by Jaid Black
Greetings unto you, my fellow anarchists. The time has at last come upon us to reclaim what is rightfully ours by virtue of birth. No longer will we succumb to the unjust dictates of the unholy Emperor Q’an Tal, fleeing from our sectors for fear of his reprisals. There is naught to fear, my friends. The Emperor is but a man… Ty smiled savagely. And like any man, can be killed…
Zor listened to Ty’s deranged spewing for a few minutes more before putting a question to Dak. “Were your warriors able to find out where this rebel leader heralds from? We know not much of Ty besides the fact that he is not native to Tron.”
“Nay.” Dak shook his head. “But ‘tis not Tryston for a certainty.”
“How do you know?” Kil asked curiously.
“Watch this part coming up,” Dak murmured, gesturing to the holographic image of Ty. “Notice that he refers to Kyra as ‘the Empress’, but never as ‘the High Queen’.”
When the part of the recorded memory Dak had referred to finished playing, Rem was the first to comment. “I take your point, brother. Had Ty been a Trystonni by birth, his first inclination would be to refer to her as the High Queen. That he calls her only the Empress, insinuates that he is of somewhere within Trek Mi Q’an, but not of Tryston.”
Zor inclined his head, agreeing. “’Tis not much more to go on, but leastways it rules out this planet and its seventeen moons.”
“’Tis a start,” Kil rumbled in low tones.
Dak turned off the communicator and regarded his brothers. “So now the question becomes, do we sit back and wait for the madman to make a move, or do we go hunting?”
Zor took a long, deep swallow from his matpow. His nostrils flaring, he slammed the goblet down upon the raised table, inducing the glowing turquoise liquid to spill out over the sides. “We hunt.”
Chapter 29
On the next moon-rising, Geris was safely delivered of a golden-haired, glowing blue-eyed baby girl who was the spitting image of her father. Dak was prouder than Kyra didn’t know what, strutting around like a peacock, his female pani cradled into his massive arms.
Kil, who had immensely enjoyed watching Geris hatch—he’d never heard so many dirty swear words at once—was now sitting on the bed next to the new mani, trying to get her to calm down, as Zor, Rem, and Kyra looked on.
“Forget it, Kil!” Geris’s lips puckered into a frown. “I don’t care what my husband wants, and furthermore I don’t give a damn if it was your grandmama’s name. I refuse to name my daughter Pyg!”
“’Tis a fine Trystonni name!” Dak bellowed as he paced back and forth with his hatchling.
“It’s stupid is what it is.” Geris crossed her arms over her still normal-sized breasts and scowled. “Kyra, tell him girl!”
Kyra—trying desperately not to laugh—glanced over to where Dak was pacing and nodded. “On earth, that name refers to a small, fat animal that snorts like Kita and eats a lot.”
“On Tryston,” Dak countered with a sniff, “’tis the name of the ancient mystic who is credited as the discoverer of the healing sands.”
“Forget it!” Geris’s frown went from puckered to pinched in a nuba-second. “I won’t have it.” Turning to Kil—the brother-in-law that had let her beat on his chest while she was pushing the pani sac out—she grabbed his shoulders and turned pleading eyes up to him. “Please talk to him. I couldn’t bear to name my daughter Pyg!”
Kil sighed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that where his two first-dimension sisters-within-the-law were concerned, he was turning out to be a royal pushover. “Dak, cannot you settle on a name both of you like? Why must you upset your nee’ka so?”
“’Tis a fine name, Pyg!” He threw a heavily muscled arm toward Zor and Rem. “Aye?”
Both brothers grumbled something, refusing to get in the middle of it.
Sighing, Dak turned to Geris and relented enough to hear some of her suggestions. “What name do you wish for, my hearts?”
Geris beamed. Smiling brightly, she admitted, “well, I’ve always been partial to Helena.” At Dak’s growl, she harrumphed. “Okay, then name another name. But no damn Pyg!”
“What think you of Mif?”
“Mif?” Geris clapped a hand to her forehead. “It’s butt-ugly is what I think!”
Dak grunted. “Sig?”
“No!”
“What think you of Suka?”
