by Viola Grace
“If I leave,” he said, “I’ll have to escape. And when that time comes, I may not be here at the palace.”
Aside from that, he had no plans. Not even a vague idea of how to flee.
“I know where there’s a planet-side spaceport. It’s small, and it houses mostly smaller craft for atmospheric travel. But there’s a ship.”
“A ship?” His disbelief echoed in his voice. “A ship?” He laughed shortly. “I have no idea how to pilot a ship in space!”
“I do.” Her reply was quiet. “And once we’re away, I can teach you.”
He looked at her again. “Who are you? Because no slave would know how to pilot a ship. Or even know the location of a secret port.”
She shrugged and crossed to the large window that looked out over the city below. She was quiet for a long time, and he left her to her silence. It had taken more courage than he realized to verbalize his plight to her... a stranger. She stood far more risk of betrayal than he did.
He watched her, though she showed him only her back. Though the sun wasn’t shining, the light from the window brightened her. She was tall for her race, slim and elegant in her movement, even with the awkward limp. Her hair would spark gold in the sun, or by candlelight. It was braided back, exposing stark, regal beauty. With her usual submissive attitude, she could be mistaken for plain and humble. Standing there silently, she was showing him her true self.
She turned, looked at him steadily, as though she saw deep into his soul. Her cheeks flushed when she caught him staring.
“This world hasn’t always been this way. Once, the sky was blue, white clouds sailed overhead, and we were always brown from the sun.” She walked toward him, the limp more noticeable. “I wasn’t always a slave.”
“I suspected that.”
She smiled absently. “I grew up beloved. Spoiled. Passionate. The change in my circumstances was... abrupt.”
“What happened?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Not now. But we both need to flee, and we need each other to do so.”
“I can finish out my contract.”
“No. I was tasked to encourage you to stay. I was to do anything to prevent your leaving, up to and including seduction.” She flushed again and gave a depreciating smile. “There are undoubtedly others better suited for that purpose.”
“No.”
She looked at him sharply.
“No, there aren’t others better suited for that.” If his amber skin could show it, he’d be the one blushing now. And he knew it was time to change the subject.
“I need a covert route from the planet. You know where there’s a ship. What do you need from me?” He studied her, learning everything he could just from the way she moved, her slow consideration of the problem at hand. Sizing up his opponent was his best skill. And she wasn’t really an opponent. She was his ally. He hoped.
“The port isn’t far, but I can’t—” She paused, and looked down at the floor, her humility again on display. “—I can’t get there by myself. I’m...” She trailed off. It wasn’t humility. It was shame. “I must be carried.”
“And I’m the only person strong enough to carry a woman as large as yourself?” It was meant to be teasing. She was slender. Almost thin. She smiled slightly.
“I did consider Peri Stroop.”
He snorted in amusement. His friend Peri... clever, sneaky, and not a model of benevolence.
“We have to approach the port with stealth. Thus, we have to stay off the roadways.”
At one time, she must have been an elevated person. Prideful. Now she’d fallen, and he believed she was stronger for it. Something in his chest grew warm. His throat grew tight. She suddenly seemed far more than beautiful.
“I will teach you to fight and survive if you promise to come to me when the time arrives.” She turned away from the window, walking back into the dimly lit room, and leaned on the table.
“When will that be, Verda?”
She sat at the desk, and he sat facing her, shocked when her green eyes caught his. She was crying. For the first time, fear prickled his skin. This was real.
“When the planet dies, we will run.”
Chapter Four
“We need more time together.”
The door hadn’t closed behind her when Brock made his demand. For it was a demand. All these years of being petted and indulged had insulated him from the impossibility of her dropping all her duties to attend him.
“We haven’t had a chance for you to teach me.”
“They may be humble,” she said waspishly, “but I do have duties to others in the palace.” She brushed past him and set the completed translations on his desk. “Besides, it’s only been a day.” Her leg ached, so she sat, shedding the skin of the slave before this great, massive man. He looked slightly wild today. He’d been stressing. No doubt he was facing a fight without the support of a trainer.
“Who’s your next fight with?”
He shook his head. He was so... lovely with his amber skin. His hair was silken, falling to his shoulders in waves several shades darker than his skin. His eyes were the same color, but dark, rimmed with jet black lashes that looked as though they’d been painted on.
She stifled a sigh. It was no wonder he graced the covers of so many publications. He was delicious to look at.
“They won’t let me see the schedules. I don’t know if I go in tonight or the next night.”
“Tell me who worries you most,” she said. They’d have to do this the hard way. But he needed to be prepared. They could always change opponents at the last minute, even if he did know who he was fighting.
“Lareth. I’ve never fought her, but she’s better than most of the men.”
He was right to rank her as a threat. Lareth was mostly Landaun, a massive, war-like species with tough skin, savage natures, and very few vulnerabilities. The females equaled the males in size, even possessing a phallic appendage. There were few this far from the Coalition in which they resided, so she’d never seen one before. But when Lareth arrived two weeks ago, she’d done some research, mostly out of fascination for the huge, savage woman.
