The obvious conclusion he’d drawn—given the undeniable similarities in fighting style and his earlier statement about a secret we couldn’t share with anyone—was logical, I suppose, if you knew nothing at all about our gods. Otherwise, even hinting at the notion that our goddess would dare to train a human consort in the arts of war when she’d denied countless deities the honor within her own pantheon alone—including her own brother, Triton—was as ludicrous as suggesting newborn cutterfish made great pets. Not to mention our gods limitations when it came to meddling with the fate of their subjects. If such direct intervention were allowed by the Moirai, Poseidon and Neptune could have personally seen to the safety of the females sworn to serve them while they gave birth on the surface rather than watching their devoted children get slaughtered one after another until the entire race they’d created was on the verge of extinction.
It’s a mural, Taleoek, I snapped, looking pointedly at him as my hands motioned toward the section of concrete in front of us. Maybe she saw it while she was doing her fitness and agility training. It’s not like Castra Athena was constructed directly by the gods. Just because some unknown sculptor thought this would make a compelling battle scene doesn’t mean our goddess ever utilized such a technique.
Taleoek shook his head in frustration. You know as well as I do that every mural depicting a deity across all of Teresolee was meticulously crafted based on real-life accounts from the gods that were conveyed to our artisans by our females and our priests. And if Athena didn’t teach her this fighting style, who the hell did? I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and let’s not forget her almost unparalleled hand-to-hand combat skills, which she seemed to develop between the time I initially sparred with her to assess her abilities and her first day in my class. Care to explain that one to me?
He had a point. Several of them, actually. Cami had obviously received advanced weapons and hand-to-hand combat training from someone while she’d been away. As for the murals, if even the minutest of details was disputed by a priest or a Syreni female the artwork was either modified or replaced. The Moirai would never allow her to train Cami even if our goddess was willing to. The moment the other pantheons found out she was meddling with the lives of mortals they’d demand the fates intervene. Especially since Athena has denied requests to have gods and goddesses train at her side for centuries. For her to now agree to train a human would be taken as an egregious insult to every pantheon in existence, including both of our own. The heavens would erupt in war.
On that we agree, my brother, Taleoek said as he placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm pat. I’ll do my best to cover for your compar and explain away her exceptional skill, but she needs to work with me to make it convincing. The students need to see her training when they arrive in the morning and long after they’ve been dismissed. When we train with a new weapon, she needs to pretend to let me show her things she already knows and teach me techniques I’m not familiar with beforehand so I can include it in our lessons. Speak with her, Aristos. Get her to confide in us so we can help her keep this secret. I don’t have to tell you the damage Bulrigaard could do with this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Princess Ball
* * *
What did I miss? I called out as eagerly as I could manage as I barged into the trauma room where my soon to be official sisters were being prepped for their procedures.
It had taken hours for Jenerick—the male cadet whose face and neck had been torn apart by my shield—to awaken in the recovery unit after being treated. My heartfelt condolences meant little to him since the damage was too severe for him to continue his training. I’d taken away his purpose as a young Syreni male through an accidental but nonetheless illegal act, a crime for which I held myself accountable, even if Taleoek had deemed the incident to be Jenerick’s fault. When I informed his family that I was to blame for his injuries his bereaved father had to leave the room to keep from strangling me. Jenerick’s elderly and very pissed off sister lacked his restraint. I could have easily blocked her flailing punches but let them land against my chest and my face, figuring that letting her vent her anger was the least I could do. When her erratic emotions finally shifted from pure hostility toward me to grief for her brother and fear for herself at what she’d just done, I took her hand and placed it flat against my bruised cheek, assuring her and her family that Jenerick would continue to receive the best medical care available from Damille herself. They would be well compensated for the loss of her brother’s wages as a soldier, and she wouldn’t suffer any retribution from having struck her queen. Her muttered thank you and stiff hug lacked any warmth but still helped to ease my guilt-ridden conscience.
Damille turned toward me as I entered the trauma room and dropped into a formal curtsey. Your timing could not be better, my queen. All of the preliminary tests have been completed. Naome and Serienne are both in perfect health and at the peak of their carefully synchronized fertility cycles. They are ready to be impregnated with their daughters.
Naome and Serienne were strapped to the same padded metal tables that had been used for their surgeries with dozens of restraints preventing even the tiniest of movements. Two navy colored poppie fish—the strange creatures that had been used for my baby checkups with the praying mantis shaped eyes—were positioned on each side of their bodies, just below their breasts and above their hips, their tails glowing brightly in the phosphorous lamp tinted water as they broadcast detailed images of my sisters’ uteruses, cervixes and vaginas brought to life on the large glass monitors in full 3-D color by tens of thousands of microscopic plankton. Black-and-orange striped tiger fins sat directly above my sisters’ hearts, transmitting the data behind the readings being displayed on the top of the two screens, which appeared to be lower than normal based on my admittedly limited medical knowledge. That made sense I guess, given that Naome and Serienne were heavily sedated. The artificial respirators strapped into their mouths steadily pumped water through their gills to keep them from suffocating in their semi-unconscious state.
