Prophesied: Interplanetary League series

by Liz Craven

  Ilexa rose and moved to stand in front of the portal. The oblong shape of Tmesis hung framed in the center like the painting of a desolate wasteland. Staring at the dismal moon, Talon felt his fury at the Damaia’s suffering burn in his chest.

  “Talon.” Lex’s voice was soft, entreating. “If you go to Lia and demand answers, you are going to do nothing but give her the opening to pick a fight. I assure you she will leap at the opportunity and use the fight to keep you at arm’s length.”

  “I thought your healing skills were confined to the physical,” Talon stated. “Are you telling me they have expanded into the realm of psychological or spiritual?”

  Ilexa wheeled on her brother, and he saw anger blazing in her eyes. “Don’t you dare belittle my gift. I may be young for a healer, but my age has no bearing on my talent,” she snapped. “A person is made up of the physical, emotional and spiritual. These must exist in harmony for one to be healthy. I cannot read her physical condition without an exam, because her emotional and spiritual conditions are poor enough to obscure it.”

  Ignoring his sister’s ire, Talon zeroed in on the part of her statement that most alarmed him and shot to his feet. “You can’t evaluate her health? She needs to see the League doctors on board immediately.”

  “You are not listening to me,” Ilexa warned. “You need to ease her into her new life and make her comfortable. Until that happens, she is not going to submit to any medical exams.”

  “She’s not comfortable with her quarters? We can change them.”

  “Are all men as obtuse as you?” His sister glowered at him, and he had the childish urge to pull her hair.

  “I’m talking about her emotional state,” Ilexa said through gritted teeth.

  “Her health comes first,” Talon repeated stubbornly. Was he the only one who understood how critical the Damaia was to the lasting peace of their world?

  “Talon, you’ve—we’ve spent all these years so focused on the Damaia we forgot about Lia.”

  The earnest expression on his sister’s face kept him from throttling her. “We can’t forget about Lia if we are focused on the Damaia. Lia is the Damaia.”

  “The Damaia is a title, a figurehead. We haven’t thought about Lia as a person. What are her likes and dislikes? What are her dreams? What makes her laugh? Lia is more than just a warm body to sit on the Prophecy Throne. She has a beating heart, and we need to recognize that.”

  Talon shoved a hand through his short hair in an agitated gesture. An unconscious habit he thought he’d outgrown. “Regardless of her likes, dislikes and dreams, she is the Damaia, and that is more important than anything.”

  Ilexa jabbed a finger into his chest. “Mark my words, you ignore her likes, dislikes and dreams—you ignore who she is at the core, and N’yota won’t have a Damaia.”

  Ilexa stomped towards the door, but paused to turn back and look at the moon framed in the portal. “It’s ironic. The discovery of trynnium on N’yota resulted in the League pushing us into peace and helping create Lia to fulfill the Prophecy. Trynnium is steadily replacing xyreon as the most demanded fuel source, and Lia has been slaving to mine xyreon as its market share declines. I wonder what the gods are trying to tell us.”

  Chapter Four

  Lia examined the door, but found no manual lock. Left with no choice but to trust Ilexa had told her the truth regarding others’ ability to enter to her quarters, she decided to clean up.

  She staggered through the sleeping quarters into the lavatory and nearly swooned when the door slid completely open to reveal a room larger than the rep’s Office. The lav held a combined shower/tub unit that offered both sonic and water cleansing options. The inset cabinets above the basin held a variety of shampoos, conditioners, soaps, scents and styling products. The cabinets below the basin were stocked with fluffy towels.

  After years on a water-deprived moon, Lia couldn’t resist the lure of a true water shower. She stripped her mining clothes from her body, and winced at the sight of the wound in her side.

  The skin surrounding the punctured area burned an angry red and felt warm to the touch. She needed to clean and dress the wound, but doubted she would obtain any medical supplies without submitting to an exam. Memories of being poked and prodded like a science experiment hardened her resolve. She had survived the harsh conditions of the mines and suffered worse injuries than this one. Her body would heal itself eventually, and this time she would actually be able to cleanse the wound.

