by T. S. Ryder
There was a grunt from somewhere above him. He didn't care about it, losing himself in the blissful memories he had created here with his queen. The grunting continued. There were sounds of crashing blades.
"Don't you dare die now, Warrior!"
Wait… was that Bjorn's voice?
Maskin lifted his head in time to see Bjorn drive his sword through the enemy's neck. The prince let the body fall, running to the warrior's side. He turned him over, grimacing at the amount of blood. Maskin stared at him, slack-jawed. What was he doing here?
"Why did you leave Cheryl?"
"She's safe." Bjorn peeled his shirt over his head and pressed it to Maskin's abdomen.
Maskin's back arched as he screamed in pain. The sharp jolt brought him back to his senses. He blindly grabbed for Bjorn's arm. "It's that priest, Quincy. He wants Cheryl. You have to stop him. Leave me, protect her!"
"I'm not letting you win her love by taking all the glory, man," Bjorn grunted. He belted his shirt into Maskin's wound. "Come on, up you get."
Maskin tried to stand, but he couldn't make his body work. Bjorn lifted him bodily, grunting with the effort.
"You have to leave me here."
"Shut up. I'm not one of your warriors you can order around." Bjorn slung the huge warrior-slave over his shoulders.
Maskin felt the prince stagger and had to repress a grin. If their roles were reversed, he would have no problem lifting the prince. In the back of his mind he knew that this strange euphoria was dangerous, deadly even, but at the moment he didn't care. The white and red dancing lights were back, as well as a feeling of his body getting lighter and lighter. He heard singing somewhere.
And then Cheryl's voice, calling him back to his body. "Maskin!"
It came from all around him. She sounded worried, but he couldn't see her. He tried to reach for her, to tell her that he was fine, that it didn't hurt anymore.
"Maskin, don't leave me."
Something warm on his lips.
Bjorn's voice. "He's lost a lot of blood. I picked up a regenerator, but I'm not sure it'll be enough."
Cheryl's hands cupped his face. "Maskin, don't leave me. Don't leave me."
He felt himself slipping away. He wanted to tell Cheryl that it was okay, that he wasn't going to be gone long… but she sounded so scared. A fire built in his chest. This wasn't how it was going to end. Cheryl needed him. He wasn't going to leave her. He had to stay and protect her. With a roar, he fought against the darkness clawing at him.
He couldn't leave her.
Chapter Eleven: Cheryl
Cheryl held Maskin's hand tightly as Bjorn covered the entrance of the hollow tree they hid in. It was an ancient tree, the trunk so wide that a dozen men Maskin's size could stand with their arms outstretched and still be barely able to encircle it. It had been luck–or an act of the Gods–that Bjorn had seen the hollow in the trunk that was just big enough for them to slip through. The inside was cool and dry and smelled strongly of wood and earth.
"Can you save him?" she asked.
Bjorn activated the regenerator. "I'll do everything I can."
He ran the regenerator over the deep, bloody gash in Maskin's side. The queen couldn't look at it without feeling like she was about to vomit, so she concentrated on Maskin's face, kissing his lips again and again. His already pale blue skin looked almost white.
She had never seen a corpse before, but right now the warrior looked like one.
"Don't leave me," she ordered in a whisper. "Don't you dare leave me. You are my king, and I am your queen."
His facial muscles twitched and a low groan reverberated from his chest. It was like he was trying to roar a challenge, but couldn't quite make it. Cheryl cupped his face and kissed him again before laying her head on his chest.
"Stay with me."
His heartbeat was so slow that she almost thought it had stopped. She clung to him, whispering his name over and over.
"There," Bjorn said after what seemed like hours. He sat back and wiped sweat from his forehead. "That's stopped the bleeding at least. How well his internal organs patched up… It's up to him now, Cheryl. I wish…"
Cheryl grasped his hand but didn't leave Maskin's side. "I wish we had stayed as well."
A pained look crossed the prince's look. "No. Getting you away from those warriors was the right thing to do. But I wish I hadn't told him that he was sterile. Without a chance to have children with you… I'm afraid that he won't fight."