I held Naome’s limp hand as Damille slid the lubricated metal speculum into her vagina and squeezed the handle together to open her lips apart. Using the images on the glass display as a guide Damille slowly guided a catheter into her womb, waiting a couple of seconds after each advance for the image to refresh on the screen. A single egg she’d harvested from Naome’s handmaiden, Wenderie, five days ago and fertilized with Bulrigaard’s sperm was suspended in a small drop of fluid and gently introduced through the catheter into her womb. When the procedure was complete Damille gave her healer apprentice a kiss on the forehead then removed the catheter and the speculum.
So is she pregnant? I asked as I gazed affectionately at the brightly colored face of my still completely bald best friend. The thick navy stripe across her closed eyes and the sides of her face kind of did make her look like a raccoon. Not that I’d ever admit that to her, of course. Thankfully, the bouquet of tiny purple flowers that trailed across her forehead and down her jaw line—as well as the large blooms on her cheeks—looked absolutely stunning, as did her exotic blue and purple lips, her striking green eyes and her sky blue gill covers. The beautiful aquamarine jewels decorating her firm, D cup breasts made them almost irresistible, as if they yearned to be fondled and suckled upon. Any Syreni male would be lucky to have her as a mate if it wasn’t forbidden.
It will be a couple days before I can confirm it with a blood test, but the blastocyst is positioned nicely inside her womb. I’ll keep her sedated for another hour in order to give it a chance to implant itself inside her uterine wall.
As if reading my thoughts, Damille paused and gave my shoulder a firm squeeze through the thin material that covered my skin. I’d had to endure the same putrid smelling decontamination bath I’d suffered when I visited my sisters after their surgeries, and was once again dressed in elbow length medical gloves and head-to-tail scrubs, but this time I’d gotten by with a just a mask cover
ing my nose and mouth rather than the full shield and regulator. Don’t worry; both of your sisters will still have plenty of time to get ready for their ball.
Thank you, Master healer. I hope it’s not too awkward for them to dance with their handmaidens. I want them to enjoy themselves, not sit there thinking about how they can never have a mate of their own while they’re forced to watch Aristos and I having the time of our lives.
Damille’s steely grey eyes softened as she captured my face between her highly skilled hands. You worry too much, child. Naome and Serienne will have a splendid time at the party. Given how easily they accepted your bisexuality—which I commend you for not trying to hide from them—I doubt they’ll have any qualms about dancing with another female. With your encouragement we may get them to take female lovers in time. As beautiful, kind-hearted princesses beloved by our gods, I assure you they’d have no shortage of relatively young suitors from all across Teresolee, females who were either born infertile or suffered complications while giving birth to their young. Gods willing, Naome and Serienne might even find compars of their own. Infertile Syreni females retain full control of their soulcras. Nothing would prohibit them, at least in theory, from merging their souls with your sisters. At a minimum, they’d be capable of bringing Naome and Serienne immense pleasure beyond anything they’ve ever imagined, as you well know. I’m sure your sisters would appreciate the additional help a partner would provide with bearing their young as well. I doubt either of the generals who donated their sperm is going to take a very hands-on approach to parenting. Leaving them with an incessant itch they can never scratch is incredibly cruel and will almost certainly lead them into trouble. If they can learn to enjoy the comfort of women it will help keep them sated and provide your sisters with the most fulfilling life possible for them here.
As shocking as her request was—being asked to help convince my sisters to become lesbians wasn’t at all how I saw this afternoon playing out—I couldn’t argue with her logic. Having a same-sex partner—even if they never found their soul mate and merged their souls—would sure as hell be better than living celibate lives for hundreds of years, all alone, with no one to physically comfort or support them. Right now we kept each other company, but once they were taken to their own regions we might go months without seeing each other. They’d have no one other than their handmaidens and the disgusting scum of the ocean generals who’d blackmailed the council to gain control of them. There was no doubt that as crowned princesses they’d be considered forbidden fruit that plenty of Syreni males would be dying to taste. If they ever gave in to temptation their entire lives would be ruined. I’ll do my best, Damille. Sharing detailed accounts of my escapades with our Goddess and my fellow priestesses should help to loosen their inhibitions. After I point out all the benefits for them to take a female companion, I can explain how hard it was for me at first, but how I eventually learned to enjoy having sex with women just as much as I do men. There’s no reason they can’t do the same.
Damille made her way over to Serienne while I spoke and placed a sterile speculum into her vagina, squeezing the handle to spread apart her opening. That would be a wonderful start, my queen. Having you and Aristos offer to accompany them on their dates would demonstrate your acceptance as well, and might make it less awkward for them while they’re trying to adjust.
We can certainly do that. I pressed Serienne’s unresponsive hand against my chest as I watched Damille slowly guide the catheter into her womb and inject the fertilized egg she’d harvested from her handmaiden, Sophia. It had been my avia’s idea to harvest eggs from their handmaidens rather than unknown Syreni females. Not only to deepen their bond with Naome and Serienne, but also ensure they would be committed to caring for their children. Even King Celandor thought it was brilliant.
