Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1)

by C. M. Michaels

  Ladies, Commander Sennika said once we’d separated from each other, motioning us forward with a sweep of his hand.

  Naome and Serienne gave their tails a still rather experimental looking kick and swam through the doorway and into the hall. After taking a few deep breaths to calm myself—my gills fanning out far from my neck to accommodate the increased flow of water—I muttered a silent prayer to Neptune and Poseidon and followed behind them.

  Our procession passed by several of the intricately carved statues of former Syreni kings I’d seen before, cast like the rest of our world in the faint bluish glow from the phosphorous lamps, as we made our way to the heavily guarded High Court entrance. The realization that King Aristos’s statue would someday stand proudly in this hall unnerved me, the full weight of being a monarch settling on my shoulders for the first time. Bless the gods we had a ruling council to help guide us. I couldn’t even imagine trying to rule an entire kingdom on our own.

  When we reached the entrance, Commander Taleoek ordered the two guards manning the golden doors to open them, then dropped into a formal bow and fisted his plate mail covered chest. The battle armor suits you, my queen. I look forward to training you as a warrior.

  Thank you, Commander Taleoek. I’m looking forward to that myself. Speaking of which, I know he’s your general, but if you could ignore my Compar’s attempts to meddle, and teach me like you would any other trainee, I’d really appreciate it.

  The corner of his mouth curled up in a respectful grin. Fortunately for us both, as queen you outrank him. I will grant you no succor, Queen Camithia. If you graduate from my class it will be because you earned it.

  That is all I can ask. Thank you. The old adage about being careful what you asked for danced around in my mind as I took in the almost maniacal gleam in the Commander’s eyes. Something told me he was going to make me wish I’d never been born.

  Chancellor Venerack appeared in the doorway just in time to rescue me from the training nightmares taking hold in my mind, dressed in embroidered steel-colored robes I’d never seen him in before, with his charcoal hair pulled into a tight ponytail at the base of his neck. Seeing that we were ready, he turned toward the galleries nestled against the back wall of the courtroom. It is with great honor that I present Lady Naome of the Ceraspian Mountain Region, daughter of Neptune, healer apprentice, and surrogate mother for General Bulrigaard’s children.

  Naome’s blonde-streaked, fiery red hair was pulled up in elegant braids that tightly hugged the sides of her head before finishing in a jeweled knot at the nape of her neck. She fidgeted with the silver bracelet General Bulrigaard had given her, probably in response to being reminded that she’d soon bear his children. Accepting that it was her duty—and the will of the god she now served—to help propagate the Syreni race didn’t mean she had to be thrilled with the disgusting pig of a man she’d been paired with. He looked old enough to be her dad or even her grandpa, was borderline obese and homely—with a mangy beard, an elongated, Jay Leno chin and deep-set, weaselish eyes—but his physical appearance isn’t what made him repulsive. I’d seen what kind of man he was when he’d tried to force me to offend one of his fellow generals by addressing me too soon during my crowning ceremony, long before Aristos had briefed me on my fellow council members and further tainted my opinion of him.

  On top of that, the lustful way General Bulrigaard had looked at Naome while placing the bracelet around her wrist made me question if he’d force himself on her in spite of King Celandor’s decrees that interbreeding was strictly forbidden, and that both her and Serienne had all the rights of affirmed Syreni females. Oh, I had no doubt she’d be impregnated through In Vitro Fertilization—he was far too vain to have his children be hybrids even it was wasn’t illegal—but once she had his bun in the oven, she’d finished her training as a healer and she was living under his roof? I got shivers just thinking about it. Needless to say, I’d be peaking in on her through my goddess sight and visiting often. And if I ever got evidence he’d touched her against her will, council member or not, I’d kill him. Surprisingly, the bracelet itself was beautiful. It had a woven rope chain that was made to look like flowing water, with the three separate sections linked together by tiny waterfalls. After listening to our chants of You’ve got this, You look beautiful, and other similar words of encouragement, she managed to settle herself, lifted her chin and swam confidently into the room, making me even more proud of her.