“Arrg!”
Kyra held up a palm to silence their argument. She turned toward her brother-in-law and thrust her hands to her hips. “Dak, all of your suggestions have been truly atrocious. I can hardly blame Ger for hating those names.”
“They are fine Trystonni names, the lot of them.” He slashed his hand through the air, his nostrils flaring. “’Tis better for a certainty than Palena!”
“Helena,” Geris corrected. She frowned. “And no it’s not!”
He merely grunted.
Unable to take much more of their banter, and desperately desiring to take a tumble with his nee’ka in the vesha hides, Zor stepped in between his quibbling brother and sister-within-the-law to render his verdict. “As the High King of Tryston and the Emperor of Trek Mi Q’an, I am claiming my right by the holy law.” He glared daggers at both of them before bellowing out his decision. “I give you five nuba-minutes to choose a name for my niece that is agreeable to you both, else will I name her myself.”
Geris’s swift intake of breath deterred Dak from any further outbursts of stubbornness, precisely what Zor had hoped for. Dak did not want his nee’ka hurt could it be helped.
“All right, all right.” Sighing, the new papa handed his pani over to a grinning Rem and made his way toward the bed to sit next to Geris. Grasping her hand in his, he searched her eyes. “Let us settle on a name together, my hearts. What like you besides Helena?”
Geris contemplated that for a suspended moment. The silence in the chamber was deafening. “Hmm.” She tapped a finger against Dak’s arm as she considered the question. And then she smiled. “I like your mother’s name,” she said softly.
Kil’s head shot up. A pained expression crossed his face. He looked to his niece and then to Geris. And then slowly, his lips kicked up into a smile. “She does have our mani’s fair hair.”
Zor grunted. “Aye. And ‘tis from mani that we get our eyes.”
“She has her golden brown skin color too,” Rem murmured.
“Well then!” Kyra clapped her hands together and grinned. “It’s settled.”
“Aye.” Dak drew his nee’ka’s hand up to his lips for a kiss. “We will call her Jana.”
* * * * *
The next several weeks passed swiftly and without incident. Four hunting parties had been sent to scout throughout Trek Mi Q’an for any signs of Ty and his insurrectionists. All four hunting squadrons had come back with no new word.
The women soon grew weary of being cloistered up within the confines of the palace, both of them wanting an excursion of any kind to alleviate the monotony of what had become, in effect, a royal prison.
The men were having none of that.
Kyra was safely delivered of a third girl child almost three weeks to the day of Geris’s hatching. This one they called Kara, naming her after Kyra’s missing, beloved sister.
Whereas Zora and Zara possessed their mani’s mane of fire-berry hair, Kara was the image of her papa, sporting jet black tresses and glowing blue eyes. The new little High Princess was well-loved and joyously received by all, including her two older sisters who were still developing at a rapid rate, both of them now the physical and mental equivalent of year old earth children.
When Zor’s sentence of celibacy ended two weeks after Kara’s hatching, he vehemently agreed with his nee’ka that they should wait several months more before getting her with another pani sac. No matter how erotic and stimulating the experience was, gorging whilst joining was shied away from, giving the couple time for themselves and for furthering the bonds they shared with the three daughters they had already
made together.
As Kyra saw it, the only downside to postponing further hatchings was that the decision forced Kil to remain bound to his duties as a lesser husband, as she had yet to give birth to a son. Until Kyra beget an heir, Kil was unable to search for his own nee’ka, a situation that distressed her sorely.
Kil, however, assured her that he didn’t care. “I have far too much to see to,” he had said, “without the distraction of a nee’ka.”
When Kyra had thought to press the issue, Zor had kissed her into silence. “Leave it be,” he had whispered in her ear. “My brother prefers to walk alone.”
Kyra had deferred to Zor’s wishes, especially since he was getting better and better at deferring to hers as of late. Except for on the issue of allowing her and Geris to have an excursion outside of the palace perimeters. On that, he was proving to be far less than accommodating. And so, Kyra had decided, she needed someone to help persuade her husband to her way of thinking.
One morning, after feeding the babies their sweet juice, Kyra made her way to Kil’s apartments to speak to him.