  Feeling decadent and guilty, Lia turned the water on and stepped into the shower. She adjusted the temperature until it was almost scalding and sighed in bliss at the foreign sensation of water raining down on her body.

  Overwhelmed by the fruity and floral perfumes of the body cleansers, she opted for scent-free hand soap. Careful of the wound in her side she lathered herself with a thick, rich foam and scrubbed hard. She sluiced water over body, rinsing away the lather and layers of dirt. Next, she turned her attention to her hair. The shampoo smelled of chanua blossoms and triggered memories of the N’yotan countryside. Surprised by the strength of the recollection and strange tug it caused in her stomach, she made quick work of washing her hair. Feeling clean for the first time in years, Lia braced her hands on the shower wall and enjoyed the slide of water against her skin.

  Exhaustion washed over her like the water. Reluctantly, she forced herself to turn the shower off. She couldn’t afford to relax. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  She wrung the water from her hair, stepped through the steam and retrieved a towel. Drying herself quickly, she wrapped the towel around herself and grabbed a second towel, which she wound around her head like a shangazi turban.

  Lia padded barefoot into the sleeping quarters in search of the clothes her sister-in-law had left for her. As much as she hated being found, she could not resist the lure of clean, feminine clothing. The thought of wearing something other than the filthy mining rags lifted her flagging spirits.

  The large bed sat on a raised platform opposite a wall constructed of a floor-to-ceiling portal. The designer clearly intended the bed’s occupants to enjoy an unimpeded view of space. A glance towards that view revealed stars streaking by. She must have been more zoned out in the shower than she realized to not notice when the ship broke orbit—or inertial dampening technology had vastly improved since her last trans-stellar flight.

  Lia climbed the three steps up the dais to the bed. She drew in a deep breath of pleasure when she saw the gowns Ilexa had left. Bracing a hand against the comforter, she leaned forward for a closer look. The jewel-toned gowns shimmered in the dim light of the cabin, and Lia recognized the material as bafta silk. Unable to resist, she stroked a hand down the sleek gown closest to her. She could not remember ever touching something as soft.

  She had intended to dress and return to the lav to dry her hair, but after seeing the gowns, Lia did not want to risk damaging the material with her wet hair. She backed down the steps, still staring at the delicate cloth, and stumbled in the light gravity. Tearing her attention away from the bed, she returned to the lav to dry her hair.

  The steam from the shower had evaporated, and the mirrored vanity had cleared. Sitting carefully in the chair, Lia unwound the towel from her hair and drew a comb through the thick mass. Despite the heat, not all miners shaved their heads. Some miners, including herself, grew their hair as long as possible. They wrapped their heads with hair and covered it in cloth to provide a small cushion for the skull if they bashed against the side of a cliff.

  To Lia’s surprise, her hair fell to her waist in soft curls. She hadn’t realized how long it had grown. The natural curl of her hair usually caused it to snarl and tangle, drawing the length up to her shoulder blades. Amazing what miracles water, shampoo and conditioner worked.

  She moved into the drying tube and enjoyed the caress of warm air and the sensation of her hair blowing against her skin. All too soon, the auto-shutoff kicked in and the door slid open. She stepped from the tube and
made a beeline for the clothes.

  Though all the dresses were beautiful, Lia had no problem making her selection. She traced a gentle hand down the sapphire-blue gown near the headboard, before lifting it from the bed. As an afterthought, she grabbed the underclothing Ilexa had graciously provided. Lia carried the clothes to the full-length mirror beside the lav. She dropped the towel, pulled on the underclothes, shimmied into the dress and stared.

  Prophetess. She did not recognize the woman staring back at her. The rich hued robe brought a deeper blue to her eyes and made her hair look like flame. Her complexion was smooth, if a little too pale. Tmesis wasn’t a prime destination for sunbathing.

  No, Lia realized with dismay. She did recognize the woman staring back at her. She had seen the image before her in countless texts, statues and works of art. The scientists responsible for her creation would be thrilled to see the results of their handiwork. They had turned her into the living embodiment of the Prophetess herself.

