by Mara Gan
“How do you feel?” Dr. Remy asked, studying my vitals and the monitors gauging my health.
“Tired,” I replied honestly. “But not too bad.”
“Not too bad, she says!” he laughed, twisting a tube. “Here. I’m going to up your dose of healers. That will speed your recovery.”
“How long do I have to stay?”
He chuckled. “So eager to leave me, are you?” he asked, jotting a few notes on his clipboard. “No worries, Princess, I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Which is…?”
He shrugged. “I’d like to keep you overnight for observation, but I think you can go home in the morning. The healers should have mended most of your bones by then. But,” he amended, “you’ll need to walk with a cane for a few days to keep your weight off the bad ankle. The healers did most of the work, but the bones will still be tender for a while. Same with your fingers and ribs. No hard labor, no lifting, no writing, no jar opening, nothing strenuous.”
“I’ll be sure to scratch coal mining off my to-do list for tomorrow.”
Dr. Remy chuckled. “You can go for a short walk, with a cane, if you feel up to some exercise,” he said. “Not more than ten or fifteen minutes, though.”
“Good grief, Doctor,” I said, exasperated. “You might as well keep me here for a week!”
“I’d much prefer to,” Dr. Remy said, frowning. “But you’d just sneak out again. Promise me you’ll follow my orders.”
I was about to answer when a deep voice came from the shadows. “She’ll follow them, Doctor.”
My gaze swung to where my Protector was leaning against the wall, arms folded. He raised an eyebrow. Somehow I knew I wasn’t going to be sneaking out this time. Not that I could, anyway, with broken fingers and a solid limp.
“Fine,” I said grumpily. “When can I play Dískos again?”
“Never.”
I scowled at Perseus. “Doctor?”
“Frankly, I agree with the Protector,” Dr. Remy said, still writing. “But as we both know you’ll ignore that, too, I’d say your body should be ready for light—light—exercise in a week. Please start small: running, light weights, that sort of thing.”
I saluted. “Can do.”
“All right, Princess,” Dr. Remy said. “It looks like you’re all set. Here’s the button to push if you need anything—”
“I’ll be here, Doctor,” Perseus said.
“Oh, excellent.” Dr. Remy beamed. “Well, here’s the button if you’d like a nurse to relieve you at any time. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning, Princess, and then you’ll be all set to go.”
“Perseus, you don’t have to stay,” I protested.
He turned his gaze on me, his look impassive. “Yes, I do.”
Dr. Remy went to the door. “Take care, Princess Andromeda.”
“Thank you, Dr. Remy,” I said as he nodded and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him. Perseus moved back to his chair beside my bed, raising one eyebrow as he studied me.
I could tell he was brainstorming all sorts of ways to chastise me for playing Dískos, so before he could say anything, I asked, “So what jobs did you do?”
He sighed. “You don’t give up, do you?”
I grinned. “No. And you don’t let me go to the Mathan tavern anymore, so I need to get my kicks somewhere.”
“It’s likely to bore you.”
“What rot.”
“Fine. You really want to know? The basics. What all mercenaries do. Espionage, apprehension, and extraction, although my personal hobby was antiques.”
“Espionage, apprehension, and extraction?” I asked, eyes wide. “What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like, little girl,” he said, linking his hands behind his head. “I obtained and sold information, captured runaway thieves and murderers, and was occasionally recruited to spring someone from captivity.”
“Like… jail?”
He shrugged. “Once or twice, but mostly from less… official sources than jail.”
“And you hunted thieves and murderers?” My jaw dropped a little as I forgot to hide my surprise. “And what did you do with them when you…?” I swallowed, remembering the images I’d seen flashing through his mind back on the field. More often than not, images like that were not imagination; they were memories. People had trouble summoning images that graphic when they’d never seen anything like it before, and it stressed me out thinking about the circumstances in which Perseus had experienced such things.
“Do you really want to know?” Perseus smiled faintly, but the knowledge behind that smile kind of scared me.
I stared at him, thinking about it, and decided to ask about a different area. “What about the information? What kind?”
“Generally the kind that makes or breaks a government.”
“How do you have access to such intel?” That kind of knowledge would prove invaluable to me in my work. I sat forward, excited, then winced and put a hand to my head.
“Hey now,” he said, standing and easing me back against the pillows. “None of that.”
“How—”
“I’m good at getting people to talk,” he replied, returning to his seat.
“Or ‘physically persuading’ them?” I asked, grimacing.
He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy gesture. “Sometimes.”
“Did you ever… return someone to captivity?”
He paused. “No. I was asked to, but I refused. I only did that with thieves and murderers. Bad people.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
That much was true. But with normal people, I didn’t have to; their thoughts were out there for anyone with the ability to see them. “Why?” I pressed.
My Protector rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “Because I’ll never hand someone into captivity unless they’re dangerous enough to deserve it.”
“I’m surprised no one ever asked you to kidnap me,” I mused.
“Who says they didn’t?”
