by Mara Gan
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On his way out, unfortunately, he couldn’t help but notice me standing at the bar.
I was still gaping; I couldn’t believe my eyes. My Protector had just decimated an entire tavern full of gigantic warmongering bullies, and he looked bored.
Until he saw me, of course, and then he looked furious. I almost flinched as he stared at me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, folding his arms as he glared down at me.
Again with the profanity. Why did some people feel the need to curse?
Gi rolled his amber eyes. “Geez, Boss, you just left a pile of bloodied warriors behind you without breaking a sweat. One pocket-sized princess and you’re all hellfire-angry?”
I frowned at him, startled. “Boss” again? One quick glance at Perseus’s face confirmed that the nickname was not one he liked. I quickly filed that information away for future use.
And I was not pocket-sized.
“I thought I told you not to come here anymore,” Perseus said.
I ignored his comment as I gaped up at him, noting he had not used the wicked-looking curved blade strapped to his back. Weapons in the city were forbidden—it kept crime down—unless you were a member of the Mousai or, now, the Protectorate. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
I gestured, flustered, at the carnage he’d left behind him. He flicked a disinterested glance backward.
“Keeping order.”
“You call that keeping order?”
“You would, too, if you’d seen what they can do if left to their own devices.”
“You didn’t try, I don’t know, talking to them first?” I asked.
He regarded me with a raised brow. “Have you ever tried talking with a Selissian? Particularly one who has been royally pissed off?”
I faltered. “No.”
“If you had—and you’re not allowed to try—you’d know my way is better,” he replied. “And, frankly, inevitable.”
“But you—you… you destroyed a group of Selissians and Mathans!” I said, stunned.
He grabbed my arm and steered me away from the bar. “Breaking up fights like that is hardly difficult.”
“Not difficult?” I stuttered, trying in vain to wiggle free of his grip. “But they’re huge—”
“Yes, and Boss is so small,” Gi muttered sarcastically, following in our wake. He shook his head. “Really, Princess. If Boss had a good side, coming to a dangerous bar—again—would not have been the way to get on it.”
Perseus shot him a look. “Drunk and angry does not make for a good fighter,” he answered mildly. “Never fight when you’re angry or drunk, and certainly not both.” He flicked a glance down at me. “Not that you’ve ever been either.”
“Hey.” I was offended. “I’ve been angry. And drunk.” Well, that second one was an exaggeration. Too much anesthesia from the doctor probably didn’t qualify, but I wasn’t about to say that to Perseus. But drinking too much and being a diplomat were incompatible.
“Really?” He snorted. “I’d pay to see that.” He turned to Gi. “I believe you need to be on duty?”
Gi frowned, glancing at Perseus. “I do?”
Perseus’s eyebrow quirked. “I seem to recall you not lending a hand back there,” he said mildly.
“Hey,” Gi said, feigning offense, “that looked dangerous. I’m an endangered species. I wouldn’t want Tykhe to lose me so soon.”
I stifled a chuckle as Perseus turned a dark look on Gi. “Do you need to be here?”
Gi sighed and, bowing slightly to me, making me even more befuddled, sauntered off with a whistle.
“He has a good sense of humor,” I said soberly, watching his disappearing form. “You could learn something from him.”
Perseus’s scowl deepened. “He’s a pain in my—”
“What’s going on?” Synie asked, jogging up with Callie. She eyed the groaning pile of bodies behind Perseus. “We were on our way to the Chamber when we heard a commotion on the Esplanade.”
“Just some rabble-rousers,” Perseus said, shrugging. He turned to glare down at me and I scowled back at him. “But I caught something unexpected in the middle of it.”
Synie turned to match his glare. “Meda,” she said, her dark green eyes reproachful. “We’ve asked you repeatedly to stay away from this establishment.”
“Oh, good grief, Zyn,” I said, exasperated. “I come here all the time. Geôillur knows me.”
“Geôillur? The grumpy old bastard at the bar?”
Synie raised an eyebrow at the Protector’s language but focused on me. “Princess, you know Mathan bars are dangerous. Why do you persist in placing yourself in harm’s way?”
“I’ll take her back to her apartments,” my Protector said, his jaw clenched. Synie and Callie nodded and moved toward the bar, presumably to clean up the mess.
Perseus muttered a few choice curses as he resumed his walk away from the bar. “How can someone as small as you be so much trouble?”
I’m sure the hurt showed on my face. I blinked up at him, feeling somewhere between wretched and miserable or some pitiful combination of both. “Look, I managed just fine before you got here,” I said, annoyed, trying to pull free of his grasp. “I hardly need a babysitter. And in my line of work, conversing with people from all walks of life is exceedingly helpful—and necessary.”
“Then you’ll do it in the Chamber, where your business belongs,” he snapped. “There’s no need to converse on his territory—”
“Of course there is!” I cried, succeeding in yanking my arm free. “People only come to the Chamber when they need diplomatic solutions or political assistance. They make appointments. They write petitions. Treaties. But I need to help people, not governments. Governments are only a means to help the people, and frankly, they do a shoddy job of it on every planet in the galaxy.” I lifted my chin. “Governments were created to protect people, but instead they keep themselves distant. They have no idea what it means to live in the real world, what real people actually need. I mean to make Galaxia somewhere that people can get the help they need. Help I can provide.”
