Joined: Book One

by Mara Gan

  I bit my lip, smiling. “It’s just so… cute.”

  He scowled. “It’s not cute. It’s rugged and dangerous.”

  “How, exactly, is it ‘rugged and dangerous’?”

  “Here,” he offered, shoving the hot drink toward me. “Have a taste.”

  I eyed it warily. “Why?”

  “Just taste it.”

  I brought the cup to my lips, giving him one last look before taking a sip.

  Almost immediately I gagged and barely refrained from spitting the liquid back out. “Oh, good god, what is this stuff? It’s vile!” I exclaimed, rubbing my mouth with the back of my hand.

  He laughed and took the cup back. “Still think it’s cute?”

  I glared at him. “Fine, it’s rugged and dangerous,” I said sarcastically. “What is it?”

  He took a deep drink and smiled in satisfaction. “It’s the same tea you drink in your beloved Mathan Fogs,” he answered. “Mathans prefer it straight.” He twirled the cup, sloshing the liquid inside. “This bakery serves up some of the best I’ve had in a long time.”

  “You could practically chew that, it’s so strong,” I commented, my face still pinched from the flavor.

  “You seem to dislike every drink I give you, don’t you?” he said, his eyes teasing.

  My smile faded as I remembered the last time we’d sat at a table and conversed so easily. When he hadn’t known who I was, and our relationship was… easy. My fingers clenched in longing.

  He seemed to realize his error and quickly looked away. “Anyway, it’s an acquired taste.”

  I tried to school my features away from the memory of that night. “Why would anyone want to acquire a taste for that?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. It’s probably the most stability I’ve ever known. Besides, I like the bitterness.” He grinned. “Goes with my black heart.”

  I sobered, sensing a flash of something deeper behind his blasé humor. “You don’t have a black heart,” I said quietly.

  He was silent a moment, picking at crumbs on his plate. “What did you come over here for, Princess?” he asked. “Aside from pointing out to me that I need to watch you more carefully.”

  “Nothing,” I answered, sighing. He always had to avoid showing emotion. He was good at hiding from me, and I hated feeling so unaware of what was behind his masks. “I just… wanted to talk.”

  “A rather simple goal.”

  “You would think,” I retorted. “But when the conversation partner is you, all the rules change.”

  He chuckled. “Most seem to find me a fascinating conversation partner.”

  “Albeit an irritating one who never answers questions directly,” I said dryly.

  “I prefer leaving things open to interpretation.”

  “Speaking of, you asked me what my name means, but I never found out what yours means.”

  He twirled his cup in his fingers. “It means ‘destroyer.’”

  I tilted my head. “It isn’t a very Mathan-sounding name. Did you choose it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you destructive?”

  “Quite.”

  “On purpose, or just klutzy?”

  He smiled faintly, raising an eyebrow. “No one has ever accused me of being klutzy before.”

  I smiled, feeling a little shy. “This is nice,” I said softly.

  Perseus stiffened, his smile fading. “I suppose.”

  “Why… why are you always so curt with me?” I asked. “I feel like we do nothing but fight.”

  He shrugged, flashing a quick grin. “I guess you just bring out my bad side.”

  “Do you even have a good side?”

  “Getting snarky, Princess?” He winked. “Aren’t good and bad relative terms? Besides, I’m sure I have a good side somewhere.”

  “Lost in the depth of space, along with your conscience?”

  “Tsk, tsk, Princess.” He shook his head. “Now who has bad manners?”

  I blushed furiously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Sure you did.” He smiled. “Stop worrying, little girl. You know what your problem is?”

  My eyes narrowed. “I don’t—”

  “No need to get defensive, Meda,” he said, surprising—and thrilling—me by using my name, something he rarely did. “I was only going to say you worry too much about offending people. There’s nothing wrong with a little teasing.”

  I smiled. “I know that. But it happens to me so rarely. I don’t have a thick skin, like you.”

  He eyed me thoughtfully. “That must be hard not having a thick skin, with your job.”

  I waved away the comment, not wanting to tell him it really was. I worried about offending people every second. “Maybe I’m just not used to people teasing me back.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Pity.” He finished off the last of his drink. “You could use it.” He looked up. “Perhaps it’s time we left, Princess?” he asked casually, nodding behind me.

  I looked around, seeing a few people had gathered to stare at us. I shrugged. “They’ve seen me before.”

  He smiled, humorless. “Despite your loveliness, Princess, I do not believe it is you they are staring at.”

  I looked back and realized that, indeed, the attention seemed to be focused on him. And it wasn’t good attention. “Why are they scowling?” I asked, voice low. “They’re… upset.” This knowledge hit me with surprise; how had I not sensed that? Ordinarily, I would have sensed the growing emotion the minute they had begun to gather, but around Perseus I had actually been distracted.

  Was he really a neutralizing bubble for my abilities?

  I needed to tell Kos.

  “They probably are,” he reasoned. “I believe several citizens do not believe a mercenary is worthy of protecting a princess, let alone one such as I. I don’t think being Mathan has earned me any points, either.”

  “Nonsense,” I scoffed. “What difference does it make? The Oracle chose you. You are a good man. Who cares what the package is?”