I stopped, my eyes wide. “You mean—”
He chuckled. “Relax, little girl. I’ve been asked to kidnap royals before, but never Galaxian royals. Not that I would have agreed to anyway.”
“Oh.” I paused. “What about your hobby? What do you mean by antiques?”
“I like history. Cultures. Ancient things. They fascinate me.”
“So… what? You collected them?”
“No.” He wiggled his eyebrow at me. “I stole them.”
“You stole precious artifacts?” I exclaimed, sitting up. “I thought—” I winced again and he stood, easing me back against the pillows.
“Stop that, little girl, or I won’t tell you what you obviously don’t want to hear.” He frowned. “Perhaps my history is too exciting for you.”
I shook my head. “Answer me.”
“Yes, I stole them.”
“You sold them? For profit? I thought you liked history. How could you—”
“I sold them to the Galactic Museum.”
I caught my breath. “The Museum?”
He nodded.
“The Museum is priceless,” I murmured. “The best every planet has to offer. Incomparable security and care.”
“I know. I recently helped redesign the security.”
“They can’t have paid you much for the artifacts.”
“They didn’t.”
I waited, but he didn’t offer anything more, merely regarding me with his black eyes. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “You are exasperating to talk to! Why do you never do more than answer my question?”
“I generally prefer not to offer extra information.” He gave me that half smile. “Remember, I used to sell information; I don’t give it away.”
“Fine. Why did you sell them to the Museum if you got paid so little?”
“Now that, my sweet, is repeat information.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“
I already answered that.”
I thought back on everything he’d just said. Conversation with him was a puzzle; everything he said could have alternate meanings, or be a lie, or be true, or be designed to deflect my attention elsewhere. He was skilled at conversation, that was for certain.
I smiled inwardly. He might be skilled at conversation, but I was no slouch in that department, either. I had my own ways of getting people to share.
“You seriously just… like history?” I asked, realizing what he meant. “Enough to give up such outrageous profit?”
“Like I said, it’s a hobby. I like to make sure the artifacts are safe and somewhere they can be studied. Besides, I don’t need money.”
“Do you speak any other languages?”
He blinked. “Good god, you change subjects quickly. Don’t you ever wear yourself out?”
“No. Do you speak any other languages?”
He shook his head and smiled, flashing his teeth. “Of course.”
“Did you ever think you might… die?” I asked, hesitant.
Perseus paused. “I came close, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “Quite a few times.”
“And… that doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. “To be honest, I kind of enjoyed it,” he admitted. “It’s quite the adrenaline rush. I didn’t want to die, but it was nice to be reminded that I was alive.”
“You needed reminding?”
Perseus turned his gaze to the ceiling, lost in thought. “All the time,” he said softly.
“It really didn’t scare you?” I pressed, appalled. “To be… so close? You were that… fearless?”
“People who have nothing to lose, fear nothing,” he said, settling back in his chair. “I had nothing to lose, so yes, I suppose I was fearless.”
Screwed-up though it was, there was a certain logic to that. He did have nothing to lose: no family, no home, no real attachments to anything or anyone. “I can see why you’re so fearless.”
“I’m not fearless anymore, little one.”
I studied him, surprised. “You’re not?”
“No.”
I watched him, curious, but he turned away, picking up the magazine again. I burned to ask what in the galaxy he was suddenly afraid of, but I also knew when a conversation had been ended.
Sighing, I leaned back against the pillows and tried to get some rest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I had thought security meetings were the definition of boredom, but I was wrong.
Being confined to my quarters with no work whatsoever was the definition of boredom.
Counting the little plaster dots on the ceiling was making me crazy. My ankle was propped up on a pillow, Myrtilos was snoozing comfortably next to me, and I had read every book in my possession. I could download another, but I was tired of reading anyway.
I wanted to go back to work, but Perseus and Synie had put the kibosh on that one. And, being Perseus, he had stationed Egil outside my door, just in case I had thoughts of leaving.
Not that I’d get very far. The healers were working marvels, but I was still in some pain, and Egil was fast. If Perseus had chosen him for the Protectorate, then he had to be fast.
Perseus was coming to escort me to the Chamber soon. King Cepheus and Synie were going to go over protocol and ceremonies with my Intended, my soon-to-be husband, who would arrive after I returned from the NTA.
I couldn’t stifle the shudder that went through me. In public, I had my brave face, I smiled and nodded and promised I would do my duty and marry the man the Moirae had chosen for me. In private, I wanted to throw up.
Marrying a man I didn’t know terrified me. I had read stories about love, about passion, but rarely about arranged marriages. Cepheus and Cassiopeia were hardly role models. They made it work, but little love was lost between the two of them. They cooperated well enough involving matters of state, but that was all.
I couldn’t have chosen a worse husband for myself if I had tried. The Moirae chose all royals’ spouses for political reasons. They couldn’t let any old schmuck have influence over the Prophesied One, after all. But my Intended… he was Zagasian, meaning he was going to require a lot of patience.