Kil raised a curious brow when he opened his doors to Kyra, but bade her to come inside. Showing her into the parlor, he motioned for her to have a seat. He was pleased when she removed her qi’ka before availing herself of a chair, not having to remind her—for once—of her duty to do so. He had to wonder at this sudden observance to tradition. The woman wanted something for a certainty.
Kyra let the gold qi’ka shimmer to the ground, then took her seat and faced Kil. “How are you feeling today?”
Kil’s eyes trailed over Kyra’s engorged breasts, then made its way down to the fire-berry thatch of hair between her thighs before finally flicking upwards to meet her gaze. “I am well. And you?”
She sighed. “I am restless, Kil. Very restless.”
“Forget it, Kyra.”
She harrumphed. Scowling, Kyra crossed her arms under her breasts and glared daggers at him. “Why does Jera get to go shopping at the stalls,” she whined, “when Geris and I have become virtual prisoners here?”
Kil’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “Jera has left the palace before?”
“Of course.” Kyra waved dismissively. “Even I can’t blame the horrid woman for sneaking off. The palace becomes boring when it’s all you see for weeks on end!”
Kil ignored that. “How many times has she left? When did you see her leave?”
Kyra sighed. Clearly her brother-in-law had no intention of aiding her. “I don’t know how many times. I’m not her shadow for goodness sake.”
“Try,” he said gently, “to remember.”
Her arms resting at either side of the chair, Kyra crossed one leg over the other and rocked it back and forth. She bit her lip as she searched her memory. “Let me think.” Scrunching up her face, she began to tap her cheek absently with her index finger. “Oh, of course!” She smiled up to Kil. “I know for a fact that she sneaked out the afternoon Kara was hatched.”
“For a certainty?”
“Yes.” Kyra nodded. “I remember happening upon her on my way to the kitchens. Cook had made me some of those maza candies I love, so I went to fetch them. I distinctly remembering feeling a bit hurt because here Jera was planning to sneak out for a shopping spree when she couldn’t even take a second to congratulate me on Kara’s birth.”
Kil snorted. “As if you can expect common courtesy from one so cruel.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps not.”
“And what of the other times?” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He steepled his fingertips together. “Can you remember them?”
Kyra sighed morosely. “You’re not going to help me convince Zor to let us leave the palace, are you?”
“Nay.”
She harrumphed. “Fine. Then I don’t remember,” she stated petulantly, her chin thrusting up a notch.
“Kyra,” Kil growled. “You will tell me what you know anon.”
She took a moment to huff out her annoyance before relenting. “There were at least two other incidents, but the only one I can place within a time frame was the day Zora and Zara took their first steps.” She gave him a date in Yessat years.
Kil nodded. As with Kara’s hatching, it was reasonable for a mani to remember the moments surrounding such an event well. “Go on.”
“I was with the girls in the main atrium off the great hall. We were looking at the flowers and plant-life there.”
Kyra uncrossed her legs, momentarily distracting Kil. His vision was again snagged by the tuft of dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. He flicked his gaze upward, noting the large pink areolas circling her distended rouged nipples. He sighed. At times, being a lesser husband was more annoyance than honor. “Go on.”
“You know how the atrium has a path that shortcuts to the conveyance launch pad?” At his nod, Kyra continued ruminating. “Jera came running toward the atrium from that direction, looking, um,”—she coughed discreetly into her hand—“disheveled.”
“Recently joined with?”
Kyra blushed. “Yes.” She re-crossed her legs and absently rocked one of them back and forth. “I asked her where she had been and she informed me that it wasn’t really my business, but if I had to know, she had been out for another shopping excursion.”
“Interesting,” Kil murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Standing up, Kil held out his hand for Kyra. “Come. I needs leave to see to an errand.”
Kyra frowned up at her brother-in-law, but stood nonetheless. “You’re not going to relent at all, are you?”
He shook his head slowly. His lips curled into a slight grin. “Nay.”
Kil decided he didn’t like the menacing look that shone of a sudden in Kyra’s eyes. “What?” he asked warily.
