"Where is my sister?" he asked suddenly, turning back around.
It had been a full day since he'd seen her, and there was something in the pit of his stomach that told him he wasn't going to like the reason why. But then, the longer this went on, the more it seemed like people were conspiring against him.
Even two members of the Council exchanging glances could turn out to be them plotting against him, and he was not best pleased by it. They would learn. They would all learn that now there was no chance for Carver to come back and ruin things for him, he was in charge. One way or another, he was going to get what he wanted.
"I do not know, Leader," Cain said, not making eye contact. "She has been cleaning out your father's chambers for the last few days, but I have yet to see her today."
Something wasn't right about that.
Ithril regretted the way he had spoken to her before, and it had been in his head to apologize and tell her that he had been wrong to lash out at her. But he kept remembering her telling him that perhaps he needed Carver, and all the whispers among the people weren't helping. Everyone was turning on him, and he was afraid that his sister might be turning as well.
He wouldn't let her; she was the only family he had left, and he didn't intend to let her slip away and turn traitor. The people adored E'lira, and if he could just get her on his side, then… then they would believe in him again and be willing to make this work.
It had to work. Otherwise everything he had been working for would be for nothing. Tearing his remaining family apart by sending his brother away would have been for nothing, and he was pretty sure that he couldn't live with that. He wanted to have the proof that he had done the right thing, and for that to happen, he would need to win.
"Leader!" a voice called from outside the door, and Ithril turned.
"Enter."
One of the men that he vaguely recognized as working in the transporter bay came in, looking worried. "I don't mean to bother you, Leader, but I thought you should know…"
"What is it?"
"One of the transporter ships was reported missing last night."
Ithril rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know that. It's the one my brother took when he fled like a coward. Why are you bothering me with this?"
The man twisted his hands in front of him and shook his head. "No, I mean. There's another one missing. It was launched sometime yesterday, we think."
"You think." Honestly, what was he going to have to do to get people to actually be useful? "Can't you track it? I know for a fact that you can see when ships were launched out and where they were going."
"Well, yes. But there's no need for that."
"And why not?"
"Because the ship is on its way back, I would imagine."
Ithril's eyes widened at the voice of his sister. She strode into the Meeting Hall, eyes blazing. "As for who launched the ship, that would be me. Well. I had someone do it for me. It's over, Ithril. Carver's come back to stop you from ruining us, so just let him. You know as well as we do that this isn't going to work."
Betrayal. He'd been betrayed by his own sister and by the people who were complicit in her deception. It hurt a lot more than he'd been expecting it to, and he stared at E'lira in disbelief for a moment. "How could you do this?"
"Do what?" she demanded. "Try to save our clan from the ruin you're pushing us towards? What do you think Father would say if he could see this? What do you think Mother would say?"
It was too much. Ithril took two steps forward and backhanded E'lira across the face, the sound of his hand striking her cheek ringing out in the room. "Mother would thank me," he hissed at her, anger clouding his vision and making him seethe. "She would thank me for being the only one who cares enough to do anything about the fact that she was murdered! The rest of you just give in to those monsters, and I am the only one who cares to stop them! So don't you ever say that Mother would be disappointed in me."
E'lira pressed her hand to her cheek where a red mark was already blooming across her skin. "I'm sure she'd be so proud," she said.
"Enough. Guards!" Ithril called. "Take her away. Lock her in her rooms. Tie her down if you have to. I don't want her able to run around spreading her filth."
The guards hesitated, but they stepped forward, gently leading E'lira away.
"We're sorry," one of them murmured solemnly. "But the leader's word is law."
She nodded and gave a little smile. "I know that, and I don't blame you. But soon, there will be a new leader."
Ithril was shaking with rage. This had all happened right under his nose, and he couldn't believe it. His sister had gone behind his back and had somehow found out what had really happened to Carver and now Carver was...
No. No, no, no, no.
He stormed out of the Meeting Hall and down to the transporter bay, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him as he passed. Most people averted their eyes anyway, hurrying along and refusing to make eye contact with him. It didn't strike him until just then that it had been that way for days. Instead of bowing their heads respectfully or murmuring greetings as they would have done for his father, they went out of their way to avoid looking at him.
Fine. Once Carver was dealt with, there were going to be some changes made.
Ithril burst into the bay and looked around. It was easy to tell that there was a transporter preparing to dock, and he had to stop it.
"You there," he called to the woman who was standing in front of one of the screens that monitored incoming air traffic. "Do not allow that transporter to land here. I forbid it."
She turned and gave him a hard look. "I'm afraid I can't follow that command, Leader," she said, standing firm. "You see, Leader Carver has already instructed me to open the bay doors for him, and the leader's word is law."
"I am the leader here!" Ithril snapped. "You follow my orders!"
"As far as I know, you are both the leaders," she replied. "And I follow Leader Carver's orders now. Too many people have met their end by following your orders, with all due respect, Leader Ithril." Her tone was polite, but there was no respect in her eyes or demeanor.