He stared at me, eyes narrow. “Very noble of you,” he murmured. I was even breathing heavily. “But, Meda, has it occurred to you that one person—that is, you—can’t possibly expect to help every one of the billions of people in the galaxy?”
I glared at him. “Of course it has. But I can help those near me in addition to those that seek me out, can I not?”
His face was hard.
I was surprised at my outburst. I rarely got mad; I was usually calm, levelheaded, and confident in my opinions, but Perseus just… brought out my temper. Maybe simply because he was the first one to question me; no one else ever fought with me or argued with me, but usually just accepted my judgment. This also struck me as odd; I rarely got mad because I was always sensing others’ emotions. I rarely felt more of my own than anyone else’s.
That odd buffer zone again.
And I was annoyed because I was attracted to Perseus, and I wasn’t allowed to be. He was so very, very handsome that it hurt, with his high cheekbones, and long eyebrows that came to a narrow point over his roman nose, making him look deeply intelligent and more than a little dangerous. I even liked the stubble on his chin when he hadn’t shaved, and his eyes were fascinating: pure black, impenetrable and yet piercing everything.
Just now, they were focused on me—intently.
I swallowed, some of my nerve fading as I stared at his handsome face. All traces of his previous attraction to me were gone, making me wonder if I had dreamed the whole thing.
I searched his eyes and tried to forget about what kissing him had been like, focusing instead on my other passion: helping people. “I won’t abandon this galaxy to apathy,” I said softly.
The muscles in his jaw tensed. “Let us hope then, little girl, that they are not apathetic to your efforts.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I stopped to touch the bright orange flowers, finally in full bloom after a long absence. I had no idea what they were, and they smelled awful, but they were still my favorite. They had blossoms the size of my hand, and the petals were silky, full, and soft.
I inhaled deeply, enjoying the feel of being in the Hypethral again. It was early in the morning, and little helped wake me up more than the damp, fresh air of the rainforest, the faint twittering of birds and insects, the vivid green glow. I loved Mathan Fog lattes, of course, but I really needed to come here more often. The air was so much fresher in the Hypethral than in the rest of the city.
I turned off the main path into an area dense with ferns, still wet from the night’s rainfall. The Hypethral had its own fabricated weather system to keep the plants alive and give the inhabitants of the city a feeling of normalcy, as living in space was occasionally difficult for many of us. The rainier areas of the Hypethral were always my favorite; I loved the freshness, the damp air, the rich feeling in my lungs. It didn’t matter if the rain was warm or cold, I loved it all. I weaved my way through the dense underbrush and ferns, my tunic getting wet as I pushed cedar branches out of my eyes. I plucked a sprig of cedar and stripped it to inhale the scent as I walked until I found my spot.
I sat beneath one of the bigger cedars in a patch of moss. The moss was spongy and soft and I knew it was soaking through my outfit, but I was wearing black as usual and I’d head back to my apartments and change before any of my appointments. I smiled, running my fingers through the damp earth next to me, thrilling at the feel of real soil.
I had come here to try and muddle through the newest negotiation crisis I had been handed. Mostly, my days were filled to the brim with petitioners and minor administrative duties, but I always had a few longer running, larger issues to deal with. Earlier this year I had finally—finally—managed to resolve the decades-long civil war on Lozha, a victory from which I was still thrilling.
Victories like that always revived me and gave me a renewed sense of optimism for what I was doing. Always, the slow progress and steady anxiety I felt from petitioners wore on me, making me feel as though I were accomplishing little; that coupled with the prophecy about saving the universe made me, to say the least, a little stressed.
Cepheus had handed me a new task, this time an environmental one. The Narran Trade Alliance, a confederation of planets organized around commercial enterprise, had discovered a planet rich in lithium, and naturally they wanted to sell the rights to mine for what would no doubt be a massive profit. Unfortunately, any mining operation would destroy the planet and, of course, the people living there, all of whom still lived in small, relatively primitive villages.
It went against interstellar law and, frankly, my personal ethics. Destroying or even disturbing another culture was not an option.
But was it really my place to force an entire political entity—a powerful one, at that—to agree with me? I reminded myself many times that such decisions came down to the law; what they were doing was illegal, so yes, it was my place.
Diplomacy was about keeping the end goal in mind, but being patient and taking small steps forward. It could be excruciating if you didn’t have the patience for it. All I was trying to do now, for example, was get the NTA to agree to a conference with me.
Even that was complicated. They had little reason to want to meet with me, since as far as they were concerned, they had discovered the planet and therefore had the right to sell anything on it. Finders keepers and all that nonsense. I had to work to convince them that not exploiting the planet, or only doing so under strict negotiations with the inhabitants, was in their best interests. In my meetings with the representatives, they constantly questioned the negotiations for where, when, how, and even why they should negotiate with us at all, but I could tell they were beginning to cave. I had made it worth their while by offering trade agreements with other sources of lithium, which, even if they were nowhere near what they’d acquire from the planet for free, were still a good deal.