“I’m glad you see her as a worthy opponent. Just because she’s female doesn’t mean she’s not lethal. And the Landaun females have a tradition of raping their defeated opponents.”
“Oh. I suppose I’d better not lose,” he said dryly.
“That’s not a joke, Brock. The king knows that citizens are suffering, so he’s staging larger spectacles to divert them.” She got up and rotated her right foot, trying to loosen permanently stiffened tendons and muscles. “The Landaun strive for death rather than defeat. When they fight in the arena, they prefer to dishonor their opponents than kill them. So, the good news is that if she beats you, you’ll survive.”
“The bad news?”
“You’ll wish you were dead.”
He looked slightly sick. ‘Then how do I fight her?”
“First, forget she’s female. It makes absolutely no difference. Then prepare for her to be swifter than you are. Her skin is tough. If you chose a weapon, chose one to puncture rather than slash.”
He nodded. “How do I fight her hand to hand?”
She took his arm and tapped his wrist, elbow, and shoulder. His skin was smooth, his muscles hard. He was warm. She struggled to focus on her task.
“Landaun use brute force. Thus, you will do well to learn to block and deflect and then attack vulnerabilities. We don’t have enough time for you to learn nerve locks tonight, so we’ll focus on redirecting attacks and breaking the joints.”
“Breaking joints,” he murmured. He sounded disturbed. “The joints are vulnerable. But I prefer to focus on the torso and head.”
“You’ll continue with that, but you need to learn finesse and subterfuge. Let your opponent take your arm...” she extended an arm to him, so he clasped it. Verda twisted his arm, rotating his elbow and gently exerting pressure. “That would break t
he elbow. Now do it to me.”
They traded, and he repeated the move again, and again. When he had it down, she made him repeat it. She then moved on to the shoulders. And then the knees.
After an hour, they were sweating, and Verda’s leg felt like it was on fire. She held up a hand and stood still, gathering the courage to take a step. Before she moved, she was swept up in a pair of strong arms. Brock carried her to a massive sofa and gently set her down.
“What can I do to help?” He dropped to his knees and massaged her calf through the thin fabric of her loose breeches. She gasped as pain rocketed up her leg. Abruptly, he let go. When he looked at her, his dark eyes were almost black, with a reddish gleam behind the pupil. It was fearsome. He lowered his brows, and she found it hard to breathe. She couldn’t imagine how it felt, coming face to face with this man in the arena. He was angry, but not at her.
“Heat? Ice?”
She blinked, looking down at her leg. He still supported it, gently holding her foot.
“Heat,” she murmured.
He set her foot down and hurried out of the room, returning with bandages and a small heat pack. He wrapped it in place, and the slow, mellow warmth of the pack radiated into her leg. She wanted to melt. She had no access to such luxury. She spent many nights awake, shuddering as pain seared her leg.
“How’d it happen?”
He didn’t ask what the injury was. Or even if she’d been born with it. He assumed it was an injury.
“It was a long time ago. I barely remember,” she said, not willing to share the horror of that day.
“It always gives you pain?”
She clenched her jaw and then relaxed. She nodded.
“Is this why you want to leave?” He rose gracefully to his feet. “This and the coming... whatever’s going to happen?”
Verda looked at her leg. She closed her eyes and nodded again. It was all too much. He was too much... too big, too alive. Too gentle. “I’ve heard there is a species in Coalition space. Healers. It’s rumored they can fix almost any injury.”
Brock knelt in front of her, cradling her foot in his hand. His head was bowed so she couldn’t see his face.
“You’re willing to risk your life escaping, then travel galaxies in order to chase down a rumor?”
“Yes,” she said. “This life... I was not meant for it. If I stay here, I’ll die, one way or another.” Every day, Jamis came closer to striking the fatal blow. Every night, she gave thanks that she’d survive to see the sun again. One day, though, he’d strike. “The same is true for you, Brock. You aren’t meant to be here.”
Outside, it was growing dark. The wind was high, and rain slashed the windows. The lights around the room were slowly rising, but still dim. Brock cradled her foot in his massive hand and ran his thumb down the sole, massaging her tight, sore muscles. It was a luxury she’d never experienced. Her eyes slipped closed, and she leaned back, relaxing into the moment. One big hand circled her ankle, rotating it gently, and she stifled a gasp. He ceased the movement.
He gripped her calf. She went still, her eyes closed, her breath catching in her chest. The heat from his skin ran up her leg, triggering arousal she hadn’t expected. She looked at him, her heart racing, torn between the need to flee and the desire to explore him, to touch him in return.
His eyes were large, startled. Only when he started to push up her pant leg did she move, curling up in a ball on the couch.
He let her go and continued to look at her.
“What did they do to you, Verda?”