  The chime to the door echoed through the room, and Lia’s stomach clenched.

  —

  The door to the Damaia’s quarters slid open. Talon stepped across the threshold and froze, oblivious to the almost silent hiss of the door closing behind him. The vision before him had to be the Damaia, because she was in the Damaia’s quarters, but she bore no resemblance to the tattered mine-rat he’d hauled aboard the ship.

  The woman had vivid red hair that flowed in loose curls to her waist and framed a heart-shaped face. Her pale skin was luminous, as though lit by an inner light, providing a canvas for full lips, a slender nose and wide-set eyes tipped up at the ends. A closer study revealed those unusual starburst eyes framed with long lashes that curled up to almost touch perfectly arched eyebrows.

  A gown the color of N’yota’s deepest seas hugged her body, clinging to lush curves. The scooped neckline revealed the upper curves of full breasts. Though the neckline was modest, the sight of her figure made his mouth go dry. The fact this amazing creature before him was his wife had him struggling to keep his body under control. He wanted to find the geneticists who oversaw her conception and kiss their feet.

  Talon realized he was staring and snapped to attention. He offered a formal salute and a slight bow. Straightening, he said. “Damaia, you are more beautiful than a N’yotan sunset.”

  “Oh, please,” Lia snapped, glaring him. “At least get some original material.”

  Her response startled him, almost causing him to crack a smile. He was not accustomed to women rebuking him for paying them a compliment. “You’re right. That was trite, but you have grown into a beautiful woman. You look almost nothing like the gangly child I remember.”

  She stiffened, and he knew he had said the wrong thing. Damn she was prickly. He floundered for a moment, uncertain how to begin what was likely one of the most important conversations of his life. He decided to start with the present. “I apologize for the formal dinner this evening. I understand you worked two back-to-back shifts and are undoubtedly tired. Unfortunately, postponing the meal might be interpreted as N’yota snubbing League representatives.”

  He wouldn’t have thought her posture could become any straighter, but it did. Now what had he said?

  “I believe I am coherent enough to sit through a meal,” she informed him in a haughty tone.

  Aha. Pride. “I’m certain you are, Damaia,” he conceded, feeling gracious.

  “My name—” She growled, “—is Lia.”

  He frowned. Her anger over the title worried him. She likely believed they’d left her to rot on that hell-moon. She had a right to be angry, if for no other reason than the amount of time she had been stranded, but she couldn’t show disdain for N’yota publicly. It might damage the peace they had fought so long and hard for.

  “Lia,” he began, “the fact you suffered so long in that gods-forsaken place is intolerable. I can only imagine the rage you feel, but for the sake of your people, you cannot scorn your title.”

  She stared at him for several heartbeats. Her wide-set eyes narrowed. “Have you considered I may have wished to remain in that gods-forsaken place?”

  Stunned, Talon barely managed to keep his mouth from dropping open. He would have been less surprised if she had stripped naked and revealed herself a man. “You would have preferred to live in squalor, under the tyranny of the Guild, rather than take your rightful place at home?”

  Her full upper lip lifted in a sneer, giving her the appearance of an angry feline. “Home? Tmesis is more a home to me than N’yota will ever be.”

  Better to serve in hell than rule in heaven? “You are the Damaia, the rightful leader of—”

  “I am not the Damaia. I am a short cut created to circumvent the Prophecy of Peace.”

  Talon frowned. Who taught her N’yotan theology? “The Prophecy of Peace predicted when the blood of the two warring Houses mingled in the veins of a daughter, peace would return to our world. The validity of the Prophecy was underscored when the priestess who foresaw the birth of the Damaia ascended to the gods to become the Prophetess.”

  “Even if you accept the Prophecy, you must agree the spirit of the Prophecy calls for the House of Lassan and the House of Gemadam to unite in peace—likely meaning marriage. The peace comes from the two Houses uniting, putting aside differences, not the birth of a daughter.”

  He rose to pace. They did not have time for a theological discussion. He tried the most succinct approach. “You are the daughter of the two Houses and the fulfillment of the Prophecy.”

