Joined: Book One

by Mara Gan

  I scowled at him.

  “If they are offering such a high amount for your kidnapping, Meda,” Kos answered gently, “it means they likely have plans to use you in a way you would not enjoy.”

  “Oh,” I said, concern creeping into my chest. “Not good.”

  “There’s more,” Synie said, turning back to Perseus. “The letter was embossed with the symbol of the two-headed bear.”

  Perseus raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

  The two-headed bear was used only one place in the entire galaxy: as the unofficial symbol of the Mathan government.

  “And unfortunately, everyone on the station knows about it,” Kos continued. “As such, there has been significant backlash against your appointment as Protector. Many citizens feel all Mathans are against Galaxia and specifically the princess, and some conspiracy theories even suggest that the Mathan government was behind the Destruction.”

  “Nationalism is hardly a pastime of mine,” Perseus snorted. “Nor of most Mathans. That seems strange that this would implicate my planet; we don’t band together on anything, so even if a Mathan issued the contract, it doesn’t follow that other Mathans would agree. And the government barely uses that symbol—when the government bothers to function at all.”

  “We don’t know what it means,” Kos said. “But I know I trust you.”

  “As do I.” Synie nodded.

  “I do too,” I said softly, clearly surprising him.

  “Why, Princess,” he said, giving me a half smile. I was beginning to hate that half smile, mostly because any time he gave it, I wanted to agree to anything he said. “I’m touched. And here you’ve been so uncooperative.”

  “I plan to continue being uncooperative,” I replied. “But I despise prejudice, and I don’t think you and Tollak have anything in common aside from a planet of birth.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  I smiled. “Empathic, remember?”

  His eyebrow twitched, no doubt remembering full well how I couldn’t read anything from him. “Ah. How could I forget.” He put his feet down and rested his elbows on the table. “Alright. First and foremost, I would like to select and begin training the Protectorate,” Perseus said, making a few notes to himself on the pad in front of him. “The Council—this Pragma of yours—will allow two additional members of the Protectorate, is that correct?”

  Synie nodded. “Yes. Do you know who you’d like to train?”

  “Gi and Yalan would be my first choices,” Perseus said. “However, I suspect both will refuse, and since I’m not well acquainted with people here, I’ll take suggestions.”

  “Yalan I understand, but why would Gi refuse?” I asked.

  Perseus shrugged. “Gi dislikes boundaries.” He leaned forward and used his index finger to swipe frosting off the giant breakfast pastry Synie had brought in the center of the table. He didn’t deign to look up at my wheeze of irritation. “Yes, Princess?”

  “That was disgusting,” I exclaimed, my face scrunched up in disgust. “Don’t you have any manners? Use a utensil!”

  “Utensils are a waste of time,” he said absently, licking his finger. “Besides, just how dirty do you think my fingers are?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  “Calm down, Princess,” he said, scrolling through something on his data pad. “It’s hardly worth getting worked up about. Be helpful or be silent.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, sitting back in annoyance.

  “How about Egil?” Synie asked, noting in her own pad.

  “Who is he?”

  “A Mathan, actually,” I cut in, still looking at the pastry in mild disgust. “He’s a good man. Enormous. A bit quiet.”

  Perseus swung to look at me curiously. “And how do you know him, little girl?”

  “I live here, remember?”

  “That’s hardly an—”

  “He played Dískos with her,” Kos said. “They’ve known each other for a few years now.”

  Perseus frowned. “Dískos?”

  “Not important,” I said quickly, waving my hand. I really didn’t need him asking that question, not with the tourney coming up. “What about Chey?”

  “Protectorate members are all male,” Kos replied. “The Mousai are female. Tradition. You’d have to pass any changes in that area through the Pragma, and I guarantee that would take forever.”

  “Bah,” I exhaled. “What about Huui?”

  “He left Galaxia months ago, Meda,” Synie said. “Wanted to try his hand at being a mercenary, of all things.”