Cheryl felt like she had been slapped. "Sterile?"
"All warrior-slaves are made sterile. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I should never have agreed to come here when I knew that this—"
She held up her hand and took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to be angry with Bjorn at the moment, her worry for Maskin was too great. She didn't have the strength for two such strong emotions.
"When I lived at the temple, Priest Quincy would sometimes perform fertility rites for same-sex couples. If he could clone and combine DNA from two individuals, why can't we do the same for three?"
Bjorn's eyes widened. "That's possible?"
"Doesn't everybody know?"
The prince shook his head. "Cloning is… well, it was declared unviable hundreds of years ago. But if the temples can do it… Do you hear that, Warrior?" He poked Maskin's arm. "You can have children. The three of us can be parents. So you have no excuse to give up, do you hear me? Unless you want to give up your claim and give Cheryl to me to enjoy all by myself."
Cheryl opened her mouth angrily, about to scold him for saying such dreadful things, but Maskin stirred. He didn't open his eyes, but a smile twitched his lips. A grunt rose from his throat before he relaxed back into unconsciousness.
"He can hear us!" Cheryl kissed him. "Maskin, I love you. Come back to me. Fight. We'll have dozens and dozens of beautiful babies."
"Maybe not that many. But as many as you want." Bjorn rested his hand on her back. The bandages around his injured shoulder were soaked through with blood. With a grimace, he began to peel them back to use the regenerator on himself.
"I want lots of babies," Cheryl said. "I have all their names picked out already."
Bjorn smiled. It was a sad smile, but Cheryl wasn't going to think about that. Right now, she was just going to keep holding Maskin's hand and make sure he knew how much she loved him.
***
Cheryl woke to Bjorn gently shaking her. She rubbed her eyes, her gaze immediately going to Maskin. He was the same as he ever was, eyes closed, skin pale, breathing deep. Cheryl reached to touch his hand. His skin was cool. Not fevered, not overly cold. A small smile crossed her lips. He was a fighter. There was a chance all three of them would make it out of this.
"I have to go find food," Bjorn said gently. He put a dagger in her hand. "Remember, if someone enters without first giving the password—"
"Stab between the neck and shoulder."
"Good." He kissed her lightly. "Stay here. Do not leave for anything."
Cheryl nodded, though her stomach twisted at the idea of being alone here again. It had been several days since they had hidden in the hollow tree. Since then, Bjorn had to leave to get water and food for them, and Maskin hadn't moved. She hated being left alone, but if they didn't eat and drink, they wouldn't be able to fight off the warriors Quincy had sent when they were discovered.
The thought of the priest had her shuddering again as Bjorn slipped out of the tree and disappeared silently into the forest. When had Quincy decided to become king? Was it before he became the priest in charge of her training, or after? When he made her wear dresses that stopped her from looking like a woman, was that because a queen must be modest, or was it to control his lustful thoughts towards her? When he told her to lose weight, was it because she was meant to be regal, or because he wanted her curves flat for himself?
Whatever it was, she would not live under his thumb. She would not live without her kings, and if Quincy thought he could replace them…
She would kill him.
Cheryl gripped Bjorn's knife tighter, imagining plunging it into Quincy's heart. When the image had first come to her mind it had surprised her so much she had felt sick. Now, though… Now all she felt was determination.
A shout from inside the forest made her jump. It was Bjorn's voice. The sound was followed by a clash of swords. Her heart began racing and she clutched the dagger more tightly, retreating to the far end of the hollow tree next to Maskin's still form. They had been discovered. Again.
Her eyes closed briefly and she whispered a prayer to the Gods to protect her and her kings.
A shadow darkened the exit to the tree. Cheryl's heart nearly stopped. She stared with wide eyes as a head emerged into the tree. In the darkness, she couldn't see his face.
He did not give the password. It was not Bjorn.
Cheryl yelled as she threw herself forward. In the darkness, she found the joint between neck and shoulder and stabbed her dagger in. It sunk, feeling like she was cutting through a melon. The man yelled in pain. The smell of blood filled the hollow tree.
