I knew even before my soulcras finished encasing Aristos’s paralyzed body in a bright orange cocoon that I was about to unite our souls. Whether he was incapable of speech in his altered state, or just in awe of what was about to happen, he remained utterly silent as a portion of my spirit, the very essence of who I was, flowed into him. The strange void my gift left behind was almost immediately replaced by the presence of a far more ancient and powerful soul. All of Aristos’s emotions, his conscience, even the nature of his character were revealed to me. We’d become a symbiotic being. One soul inhabiting two bodies. Aristos was a part of me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Paradigm Shift
* * *
Again, Taleoek commanded without even bothering to lift his eyes from the sword he’d been meticulously polishing for my last five laps through his marathon agility course from hell.
I wanted to snatch the sword from his hands and bury it up his pretentious ass all the way to the hilt. The prick. I’d had to have swum twenty miles already. I was bleeding from more places than I could count, courtesy of the various instruments of death I’d failed to avoid brushing against. Three of my fingers had been broken trying to keep one of the pendulum obstacles from taking my head off. And if the blossoming, deep purple bruise beneath my right armpit was any indication, I’d likely cracked a rib. I wasn’t even fighting anyone in our session and I was still getting my ass kicked.
Having not heard the expected response, Taleoek arched a violet-colored brow at me in challenge. Is there a problem, cadet?
No, sir. Right away, Commander! I took off toward the open iron doors of the enclosed training facility that had been transformed into my not-so-little shop of horrors, leaving Taleoek behind in the center of the amphitheater, illumined like an avenging god by the stadium-sized phosphorous lamps that lined the top of the building.
After fifteen laps you’d think I’d have the course down pat, but physical and mental exhaustion was making me careless. As was having to push myself harder and harder just to complete the circuit in the required time, which the stride fish affixed to my shoulder kept meticulous tabs on. I’d barely made it through the swinging axes—which were only marginally less scary given their unsharpened blades—before I missed the hairpin right turn and crashed against a stone wall, my left shoulder and hands taking the brunt of the impact. There was no time to worry about what else I’d injured. I was already falling behind. With a determined thrust of my luminescent burgundy tail I shot down the narrow corridor I’d missed, initiating my run through the gauntlet.
The first portion of the hall contained gates like a slalom ski course, directing me to swim above, under, to the right or left of them, with the direction changing on each lap. If I missed a gate—which I thankfully didn’t on this pass—I had to go back to the beginning of the hall and start again. When I’d cleared the last gate I swam down a level and headed back in the direction I’d come. Swords, axes, daggers and spears were embedded into the walls to form the obstacles for this leg of the course, requiring me to navigate a twisting path only inches wider than my body to make it through unscathed.
I’d made it almost half way before my attempt to invert and dive straight down to hug the stone floor and slide beneath three angled broadswords came up short. The first blade bit into my right breast as the second cut a line across the left side of my face from the top of my skull to the bottom of my cheek, barely missing my eye. Apparently the blunted training weapons weren’t as dull as I thought. When my forward momentum ceased—for the record, being skewered isn’t my preferred method of braking—I did my best to remain calm and do a quick self-assessment. One glance through the crimson-stained water confirmed what I’d feared. The sword had sunken completely through the top portion of my right breast and penetrated into my chest cavity.
Shit. This was bad.
And it hurt. Holy fuck did it hurt.
The saner part of me reasoned that I should ask for Taleoek’s help un-impaling myself—if I wasn’t careful with the extraction, I might very well bleed to death before I made it back to him—but quitting would come at a cost I wasn’t willing to pay. At a minimum, my utter failure to complete what was viewed as a simple training exercise, one he’d walked me through step-by-step numerous times before I’d started, would result in weeks of additional one-on-one training, setting me even further behind my goals. And that’s assuming my incompetence didn’t cause him to change his mind about my training and not allow me to join his class at all.
With a determined cry I took hold of the swords, one in each hand, and pushed myself down against the stone floor. Pain gripped my body like a massive bolt of lightning as I watched over four inches of blood-covered steel slide out from my chest, taking small chunks of fat and meat along with it for the ride. The gore was too much. I closed my eyes tight as the contents of my stomach hurled out into the surrounding water. By sheer force of will—and an overwhelming desire not to breathe my own vomit—I somehow found the strength to push on.
By the time I reached the end of the hallway and emerged into the amphitheater the blood loss was making me dizzy, which didn’t make navigating the narrow pathway that led to the second floor balconies any easier. I swum up into one balcony before crossing over to the next and heading back down to the entryway, weaving my way around the entire arena before climbing to the third floor and repeating the process.
Usually this was where I made up any time I’d lost in the beginning of the course, but it was all I could do to just keep swimming. Once I’d circled the fourth floor I climbed even higher toward the surface, swimming up and over the top of the arena before diving down to the narrow tunnel entrance and re-entering the amphitheater, coming to rest in front of Commander Taleoek once again.
Whatever insult he’d planned to hurl my way for my long-delayed arrival died in his mind when he saw the shape I was in. He set to work immediately without muttering a word, packing my chest wound with two large handfuls of dark navy carnipula leaves. The expertly applied field dressing was secured into place with a long section of canta vine that immobilized my right arm as well, binding it tight against my body.
