by Mara Gan
“What… what did Eier—”
“What was my job?” His lip curled. “Eier recognized my violent streak and selected me for the slakte.”
I frowned. “The what?”
“The slakte. It’s the underground fighting ring on Mathos.”
I paled. “He trained you to fight?”
Perseus shook his head, staring at the controls. “No,” he said quietly. “No, he trained me for nothing. The slakte is a sport only rich people on Mathos pay to watch. It’s a blood sport. The rich gamble on it. Kids as young as five—almost always boys—are thrown into a fighting square and told to kill one another. If they don’t, they’ll both be executed.”
I clapped my hands to my mouth. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “I can’t believe—”
“They’d do such a thing? Well, officially, the Mathan government—or what passes for one—doesn’t,” he said. “But unofficially, they love it as much as the next guy. Boys who survive are put back into the square to fight again, and again, until they die or win forever. Owners of boys who win a lot often get extremely wealthy.”
“How… how long did… did you—” I didn’t even know how to phrase my horrible question.
“Fight?” He gave a bitter smile. “Three years he had me in that ring.” His eyes bored into me. “I won, every week, for three years.”
“And that’s… that’s why you know how to fight?” I whispered, thinking of what he’d had to do to survive.
“As I said,” he replied softly, “it’s not something I want you to learn.”
“That’s why….” I murmured. I looked up at him. “This is why you hurt?”
I caught a flash of pain in his eyes. “The black pit goes deep, Princess. Someone threw me a shovel and I kept digging because I didn’t know any better.”
“You’re a better person than you think, Protector,” I said softly. “I may not be able to sense you, but I can sense how others feel about you, which in many ways is enough to tell what kind of person you are. How you treat others defines you. I don’t even need to be empathic to know that. And you haven’t seemed as violent as you claim.”
“Don’t ever assume the reason I’m peaceful is because I’ve forgotten how to be violent,” he murmured. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Princess. I told you my name means ‘destroyer’; I didn’t earn that name lightly.”
My eyes widened before I schooled my expression. “You earned that name?”
“Not by choice.” He rubbed his face. “I had no name before, as Eier never gave names to his fighters. He thought it made us more like animals.” He leveled his gaze on me again. “Deep down, that’s all I am, Princess.”
“You’re wrong,” I said softly. “You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You are capable of incredible kindness. You rescued Gi.”
Perseus scowled slightly. “Something he makes me regret daily.”
“You protect me.”
“Because they pay me.”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “You do it because you care. And you hurt. Bad people don’t hurt or regret. Good people do.” I paused, my frown deepening. “You said Eier recognized a violent streak in you. Do you think you have such a thing, or did the slakte give you one?”
He sighed. “Both, I suppose. All Mathans have the Rage. The slakte made controlling mine more difficult—and potentially fatal.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled harshly. “The Rage is a powerful ally, little girl.”
I paled. “Being angry helped you win?”
“As a child, yes. As an adult I find it far more effective to control my anger when I fight. But the Rage is always there, pushing against my chest.” He considered. “Although I’ve not felt it as strongly since coming to Galaxia.” He stared at me, his expression growing surprised as his eyes wandered my face.
I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I was trapped in his gaze. I felt raw, exposed, and suddenly very, very vulnerable.
We held each other’s eyes for what seemed like centuries, neither of us knowing what to say. I struggled to figure out what he was thinking, but I was feeling especially dumb from the liqueur, and then he broke the contact and rubbed his face again in a gesture that felt decidedly bleak.
“I wish….” I stared out the window. “I wish you’d been shown more kindness when you were a child. I wish someone had been there to show you the good things life has to offer.”
He didn’t look at me. “That would have been nice.”
Being the nosy person I am, I couldn’t let the topic drop. I burned to know more, to understand how this kind of thing could have existed. “Is this why you’re so good at….” I paused, searching for the word. “Why you’re so good?”
Perseus looked at me, raising a brow. “I suppose it started me on that track.”
“And you’re precognitive.”
He shrugged. “That has never been proven.”
I considered. “But it would make sense. It would explain why you were so good at the slakte, why you fight so well now, and probably why you were so good at, um, extracting information from people.”
“I never tortured people who didn’t deserve it,” he snapped. “Never. I may have implied I would, but I never harmed someone who didn’t have it coming.”
“I know.” I was a little surprised by his outburst, given that I hadn’t insinuated he did otherwise, but he was clearly on edge.
His eyes narrowed. “You know?”
“I know you,” I said softly. “You are not a killer.”
“I’ve killed dozens of people, Meda.” He gave me a smile that was decidedly unfriendly. “Probably hundreds.”
I shook my head. “Killing in self-defense is different.” I leaned over and touched his hand. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past, Perseus. Life takes more twists and turns than a lost bat. What matters is who you are now; there are always difficult moments. It’s what we do after them that defines who we are.” I smiled faintly. “Frankly, I don’t think there is a soul in the universe who could be kinder than you, given the hand you were dealt.”