She would never eat meat again after this.
The man tried to back out of the tree, but Cheryl grabbed a fistful of hair and stabbed again and again into the neck. A horror rose in her but so did desperation. She wasn't going to let Quincy take her. She wasn't going to let him kill her kings.
When the man no longer moved, Cheryl released him. He slid out of the tree like a rock thrown from a cliff. The human rolled over and vomited. Her chest heaved and sweat coated her arms and face. Every muscle in her body trembled.
But somewhere in killing that man, she had made a choice. There was only one way to end this before her kings were killed. She hid the dagger in her skirt and wormed out of the tree.
Cheryl took a deep breath to brace herself. She ran from the tree, praying to the Gods that this would work.
"Quincy!" she shouted. "Quincy! Do you want me? Come and get me!"
Chapter Twelve: Bjorn
His back was against a tree, his arms feeling like water as he swung his sword from side to side, parrying the blows that rained down on him. The warriors all stood just outside his reach, forming a semi-circle to block him from running. Two or three darted in closer every so often. He was able to withstand most of their strikes, but some slipped through, slicing his arms and torso.
The priest stood a little away, a retinue of warriors around him, watching. An impatient sneer twisted his lips.
"Just kill him! We are not on the shrine grounds. Kill him and be done with it."
Bjorn tensed, tightening his grip on the sword. Two warriors came at him. He blocked one blow. The other struck his arm with the flat side of his sword and both retreated again.
"Kill him!"
Bjorn laughed, taking a moment to find his footing again. If the warriors wanted to kill him, he would be dead. If they were loyal to the priest, he would be dead. So he had an advantage here.
"These warriors swore loyalty to the noble houses. You are a priest. You belong to no house. What you are doing, trying to kill Maskin and I and claim Cheryl for yourself, naming yourself king, is nothing short of treason."
"You are the traitor. The houses ordered him dead, Warriors! You swore loyalty to them, so complete the mission you were given."
"The mission you gave them," Bjorn cried as looks of determination came over the warrior's faces. "The first loyalty is to the crown, and now that crown rests on the head of the queen alone. Will you give her to this man when she has no choice in the matter?"
Quincy edged forward. "The queen does not choose her king."
"Perhaps she should. Perhaps the reason the Gods brought both Maskin and me out of the last tournament alive was to signify a new age–an age were slaves are no more, where every man, woman and child can choose their own fate."
The warriors looked shocked for a moment. Their swords dropped a few inches.
"Kill him!" Quincy shouted. "Kill him or be traitors yourselves!"
"Stop!"
Even as the warriors lunged forward, their heads turned. Bjorn's heart spiked as the blades stopped within inches of his throat. But he didn't care about them, hardly even noticed how close he was to death. Cheryl ran between two trees and stopped. The red nanite armor protecting her was slick with blood, her blonde hair billowing like a storm cloud around her. Blue eyes glittered.
What was she doing? Didn't she know that Quincy would just kill him and take her away now?
Or was that what she meant to do? Did she hope that by giving herself up to Quincy, he would let the prince and Maskin live, that they would be allowed to leave the moon with their heads on their shoulders?
"See what they've done?" Quincy recovered quickly, pointing at Cheryl. "They have forced the queen to spill blood—"
"No." Cheryl's voice rang clear. "You did."
Quincy's head jerked, as though taken aback by Cheryl interrupting him–and given the quiet, submissive woman that Bjorn had first met, it was no surprise that he wouldn't expect her to talk back to him.
Cheryl stepped towards the warriors. "If it's a crime for the queen to shed blood, then it is a crime for any person to shed blood. I killed a man. I killed him to defend myself and my kings. When Bjorn and Maskin were presented to me and I was told I had to choose one or the other, I couldn't make the choice. I know now it was because my choice was both. But this priest insisted I choose one or the other. When I couldn't, he declared that the Gods would choose which one to be king, by the first to put a child in me. But he knew that warrior-slaves are unable to have children. The will of the Gods? Or his own? He was choosing my king for me when he made that declaration."