Aristos’s voice entered my mind just as Taleoek began to rub healing salve along the gash on my face. How badly are you hurt? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can sense how much pain you’re in.
As much as I didn’t want to encourage his coddling, there wasn’t much point in lying to him. He was in telepathic range, which meant he was already inside the city and would be able to see the damage with his own eyes soon enough. And based on the brow-beaten-dog of a grimace on Taleoek’s face, my instructor was being grilled for every last detail about my condition even as my compar spoke to me. I took a sword to the chest that went pretty deep. Taleoek did a good job bandaging it. The bleeding is already slowing. I’ve got a superficial gash across my face that I’m sure looks pretty gnarly. I broke a couple fingers on my right hand. And I’m pretty sure one of my ribs is at least cracked. I know that sounds bad, Ris, but we both knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Now please stop chastising Taleoek before he decides I’m just another pampered royal brat who wants to play soldier as long as she doesn’t break a nail. It’s not like the griffins are going to cut me any slack when I’m trying to give birth to our children.
Seeing Taleoek drop into a respectful bow and fist his chest alerted me to Aristos’s arrival. My general. As I was explaining, we must get our queen to the infirmary. She’s lost a lot of blood, and I believe her rib—
The fierce, stone-cold expression on Aristos’s face brought Taleoek up short. Honest truth, my brother. Is she capable of becoming a warrior? I will not have her suffer a moment longer if this is pointless.
Any inkling I had to jump to my own defense was thwarted by his frosty, I’ll-deal-with-you-later glare. Normally I wouldn’t wilt from anyone like a puppy who’d just wet the bed, but it wasn’t easy to act all badass with blood streaming down my face, one of my arms tethered to
my chest and a baseball-sized hole only a few inches from my heart.
Taleoek gathered up a few defiant strands of his violet hair that had managed to work their way free from the tight knot on top of his head and secured them back into place while he considered the question. She isn’t used to her Syreni body. While her straight-line speed is remarkable, she struggles to complete simple acrobatic maneuvers our children master before they can speak. Hence, her current carved tuna appearance. Trying to teach her advanced fighting techniques while she’s still so awkward is going to be difficult. But she finished the course, Aristos. After receiving a potentially life-threatening wound. Our queen is a warrior. I can’t teach that kind of willful determination.
Aristos’s somewhat wicked, undeniably enchanting smile made my already overtaxed heart flutter inside my chest like the wings of a hummingbird. Our bond gave me full access to his warring emotions, revealing his pride, which his facial expression alone conveyed clearly enough, along with his concern for the horrific shape I was in and his desire to get me patched up as quickly as possible so we could have some alone time together. She is willful.
His lips captured the lobe of my right ear between them, his tongue finding the tiny spot behind my ear that he knew drove me wild. Damn him for starting something I was in no shape to finish. I know how competitive you are, Cami. Don’t beat yourself up for not passing your fitness and agility test on your first day. Even our most promising cadets often take up to a week to complete seven laps in the required time.
That was her sixteenth.
Aristos’s eyes widened to almost comic proportions as his head whipped around to face Taleoek, the back of his red robes fluttering out behind him in his wake. Excuse me?
You heard me correct, General, Taleoek said, focusing a rather scrutinizing gaze on me. I instinctively nestled closer to Aristos. Given Taleoek’s heavily muscled seven foot frame and coal black tail, even while singing my praises he was intimidating. Camithia completed fifteen circuits in the allotted time before she was injured. I believe your old record was twelve, if I’m not mistaken.
If Aristos had been proud of me before, there were no words for the wondrous awe that sparkled in his emerald-shaded chocolate brown eyes now as he captured my lips in a savage, devouring kiss. Blood and gore be damned. I couldn’t say I felt at all sexy in my battered condition, but that didn’t stop my body from responding to his demanding embrace. I took hold of the back of his neck with my only free hand, my fingers snaking into his braided storm-grey hair as our tongues performed their familiar dance, exchanging magical sparks that made me yearn for him to be inside me. Only the god-awful contraption I wore for training to imprison my soulcras kept us from going further. That, and Taleoek’s insistent reminder that I was in desperate need of medical attention.
My trip to the infirmary confirmed I’d broken a rib—for which there wasn’t much in the way of treatment, other than master-healer ordered rest—along with the three fingers on my right hand now encased in metal splints. The ragged, winding gash that traversed the entire left side of my face required over forty stitches to close, and was likely to leave a faint scar in spite of Damille’s meticulous efforts. And that was one only one of twenty-three cuts that had been stitched up while I received an intravenous transfusion of almost five pints of blood. Even with Naome and Damille working together I’d been in the infirmary for hours.