His eyes burned at me for several long moments before he turned away. “I escaped Eier after four years in his compound. I managed to free two others, but that was it. The three of us got separated very quickly. After that I lived on the streets. I was always cold, wet, and starving, but I wasn’t killing or hurting anyone, and that was something.” He gazed at the console in front of him, his face hard. “I would have given anything in those days for a scrap of old bread or a warm place to sleep. Anything except my freedom and a return to the fighting ring. I learned to steal to stay alive, to trade. I did any number of odd jobs, usually for hateful people, but I was free. I could walk away from any job I didn’t want. That’s when I met Samúö.”
“Samúö,” I whispered. “The old woman?”
He nodded. “She frequently helped runaways and orphans like me. I tried to pick her pocket one day and she caught me. I sometimes stole things to help her out. I became infamous for my thefts; soon I had people approaching me with odd jobs.”
“How old were you?”
He cocked his head, thinking, but didn’t get the chance to answer; he came alert as a red light began blinking on my console. “Company.”
I turned in surprise and pressed a few buttons. “There’s a ship approaching, fast, starboard side,” I said. “It’s headed straight for us.”
Reaching over, he flicked the weapons charger.
I smiled as I recognized the outline of a ship I knew well. “No worries,” I said, grinning at him. “It’s the Cetus.” The Mousai’s ship.
Perseus relaxed and sat back. “They’re late.”
“Late?” I asked, surprised. “You were expecting them?”
He snorted. “Of course.”
I shook my head and stood. “I’ll go open the docking port.”
I squeezed around the console and was moving toward the cockpit
door when his voice stopped me.
“Blue,” Perseus said, somewhat absently.
I turned back to him, not sure I’d heard him right. “Hmm?”
“My eyes,” he said, still not looking at me. “You wanted to know what color they were, before I lost it to a Rage.” He glanced at me briefly. “They were blue.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Need some help?” Callie’s face filled the viewscreen. Her hair was purple today.
“Callie,” Perseus said, nodding to her. “You came.”
I looked between them in surprise as I returned to the cockpit from having unlocked the docking port. “How did you get here so fast?”
Callie shook her purple head. “We left yesterday,” she clarified. “Perseus and Clee worked out a plan B. Perseus would check in with her every three hours by sending a simple, rotating signal; if he was late at all, Clee would take two of us to come find you immediately.”
I blinked. “Wow. You really thought this mission through.”
Clee laughed, dancing up to the monitor, hair wild about her face as usual. “Princess, your Protector had a plan B, a plan C, a plan D, a plan 347A subsection D5…. He was prepared for everything.” She glanced at him, annoyed. “Although I was hoping to arrive in time for a fight.”
He smiled faintly in amusement. “You would have, Clee, if you’d been here sooner.”
She pouted. “I need a faster ship.”
“Hold steady,” Callie ordered, maneuvering their ship, “and we’ll dock with you. Gi and I will come over and see what we can do.”
“Understood.” I anchored the Corvax and turned to face my Protector. “You could have told me.”
“Did you need to know?”
“Need to? No, but it would have been nice—”
He shrugged. “Seems like this way was better. You came out here under the assumption that it was just the two of us, no extra guard, no extra security. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
I paused, surprised. “You-you didn’t tell me because you wanted me to… feel free?”
He regarded me out of the corner of his eye. “Was I mistaken?”
I shook my head, confused. “No-no,” I managed. “That’s just… so thoughtful. I didn’t expect that from someone as overbearing as you.”
He rolled his eyes and stood. “You’re welcome.”
“Wait!” I stood too, uncertain. “I—thank you. That was really kind of you.”
He raised one eyebrow and nodded, heading toward the docking port while I followed him, wishing I understood him a little better. Every day he seemed to surprise me.
Perseus hauled the double doors open and held out a hand for Callie to step through.
She nodded a greeting to him and examined the interior. “This doesn’t look so bad,” she mused. “Why are you two traveling so slowly?”
“The FTL drive seems to be out,” Perseus said.
Gi wiggled his fingers. “It sounds like the perfect job for me. Where is the blasted thing?”
“Back here, Gi,” I said, moving down the hallway behind Perseus. I led him to the drive system and slid open the panel.
“Good grief,” Gi said, wrinkling his nose. “Your entire drive system’s been shot.”
“I know,” I said, feeling pained for my poor ship. “I think we got hit by an asteroid.”
Gi shook his head. “This was not done by an impact.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No,” he mused, studying the interior. “This looks like a virus.”
“A virus?” I squeaked.
“Yep.” He glanced at me. “It looks like your ship has been sabotaged, Princess.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “My beautiful ship, ruined.”
“Not ruined,” Gi said thoughtfully, eyeing the mass of wires. He looked at me sideways, his amber eyes honest. “Not great, but fixable.”
“I don’t know, Gi,” I said glumly. “My ship is old.”
“Tsk, tsk, Princess,” he said, opening his toolkit. “You need to spend more time living on a ship.”
I shot a glare at Perseus, who was working at the control panel with Callie. “I’d love to.”
Gi got down on his back and scooted under the wall panel. “You don’t just give up on a baby like this one. Any idea when this might have happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Although I think it must have been done while we were in prison.”
