was his only choice—which I’m sure irritated him to no end—was that he would never secure the votes necessary to recognize anyone else from our region as being worthy, given the council members’ own selfish desires to be bound to her. I’m sure the council would have objected to me as well if our bylaws didn’t exempt members of the Throne of Nine from requiring a vote. The same bylaws forbid a sitting king or queen from being bound to a new mate, ruling Celandor out. All the council could do at this point is attempt to delay the proceedings by making use of an archaic provision that would require the queen-elect to spend the time of a moon—about six weeks—in each region of Teresolee before being eligible to accept suitors.

  Bulrigaard had been the only one bold enough to threaten to risk our only fertile Syreni female by invoking the motion. Celandor had been forced to barter away Naome to appease him, allowing the Ceraspian Mountain general to claim our healer apprentice. Thankfully, while she’d be artificially impregnated with his child as soon as she fully recovered from surgery, it would take years of study and working with Damille to complete her apprenticeship. With any luck, the foul mouthed bastard would be dead by then.

  As for Serienne, the negotiations for her future had been contentious from the start. Celandor had lobbied hard for her to be awarded to Sheriolac or Gherian—our two closest allies—but had not been able to obtain the necessary votes. After a long day of debate, we’d finally conceded to the boisterous sect led by Lanipas and Bulrigaard, letting her become the property of General Lanipas and the South Central Region. It was still far from certain she’d be allowed to attend the Palace of Poseidon. Partly because of her being human—and the only female at the school—but mainly due to Lanipas not wanting to wait six years to claim his prize. He saw no point in educating someone who, in his mind at least, was nothing more than low-grade breeding stock. It would only make her more difficult to control. He was probably right about that, but that certainly didn’t mean I agreed with him. In the end, reminding him that she would start bearing his children immediately regardless of whether she returned home with him or not, combined with pointing out how desperate the South Central Region was for people educated in chemistry, physics and the other hard sciences, had swayed him to some degree. I could only hope it would be enough, and that Serienne was capable of grasping the incredibly advanced material.

  Neither woman knew of their arrangement. Getting acclimated to their surgically modified bodies, embracing motherhood, throwing themselves into their studies and adjusting to life within Halon’s Gate—not to mention their new identities as the chosen daughters of our gods—was more than enough for them to deal with right now.

  The twenty foot golden doors swung open to rest against the High Court’s stone walls. Commander Sennika was the first to enter the council chamber, with the three other members of Camithia’s Royal Guard flanked to the sides and behind our young queen.

  The gods had truly outdone themselves. Seeing the angular, feminine lines of Kerrigan’s beautiful face preserved within our new queen’s magnificent Syreni form gave rise to a primal urge inside me I hadn’t felt in a decade. Her once drab skin was now alive with color, from her elegantly weaved crown of burgundy locks to her glistening burgundy, red and pink tail. Seeing Neptune and Poseidon’s markings streak across the pale flesh of her firm breasts—combined with her pierced, diamond-encrusted nipples—made me glad I was wearing several layers of loose-fitting robes. The chastity belt of gems that covered her chest sparkled in the faint blue light from the phosphorus lamps, as did the myriad of piercings in her ears, the cuff bracelets that lined her arms, and her heavily jeweled fingers. The queen’s jewelry looked far more striking on her than it had on Brenn.

  If her jeweled, painted body was beautiful, her ornamented face was breathtaking. Delicate, exquisitely detailed white flowers were etched across her forehead and along her jaw line, trailing down to her full, glistening burgundy lips. Much larger blooms in a blend of her three tail colors darkened her cheeks. Part of me missed Kerrigan’s arresting, silver-blue eyes, but the ice-colored ones our goddess Athena had provided were far more exotic. The heavy black lining and rosy shading accentuated her most striking feature even further. She was a vision. And yet, even as I admired every aspect of her stunning new look, I knew it was entirely wrong for her.

  Our queen was a warrior. A charismatic leader who thrived under pressure and was skilled in combat. A female like her would trade all the queen’s jewels for a well-crafted sword. In order to have any chance of forming a meaningful bond with her, I’d have to find a way to make her feel like herself again. Getting her out of that garish jewelry would be a good start. As would honoring my vow to train her as part of the guard, even if it would have to be done in se
cret.