  Chancellor Venerack waited until she’d curtsied in front of the king and taken her place to the right of the dais before announcing Serienne’s name. Ladies and gentleman of the court, I am equally honored to present Lady Serienne of the South Central Region, daughter of Poseidon, student of applied sciences at the Palace of Poseidon, and surrogate mother for General Lanipas’s children.

  General Lanipas hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself to Serienne after Aristos and I had informed her of whose children she’d be having, and where she’d be living after she graduated. That was fine by me. While I’d enjoyed listening to Lanipas recount the commonly held belief regarding the origin of the creatures that inhabited Teresolee during my ceremony, he was one of Bulrigaard’s underlings, placing him firmly on my shit list. And there was nothing saying his apparent lack of sexual interest wouldn’t change by the time Serienne graduated, the years allowing her underdeveloped chest to fill out and her face to mature. Armiele gave her a comforting kiss on the forehead after I’d wished her luck. We watched on as she slowly edged past the chancellor, gave us one last nervous look over her shoulder and entered the court room.

  I’d been so preoccupied trying to help my sisters through what amounted to their coming out party that I was caught off guard when Kilas, Vanimure and Fryliwan started to move, advancing to take their places just inside the courtroom. Chancellor Venerack locked eyes with me, awaiting my signal to proceed with my introduction. I squeezed Armiele’s hand hard enough to make her let out a surprised yelp before I took in a big gulp of water and nodded. Ladies and gentlemen of the six regions of Teresolee, it is my distinct honor to present Queen Camithia, a creation of the gods, daughter of Neptune and Poseidon, mate to Prince Aristos, and soon-to-be mother to Princess Vanessa.

  The massive crowd erupted at the news that I’d already conceived a child, their approving chirps and shrieks complementing the deep base sound of swords being beaten against shields. While I appreciated the warm welcome, in such a confined space—with marble floors, stone walls and no outlets other than the entryway I was positioned in—the sound was deafening. When they caught their first glimpse of me decked out in battle armor the decibel level raised even higher, making it sound like I’d climbed inside a jet engine during take-off. Finally—after the king was forced to cover his own ears—he raised his arms and motioned for silence.

  Now that it didn’t feel like my head was about to explode I was able to take in my surroundings. The large, Syreni-shaped granite table that served as the meeting place for the Throne of Nine had been cleared from the room. In its place stood a two-tiered marble dais that King Celandor was treading water above, dressed in his formal dark navy robes. His ashen hair was pulled back in the elaborate, fishbone-braided ponytail he usually sported. Serienne and Naome were positioned at opposite ends of the dais, both turned toward me, wide smiles plastered on their faces. In-between them stood the handsome male warrior who’d somehow managed to make me fall in love with him in spite of the circumstances that brought us together. The male I was destined to be with. The only man who would ever be allowed to share my soul. My compar.

  I was thrilled to see Aristos had donned his golden armor for our ceremony rather than the stylish robes that marked him as a prince. The etched golden metal complimented his dark emerald tail and gill covers perfectly, and looked even more stunning when contrasted with the slightly lighter shade of his glossy lips and the matching eye shadow that accented his compelling, dark chocolate eyes. He held his helmet between his elbow and his waist—ju
st as I’d be required to do—revealing, much to my surprise, his side-braided, two-tone hair. Aristos’s storm grey locks had been replaced—temporarily, I assumed, since I’d never seen any bottles of Miss Clairol floating around—with an equal mix of emerald and gold, the long ponytail hanging across the left side of his face. His massive bicep flexed as he pounded his right forearm against his chest plate and bowed to me. Just looking at him made it hard to breathe.