Gi scooted out to stare at me. “You were in prison?” He gaped and turned a grin on Perseus, who had appeared next to me. “This must be one hell of a story!”
“Get to work, Gi,” Perseus ordered, grabbing my arm and pulling me back to the cockpit.
I glanced back at Gi’s feet. “Can he fix it?”
“Gi can fix anything,” Perseus replied mildly. “One of his few useful traits.”
“I heard that!” came Gi’s muffled retort.
“Let me take a look at that arm, Princess,” Callie said, nodding to my shoulder.
I waved my hand dismissively. “Perseus already patched me up. It was just a minor wound.”
Callie shook her head. “The big ones often seem to be.” She pushed me into a chair and peeled the bandage back, examining it closely. She pushed on the back of my shoulder and I sucked in a breath of renewed pain. I glared at Callie as she grinned, rather unrepentantly for my taste. When she lifted my arm sideways, I yelped in surprise. Thankfully, Callie stopped her impromptu torture session and gave me a small nod. “The blast tore a ligament in your rotator cuff,” she confirmed. “No big deal. Nothing we can fix here, but Remy should have it patched up as soon as we get back to Galaxia.”
“Damn,” I mumbled. “That’s my throwing arm.”
“For that game the Protector won’t let you play?” Callie chuckled.
I glared at both of them.
“I’ve reconsidered, actually,” he said, giving me a cheeky wink. “I’m thinking of learning to play, and I might need her to teach me.”
I relaxed and smiled. “Really?”
He smiled back. “Really.”
Callie laughed. “Looks like you two have managed to patch up your differences.”
Yeah. Now if I could just stop thinking about him without his shirt on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I bowed my head, closing my eyes, and steeled my nerves for the coming ordeal.
Best just to get it over with.
Squaring my shoulders, I walked as smoothly as I could into the reception room, holding my head and chin high.
Synie had sent Skore to escort me, which was a surprise until I realized her ulterior motives. Skore was mostly there to be sure I was dressed appropriately; naturally, she had picked her favorite outfit, and one I was distinctly uncomfortable in, but even I had to admit it looked fairly good on me. It was the peach concoction, the one I claimed was actually pink. It was a long, flowy, chiffon-y thing, with a delicate belt of sparkling diamond-like jewels, and fell in several layers around my feet, which Skore had also made sure were dressed appropriately, in silver slippers. It was appeared strapless, but the dressmaker had the ingenious idea of adding a thin, see-through layer of long sleeves and a higher neck above the still relatively modest bodice. My skin was visible, but was more or less “covered up.”
I told Skore it was far too fancy, but she told me, and I repeat, to “Shut up and get dressed.” However, she had at least left my hair alone.
Synie had asked that the reception room be decorated nicely, with white flowers of every variety adorning the corner tables, the cushioned chairs straightened, and the low-lying table at the center of the chairs cleared of reading materials.
I smelled the heavenly scents the minute I walked into the room. If only I could feel good about the man I was to marry, this might be a pleasant experience.
My Protector glowered in the corner while Synie and Kos were engaged in conversation with two Zagasian men, who I assumed must be Ambassador Fáviti and Pr
ince Kylmä.
My Intended.
I plastered my best diplomat smile on my face and strode forward. I greeted the prince with both hands outstretched, palms upward, in a traditional Galaxian greeting.
“Prince Kylmä, welcome,” I said, smiling warmly.
The Zagasian prince turned at my approach and regarded me coldly, looking me over. He was bald and much older than I, perhaps in his forties or so, and portly around the midsection. His grayish skin was mottled, and a dark gray beard adorned his chin. He looked down on me disapprovingly, ignoring my hands.
Wow. I forced my face to keep smiling, even if inwardly I had just died a little. This was the man the Moirae had chosen for me? This cold, aloof… prince?
Why did I have to marry a prince, anyway? It wasn’t like I had been born royal. I’d been born into a normal middle class on Halia and simply been granted a title.
In a flash of insight into his mind, I realized that this was exactly why Prince Kylmä was snubbing me. I wasn’t truly “royal.”
I groaned silently. Great. Cold, aloof, and a snob on top of it.
Ambassador Fáviti had moved to place himself slightly in front of the prince. “Madame, you will address His Highness appropriately,” he sputtered indignantly. “In formal company he is always referred to by his full title, His Highness of the Clan Jokull, Prince Kylmä of Zagas.”
You expect me to say all that every time I greet my own husband? I refrained from correcting the ambassador on my own title, but oh did it take years and years of diplomatic training not to throw his own pretentious words back at him. I lowered my hands, my smile fading. “Of course.”
The ambassador turned to scowl at Synie. “This is the Heir?” he asked, unforgiving. “This is the most powerful leader Galaxia has had in three centuries? This… this little girl?”
I didn’t mind it so much when Perseus called me that, but now it irked me. I spoke before Synie could, although she was clearly a little taken aback herself. “I am the Heir to Galaxia, Ambassador Fáviti,” I answered, drawing myself up. “I promise you, I have been fully trained in politics and diplomacy.”