  Celandor rose up above the table and prepared to receive our new queen as the stunned crowd that overfilled the galleries looked on in utter silence. Evidently I wasn’t the only one our new queen rendered speechless. Camithia seemed a little disoriented as she swam across the room, but anyone who wasn’t aware she’d been drugged would likely just chalk it up to nerves. Her flukes rose up far behind her head just as her arms swung out wide to her sides, elbows up with her palms facing the ceiling. Her head dipped down to touch the granite table. A flawless curtsey. My king.

  The astonishing sound of Queen Camithia’s hesitant but very audible telepathic voice paying homage to her king was greeted with an uproar of approving wails and the metallic clang of swords being beaten against shields. The high court walls trembled.

  King Celandor played to the jovial crowd, motioning toward our still prone queen to spur on another round of cheers. Our new queen certainly knows how to make an entrance. I’d be surprised, if tales of her valor hadn’t already spread across all of Teresolee. Before you stands a female who—while still human, mind you—managed to eviscerate a griffin with nothing more than a simple dagger. Only moments after being transported into our world she swam almost fifty feet to the surface on a single breath, coolly assessed the situation like a seasoned battle commander, coordinated rescue efforts with General Aristos, and revived Naome, saving our healer-apprentice from certain death. And what a vision she is! The gods truly shine upon us this day. Rise, Queen Camithia, and take your rightful place as a member of the Throne of Nine.

  Camithia almost forgot to courtesy again before rising, but remembered soon enough that it just appeared like a slightly more awkward execution. She kept her grayish-white eyes fixed on the wall behind me as she snapped her burgundy tail and sped across the table to settle in at her designated spot to my left.

  After giving her an appreciative nod for her immaculate performance, the king turned back toward the still riled up crowd, motioning for them to settle back into their places. I must confess, I thought Aristos a raving fool when he first proposed having humans convert to our faith. My apologies, Prince.

  I bowed on cue—a far more subtle gesture than Camithia’s, little more than a dip of my head and shoulders—even though it was clear he was just building me up in front of the region delegates to help win over those who were outraged to see me wearing the robes of a Syreni prince.

  He continued on, his false gratitude having been conveyed convincingly enough to prompt several of the more unenthusiastic members of the gallery to reassess me. It appeared as if they were trying to reconcile the long-held image of me as the disgraced general who had gotten the king’s own daughter killed with the prophetic savior of our race the king was describing now. Serienne has been chosen by our glorious god Poseidon, and Naome, our new healer-apprentice, is a daughter of Neptune. They have pledged themselves as humble servants to our all-powerful lords, and accept that it is our god’s will that their bodies be transformed so they may help us regenerate our race. As I speak, they are recovering from their procedures, which Damille herself has deemed a renowned success.

  Celandor made eye contact with each member of the council before his gaze settled on Camithia. Even though his words were intended for the regional delegates that crowded the balconies and all of the Syreni people they represented, he uttered them almost as a promise to our new queen. As the divine children of Neptune and Poseidon, they are to be treated as affirmed Syreni females, with all of the respect and rights that entails.

  While all Syreni worshipped Neptune and Poseidon without reservation, they only communicated with the priests and females of our race, which is why both were held in such high regard. The king’s declaration would allow Serienne and Naome to choose their own professions, ensuring that our plans for them to attend college and train under Damille could not be challenged. They’d be entitled to private living chambers along with a handmaiden to care for them. They would still be required to bear our surrogate young and live in their assigned regions once their training was complete, but other than that they were free. In one sentence, the king had transformed Naome and Serienne from servant breeders into members of the Syreni upper class.

  Camithia couldn’t possibly comprehend everything this meant for her friends, but she grasped enough to drop into another formal bow to the king. One that hadn’t been rehearsed with Armiele. He’d broken through her obedient, drug-idled façade, if only for a moment. It was enough to show me she hadn’t shut down completely.

  Celandor settled back into his place at the head of the table, his silver and grey tail effortlessly keeping his bare, chiseled chest at just the right height through a series of subtle movements. His navy robes were tied in back at the waist to make them hang like a cape off his broad shoulders. I do believe introductions are in order. It is time for our young queen to start learning about the regions of her new kingdom. We shall progress from west to east so she may gain some sense of the geography of Teresolee. General Sheriolac?

