Dizzy and belligerent, he had to curb the impulse to strike out at Thraix. In the past, it was what he'd have done to anyone else. But the well-trained Trisani warrior wouldn't react well to such an attack. Not that the fear of bleeding stopped him--it never had before. He just didn't want to rupture their friendship with his stupidity.
Thraix kept his gaze locked on his. "Come on, Jules. In and out. Slow and easy ... First time you get knocked down with a Pulsator, it's a beast. Trust me, I know. It's what caused our army to fail. We thought we were indestructible. No human could touch us with our psychic powers. We got blindsided, just like you. And when you find out that you're not the baddest ass on the block, it takes you a few to recover."
He tightened his hand in Jullien's hair. "You still with me?"
Jullien finally began to calm a degree. "Yeah. Think so."
Thraix patted him on the shoulder and let go. "Just remember that warning sensation, drey. Next time, pull back the instant you feel it. It's that weird-ass hum and buzz. Treat it like a live electrical wire. And remember that unlike us, you're Andarion. You got all that strength and the ability to breathe fire. It won't leave you in a coma for a week. Most of all, you're not alone. You have reinforcements."
Unira placed her hand on Jullien's back.
He would never get used to this feeling of having a family. Of unity.
"Sanguine inter fratres devoto," Jullien breathed.
Thraix smiled as Jullien spoke the words that had been the official motto of the Trisani royal armed forces. "That's right. For my brothers, I will bleed."
Jullien pressed the heel of his hand to the ache in his forehead. "Did Jory make it out?"
"He did. Otherwise, I'd be all over them. Probably have my brains scrambled as a result. I laid the course in for Haven II, where we're meeting him."
Jullien nodded as he checked everything one more time ... just in case. "Uh.... I feel like I've gone a round with Talyn Batur in a Ring match."
Thraix laughed. "I don't think you'd be standing upright if you'd done that."
"Yeah, trust me, I know. I'm still dizzy from the last punch he gave me."
Thraix arched a brow at his comment. "Seriously?"
Nodding, he pointed to the scar on his forehead. "Oh yeah. They don't call him the Iron Hammer for nothing. He took down my entire guard while they were firing point-blank at him." He laughed at the memory. "Never saw anything like it in my life. Still don't know how he took that many stun blasts without going down. That giant shit's a beast."
"Adrenaline. If you want, I can teach you both how to do it."
Unira screwed her face up at his offer. "I'd rather go down if I get blasted. After I shoot them back, of course." She winked at them. "While I'm a priestess, I am an Andarion one."
Thraix laughed as he replaced Jullien at the helm. "You rest and I'll take the ship. Call your lady. Rest your nerves. It won't take long to reach Jory."
"All right. Thanks." Jullien headed for his cabin while he tried not to let his paranoia overtake him again. He didn't like being overpowered by anything. It brought back too many bad memories of his childhood, and always sent him into a vicious panic attack. Things he wasn't ready to deal with. While he tried to joke about it, it really wasn't funny.
PTSD never was.
He tended to go rabid in those situations, even catatonic. His reason fled so fast that he couldn't think straight. Or rationally. He lost all sense of himself and the world around him. Even time. Worse, he never knew how he'd react. Sometimes he could fight back and protect himself, and at other times ...
It was like being as helpless as an infant. His body locked up and paralyzed him, until he couldn't move or breathe. He just sat there, shaking uncontrollably as memories flashed through his mind on a strobe-like playback that made him want to rip out his eyes.
Gah, why couldn't he get a handle on this? He'd tried everything in the Nine Worlds to move past it. Still, it lingered and kept on until he felt as if he were going mad from it all.
Needing peace, he went to his bunk to rest, and there, he pulled up the videos on his link of Ushara and Vas. Of Nadya and her sisters, and his Tavali family.