  She gave him a look most reserved for foolish children, and he swallowed a smile. His wife had backbone and that pleased him.

  “The League negotiated with each House to allow me to be created in some lab—”

  “You were conceived using in vitro fertilization to ensure your gender—”

  “And carried by a surrogate to ensure neither House actually came in contact with a child of tainted blood,” she finished almost triumphantly. “That is hardly ‘uniting’. Besides, you can’t possibly want this marriage any more than I do. Surely you want to find a way out of it.”

  He hadn’t believed the conversation could become any more bizarre. He heard the tinny sound of bitterness when she mentioned her tainted blood, filed it away for future analysis and focused on the absurd idea he would want out of their marriage. “What would make you think that?”

  “Come on, Talon,” she said with an eye roll. “Your father led the resistance to the two Houses. We were married the day I was born to unite all three factions on N’yota. Surely as his son, you don’t want to see N’yota as a monarchy.”

  He shook his head. “You misunderstand the rebellion. The rebels were just as religious as the Houses, probably more so. It wasn’t the idea of a united monarchy that caused the rebellion, but the Houses’ refusal to end the war. Truthfully, the rebellion wanted to see the end of the war with the birth of the Damaia.”

  “Then why wed you to me and in a sealed marriage no less?”

  “To ensure the Damaia would hear the voice of people as well as the voice of the Houses in decision making. To ensure the Houses couldn’t manipulate the Damaia’s future into restarting the war.”

  “To take away my choices,” she said quietly. “To take away our choices. A sealed marriage is inviolate. No divorce is possible. They wed us to ensure we had no choice but to meekly follow the path they laid for us to walk.”

  Her soft words burned with anger, but underneath he heard a deep, soul-rending pain. Her simple observation offered him a glimpse into the frustration she must have felt growing up, without being allowed to make the simplest decisions or even having the luxury of dreaming about what she would be when she grew up.

  His heart hurt for the little girl denied the joy of dreaming and for the woman before him, trying with such desperation to fight her destiny. He gentled his voice when he said, “Whatever their intentions, we are sealed and you are the culmination of the Prophecy.”

  “That
doesn’t change the fact that my conception hasn’t ‘united’ the Houses.”

  “Regardless of prophetical interpretation, N’yota is at peace for the first time in five thousand years, and that peace resulted from your existence.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I was born, now there is peace. I haven’t set foot on N’yota since I was twelve. Obviously, my presence on the planet is immaterial to maintaining the peace.”

  He kept his face neutral, though he was tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and the fire she displayed. Not to mention her terminology. Immaterial? Living in the mines hadn’t affected her vocabulary. He had feared she would curse like… Well, like a miner.

  His gaze swept the unusual and oddly refreshing creature before him. Her eyes glittered and a flush covered her cheeks and the exposed skin of her chest, which rose and fell quickly with agitated breathing. He found himself beginning to react physically and checked the direction of his thoughts, turning his attention back to the conversation.

  “The people have not been told you’ve been missing,” he admitted. “While we have been searching for you, the public has been told you’ve been studying at an undisclosed League school for security purposes.”

  She gasped. “You’ve been lying to them?”

  He sat down in the chair and settled back. “You seem awfully outraged about a lie to a people you claim aren’t yours.”

  “I—”

  To his disappointment, a loud chime cut off whatever remark Lia was about to make.

  He rose and offered her his arm. “That was the bell announcing dinner.” He paused at the door. They had not resolved the issue of her title. “At dinner you will be addressed as the Damaia—”

  “I won’t make a scene in public tonight.”

  He nodded his thanks and covered her hand with his own. Her words left him uneasy, but he was somewhat assured she would behave during dinner.

  Staring into her unusual eyes, he saw the anger she used to mask her desperation, and behind the anger he caught a glimpse of exhaustion that caused his chest to tighten. He felt an irrational urge to abandon the formal mess, regardless of the political ramifications. The thought of tucking her safely into bed led to a vivid image of that long red hair spilled across the pillows… He bit back a groan and escorted Lia from the room.