  The two upper galleries located behind the dais were filled so far beyond capacity that the marble structures themselves were almost entirely hidden from view. Guards were intermingled throughout the enormous crowd, their hands resting nervously on the hilts of their swords. The generals from the five other regions had formed an aisle of sorts. They were split into two rows, roughly ten feet apart, directly across from each other. My eyes never left Aristos as I swam between them, maintaining the easy, procession-like pace Kilas, Vanimure and Fryliwan were setting. When we finally reached the dais my guards peeled off and took up relatively unobtrusive but strategic positions, close enough to allow them to quickly come to my aid if needed. I swam past Aristos, up onto the first tier of the dais, before placing my helmet beneath my arm, lifting my tail up high behind me and dropping into a formal curtsey before the king.

  When he gave me permission to rise, I slowly withdrew my sword from its scabbard—not having any desire to be ran-through by an overzealous guard who misinterpreted the gesture—and placed it on the marble floor beneath him. My sword and my life are yours, my king. I have spoken with Neptune and Poseidon. They bless my union with Prince Aristos. As do I.

  That is quite obvious, dear child, King Celandor said as he placed his fingers beneath my chin, lifting my bowed head until my gaze met his compassionate, pale green eyes. You carry our future princess inside you. Such a thing would not be possible were it not the will of the gods. The fact that you took the pledge of a warrior before me, and dressed in battle armor for the occasion, only confirms how much you and our fine prince have in common. Take your place by your compar’s side so we may begin the ceremony.

  After issuing him another formal curtsey, I sheathed my sword and swam back to a smiling Aristos, positioning myself to his left next to Serienne, who couldn’t resist leaning over to give me a half-hug from the side. Once I was in position, the generals closed ranks behind the four of us to form a second row facing the dais. When King Celandor approached us he held a long strand of golden-dyed canta vine in his hands. Aristos gave me a frustratingly brief kiss, barely a peck on the lips, before he took hold of my gauntlet-covered right hand and raised our arms up toward the king. His own hand was tucked inside the spiked gauntlet he fought in, making the symbolic gesture of tethering our hands together feel less intimate than it would if his bare fingers were laced through my own, but the loss of his touch wasn’t enough to make me regret my choice in wardrobe.

  When the king finished binding our iron-clad wrists together he turned to address the raucous galleries. Let us rejoice, my brethren. Our race is barren no more!

  His declaration gave rise to another boisterous round of shrieks and swords clanging against shields. He let the celebration carry on for a couple of minutes before raising his hands to call for silence once again. The king was a master at reading the emotion of a room and manipulating an audience. I couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been human, he could have made millions as a motivational speaker spewing some self-help garbage to the masses. Tonight we bear witness to a very special union. The joining of a male torn apart by the loss of his compar and unborn child—a man missing the part of his soul my daughter took with her to Caelum—someone who I love like a son and feared might never find happiness again, to a female forced to leave all of her dreams and loved ones behind when she was brought to our world, who then suffered gruesome injuries at the hands of a griffin before being transformed by the gods into a Syreni female—thus allowing this union to be possible—when she was chosen as our queen. Never in the history of either of our races has a couple faced greater odds. And yet here we are, gathered tonight to celebrate their love for one another and unite their souls. The fates may work in mysterious ways, but we must always trust that our destiny drives us forward.

  Without any additional fanfare, King Celandor descended the dais and placed his powerful hand on the plate-mail armor above my heart. Queen Camithia, by taking this vow you are agreeing to merge your soul with Prince Aristos, to leave behind your individual identity so that you may forge a symbiotic union with your true mate. You will honor, obey and serve your compar in all matters. You will devote yourself to caring for him and your children. With your vow, you accept that your body belongs to him, and is his and his alone to pleasure. You will forsake all others until your death, even if our prince should happen to be welcomed to Caelum long before you. As we are gathered here today, are you ready to make such a vow, witnessed by our gods, our ruling council and representatives from all six regions of Teresolee?