This was E'lira's doing. It had to be. While he was struggling to get people to listen to him and trust him, she had been sewing the seeds of dissent in them. Telling them all manner of lies, no doubt. She would have to be punished. Anyone who stood against him would have to be punished.
"I will have you thrown in prison!" Ithril yelled, spit flying out of his mouth. "I will make it so that you will beg me to follow my orders. You think Carver will be able to help you? He'll be dead in five minutes if he steps in here."
Of course, he had no idea how he was going to back that statement up. He was working on pure anger now, and the last thing he wanted or needed was his saintly older brother trying to put things back the way they were. Ithril was trying to make progress and sometimes progress required sacrifice. Sometimes progress was messy, bloody even, but that didn't mean it had to stop. He just needed a better plan, and he needed more time.
He was about to call for the guards again, when one came pelting into the bay, eyes wide with fright. "Leader! Leader, you have to... You must..." His breathing was labored, and he couldn't get his words out.
Ithril didn't have time to wait for him to get his act together. "Spit it out," he snapped, irritation clear in every syllable.
"The Des'kos, Leader. The Des'kos are here."
Ithril's blood ran cold. "What?"
"They're here, Leader. Their leader and two of her men. They're demanding an audience with you."
This was what he had been trying to avoid. No one had ever seen the leader of the Des'kos until their clan was essentially destroyed. Just because she (and he was shocked that she was a female, as they had always assumed the the leader was a king) had only arrived with two men didn't mean that there weren't hundreds more lurking in wait. This could spell the end of his people, and it would be all his fault.
"Leader?" the guard asked. "What do we
do?"
There was no way to fight this if they were coming to wipe them off the face of the planet. No matter how many Sitheri there were compared to the number of Des'kos, they weren't prepared, and they didn't have enough weapons or armor to defend themselves.
Ithril felt like a child all over again. He wanted to run to his father and ask what they should do, but he already knew what his father would have suggested and he knew that if his father were still in control then they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.
But, no. His father was dead, and Carver was as bad as him. Ithril drew himself up and swallowed hard. "Take me to her."
The leader of the Des'kos was not ostensibly female. In fact, there was little to distinguish her from the two males that flanked her. They were all three of a similar height, not as tall as the average Sitheri, but much wider and more muscled. Their skin was pale and tinted green, and long, curved tusks protruded from either side of their mouths. The leader's were the biggest, and as close as Ithril was to her, he could see that the edges were serrated enough that she could gore him easily if she so chose. All three had matted brown hair that hung down their backs and was threaded with beads and shells. They were built like warriors and like animals, backs hunched over and hands clawed at the fingers.
If not for the intelligence in their eyes, it would be easy to pass them off as mere beasts, as Ithril had been doing for years.
But now that he was staring down the leader of them, it was much harder to do so. Even with a retinue of ten guards and warriors at his back, he still felt small and vulnerable standing in front of them.
"Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, willing his voice not to shake and his tone to stay cool and controlled. Show no fear, he told himself, even though it was extremely hard.
"I want to speak to Angen," the leader said, her voice rough and gravelly as she ground out each word. "I want to know what he thinks is worth breaking our treaty."
Anger flared in Ithril at that, warring with the fear. 'Treaty' was a pretty word for how his father had given so much up, but now was not the time to challenge that.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Ithril hedged.
Their leader barked a laugh, and every Sitheri in the room flinched. "Do not think to lie, little boy. Little Sitheri mice have been gnawing at our defenses for long days now. You think we don't see, but we do. We watch and we wait. And now I want to speak to Angen before someone here has to die."
There wasn't even any malice in her tone. She spoke as if she was just reciting the weather for the week and not making a threat against the late and current leaders of the Sitheri clan. But with a threat like that in the air, there wasn't much Ithril could do. He couldn't produce his father, and it was obvious that she knew what he had been doing.
"Angen is dead," he said, voice cold. "I'm sure it will please you to no end to know that."
The leader's face contorted into a garish mask of confusion and she turned, consulting with each of her companions in turn. When she looked back, her mouth was stretched in a wide grin, showing off rows of sharp teeth. "Sitheri mice have no leader, then?"
"We have a leader. I am the leader, and you can address your complaints to me."
The grating laugh returned, the leader looking highly amused. "You, little boy? You are the new leader of the Sitheri? By what right?"
"Angen was my father and he passed leadership to me. It's my birth given right to claim the title."
"Hm. Well then we have a problem. We have a treaty with Angen. Angen knew how to keep peace between us. You, little boy, have a taste for war. I can smell it on you. You want to kill my people and dance on our bones. But you are just a little, tiny mouse, and you are bad at war. I should stomp you out where you stand."
Behind him, Ithril could feel the guards shifting to grab their weapons. Ten against three were good odds, but Ithril didn't delude himself in thinking that they could stop her if she wanted him dead.
"You killed my mother," he whispered, lifting his head and letting her see the fire in his eyes. "You killed her and then you denied it. Like she was nothing. So yes. I want war. I want payment for her death."