  He tilted his head in mild surprise. “Was that a compliment, little girl? But I don’t think the crowd shares your opinion. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just a thief and a killer.” He showed his teeth. “And they’re not wrong. You yourself have pointed that out to me before.”

  “Well,” I huffed, “that doesn’t define who you are now. You’re the Protector and they owe you respect.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, they respect me, all right,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “Respect is earned, and it’s difficult not to respect someone with my reputation. But they don’t trust me.”

  “Well, I do,” I said defiantly. “And that’s what matters.”

  I stood abruptly, facing the crowd with my hands on my hips as Perseus watched me with hooded eyes, looking faintly amused. I may not be a fighter in the physical sense, but I never backed down from standing up for what was right. Bravery came in many forms, as Kos always liked to say.

  “If you are here to stare at my Protector,” I said, attempting to sound as imperious as possible, “then know that he was chosen by the Oracle herself. He may have been the most notorious mercenary in the galaxy, but he is my Protector now, and he is completely trustworthy. I will not hear anyone say otherwise. Is that understood?”

  The crowd had looked shocked when I’d stood to address them, and now they mumbled agreements and apologies as they hurried to disperse. I watched them go, chin up and crossing my arms, before sitting down with Perseus again.

  “Nicely done, little girl,” he said, surprise registering in his eyes. “They won’t argue with you again.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t,” I said, frowning. “The very idea is absurd.”

  He nodded, still watching me. “Thank you, Princess,” he said finally. “I’m not sure anyone has ever stood up for me before.”

  I smiled, feeling that things had just evened out a little between us. “You’re welcome.”


  He nodded and gestured toward my Cube. “Shall I take you home?”

  I felt… warm, pleasant, like I’d done something good for the day. I frowned to myself, wondering at how I was actually sensing my own emotions when a few moments ago there had been a rather large crowd of mistrustful people nearby. That wasn’t something that happened; usually I only felt a sense of panic when I was in a big crowd of agitated people, and I actively had to work to calm myself.

  I turned to Perseus, who was still regarding me, waiting for my reply, and the answer hit me. It was him. I couldn’t read him, and for whatever reason, in his immediate vicinity, I was more easily able to forget the emotions of those around me and relax my mental barriers. Being around him was like having my own personal dampening field.

  I sighed. It figured. The one man who made me at ease also made me desperately nervous in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe. Enigma didn’t even begin to cover it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  God, my head hurt.

  Today had not been a good day for my mental strength. Some days, I was completely unable to block out the emotions and thoughts of those around me. Sometimes I knew it was because I hadn’t slept well; other days, I slept wonderfully and still had that problem.

  I hadn’t been sleeping well at all lately—if I slept at all—due to worrying about the upcoming NTA negotiations. My mind was always attempting to come up with new turns of phrase I might use to help sway the talks in my favor. Usually, these brilliant flashes of insight happened in the middle of the night.

  Then I’d get up, write some notes, and before I knew it, my mind would be flooded with thoughts from other people.

  Like today.

  I had been hearing petitions for nearly three hours. Much of them had been the usual stream of requests for equipment or aid, a distressed shop clerk asking for advice in her love life, even a pregnant woman wanting me to bless her unborn child. That last one pained me, but I did it because it was important to her. Ultimately, that was what I was here for.

  My Protector lounged in the shadows several feet behind me, so motionless I had all but forgotten his presence. His ability to remain so still belied the fact that he moved faster than anyone I had ever seen; he always looked ready to burst into action, despite his statue-like poise.

  I almost wished he would come closer so that maybe he could block some of this telepathic noise.

  I had been initially surprised that he had elected to join me today. Hearing petitions seemed such a mundane and harmless activity that his services could surely be better used elsewhere, but when I told him as much, he merely cocked that arrogant eyebrow and reminded me that his services were always best used when directly protecting me. He had decided that he, Kenzi, or Egil would always guard me when I listened to petitions, as any one of my petitioners could potentially mean me harm. Before I’d had a Protector, one or two of the Mousai stood outside the door, and I was alone with my petitioner; now, Perseus insisted on being in the room with me, although two of the Mousai remained outside to keep the hallway orderly.

  Luckily he was so still and quiet against the wall that few petitioners even noticed him. I suspected, too, that he had made these changes after my escape from Yalan yesterday.

  We were in my private office, formally called the Receiving Room, but I hated the royal-sounding name and just called it my office. Previous rulers rarely listened to petitions, and if they had, they did it in the Chamber, which was far more formal. I hated formality, though, and Perseus had approved of my hearing them in here as it “made security easier.”

  My office was somewhat small, only big enough to comfortably house a large wooden desk and a small smattering of chairs. Two chairs sat in front of my desk, where petitioners were invited to sit, although they usually remained standing, and at the not-so-far end of the office was a fireplace with two more chairs. The walls were covered with bookshelves, every one overflowing with more books than it should realistically hold, and cabinets lined the wall beneath some of the shelves.