  Some of the elements of the vow seemed more than a little antiquated, circa pre-women’s rights movement in the US—saying that my body belonged to him being at the top of that list—but I chose to focus on the intent rather than the specific choice of words. Aristos had proven he accepted me for who I was, my current ensemble being only the latest example. I sent a silent prayer up to the fates and all seven of the deities I served that I’d survive whatever role I’d be asked to play in stopping the Snow Elf uprising. I wanted to grow old with him at my side, watching our grandchildren and great-grandchildren thrive as they spread across Teresolee and repopulated the Syreni race. I am, my king. I give the gods, the Throne of Nine and all of Teresolee my solemn vow that I wish to be bound as described to Prince Aristos.

  Very well, he said. A hint of a smile teased up the corner of his mouth, undermining his attempt to remain stoic as he swished his tail to glide over in front of Aristos, his robes bellowing out behind him. Prince Aristos, by taking this vow you are agreeing to merge your soul with Queen Camithia, to leave behind your individual identity so that you may forge a symbiotic union with your new mate. You will honor and protect your compar at all times. You will devote yourself to caring for her and your children. With your vow, you accept that your body belongs to her, and is hers and hers alone to pleasure. You will forsake all others until your union is broken by death. As we are gathered here today, are you ready to make such a vow, witnessed by our gods, our ruling council and representatives from all six regions of Teresolee?

  Aristos squeezed my hand hard enough for me to feel it even through the metal glove. I am, my king. I give Lord Neptune, the Throne of Nine and all of the Syreni people my vow that I wish to be bound as described to Queen Camithia.

  The smile that had been tugging at his lips blossomed into a full out grin as he exchanged proud, almost fatherly looks with both of us. Your vows have been witnessed. You are now bound together in the eyes of the court and the Syreni people until death. Our beautiful young queen is free to unite your souls once she gains the sufficient mastery of her soulcras to do so. What symbol have you chosen for your bonding? Bracelets, perhaps?

  Like the warriors of old, we wish to be marked with iron, my king, Aristos responded immediately. My head snapped around, giving him a say-what-now look. His suggestion sounded a hell of a lot like being branded. To my knowledge, we’d never even discussed this part of the ceremony. I sure as hell hadn’t consented to being treated like a cow.

  Both of you? Celandor asked with an arched brow, seeing the shock on my face, no doubt. You may be dressed as warriors, but it appears our queen would prefer a less drastic symbol of your bonding.

  It didn’t appear the king was trying to bait me—he seemed genuinely concerned—but he couldn’t have said anything more inspirational if he’d tried. Aristos’s shit-eating smirk not withstanding—and he was so going to pay for putting me in this situation without asking me first—there was no way I would back down now. Both of us, my king.

  A
rmiele and Ellieandra entered the high court moments later and set to work removing our armor to expose our chests. Once our skin was bare, Commander Taleoek made his way to the dais and handed each of our handmaidens a molten-hot branding iron. Armiele placed a leather strap between my teeth, bringing back less than fond memories of being whipped by High Priestess Deannie on Mt. Olympus. Her weathered eyes were filled with an equal mix of compassion and pride as she positioned the brand over my left breast, just above where the vines and hippocamp tail tattoos crossed over my pierced nipple. When I nodded, she pressed the magma-colored metal into my skin.

  Holy mother of god.

  My ear-splitting shriek must have shaken the walls to their foundation as I felt my flesh burn. I took some comfort in the more baritone yelp that accompanied my less than impressive display of bravery. If Aristos had born being branded in silence—making me look like a wuss on top of everything else—I would have had to give him an extra hard punch to the nuts for this little stunt. I’d bitten down so hard on the leather that my teeth left an impression in the strap. Before Armiele could coat the wound with healing salve from the elephant snail she’d taken out of the whale bladder satchel tied around her waist, I stole a quick look at the image that was now burned into my skin, symbolically placed over my heart.

  Aristos

  I was his. Forever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A Warrior’s Path

  * * *