"You're a slave!" Quincy shouted, his fists balling. His medium-dark blue skin had a darker tinge in his face, belying his anger. "You are a slave. It is your duty to bow to the will of your superior!"
But even as he was speaking, Cheryl moved forward and the warrior-slaves parted for her. The human chewed on her lip, a brief look of uncertainty coming over her face. But when they did not stop her, she went to Bjorn's side and took him by the hand. She smiled at him and turned back to the warrior-slaves.
"They fear us. Men like him." She pointed at the priest. "They fear us because we are strong. They don't want us to know our own strength. They don't want us to choose because they know as soon as we do, we won't choose them."
"She's not even Temadian. Kill her!" Gobs of spittle flew from Quincy's mouth. "Kill them both! They'll destroy our world. They'll let the Apdratee people take our resources, they'll—"
"No." One of the warrior-slaves turned. "No, they won't. Maskin, Hero of the Apdratee Invasion, was chosen with the prince. He would never allow any other species to steal our resources. A slave and a prince as our kings. A queen who chooses both of them… Is it possible?"
He turned back to Cheryl. Bjorn could feel her shaking, but she nodded. "I never thought I had a choice in my life, in my fate. But we all have that choice."
"You are all traitors and—" Quincy cut himself off as the swords that had been pointed at Bjorn spun to face him. The priest's face took on a sickly turquoise color and he backed away. His head swung from side to side and he swallowed hard. "The Gods will punish you all for this. You'll all die!"
Cheryl reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out the dagger. She gripped it tightly in her hand. "I came here, having made the decision to kill you, Quincy. I was going to kill you so that you couldn't force me to be your queen. But… a part of making choices is the ability to change our minds. Isn't it?"
She looked at Bjorn, uncertainty warring in her eyes. The prince nodded. He held his breath as he watched her move through the warrior-slaves, towards Quincy. Two of the warriors grabbed the priest's arms and held him still, waiting for her decision.
Bjorn held his breath.
"Priest Quincy, you have a choice. You live to serve me and my kings, or you die." Cheryl's hands shook. "Choose."
Quincy
glared at her, but shook off the warriors and knelt. "I swear to serve you and your kings. If I ever raise my hand against you in rebellion, may the Gods smite me dead."
Bjorn let out a breath. Whether the priest was truthful or not, he would be spending the rest of his life under constant surveillance. Cheryl nodded in satisfaction and ran back to Bjorn. The prince welcomed her into his arms gladly.
When he had decided to become king, he thought that he would be changing the world. He never expected to be able to share the burden, and now he had a queen and a fellow king. For the first time, he thought that it was really, truly possible.
"Maskin. We have to get him back to Thoutle or he'll die." Bjorn looked at the warriors around them. "Do you have a ship?"
"Yes. If you'll show us where the Hero is, we'll make sure the three of you return to the planet safely."
Bjorn nodded his thanks. He squeezed Cheryl's hand as they headed back to Maskin, and to their new life.
Chapter Thirteen: Cheryl
Two Months Later
Cheryl almost danced as she went down the corridors to the rooms she, Maskin and Bjorn shared. Her two kings were inside, talking in low voices. Bjorn was twisting a silk belt in his hands. Cheryl eyed the belt with longing, but while Maskin's wound had healed with only a scar left behind, he didn't quite have his old strength back yet.
She would have loved to start playing their old games again, but his health came first.
"Cheryl." Bjorn moved across the room and retrieved a drink. "I was just reminding Maskin about how you disobeyed my instructions when you faced Quincy."
"I don't want to talk about him." Cheryl had been more than happy when Quincy was stripped of his position as priest and was instead assigned to repair acolytes when they broke down. She didn't trust his vows of loyalty but also didn't want to kill him. In a strange way, she did owe him the life she had now. "I have something very exciting to tell you."
"Don't try to change the subject. You could have gotten yourself hurt." Maskin caught her around the waist and pulled her closer. "You should never have put yourself in danger, Cheryl. What if Quincy had wanted to kill you? We want you to be comfortable with making your own choices, but with choice comes consequence. You understand that, right?"