by Mara Gan
No one really knew a thing about him, either. He’d simply shown up at the city about a decade ago, right after Halia had been destroyed, and begun advising the king and queen, claiming he could speak to the Oracle. And everything he repeated from the Oracle turned out to be true.
I trusted both of them with my life, but I knew there was a lot more to either of them than I would ever discover. And that was alright with me.
Synie spoke. “So the Oracle said he’s the one, eh? We’re just going to go with that?”
“Well, I may also have tested him a bit.”
I arched an eyebrow, knowing full well that Kos was unmatched in combat skills,
although he rarely fought.
“Who won?” Synie asked.
“It was a toss-up. I recognized the skills and cried uncle before one of us was maimed. Likely me.”
“So he’s… in shape, then?”
“I daresay he’s in good shape, yes,” Kos answered wryly. “Synie, you know you can trust me.”
She sighed. “I know,” she replied. “It’s just… his reputation. I worry about Meda.”
“You think I don’t?”
I smiled a little, touched. I knew they loved me like the disobedient niece I practically was, but it meant something more to hear them say it when they didn’t know I was listening.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “But she’s just so small, and so careless, and so damn stubborn.”
I scowled. Synie wasn’t wrong, exactly, but she didn’t have to make that sound like an insult.
Kos laughed. “She’s a survivor, Synie.” I wanted to harrumph and say of course I was, but I kept my mouth shut. “And she has us to help her, and now the most infamous mercenary in the galaxy has agreed to take on the chore of keeping her in line. We’ll manage.”
Sighing, Synie said, “We’d better. I love that girl.”
“We all do.”
You’re both sweet. Misguidedly overprotective, but sweet, I thought.
“He’s really a Mathan?”
“He’s nothing like Tollak,” Kos said. “You may actually like him.”
I frowned, annoyed. Tollak, my would-be abductor from last month, had been Mathan. It felt more than a little racist to associate someone with him just because they were the same species. I hated almost nothing more than racism or any kind of inequality. And I wasn’t the kind of person to really hate anything.
Except beets. Beets were disgusting.
“I am sure I will, if you recruited him,” Synie said. “But… a mercenary? How do we know he still won’t be stealing and cheating his way through Galaxia? You know that would make the princess angry.”
Indeed, that had been one of my questions. I didn’t dislike mercenaries, exactly, but they didn’t have a lot to recommend them; they lied, they cheated, and they stole. It was in the job description. And they did it based on whoever paid them the most money. They had no loyalty or sense of honor at all. And unfortunately, our galaxy was full of them. Money-grubbing, dishonorable meanies who would sell out their best friends for a bit of gold. To me, mercenaries were one of the biggest problems in the galaxy.
“We have to trust that the Oracle knows what she’s doing,” Kos said. “And we’re paying him. A lot. More than anyone else could. He doesn’t really need the money, and he certainly doesn’t need the prestige of kidnapping or killing the Heir to Galaxia. He’s rather known for being loyal to his commissions. It’s bad business to renege on an agreement, after all.”
“He’s rich?”
I could almost hear Kos rolling his eyes. “You don’t get to be a notorious mercenary in this galaxy without amassing a small fortune. Really, trust me—we can trust Perseus to work for us.”
I heard a plop as someone, probably Synie, flopped back against the couch pillows.
“You know she’s going to complain about having a Protector at all. She has this notion that she can take care of herself just fine.”
“Well, to a certain extent, she’s right,” Kos said. “She has a lot of spirit and she’s smart. But she’s one small target in an entire galaxy that would love to harm her. She managed to get away from Tollak, but he was drunk and not terribly bright.” He paused. “She was lucky Callie happened upon her when she did, or she might still have been carted off to god knows where.”
“Oh, I completely agree, she needs a Protector,” Synie said. “This has gotten out of hand, and the Mousai can’t guard her for another year due to that stupid tax law. Did you know Clee intercepted yet another transmission seeking the princess’s kidnapping?”
My ears perked up. Another one? Clee had found several already, but they seemed to be increasing as I neared the age of ascension. I wondered what the price was up to.
“I’m not surprised,” Kos said grimly.
The Mousai were not technically allowed to guard me as the Heir. Galaxian royals were funded by taxes, and the Heir was usually not important enough to warrant protection. An Heir was easily replaced, but replacing a trained king or queen was far more complicated. The Heir rarely did more than train for the job of being the ruler anyway. I was unusual; I was discovered by the Moirae at birth, whereas most heirs were nominated and selected by the Moirae in their teens, and as such, the Moirae had trained me for the job from the cradle. I also had abilities no one, heir, ruler, or commoner, had.
And then there was that stupid Prophecy.
Regardless, the Mousai were only allowed to guard the king and queen, as per ancient Galaxian law, to keep the elected monarchy from getting too self-indulgent. That didn’t stop them from “hanging out” with me during their free time, though. I appreciated their thoughtfulness, but I also hated it; they weren’t spending time with me because they wanted to or because they liked me, but because of the Prophecy.
I sighed and scowled, and returned to the conversation.