As I peered down at my sister, there was no denying she’d make quite a catch for some lucky Syreni female—if I could convince her to be open to the idea—even with her underdeveloped chest. With her bold chartreuse coloring, dark, smoky eyes, face decorated in black flowers, speckled, multi-color lips, thirty-two body piercings and henna-style tattooed breasts she looked like an exotic creature that just dared to be tamed.
When Damille finished the procedure she removed the catheter and the speculum and gave Serienne a loving kiss on the cheek. You are too young to bear such a heavy burden, child. May the gods watch over you.
We might as well check on our little Vanessa while you’re here, Damille suggested as she gestured toward the empty metal table behind me. Remove your scrubs and settle back against that exam table. I’ll strap you in so we get a more stable image. It’s been almost two weeks since your last exam. You’re at the end of your first trimester now. We should be able to see her tiny little fingernails, her flukes and the beginnings of her gills. We may even be able to determine her fish-aspect coloring if her scales are mature enough.
Aristos wasn’t going to be pleased that he missed one of my exams—he’d been to all of them since my first checkup when I saw my little munchkin on the monitor for the first time— but my sisters were still very much indisposed. And with everything else going on, I couldn’t very well pass on the opportunity to make sure my pregnancy was still progressing normally. After I had shed my scrubs I swam up onto the table and fastened straps around the base of my tail and my chest to hold me in place. The baby bump in the center of my abdomen that had been barely noticeable at my last exam was now quite prominent. I’d had to have both my chain mail sheath and my plate mail armor let out last week to account for my more rotund midsection.
When Damille returned from her trip down the hall to get more of the fish she used for the tests she attached an additional strap around my hips. She placed two of the poppie fish she took out of the water-filled bag on each side of my body, just below my breasts and above my hipline, before placing the tiger fin on top of my uterus and a purple and white fish called a wicker dew—which she’d used during my last several appointments to track my weight—on the back of my left arm above my elbow. The moment their sucker-like mouths formed a seal with my skin their tails started glowing.
Both of our heart rates immediately appeared on the top edge of the small glass panel to the right of the table I was lying against. Vanessa’s ranged from 99 to 101 which I knew was perfect. Mine was a little elevated at 57 but Damille assured me it was nothing to worry about. I couldn’t wait to see what coloring my little princess was going to have. It seemed like it took forever for the first crystal clear images of my bones, blood vessels, soft tissue and internal organs to appear on the screen. Damille immediately honed in on my uterus, tapping her finger gently against the plankton. The tiny creatures forming that part of the image obeyed her command and signaled back to the poppie fish to scan deeper, giving us a view inside my womb.
Vanessa was resting on her side with a tiny hand complete with fingernails covering shiny emerald lips the same shade as her fathers. Five gill slits were clearly visible in the side of her neck but her gill covers were just starting to form. Impossibly cute miniature pink and red flukes identical to mine were fanned out beneath the umbilical cord, extending from a gorgeous violet tail that was all her own. Without even thinking I grabbed hold of Damille’s hand and pressed it hard against my cheek. She’s so beautiful. I love her so much already and I haven’t even gotten to hold her yet. How is that possible? I can’t imagine ever allowing myself to be apart from her.
She is indeed gorgeous, my queen. As you are already starting to sense, the unique bond you will form with your children will completely change who you are inside. Your wants and needs—even your very life—will become secondary to their own. You will begin to think of yourself as Vanessa’s mother rather than the queen, a priestess, Goddess Athena’s consort or even Aristos’s compar. The decades you spend raising your children will be the most wonderful years of your life.
She made no effort to remove her hand from my cheek as she nudged my belly to get Vanessa to shift o
nto her back so we could see her from the front. With another tap of her finger on the screen I was looking at my daughter’s reproductive organs. Her uterus and vagina are perfectly shaped. If you look closely you can see the tiny filaments extending from her clitoris that will become her soulcras. Her ovaries and fallopian tubes appear normal, as well. Looks like another spotless checkup for our little princess. As for her mother, as your healer I am ordering you to scale back your training to no more than two days per week in your Syreni form, and limit it to non-contact drills only. I will inform Commander Taleoek about your training restrictions as well. From what I saw, you’ve already quite capable of defending yourself. There is little reason to continue to risk the health of your daughter with such barbaric training. You need to significantly increase your caloric intake as well. You’ve lost four pounds since your last checkup and are down to less than six percent body fat. That’s not healthy for a female with child, Camithia. If you don’t put on weight by your next appointment I’ll admit you to the infirmary and manage your diet myself. Is that understood?
Hearing that I might be jeopardizing Vanessa’s life with my sporadic eating and nonstop exercise silenced any objections I might have raised about her curtailing my training or threatening to imprison me. Becoming a better fighter at the expense of the child I was learning to fight in order to protect would be counterproductive. Besides, the training I did with Athena in my human form taught me far more anyway. Yes, Master healer. I’ll try to pack on at least five pounds by the end of next week. With the significant cutback in my training it should be pretty easy. The gods know Aristos certainly enjoys feeding me.
Damille arched her brows at my immediate acquiesce, stretching out the thick band of metallic bronze that streaked across her face and marked her as a healer. Not a single objection? It appears motherhood has started to change you already, my child. I am pleased to see it.
Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1) Page 31