  “I saw a Pellian on the Esplanade,” Perseus said, leaning back. “He looked fierce.”

  “Bouzashiwashurapellian,” I replied automatically, frowning at him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Not ‘whatever,’” I said, exasperated. “It’s rude to shorten their name like that. They consider it derogatory. It’s not so hard to say. ‘Bouzashiwashurapellian.’”

  He regarded me through hooded eyes before turning back to Synie. “Any chance he might be interested?”

  Synie shook her head. “The only one you could be thinking of—the only one on the station—refuses to fight. Hates it.”

  “A Pell—” He noted my scowl. “A Bouzashiwashurapellian who is a pacifist? That’s unusual.”

  “What about Kenzi?” I asked, my features softening a bit at Perseus’s concession.

  “Kenzi—” Synie stopped midsentence and looked at Kos. “Kenzi could work.”

  “Who’s Kenzi?”

  “A Lozhan,” Kos replied thoughtfully. “Who openly worships the Heir. He came to the station about a year and a half ago, not long after Meda negotiated the cease-fire on Lozha. He has been especially grateful since she finally resolved the war several months ago.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “He wasn’t Oracle-divined”—Kos smiled—“but he’s been very open about his thankfulness over the peace treaty. And he is one hell of a fighter; he’s been teaching classes in the gym to anyone who wants to learn.”

  “Alright,” Perseus said. “Egil and Kenzi it is.”

  “One more thing,” Synie said, leaning forward. “Given your… experience, I would actually like you to give the Mousai some training. They could use the fresh blood.”

  “I thought the ‘rules’ said Mousai weren’t allowed to guard the Heir.”

  “They can at official functions,” Synie said. “Petitions, ceremonies, occasional escorts to official business. But I just think they could really benefit from your expertise.”

  “If you wish.” He grinned. “It’ll cost you.”

  I threw my hands up. “Do you think of anything but money?”

  “Mercenary, darlin’,” he said, giving me a wink. “Can’t stop myself.”

  Kos rubbed his eyes. “Can’t you two pretend to get along?”

  Synie stood, gathering her data pad and shaking her head. “If you guys are going to fight some more, I think I’ll attend to some other matters. We’re done for now.”

  “Thank you, Synie,” I said absently. I stretched and stood, pushing my chair neatly under the table, and left the room, thinking I had half an hour before I was scheduled to hear petitions and perhaps that was enough time to visit the Hypethral.

  I was halfway down the corridor when I noticed Perseus striding easily behind me.

  I jumped. “Why are you following me? Good grief, can’t you be normal?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Define normal.”

  I scowled, something I did crazy often around him. “Why are you following me?” I repeated.

  He sighed. “Little girl, for someone I had deemed to be rather intelligent, you have remarkable trouble grasping the concept of ‘Protector.’”

  “I do not,” I replied hotly. “I just—I mean, isn’t there anything else you’d rather do?”

  “Plenty,” he replied. “But you know, work and all that jazz comes first.”

  “Fine. Isn’t there
other work you should be doing?”

  “You are my work. I am ‘doing’ it.” He winked. “In a way, that means—”

  “Argh!” I bit my lip, frustrated and blushing furiously as I continued my march toward the Hypethral. “I can’t even have a moment’s peace! Couldn’t you at least take a nap or something?”

  He paused, his features smoothing as he kept pace with me. “I don’t sleep much.”

  I studied him askance, suddenly curious at his lack of expression. Although I felt no emotion from him, I had become quite adept at reading the emotions on people’s faces over the years, and the tiny changes in his facial muscles were fascinating to me. “Is that why you were at the Hypethral so early this morning? Why don’t you sleep much?” I asked casually, trying not to betray my interest. I couldn’t help it. I loved people and helping them, even if they exasperated me.

  He shrugged. “Never have.”

  “Why not?”