I’d missed a few exchanges but realized the discussion was coming to a close. I could hear Kos moving toward me.
Crap, I thought, looking around. I had been distracted and now he was going to hear me escaping.
Luckily for me, Synie called him back.
“Wait,” she said, her voice suddenly hesitant and serious.
His footsteps stopped.
Synie sighed. “With all my shock over who the Protector is, I’d almost forgotten to tell you. Clee has a theory about who was behind the Destruction.”
Now my ears really perked up. When Clee had a “theory,” you could almost be certain it was the truth. The woman could put the most random shreds of information together to create the kind of answers crime scene investigators only dreamed about.
Unfortunately, she also was insane. Like, really insane. She left sticky note reminders to herself underneath other people’s beds and was convinced that hot chocolate spoke sign language.
And doubly unfortunately, I couldn’t stay to hear the theory. I had to go before Kos caught me eavesdropping.
I turned and ran smack into a wall of muscle.
Wincing, I looked up into the amused face of the man who was like a father to me.
“Don’t you want to come in and hear about Clee’s theory, Princess?” he asked, folding his arms. “Or would you rather just listen from out here?”
CHAPTER TWO
“How long did you know I was listening?” I bit my lip as I settled into a chair.
“About the time we were discussing Tollak,” he said easily, sliding into a chair across from me. Synie eyed me from her chair, annoyance written on her face. “You huffed—loudly—when Synie mentioned him being Mathan.”
Dang. Had I really? I thought I’d only done so in my head.
Kos smiled, his light green eyes kind as always. “No worries, Princess. I didn’t want to deprive you of your eavesdropping fun. And you’re getting better.”
“Not good enough, obviously.”
Synie waved her hand impatiently. “Meda, you’re seriously not arguing about having a Protector?”
<
br /> I held up a finger. “I never said that. And I found out who he was a week ago.”
Kos raised an eyebrow and Synie started. “What? How did you know?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I went through Kos’s communiqués.”
The unfortunate thing about Kos was that I couldn’t read him. He was the only person I knew who was a complete blank to me. I had gotten used to it over the years, but it was disorienting. I had the ability to read people’s emotions, and if they were particularly weak-minded or just upset, I could read their thoughts too; being upset tended to loosen control over the mind, which made it an open book to me. It was a pretty central part of how I understood people.
But Kos… nada. I studied his face, but it hadn’t altered with the news that I’d gone through his mail—again. I shifted uncomfortably.
Synie flicked a glance between me and Kos before saying, “I’ll leave that little tidbit between the two of you. But, Princess, you are going to have this Protector.”
I sighed, letting my head flop back against the chair. “I know. And I get it. But don’t expect me to like it, or cooperate much.”
“Do you want to know more about the Protector?” Kos finally spoke.
“Perseus, right?” I considered what I’d learned. “He’s Mathan, a mercenary—often referred to as the best mercenary the galaxy has ever seen—and has never lost a fight. Sounds fascinating.”
Kos sat back. “Is that so? And have you ever seen a Mathan in a Rage before?”
“No, but I’ve met many Mathans.”
“So you know their moods can be a bit….”
“Temperamental? Explosive? Unpredictable? Testosterony?”
His mouth quirked. “Mercurial.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Mathans are prone to losing their tempers.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Synie said dryly. “Turning into an uncontrollable, furious killing machine is more like it.”
“Mathans aren’t so bad. Geôillur tends to be a bit grumpy, but he’s never gone into a Rage since I’ve known him.”
“Geôillur?” Synie asked suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Princess—”
I winced. There was a small Mathan tavern on the Esplanade that I frequented in the late hours, but I tried to keep my visits there a secret, since Synie and Kos had forbidden it. I waved my hand. “I know, I know, you told me to stop going there,” I said impatiently. “But Geôillur’s my friend. I can’t.”
Geôillur was the owner and bartender. I had never told anyone this, but I’d only gone to the tavern in the first place because I had sensed his grief from across the city and wanted to see if I could help. Turned out his son had died and he had been contemplating suicide as his only means of coping with the grief—Mathans weren’t big on psychotherapy. He and I had talked for hours, and I had been going back ever since, just to see how he was doing.
He’d asked me never to tell anyone that he’d felt grief—Mathans weren’t big on non-angry emotions either—and he looked out for me when I was there. Mathan bars were practically designed to encourage the Rage, and Mathans were unpredictable in their normal state. Drunk and full of Rage, well…. Let’s just say Kos and Synie had good reason to worry.
Kos leaned forward. “I’m scheduling the Protector ceremony for tomorrow morning.”
My jaw dropped. “Tomorrow?”
Even Synie was surprised. “That’s soon. Can the Moirae be prepared by then?”
The Moirae were our society’s fortune-tellers and spiritual advisors.
Kos shrugged. “Despite the fact that we haven’t had a Protector in centuries, it’s a relatively simple ceremony.” His eyes turned hard as he looked at me. “And we sure as hell need to get the princess protected as soon as possible—from herself if nothing else.”