I sighed, thinking of this morning’s schedule. I was due for a meeting with a representative from the NTA in about an hour; I only had two more days to convince him of a time and place to meet for the conference before he left to report to his superiors, and I was not going to let him leave without setting that date.
Rubbing my forehead, I took a little last minute solace in the quiet around me. I hadn’t been sleeping well. I could handle my job, but the never-ending barrage of the emotions of those around me, the thoughts screaming into my brain, bothered me. I wouldn’t mind so much if I could just turn it off—or even down—but it was constant. At times it was like lightning going off inside my head, little bolts stabbing into the deepest parts of my brain that I couldn’t scratch.
I looked upward into the trees, eyeing the pinecones a few branches up. Myrtilos loved to play with pinecones, and I often brought him a few from the Hypethral. He’d long since destroyed most of his toys, so I thought I would get him a few before heading back to my apartments.
Grabbing a knot in the tree, I started climbing quickly. I’d been climbing trees almost since I was a baby; the Moirae on Halia had hated it and tried to stop me, worried I’d kill myself in the process, and Synie and Kos had long since given up trying too. I was adept and had only fallen a few times.
I hauled myself up to the fourth whorl of branches and balanced against the trunk. The branch with the cones was a little thinner than usual. I eyed it thoughtfully, unsure it was strong enough to take my weight; I glanced down, gauging the distance if I should fall. It was far, but it wouldn’t hurt too badly. I probably didn’t need to go all the way out on the branch either; just a little stretch and I could probably reach it.
I ventured forward a little, balancing my feet on the branch and steadying myself with the branches above me, and stretched my other arm toward the cones.
Almost. The branch creaked beneath me, uncomfortable with my weight, but just a little farther—
“What the hell are you doing?”
I jumped, startled out of my concentration. My foot slipped on the branch, and my heart pounded with adrenaline as I realized I was going to fall.
Lightning-fast, my reflexes kicked in as I fell and I grabbed at the branch my feet had been on, snagging it with one hand and swinging to rest my feet on the branch below. It was enough to slow my momentum, but not stop it, and I had to jump forward to the ground.
I landed surprisingly gracefully, given the circumstances, although my ankle smarted from the impact. My knees hit the ground a second later, making me wince before I turned a glare up at the snarling face of my Protector, looming just a few feet away.
Good lord, he is tall, I thought, taken aback. But not taken back enough to stop being annoyed at him. Not even the giant, sharp sword attached to his back could distract me from my irritation. “You could have killed me, you big oaf,” I said. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to startle someone who’s climbing a tree?”
“I guess not,” he said sarcastically, “but then no one ever told me princesses should be climbing trees in the first place.”
“Clearly you’ve never met this princess,” I said, standing to brush myself off. “I climb trees all the time.”
“Not anymore, you don’t,” he said, arms folding across his chest as he turned his death glare on me. He had a pretty terrifying glare; I wasn’t afraid of him, but it wasn’t hard to see why others were. I noted with a slight touch of irritation that his biceps looked even larger when he folded his arms like that.
I frowned and lifted my chin. “Why are you so angry? Did you just wake up in a bad mood? If so, I would rather not be the target of your hostility—please find someone else to yell at, as I would like to go change before my first appointments today.” I squared my shoulders and started to walk past him and back to the path.
He blocked me. “You are the target of my hostility,” he growled. “Let’s forget the climbing-trees thing for a
moment and get to a bigger problem: what the hell were you doing here, all alone, at this ridiculously early hour?”
I stared up at him, confused. “Taking a walk,” I answered, my voice feeling small. “I often come here early.”
“Taking a walk?” he asked, his frown deepening. “You were taking a walk?”
I fumbled. “Um… yes?”
“Someone’s out to kill you, and you’re taking a walk.”
“I do almost every morning,” I said defensively. “It’s never been a problem before.”
His glare turned slightly incredulous. “Because, miraculously, nothing has happened before,” he said, slowly, “you think it will never happen?” He shook his head. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Don’t patronize me, Protector,” I said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been living here longer than you have.”
“Then it’s good you have some fresh perspective,” he replied, matching my tone. “Because you, little girl, are in dire need of a babysitter. Come on. We’re going back to your apartments.” His fingers curled around my upper arm and pulled me forward.
“You are such a bully,” I muttered, stumbling a little as he yanked me along.
“Yes, I am.”
I rolled my eyes. “I will continue taking walks by myself as much as I like,” I said defiantly, struggling feebly against his iron grasp.
“No, you will not.”
“You can’t make me—”
“Watch me. Do you need another demonstration of my abilities?”
“Ego much? Come on—”
“I have an earned ego,” he snapped. “For gods’ sake, you don’t even have an MCD!”
“I hate MCDs,” I replied. “They are so dehumanizing. Too much connectedness is not necessarily a healthy thing—and you’re not even connected to real people. Just disembodied voices. It’s so disaffecting.”
“I may not worship them either, little girl, but you need to have one on you at all times,” he snapped. “And you need to answer it whenever I call you.”