  Sheriolac gave a curt bow. His amethyst-stained armor matched the fish-aspect coloring of his gill covers and tail as well as the long braids of his hair. The gruesome scar he bore across the bridge of his nose and right cheek had been courtesy of a cutterfish attack when he was still a child. Greetings, my brave young queen. I represent the Western Region of the Great Northern Ocean, which borders the vast marshlands that serve as the griffin birthing grounds to the west, and the Central Region—where Halon’s Gate is located—to the east. Given our proximity to the heartless beasts that have decimated our race, it is as you might imagine our most volatile region. It would be an honor to welcome you to our capitol city of Iron Cove when the tide of this godforsaken war finally turns and it is safe for you to travel.

  Camithia brought her hands to her face as she closed her eyes and tilted her chin down, touching her forehead with her fingertips and her chin with her thumbs with a gesture that made her look like she was praying. It was the formal queen’s greeting for someone entrusted to protect her. Armiele had taught her well. Greetings.

  Including his name in her salutation would have been a nice gesture, as would accepting his formal if somewhat symbolic invitation to visit Iron Cove, but both would require more advanced telepathic skills than her untrained mind was likely capable of. The fact that she could speak at all was impressive. If she tried to project entire sentences without the proper training, her unrelated thoughts would get embedded in the communication, making the entire thing sound like garbled gibberish. Not to mention the threat it would pose of her sharing private feelings not intended for the king or others council members to hear.

  Everyone turned their attention to me. I gave Camithia a bow of my own, letting a hint of a smile tease my lips in hopes of receiving more than just a rote response. If she noticed, she gave no indication she cared. Greetings, my queen. Halon’s Gate is the capitol city of the Central Region and all of Teresolee. As General Sheriolac shared, they are our western neighbor. To our east lies the East Arctic Region, and to the north we are bordered by a polar ice cap that advances in winter to cover the entire Northern Ocean. The Ceraspian Mountain range lies like a sash across the planet from the southwest to the northeast, forming our southern border and dividing Teresolee into two distinct hemispheres. The jagged, inhospitable mountains are home to a race of reclusive, magical creatures called Snow Elves. It is my great honor to welcome you to Halon’s Gate.

  Camithia mindlessly went through the motions of her greeting ritual again. There wasn’t even a hint of the spirited, self-reliant woman I’d known in this stranger’s demeanor. I was just another captor she was ready to subjugate herself to. Thank the gods the long-winded Gherian spoke up before I gave in to my rising anger, grabbed hold of her by the shoulders and shook her senseless. Spineless cowards dealt with adversity by giving up. She was one of the bravest people I’d ever known, and I’d commanded tens of thousands of trained Syreni warriors during my time as the Central Region�
��s general.

  The black cloak with silver trim Gherian wore over his armor marked him as a member of The Order—the group of Syreni who oversaw the ascension trials. My greetings, Queen Camithia. I must say, I am enthralled by the tales of your bravery. It is no wonder our gods both claimed you. Had they been forced to choose, the heavens would have surely erupted in war. The East Arctic Region shares the same northern and southern borders as Prince Aristos so articulately described, though in our case, the ice cap and vast mountain range merge together to also form our boundary to the east. Our capital city of Sharia’s Pass lies not more than forty miles from here across relatively safe waters. It would be a great honor if you were to allow us to host your conception gala when the time comes. Our master healer is said to be able to predict your birthing day with great accuracy by speaking with your unborn child inside your womb.

  If that were true, every female in Teresolee would have consulted her so they could have waited until the last possible moment to surface and enter a birthing chamber. The crazy old hag was still stuck in the days of brewing elixirs. She refused to use anything that had been invented by our scientists in the last thousand years. It’s a miracle anyone in their region lived past their first century. Camithia wouldn’t come within a day’s swim of her while she was pregnant if I could help it.

  Given his reputation as a pompous ass, it wasn’t surprising that Bulrigaard started to speak before Camithia finished greeting Gherian, forcing her to break protocol by either not completing the symbolic gesture or by ignoring him. I had to suppress an approving chirp when she took her time to finish the ritual without even glancing in his direction. Bulrigaard’s weather-beaten, scraggily bearded face turned as red as a tiger fish. But he didn’t dare offend our new queen. Not only had she been literally created by our gods; if Naome and Serienne proved to be unable to bear our young, every Syreni female born for the rest of time would be able to trace their bloodline back to her. For centuries, her daughters, grand-daughters and more distant offspring would rule alongside their kings in every region of Teresolee. She would become the most powerful leader we’d ever had.