He watched them as they did nothing remarkable.... They were baking cookies. Coloring pictures they'd drawn. Working on, or rather screwing up the ships he'd been assigned to repair. Doing Vas's homework and teaching Nadya her letters and basic colors. And yet everything they did amazed him. Biting his lip, he traced the lines of Ushara's smiling face, wishing he were with her. Wishing even more that he was inside her, because truthfully, she was so deep down inside him that he felt as if he were drowning.
And at the same time she was the only thing that kept him afloat. If something were to happen to her, he would lose his mind for real. In all his life, he'd never had anything. Not until she'd made him hers.
She, alone, gave him purpose and sanity. And he wasn't about to allow the Anatoles to take her from him. Not without a brutal fight.
He clutched the link to his chest as anger consumed him. One way or another, he was going to finish this and make sure no one ever threatened her again.
*
Jullien froze as they entered the Tavali cafe where they were to meet Jory and his crew. The instant he stepped inside the quaint Ritadarion-themed decor that made him feel as if he were outside on the dual-sunned planet, he had an instant deja vu that he'd been here before. He glanced around at the blue walls, gold, scuffed tables, and hand-carved, rustic furniture and chandeliers.
Yeah, even though he'd never stepped foot in this place, he knew it intimately.
Thraix duplicated his scowl. "What's wrong?"
"I've seen this restaurant."
Unira arched her brow. "When you were on the run?"
Before he could answer, his gaze went to the back corner, and he saw the exact table from the picture he'd been sent....
More than that, he saw the ones who'd sent it.
Nyran and his grandmother. This must be their usual haunt.
Shkyte! Cursing under his breath, he backed out of the door hurriedly so that neither caught sight of him and blew his surprise that he'd been working so hard to give them.
It's Eriadne. He sent the warning silently to both Thraix and Unira so that they could duck and cover, too. Which they quickly did as they followed him outside. Since they didn't know for sure who they were ducking, the way they dodged would be comical if he wasn't so pissed off about it.
Once safely on the street, he quickly vanished into the shadows of a nearby alley so as not to be seen by any of the Andarion bodyguards or entourage.
Silently spewing profanity, he met Thraix's gaze. "What are the odds they'd be here? Having fucking tea?"
"For you? Good. 'Cause, let's face it, your luck sucks."
Jullien snorted. "Ain't it the truth?" He raked his hands over his face as he tried to get a handle on this.
And on his temper, which really wanted to go back into that restaurant and choke the life out of both of them until they were dead at his feet.
Or at least cut into bloody chunks.
"So what do we do?" Unira asked.
"Don't, Jules," Thraix said in the warning tone of a parent with an angry toddler. "Don't even think what you're thinking, and I don't need any powers to know what that look in your stralen eyes means. Stop right there before you get us all killed."
He was right, and Jullien hated him for it.
Stepping back, he forced himself to calm down, then let out an evil laugh. "Fine, then. If I can't storm in there and kill them like the Andarion I am, let's do what we initially intended.... You two meet up with Jory, in private, and make sure everything's fine with his crew. I'm going off to screw with the bitch's head a bit. I'll meet you at the hangar later."
As Jullien started away, Thraix caught his arm. "Be careful. She's not alone."
"I know, and I will. Believe me. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of putting me in the ground." Jullien lifted the cowl on hi
While he waited for it to be served, he used the terminal to access the video feed so that he could spy on his grandmother and cousin with his powers.
What a peculiar and ironic day this had turned into. The gods had to be bored.
As a prince, he'd been the one who couldn't so much as jerk off without them spying on him. Back then, he'd never had a minute's peace. Either Merrell, Nyran, or Chrisen had made a point of being planted at his side every second of every day. Literally.
The only time he was spared their onerous company had been his stints in prison, under the tender care of Eriadne's wardens and personal thugs, who made sure that he had regretted every ounce of Anatole blood that flowed through his veins. The very thought of it all was enough to send him into a homicidal rage.
Stop it!