As for the good news, Vanessa was fine, which made everything else seem irrelevant. I’d been lucky. I wasn’t human, so there weren’t any lungs to puncture. And while the sword did some serious damage to the pectoris muscle that drove the motor function in my right arm, Damille was confident it would mend in time. If I’d been stabbed only a half inch higher it would’ve severed a major vein. I would have bled out in a matter of minutes. Hearing how close I’d come to ending both of our lives was sobering news for myself and the Throne of Nine. By order of the king, I’d be wearing chainmail armor for the rest of my training, and Damille had to personally signoff on the regimen Taleoek planned for me each day.
With my gruesome injuries, I’m sure I made quite the sight as I entered the high court building alongside Aristos and assumed my position behind the Syreni-shaped granite table. My right arm was still bound to my chest, making it impossible to attach my chastity belt, and Armiele had refused to secure my crown, arguing that it would be cruel since it would rub against the freshly stitched together wound on my head. That left me wearing only the jewel-studded cuff bracelets on my left arm, the equally gaudy rings on my left hand, my assortment of fourteen diamond rope and colored stud earrings, and the sparkling diamond hoops that pierced my nipples, only one of which you could even see. Appearing in public this way violated every protocol my beloved handmaiden had taught me. Thank the gods it wasn’t a formal meeting. The balconies stood empty. Only Damille, Johnna, Taleoek, Celandor, Venerack, Naome and Serienne accompanied Aristos and I at the table.
As soon as we’d paid proper deference to the king and formally greeted each other as customs required, I launched right into my first line of questioning, asking about all of the factors that had led to the extinction of fertile Syreni women. Damille explained the science behind it, walking Naome, Serienne and I through colorful charts depicting the declining birth rate of female offspring over the last five centuries on a tablet-sized version of the monitors I’d seen in the infirmary. Much as Aristos had done for me, she outlined all of the experiments that had been tried to prevent our young from having to spend their first week above the surface waiting for their gills to form, and the disastrous outcomes that had resulted. When she finished our high priest, Johnna, shared the divine factors at play, echoing what Aristos had shared earlier about the gods requiring females to prove they were worthy by offering themselves up in sacrifice in order to be granted a viable child, and how griffins had been created explicitly for that purpose.
Their input only confirmed what I’d already concluded after my earlier discussion with Aristos. Regardless of whether the gods created griffins to test the mettle of Syreni females, as Johnna believed, or the griffins just seized on the opportunity our surface births provided, the scientific experiments alone ruled out any birthing options beneath the sea I might have considered.
The next part of our briefing took far longer. King Celandor, Aristos, Taleoek and Venerack patiently explained the various battle tactics they were aware of that had been tried over the centuries, ranging from long running offensive campaigns geared toward decimating the griffin population, to the much less conspicuous defensive tactics used for child births. When it came to inflicting casualties, invading the marshy griffin hatching grounds was by far the most successful strategy, but it placed a heavy burden on our raptor allies, who were the only ones capable of attacking the elevated nesting sites.
Over a thousand of the monstrous, hundred and eighty pound, twenty-three foot wingspan birds had already perished in our ongoing, ten year campaign that had been waged shortly after Pulchra’s death. Hundreds more of their hatchlings had died in the griffin counter attack, which took place above solid land, where the Syreni were helpless to assist. While the weekly supply of tiger fish and widow crab we provided was essential to their survival, especially in the winter—there was very little dry land on Teresolee that wasn’t mountainous or buried in ice, which meant most of the wildlife on the planet, including the Azar seals they snatched off the rocky sea cliffs and the dolphins and fish they captured by diving up to ten feet into the ocean, was aquatic—the long running battle was still placing a strain on our alliance.
When it came to defending our birthing chambers, our tactics could be categorized into two distinct strategies: those centered around stealth, with only a small contingent of concealed, highly trained warriors positioned to protect the female should the secretive birth be discovered, and those utilizing large deployments geared toward full scale war. In all cases, the female waited until the last possible moment to enter the chamber in order to minim
ize how long she’d be exposed to danger. Given our own experience after we’d been brought to Teresolee, neither Serienne, Naome nor I were keen on the less-is-more approach. It hadn’t taken the griffins long to find us even without knowing our scent, and the ensuing battle could have easily gotten us all killed.
But we soon learned that heavily guarded births had led to disastrous outcomes over the years. The griffins were only concerned with killing the female, which allowed them to focus their attack on the birthing chamber. Regardless of how many troops we had on hand, there were only so many soldiers we could fit inside and around the chamber. The rest were left trying to attack the enemy flanks while they dive bombed their target en masse. We invariably ended up with far fewer casualties, but in each recorded incident we’d lost our female and her child, making the campaigns resounding failures.
The floor had been opened up for any new ideas for several minutes before Naome finally broke the awkward silence. I took in her free flowing, blonde-streaked fiery red hair as she spoke, knowing her head would be shaved smooth and tattooed in the morning. Both Naome and Serienne were undergoing their purification ceremonies. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to free it from the utilitarian bun she’d kept it in since becoming Damille’s apprentice. Couldn’t we find a less conspicuous chamber to give birth in? I mean, it only has to be big enough for the bottom half of our body and maybe someone to help with the baby, right? Why not pick something more discrete that doesn’t scream, “Syreni female giving birth here”? You could put it in a new location, too. Somewhere the griffins wouldn’t think to look for it.
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