  The only free spaces on the walls were hung with framed travel posters, advertising adventurous locations and exciting experiences. Travel was something I burned to do someday, but Synie and Kos put such restrictions on my comings and goings that I hadn’t been to any of them. I usually just stared at the posters wistfully and daydreamed about being “normal” for a few days, just so I could visit these wonderful places. This room was my comfort space, outside of my quarters, so it was here, surrounded by my books and aspirations, that I chose to meet with petitioners.

  Anyone who could make the journey to Galaxia to ask something of me, I attempted to accommodate as best I could.

  The man currently pleading his case was, unfortunately, my least favorite kind of petitioner.

  The merchant making his request was a contemptible little troll. I hated thinking of anyone so rudely, but Durga did not inspire feelings of guilt or sympathy in me; he was a merchant who dealt primarily in jewelry and visited the city once a month or so, but Clee and Nia were fairly certain he dabbled in weapons, something I despised and Galaxia officially condemned.

  Durga himself was something of a troglodyte. Short and more than a little rotund, his faintly purplish skin seemed permanently sweaty. His beady little eyes constantly shifted over me, and combined with an all-too-easy-to-read mind, I could easily guess at what he was thinking, and I doubted my pheromones had anything to do with it. Near as I could tell, Durga reacted to all women this way, as though they existed merely for his amusement, never mind that just one of the Mousai could knock him into next week if she felt like it. His purple fingers kept twitching as though he was having trouble not stealing. I had kept an eye on the trinkets on my desk to ensure none of them “magically” disappeared over the course of this audience.

  My headache had grown to the point where all I could hear in my head was the roar of his thoughts and emotions; it kind of felt like someone had tried to start a fire behind my skull, but failed miserably and only succeeded in creating lots and lots of smoke.

  With lightning bolts for added fun.

  Someone in line outside my office was singing a song in her head; a little boy near her was making vroom vroom noises with his toy spaceship. Beyond that, I felt an overwhelming amount of worry from all the people about to meet me that I would deny their requests, and further beyond that was the usually gentle roar of thoughts and emotions of everyone in the city.

  A man worried about his daughter dating too early. An elderly woman with dementia who couldn’t find her glasses, her medicine, or even her shoes. A group of teenagers watching a sporting event. A teacher feeling stressed that his students were not understanding the assignment.

  I tried to breathe through my nose and refocus, repeating a leaf in the forest, a leaf in the forest, but very little was helping. I just couldn’t block out the noise today, and every little effort I made seemed to make it worse.

  Through all that, Durga seemed to be making a request for more frequent trading rights on the station. It went on and on and on, going into extreme and unnecessary detail about how these rights would benefit Galaxia.

  I mentally rolled my eyes. What rubbish; jewelry benefited no one except the merchant.

  I was on the verge of hyperventilating from the pain and an oncoming panic attack. I had my head in my hand, my elbow resting on the table, something I never did out of respect for the petitioners, no matter how obnoxious, but just now I was trying to massage my temple without being too obvious.

  I doubted Durga noticed. He was probably far too self-absorbed and egotistical to notice an army of kobaloi in front of him unless they were there to swear allegiance to him.

  Finally the smoke in my brain demanded attention, lest I begin sobbing in public. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Durga,” I interrupted gently, my voice sounding less pained than I felt, “I fully understand your request. You have made an excellent case, and I am impressed with the though
t you have put into your petition. Unfortunately, I am unable to grant more trading rights to you at this time.”

  Durga halted midsentence and stared at me, his mouth hanging open. I almost winced; the troll seriously needed to see a dentist.

  “But-but my Heir, surely you can see—”

  “I am sorry,” I said again, “but we simply cannot grant your request right now. Please feel free to stay and enjoy the city as long as you like, but you may not sell your jewelry except during the specified times you already have.”

  “That’s it?” Durga’s face deepened to an even more hideous shade of purple. “You won’t even consider it? You’re just refusing me?”

  I sat up straighter. “I am afraid so.”

  Durga stepped toward me. “How dare you? I am the richest jewelry merchant in the galaxy! You can’t refuse me!”

  “I most certainly can,” I said, some of the smoke in my brain clearing as I felt a brief spike of annoyance.

  Durga narrowed his eyes. “I will make you accept me, Princess,” he hissed, reaching across the desk to grab my wrist.

  I was about to yank my hand back when a sword point at Durga’s neck stopped him before he could even get close to touching me.

  Durga looked up, momentarily stunned, into the face of my Protector, who loomed right next to me.

  “Retract your hand,” Perseus said, his voice dark and thrumming with danger. “Or I will remove it.” He slid his falx so that the curve cradled Durga’s neck.

  Panic crossed Durga’s features as he paled. “Pro-Protector,” he stammered. “I-I didn’t see—didn’t—”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would have behaved quite differently if you had deigned to notice my presence,” Perseus remarked mildly, black eyes hard and uncompromising as he took a few steps forward and forced Durga to move away.

  I stood, too tired and pained to be surprised by Perseus’s quick reaction. “Get out, Durga,” I said, putting as much steel into my voice as I could, “before I ask my Protector to assist you.”

  “I am, uh, sorry, my Heir,” Durga mumbled, backing away from the sharp falx at his throat as he attempted to bow his way out of the room. “I never meant any harm—”