I frowned. I wasn’t accustomed to curse words in my line of work. They made me a little uncomfortable, although to be honest I couldn’t really say why.
“Kos,” Synie said thoughtfully, “do we know why Perseus can control the Rage? Is there a story we should be aware of?”
“Quite a story,” Kos confirmed, “although it’s been embellished so much over the years that I suspect no one knows the full truth of the matter. All anyone knows for certain is that at some point many years ago, Perseus went into a Rage and never truly came out of it. He’s the only Mathan known to be in control of his Rages. That, combined with some precognitive abilities, has ensured that he has never lost a fight.”
“He’s a precog?” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. That was interesting. “And no one knows why he Raged so badly?”
Kos shrugged. “You can ask him, but I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Sounds like a good conversation starter to me,” I said cheerfully as Kos gazed upward in resignation. I eyed him askance. “And the Oracle said he was the Protector, huh? Only him?”
Kos chuckled. “She did indeed. Don’t worry, Princess. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but I trust the Oracle. Perseus is the best person to protect you.”
“I really don’t need protection,” I protested again. “How many times—”
“You need a Protector,” Kos said firmly. “And whether you want him or not, you’re getting him. Get used to it.”
“Bah. So when do I get to meet him?”
“I imagine he’ll arrive late tonight, and Synie and I will get him settled. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning in the Chamber.”
“The Chamber? Why so fancy?”
“It’s been centuries since Galaxia has had such a ceremony, Princess,” he said with a smile. “And this city loves you. It’ll be broadcast on the telenews tonight and tomorrow morning, and I imagine much of the city will turn out. Make sure you dress appropriately.”
I puffed my cheeks out with a small scowl, knowing that meant my fancy white dress for imperial functions, a dress I hated with a passion. I stood, sensing the conversation to be at an end. “Fine. Good night, my overprotective friends.”
Synie gave a simple wave good night as Kos said, “Good night, Princess.”
I slid around the numerous chairs and made my way to the door where I had been unsuccessfully hiding myself earlier.
“One more thing.” Kos’s voice stopped me and I turned around quizzically. He smiled, but this time his smile had a warning in it. “Stop monitoring my communiqués.”
I bit back a grin as the door slid shut behind me.
Deep in thought about my impending Protector-inspired doom, I made my way back to my rooms. Luckily, although I enjoyed long walks, I didn’t have too far to go. Galaxia was unbelievably large, housing over 30,000 permanent residents, all of whom lived and worked in this city on an asteroid floating at the nucleus of the galaxy. However, for the most part this was a place to visit and trade, not a home.
The city was designed in a sort of spiderweb shape. The center of the web housed the palace, where the king and queen lived with their bodyguards, as well as the offices of government and the Chamber, the royal meeting hall where ceremonies were conducted and petitions heard, and where I had been eavesdropping on Synie and Kos.
Branching out from the palace were four Esplanades, large spheres that contained shops, restaurants, and businesses. The majority of daytime activity took place here. Branching outward from the Esplanades were the outer docks, for ships to power down, and the Habitat Cubes, where nonroyal residents of the city lived. Somewhere in the city was also rumored to be the Oracle—the being the Moirae prayed to when they needed ultimate guidance, the only one who could speak to Tykhe directly.
Even I had no idea what went on with the Oracle. Most of my day centered around the government offices and the Esplanades, where I could find easy, ready-made food and drinks to slake my caffeine addiction. I had explored some of the outer areas but rarely found time to venture that far.
I wasn’t tired and didn’t particularly want to head back to my rooms just yet. I felt oddly restless, that twitchy feeling those of us with anxie
ty tend to get; like I didn’t really want to do anything but desperately needed to do something. Briefly, I considered getting one of my favorite drinks at the Esplanade, but a quick check of the time revealed that the shop would be long closed by now.
A grin spread across my face as I realized what would not be closed.
CHAPTER THREE
Hiding in a Mathan bar was not easy.
I rarely bothered trying to disguise myself when I went out in public. Everyone always knew who I was anyway, so there wasn’t much point. But I didn’t want to risk Perseus recognizing me if he’d seen a photo of me, and this was the perfect time to observe him before he officially became my Protector tomorrow. I wanted to know about this man to whom I was entrusting my life, and I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer as myself; I would only get the answers I wanted if I came across as just another customer.
Unfortunately, I am rather small for a humanoid, and Mathans are rather large. So putting on a hooded cloak didn’t do much to disguise anything except my hair. I could only hope the bar had non-Mathan customers tonight, although past experience told me that was highly unlikely.
My new Protector was sitting at a table in the corner with two others. One was a mercenary I had seen in the city before and did not like in the least bit. Yalan, I recalled. Clee and Eute, another of the Mousai, had caught him trying to pilfer from the Armament, of all things. Gutsy, that one. He’d been in and out of our jail many times over the years. One point against my new Protector already: he hung around with Yalan. That couldn’t be good. Yalan was easily one of the slimiest mercenaries I’d ever met, despite being decidedly handsome and charming, but that paled next to the fact that we’d caught him trying to steal weapons. We hated arms dealers on Galaxia.