He needed a clear head so that he could pay attention to them. Not dwell on his past.
Irritated at himself for letting them into his mind, he fished his coins out for his drink. He forced his thoughts to remain here in the present, on them and only on what they were saying now.
Screw the past.
It'd definitely screwed him.
Inside the restaurant, Nyran sat at ease in Eriadne's presence, something Jullien had never been able to do. She'd always put him on edge. Made him nervous and twitchy to the point, he'd been more jittery than an ADD cat trying to cross rush hour traffic. There'd been a time in his childhood that whenever he heard her so much as whisper his name, he'd wet himself in terror of having to face her.
Tylie, too, for that matter. He could hear the clicking of that bitch's heels in the hallway outside his room, and his bladder would start leaking.
And his wife wondered why he never got nervous around his enemies....
They were all pussies when compared to the venomous shrews who'd raised him with their bitter cocktail of murder, betrayal, insults, and hatred.
Enlarging the view from the cafe's internal surveillance on his kiosk, he watched as Eriadne sat back in her chair with complete decorum and grace. Ever refined. He had to admit that for such an old whore, she looked good. No human would have any idea she was over a hundred years old. She barely appeared a well-preserved fifty.
Still lean and voluptuous, she had a body most human women would kill for. Her long black hair was coiled in an elaborate style around her perfectly chiseled features, which barely held a single wrinkle anywhere on that smooth caramel skin. Of course, she never smiled, which gave credence to the old saying that resting bitch-face preserved beauty. It definitely had worked in her case.
She was ever a creature of elegant grace. Nyran, however, was still a foppish ass, who was hanging on her every word, with the sickening tenacity only an accomplished sycophant could master. As if she were too stupid to know better.
Eriadne's a bitch, dumb-ass. She's not a fool. And she never respected a suck-up. While she wouldn't hesitate to use them to her advantage when she could, she was just as quick to cut their throats once they were no longer useful to her.
When it came to dealing with her, whether in politics or life, one was always better off speaking with bold honesty than trying to mislead or couch the truth. That was the only trait she shared with Jullien's father.
"It's a shame we lost that little prick," she said as she daintily picked at her food. "Just when he could have actually been of use to us.... I swear, I think he died just to spite me. It's something that half-human bastard would have done."
"Indeed."
"Are you absolutely sure he's dead?"
Nyran shrugged. "There have been no transmissions from his chip. Given where I planted it, he'd have to be dead for it not to transmit. There's no way he could have found it or removed it. He's not that smart."
She narrowed her white gaze on Nyran. "Then have you made any more progress on our other mongrel infestation?"
"Almost. Unfortunately, that hybrid bastard is extremely paranoid and well trained. As is Zamir. I can't get near his bitch or their children. Between the Andarions, Triosans, Gourans, and Sentella, I have no viable access. It would take an act of war and a bombing run to get to them. The one shot we had, Jullien ruined before he died. They've now doubled the security and locked down the palace so that no civs are allowed in, at all, until after she's had this new litter of brats. It'd take us a year to get another operative inside."
"Start working on it."
"Will do, mu tadara." He took a bite of his steak. "I do have some good news, though...."
She gave him a bored, nut-shriveling stare. "What? You want me to drag it out of you? Or reward you because you think you deserve something for managing some form of minor competency for once in your worthless, pathetic excuse of a life?"
Jullien took his drink from the waiter and tipped him as he choked on her vicious words. Great Kadora, I have not missed being under that bitch's blistering tongue.
At all.
Sadly, though, she was in a good mood. This was her better side while dealing with the family she actually liked. And it was far kinder than anything she'd ever said to him whenever he'd been forced to endure meals with her.
In retrospect, Jullien couldn't fathom how he'd ever managed to get a bite down his throat to become fat in the first place. But then, he knew. His eating disorder had taken place during midnight binges, when the staff was cleaning up and preparing for the morning, and everyone else was either asleep or off screwing whatever hapless creature had caught their fancy.