Maybe he won’t, I thought hopefully. Maybe he’ll be the one Zagasian man who has a sense of humor. A sense of fun. Maybe I’ll really like him.
Fat chance.
I breathed through my nose, trying to calm the panic pushing against my bruised ribs. Think of something else. The prospect of tying myself to a man I didn’t know for the rest of my life—
My doorbell chimed, saving me from my depressing thoughts.
I quickly schooled my features and called for Perseus to come in as I struggled to stand.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Never without you,” I replied sweetly.
“Certainly not.” He offered me his arm, which I ignored in favor of my cane, and he turned to fall in step beside me.
“I thought you were coming by earlier?” I asked, a little grumpy.
“I was not,” Perseus replied, walking slowly to match my pace. “You said come by fifteen minutes before the meeting.”
“I did?” I asked, surprised. “Oh. Never mind. I almost left without you a while ago.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked. “How would you know?”
“My quarters are next door,” he replied. “And my hearing is excellent. I would have known if you tried to leave without me. You can’t leave without passing my door, after all.”
“You didn’t last time.”
“I’ve remedied that situation.”
I sniffed. “Kind of Synie to put your quarters so close to mine.”
“That was the idea, little girl,” he answered with an arrogant smirk. “Or are you still confused about the meaning of the word Protector?”
“Confused? No. Disgruntled? Yes.”
He shrugged, looking around him as he always did. “The price you pay for being born—”
“To privilege, yeah, yeah, I know.”
He glanced sideways at me. “This doesn’t sound like you,” he mused. “I thought you felt like you could do good things as the Heir?”
I sighed. “I do,” I replied in resignation. “I’m just… in a bad mood.”
He frowned. “You don’t have bad moods.”
“I’m not allowed to have bad moods?” I muttered. “That’s new.”
“I didn’t say that,” Perseus replied. “I said you don’t have bad moods.”
“I don’t,” I admitted, feeling a little apologetic. I felt so snarky all the time now. I leaned on my cane. “It’s just….”
“Just what?”
I sighed again. “I’m not looking forward to this meeting.”
I felt him tense almost imperceptibly. “Your Intended.”
“I guess I was hoping—” I cried out as my cane slipped on the floor and I tripped.
Perseus snagged my arm, holding me up easily. “Careful.”
Muttering, I steadied myself. “Thank you.” I grumbled at my cane and brushed my dress off before continuing, noting that he’d kept tight hold of my elbow. “I thoroughly dislike this cane. And I may still have it when I meet my Intended!”
“I’m sure he won’t even notice,” he replied. “When he has a bride as lovely as you to look at instead? He’ll be enraptured, enamored, head over—”
“Oh, stuff it,” I replied, but I cracked a smile. “No one really thinks that about me.”
“Oh really?” he chuckled. “Then you’re not paying attention.”
I tapped my forehead. “Telepath, remember?”
“I don’t need to be telepathic to read the faces of the men and women who look at you, little girl.”
I blushed. “Well, good thing they hide it, then,” I replied. “Because I wouldn’t know what to do with that sort of attention.”
He looked surprised. “Really?”
I gl
anced up at him. “No. Why does that surprise you?”
He shook his head. “I thought most people had some knowledge of that sort of thing by your age,” he said, going back to his perusal of the Esplanade.
“Most people probably do,” I replied. “I am not most people.”
“So no man has ever kissed you before?” he asked casually, pulling me along.
“No.” My stomach knotted. “Just the one.”
He looked down at me quizzically, about to ask another question, when I met his eyes. Something flickered deep in his black eyes that I couldn’t quite pinpoint; but then again, I probably didn’t want to.
Just as suddenly, it was gone, and he smiled easily. “Just those Halian pheromones of yours, Princess,” he said. “What’s a man to do?”
I shrugged, which was difficult when he was pulling me along so hurriedly. I looked away, watching the shops we passed, wondering why he was asking these questions at all. I heard gentle flute music from the Jorellian shop as we went by.
“Were you never interested?”
I snapped out of my reverie. “Interested in what?”
He chuckled. “Men. Or women, for that matter.”
I struggled to keep up with the new pace he’d set. “Well, I grew up in the Moirae monastery on Halia, which was destroyed when I was about twelve—not too young, I suppose, but there was no one my age, or even male, at the monastery anyway. And I’ve grown up here, in Synie and Kos’s extraordinarily overprotective care, ever since.” I shrugged. “I haven’t been allowed to be around a lot of people.”
He slowed, looking down at me. “That’s horrible.”
I shrugged again. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“You never had any friends?”
“I had friends,” I said defensively. “Just not a lot… like me. My age.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Tell me about your friends.”
I bit my lip. “It’s complicated.”
“Tell me.”
I was saved from having to answer by a blur of motion. When I blinked, I saw that Perseus had gracefully shoved me behind him, managing to keep me from falling at the same time, and had his fist closed around a man’s throat.
“What do you want?” Perseus snarled, glaring down at him.
The man paled. “I-I…. Oh god, I—”