Something strange flickered through their leader's eyes, and Ithril frowned. It wasn't anger or violence but something like... apprehension maybe. Like she was worried about what he had just said.
"You want a war, little mouse?" She said, leaning in and showing those teeth again. "You will have war. Sitheri mice have lied, cheated, and snuck around. None of this was in the treaty, and it is broken. The Des'kos will make you pay for it with your blood."
She threw her head back and let out a shrill cry that sent a shock of pure terror down Ithril's spine. It was like nails on a chalkboard and glass being ground and grated all at the same time, and he wanted to slam his hands over his ears to block it out. It got even worse when the other two joined in, taking up the cry for blood until the whole Hall and the space outside of it rang with the sound.
"No."
The voice cut through the cry, raised and strong, and everyone turned to look as Carver stepped in. Ithril's eyes widened. His brother looked much the same as he had when he'd sent him away weeks before, but there was something different about him. He wore an air of power that reminded him of how their father had always looked when he was truly in control.
It was like hearing his father speaking through his older brother, and Ithril and everyone else had to stop and stare.
"There will be no war," Carver said.
The leader laughed. "And you can stop us? Just because you are a slightly bigger mouse?"
Carver's lips curled in a little smile. "I can, Ylisthek. You see, Ithril, while rash and idiotic, is right. You did kill our mother. Whether it was you or your 'rebels' doesn't matter. Her blood is on Des'kos hands. And that is all that matters here."
Chapter 12: Checkmate
As it turned out, being in a transporter alone for over a day with little to do but think was actually something that came in handy. At least on this occasion. In order to keep himself from pining for Vivian endlessly, Carver had gone back to his father's notes.
He'd known that his father was incredibly intelligent and incredibly interested in the history of their clan and the other clans that had been wiped out by the Des'kos. He was even interested in the Des'kos themselves and figuring out some way to reason with them. Ithril thought that Angen was just capitulating, but he had always been looking for ways to make things better between them so the Sitheri wouldn't have to suffer or sacrifice any longer.
The notes that Carver read on his trip back only proved how devoted Angen had been to that task. Every attack was recorded and detailed and he had even kept track of how long the fighting had been going on before the treaty finally came into place.
What Carver didn't understand at first was why he had included so much about mating habits when it seemed to be irrelevant, but then it all made sense when he found a full ten pages on the sacred nature of the mating bond.
Apparently the Sitheri weren't the only clan that had seen a decrease in the amount of females born each year, and apparently it had been happening for quite some time.
It didn't seem like Angen or anyone else had found a reason for this phenomenon, but one thing was for certain. Every couple that proved to be a mated pair would end up giving birth to a daughter.
The records went as far back as his great, great, great grandfather's time, and it had happened without fail. His parents were the perfect example of that as E'lira had been the first Sitheri female born in a three year period.
Since this was overwhelmingly the case, mated pairs were somewhat seen as sacred. Unbreakable.
Unless of course someone came along and broke the bond with death...
Carver had leaned back in the seat, a plan coming together in his mind. He'd stared out the large window into the inky blackness of space and fixated on the glittering blanket of stars, hoping that somewhere out there his father's spirit was guidin
g him and pointing him towards this being the right thing to do.
Of course, Ithril was a problem. Carver had heard most of the conversation between him and the woman running the transporter bay at the moment, and his blood boiled that his brother, acting as leader, would speak to someone of his own clan like that.
This had gone on long enough, and he was already planning on giving his brother a piece of his mind, but when he heard that the Des'kos leader was there, he knew that something else had to come first.
The war cry had chilled his blood, but there was nothing for it. Someone had to fix this mess, and he was the only one with the necessary information.
Silence followed his pronouncement. None of the Sitheri seemed to know what to say, and the Des'kos were staring at him oddly.
The king, a female, Carver was interested to note, stepped forward, beady eyes narrowed. "Are you going to make a point, or should we just kill you now?" she said.
"Oh, I have a point," Carver told her. "And it's one I think you'll not want me to rush to make. But since it seems like the lives of my people are at stake, I'm going to have to.
Still, his voice was measured and even as he spoke about the declining numbers of females in all the clans and how no one could figure out why it was happening. He spoke of the bond between his parents and how all of them had marveled to see it. He talked about how his mother had been attacked by the Des'kos and left to die, and then how his father had followed.
"Slower, of course," he said. "And if no one knew what they were looking for, couldn't dying of a broken heart be considered a kind of disease?"
Ithril's brow was furrowed, and Carver glanced at him for a moment before looking back to the king.
"You see, Ylisthek," he continued, using the Des'kos word for leader as his father had taught it to him years ago. "We all thought that my parents were just in love. That they had just found that one person they were meant to be with. And in a way, we were right."
There was a pregnant pause and then the king laughed. "Silly mouse. You expect than I will believe that the Sitheri still take mates? That they still feel that ancient pull?"
Alien Soulmate (Paranormal Romance Aliens) Page 9