  He smiled, his fathomless eyes turning on me. “There are better things to do—”

  My face turned red and I held up my hands to stop him from finishing his sentence. “My god, you have no decency whatsoever!”

  “Never said I did.”

  I stalked ahead of him, entering the Hypethral and muttering to myself, “Who talks like that? Honestly.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My fridge was empty, as usual.

  A curse word flitted idly through my thoughts before I banished it, then immediately cursed Perseus for making me think of curse words in the first place.

  I hated shopping. Even grocery shopping was exhausting to me. The endless decisions, the preparation, the inevitable burned toast, the likelihood of me not having the key ingredient of salt or olive oil or vinegar, it was all too much.

  It might sound ridiculous, but remember, I made a million decisions every day—most of them far more important than dinner. Was it really that odd, then, that I could barely decide on anything more than cheese toast when I got home? I had decision burnout.

  Unfortunately for me, I didn’t even have cheese toast tonight. My cabinet had a can of stew dating from before I’d even arrived on Galaxia—curious, that—and my fridge limited my options to mustard and cat food.

  I sighed and took out the cat food.

  No, I was not going to eat it, but Myrtilos was probably hungry and tired of dry kibbles.

  My pet demon, as Synie called him, was an all-black furry little bundle of trouble most of the time, and he hated visitors. Well, most visitors. He tolerated the odd person or two.

  Naturally, I adored him, and he was an endless source of comfort for me. Very little calmed me more than curling up with him and burying my face in his inky fur.

  That sounded good about now. I was worn out; I had met with the NTA ambassador, then there was that meeting about my security—for which I’m still not certain, aside from courtesy, why my presence was even required—and then I’d met with petitioners for three hours.

  Petitioners were my favorite. In the grand scheme of what I did, they were probably less significant, but hearing them felt more significant. The idea was simple: people came to Galaxia, lined up outside my office, and I met with them one by one to see if I could grant their requests. Sometimes the request was simple, like asking for a piece of farming equipment, to settle a trade dispute between two merchants, or to bless a baby. (While I didn’t like being considered a spiritual figure, I was, unfortunately. But I didn’t mind meeting with babies, even if they scared me. So delicate.) Sometimes I consoled someone who was depressed, scared, or anxious. Other times, the request was a little more difficult and required organizing delegations to send out to planets to investigate, or some such thing. Once I’d even had someone wait in line for two hours just to get my autograph.

  But it most certainly took a lot of my mental and emotional energy. Sadly, it took very little of my physical energy, which had been why I took up Dískos all those years ago.

  And through it all was this notion that I was going to save the galaxy. How? How was I going to save it? It felt silly, really—I’m just a person—but half the galaxy thinks I’m prophesied to save them from destruction. And I could tell it meant something to them to have that kind of faith.

  But it wore on me, this obligation that I had no idea how to fulfill.

  And how was I to save something that I wasn’t sure even wanted it?

  I scooped some stinky meat of some kind or another into a dish and set it on the floor for Myrtilos, stroking his fur, just as the door chimed.

  Curious, as I wasn’t expecting anyone and the security clearance to get as far as my door was fairly high, I peered through the peephole.

  It was Gi, to my surprise, hands jammed casually in his pockets.

  Smiling, a levity in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years at the prospect of interacting with the only Halian I’d met in nearly a decade, I slid open the door.

  He was about a head and some change taller than I was, lean and muscular, with bronze hair, bright amber eyes, and the trademark pointed ears.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you in the last few days.” I grinned, leaning against the door frame.

  His expression turned amused. “That can’t be good,” he said wryly. “Hello again, Princess. I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more the other day, but I fear Boss was a bit peevish.”

  “It seems as though he usually is. And please, call me Meda,” I said, standing aside to invite him in.

  “Oh…,” he said sheepishly, entering the room. “I don’t think I can. Too informal.”

  Myrtilos hissed and dashed off to my bedroom, making Gi jump. “What was that about?” he asked, looking startled.