“Nothing.” She turned around and, keeping her legs splayed apart on the floor, bent over slowly to pick up her removed qi’ka, exposing everything to him. Kyra felt somewhat vindicated when she heard Kil suck in his breath. Turning around with a cunning smile on her face, she batted her eyelashes and held out her qi’ka to him. “Be careful,” she announced a little too sweetly as she ran her hands over her engorged breasts, “they’re very tender this morning.”
“Of course,” Kil bit out, his gaze narrowed. “Tender.”
* * * * *
Kil found his brothers on the training field. As Zor looked on, his hands splayed at either hip, Dak and Rem were instructing the warriors in hand-to-hand combat, a weaponless strategy used only when telekinetic combat was rendered ineffective due to head wounds or breaks in the atmospheric conditions of the battle environment.
It was a perfect day for defensive weaponless instruction, as the shimmering gold of Tryston’s air was very light. For the past fortnight they had been plagued with dense glitter, making it difficult to see your hand even if held before your own face.
Today the western sun hung a proud golden red, casting off clear, pure rays of light. Gulch beasts flew by overhead, coming out of the swamps to find their prey within the pits.
Kil smiled a warrior’s satisfaction. ‘Twas a day made for the warring arts.
Strolling over to where Zor stood, Kil inclined his head upon reaching his side. “I would that I could speak with you, brother. And for that matter with Dak and Rem as well.” And then he emphasized, “privately.”
Zor studied him curiously, but relented with a grunt. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he bellowed for the warriors to take a break, then ordered Dak and Rem to his side. When all of the Q’an Tal line was present, Zor nodded to Kil. “Now what was it you wished to speak to us of?”
“’Tis Jera.”
As three sets of brows raised in speculation, Kil inhaled deeply, hoping what he was about to say wasn’t on the far side of paranoid. He wasn’t a man to trust easily, after all, so suspicion of others came natural to one such as himself. He glanced toward Rem as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you know that Je
ra has left the palace a few times in the past several weeks?”
Rem’s eyes widened. “Nay. ‘Tis not possible. She has been guarded.”
Kil sighed. Not one to dance around an issue, he came straight to the point. “Is it possible Jera is fucking her guard?”
Rem grunted. Smiling sarcastically, he admitted the truth. “Anything is possible whilst speaking of my beloved nee’ka.”
“What is this about, Kil?” Zor regarded his brother thoughtfully. “Why think you that Jera has been coming and going from the palace at will?”
“Kyra.” At Zor’s raised eyebrows, Kil grinned. “Your crafty nee’ka came to my rooms this morn, seeking to garner my aid. ‘Twas her hope I would dissuade you in your rigid stance, that you might allow she and Geris to leave the palace for a spell.”
“I assume you told her nay?” Zor bellowed. He shook his head and sighed. “By the sands, the wee woman is but a constant trial. Forever is she bedeviling me.”
“You know not a trial,” Dak muttered, “until you have displeased my nee’ka. The woman’s frown alone could nigh unto turn your man parts to stone, and let us not even consider the shrieks that accompany those bedamned frowns.”
Rem chuckled, a dimple so much like Dak’s popping out. “Her tempers are worse than she was whilst hatching?”
“Aye.” Dak groaned. “The fortnight after Jana hatched was naught but a wicked nightmare. I couldn’t even mount her to get her to shut-up.”
Zor couldn’t stop the reluctant grin that broke out onto his face. “Do not feel o’er bad, brother. Kyra does much the same thing to me. She merely does it in a different way.”
“What does she do?” Rem asked. He was slightly jealous of the relationships his elder brothers had with their Sacred Mates, but not so much so that he couldn’t enjoy this banter.
“If she is especially out of sorts, she does just the opposite as Geris.” Zor snorted incredulously, as if even the memories agitated him sorely. “My nee’ka will refuse to speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence if I enter a chamber whilst she’s in it.” He gritted his teeth and clutched his fist. “Once when she asked me if I thought she looked fat and I told her I liked for my woman to be fleshy, she refused to couple for two moon-risings, claiming I was a ‘dickhead’—whatever in the sands that is.”