With a temporary reprieve from his family's blistering ridicule, he'd plowed through the day's leftovers, much to the dismayed horror of their head cook, who hadn't dared to stop him. Meanwhile, the rest of the staff had been even more terrified that his appetite would spread from the food to them, and that one of them would find themselves as his next course.
But he wasn't his family. He only voluntarily mauled pastries and pot roasts. Never the sanctity of another person's personal space or body.
Nyran mustered a pained smile for his fallen queen. "I finally found what you've wanted most."
"What? Your missing set of testicles? I do wish you'd find them soon, as I grow weary of having the only set in our entire family."
Wisely ignoring her causticity, Nyran cleared his throat as he rudely snapped his fingers and signaled one of their bodyguards to step forward with a large, ornate, inlaid wooden case. A human might mistake it for a musical instrument of some kind.
Jullien, however, knew that the handcrafted cherrywood case that shone like a gem in the dim light contained an Andarion Warsword. Unlike the battle swords and blasters other species carried, Andarion Warswords couldn't be bought in a store. They were sacred objects that had to be commissioned, and they cost as much as a legacy, because that was exactly what they were.
One didn't simply walk in and buy an Andarion Warsword. You earned it.
By blood, valor, or inheritance.
Through families, the swords, as with male wedding rings and lineage symbols, were the sacred property of the females, and it was their utmost duty to protect and watch over them. They were the sole owners and keepers of the swords and lineages, and only the family's matriarch could decide which male had earned the honor and right to carry it in his lifetime and represent their unified family as its public voice.
Her choice. She could remove it from the warrior who held it at any time. For any reason. And pass it to another male of her blood lineage she deemed more worthy.
More rarely, Warswords were given by the Andarion tadara or tadar as rewards for high honors and offices, or for acts of great valor. That was how most families had originally come into possession of theirs, and why they treasured them as family legacies. It was how the great War Hauks had earned theirs centuries ago, when their family had sacrificed their lives to keep their species safe from foreign invaders. And how Jullien's mother had earned hers--the day she'd killed her own brother to save her sister's life.
Then the last way to claim a Warsword was through right of combat. When one warrior defeated another in battle, it was his right to take the Warsword of the fallen. But it was a harsh thing to do. Because according to Yllam tradition, only those who were deemed worthy were allowed into the paradise lands of the gods to spend eternity in battle by Their glorious sides.
As such, Andarions, male and female, were to be buried in full battle armor with replica swords laid across their bodies and their hilts placed in their hands. To arrive on the other side without your armor or sword would condemn you instantly to Tophet. Therefore, the taking of a family's Warsword wasn't simply an act of victory. It was a way of humiliating your opponent and publicly saying you bore no respect for them or their family honor, and were damning them all to hell, for eternity.
Hence why they were originally named Warswords. To save their family honor and the soul of their loved ones, Andarions had fought entire wars over those weapons.
And Jullien winced in pain at the sight of the elegant, ancient sword. Whose family have they slaughtered to extinction now...?
Nyran preened happily. "Mu tadara, I give you y'anurikriega evest Edon Samari."
Jullien gaped.
"What?" Her hand actually trembled as she reached for it.
Nyran wiped daintily at his lips. "I had to kill a few to get it, but it's definitely the right one. I made sure of it."
Gasping, she lifted the ancient weapon in her hands. With a loving touch Jullien had never seen her give a living being, she fondled the blade as if it were a lover come back from the grave to visit her. Several people near them gasped in dismay. A few of the smarter ones even ran for the door. But in true regal fashion, she ignored the crowd around her completely.
After all, they didn't matter. She was always the most important being in the universe. Everyone else was merely an insignificant tool, nuisance, or target.
How glad he was that he hadn't inherited her way of viewing others.
In response to the panicking diners, the cafe manager stepped forward to tell Eriadne to put her weapon away.
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