  I waved my hand. “Don’t mind him,” I said, walking to the sofa. “He doesn’t like most people. He hisses at everyone but me.”

  Gi glanced after the cat warily, looking unconvinced. He was right to be wary, frankly, since Myrtilos really was a bit of a demon, but I didn’t tell him that.

  I realized that, for the first time, I was with someone who could potentially read my emotions, possibly my mind; I had been told I was more powerful than other Halians, but having met so few of them, even before the Destruction, I didn’t really know for certain. Just in case, I instinctively put up the mental barriers I had practiced with Kos; I didn’t know how strong Gi’s powers were, but I preferred not to broadcast.

  I folded my knees under me as I sat. “So how can I help you, Gi?” I asked, offering him the candy bowl on my table. He took one and rolled it over in his fingers thoughtfully. “Did Perseus send you, or is this purely a Halian social visit?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Boss,” he said, studying the candy before popping it in his mouth.

  “Perseus?”

  He nodded, sitting back, his arms flung casually along the back of the sofa. “I wanted to explain a few things that might… help you understand him better,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Boss doesn’t like to talk about himself—”

  “You call him Boss?”

  He nodded, grinning. “Mostly because it irritates him, but partly because I can’t bring myself to call him by his name,” he admitted. “Boss rescued me from the ruins of Halia when I was sixteen. I’d made it to an escape pod, but it had gone horribly off course and I was running out of power.” He sobered. “Boss had heard about the attack when he was passing by and was on his way to see if he could help anyone. I was the only one he found alive.”

  I caught my breath. “I didn’t know he’d done that.”

  Gi shrugged. “I was very, very grateful, as you can imagine,” he continued. “He offered to take me anywhere I wanted to go, but I had nowhere to go. So I joined him. He trained me a bit, and I helped him on his, er, missions. I was so intimidated by Boss at first that I could barely look at him, despite his efforts to make me feel comfortable.”

  “He does that.”

  Gi laughed. “Yes, he does. So, I s
tarted calling him Boss. Then I realized it irritated him, so I kept doing it.”

  I laughed this time. “Like to play with fire, I see.”

  “I owe him my life,” Gi said, growing somber. “He hates that too, but it’s the way it is. He’s stuck with me.”

  “So is that why you stayed here?”

  “Yep,” he said, smiling. “Logically, if I owe him my life, and he owes you his, then I owe you mine too.”

  I frowned. “That’s confusing.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “But it makes sense.”

  “He doesn’t owe me his life, though,” I argued.

  “It’s his job to protect you, isn’t it?” he countered. “Even at the expense of his life?”

  I grimaced. “Yes, but… I fervently hope nothing will ever come to that.” That had been one of my initial points against having a Protectorate; while I hated the idea of having a babysitter follow me nonstop, I hated the idea of someone sacrificing his life for me even more. There were enough bodies in my wake.

  Gi smiled. “Even Boss? I was under the impression you didn’t like him. I can sense your irritation flare up every time he’s around.”

  I fidgeted, not liking that he’d read me. Was this how other people felt? No wonder so many didn’t like being around me. “I’d rather no one died for me. Ever. Not even him.”

  “Look,” he said, leaning forward, “he’s arrogant. He’s rude. He’s a bit… gruff. And he really could kick the crap out of anyone in this galaxy.” Gi frowned. “He probably has, come to think of it. But he’s a good man.”

  “I know,” I replied. “He’s just so difficult to get along with. I feel like I’ve met three different versions of him in three days. I don’t get it.”

  “Which is why I’m here. I want to tell you why he’s difficult.”

  I studied him thoughtfully. “You can explain him?”

  “I don’t know much about his life before me,” Gi said, “but I know he did some pretty bad things. Most of it I’m frankly happier not knowing about. But let me tell you a little about why he’s… um, overbearing.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You know that he’s from Mathos. To be more specific, he was raised in the city of Sirtis.”