Verda shook her head. She remembered what happened, hour after hour, every day of her life. She wasn’t meant to forget. They’d made sure she wouldn’t. With the memories, her mood shifted from lazy arousal to painful tension.
She didn’t relax, and when Brock smoothly settled on the sofa next to her, she was too frozen to escape his presence. His body was warm and solid. He was right next to her, large and unmoving. He gently pulled her into his arms, not holding her tightly, just remaining as a presence.
She counted the seconds in her head. Then minutes. He didn’t move. She relaxed slightly, her muscles loosening, her body shifting over to his, as though he was a magnet. Another minute and her head rested against his chest, his arm looped over her shoulder. She listened to his heart, felt the steady breath and synched hers to his. She shifted, allowing him to gather her up, to hold her securely.
“You can tell me, Verda. It goes no further than this spot.”
“I tried to escape,” she said, almost before he was finished. Her voice sounded harsh. “I tried to escape and injured three guards. Each man was allowed to retaliate.”
She heard his breath pause and waited for an explosion. But he remained quiet. “I was made to stand before the king, my hands bound to a beam over my head. Each guard was allowed to strike, but only my legs, so I’d never try to escape again.”
“Oh, Verda.” His lips were pressed against her temple, not in a kiss, but a gesture of empathy. “How old were you?”
“I was old enough to damage three grown men.” She felt her mouth pull up in a smile. “Perhaps twelve... thirteen Common years.”
He pulled her tighter. “I knew you were born to it. When did you learn to fight?”
“Right from birth, practically. My father and mother had different styles. My brother and I learned right along with walking and talking. What I’m teaching you is my mother’s techniques. They depend more on small moves and speed. I can no longer do my father’s art justice.”
She pulled away from him and gathered her dignity. “In a week, we should see the sky again.” There was something to her voice, a throb of pain. Of longing. She swallowed it away. “Out there behind the clouds, there’s a star. It’s called Polarium.”
“The White Star. I’ve seen it just a few times since I’ve been here. It’s very beautiful.”
“It’s killing us.” Never before had she spoken those words out loud. “Solar flares, perhaps. Or some sort of gravitational force. I don’t know what exactly. But scientists have pinpointed the instability in our planet to forces coming from that star. The rains never end, and the seismic instability is increasing.”
He frowned. “Then the king must know, correct? Why hasn’t the public been alerted? They could at least have the option of evacuating.”
She turned and looked at him sadly. “The researcher who brought it to his attention was assassinated. The others needed no other warning.”
“Verda, why would a king deny such a thing? Why would he keep them in ignorance?”
“Because he’s not fully sane.” He was mad. She should simply have said the ugly truth. The king was dangerously unstable and was growing worse. She knew it. Others knew it but still protected him with their lives.
Brock took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Fear flashed in his eyes and was gone. “How much longer?”
“The remaining men and women who know of this have quietly continued their research. Several left the planet and haven’t returned.”
“That close, then?” The fear was gone from his face. Now, his sensual mouth was grim. He’d faced death before. He was preparing to fight again. A different battle, and perhaps a hopeless one.
She nodded. “It can happen anytime. I thought we had longer, but the breaks in the rains are less frequent, and the number of tremors doubled. They are occurring deeper in the planet.” She stood and walked to the window again. And finally, she put her greatest fear into words.
“I can barely navigate the palace, Brock. How will I escape the city and climb to the port?” The fear she lived with daily threatened to break loose... to overtake her and crush her spirit.
He rose and went to stand behind her, looking outside. His window looked out over a sheer drop. It had taken over a year, but he’d eventually learned that his room was an effective cell. A very luxurious, comfortable cell. There was only one way out. If the door was locked, there was no escape.
“I will find yo
u, Verda.”
“My lodgings are several levels down from here. You may not be able to reach me. Or you may be elsewhere when it happens. Or I might be with the king, and he’ll—” She stopped, pressing her lips tightly closed. She’d said too much, yet couldn’t stop.
“He’ll kill you.” He said it simply. Sadly. Because he knew there was a reason the cruel, unstable king had ordered to damage her and then kept her close. “Who is he to you?”
Verda’s hands tightened on the sill of the window. Her breath fogged the glass. She stared at the condensation as she spoke. “I am his history.” She turned to face him, leaning back to take the weight off her leg. “I’m the daughter of the woman he couldn’t have, and the brother he could never defeat.”
“Oh, fate. He’s your uncle.” There were multiple levels of shock in his voice. “Your uncle maimed you.”
Without speaking, she nodded once.
“He was your guardian?”
“He was my regent.”
Silence hung in the room. She saw horror on his face. Pity. Fury. And Verda knew she was no longer alone. She had an ally.
He shut his eyes tightly. “He was the younger brother?” She nodded again. “You were to be the queen.”
“Do not ever speak of it. To do so would mean your death. Instantly. Those who remember were sent away years ago. My name was removed from the record. I am no one now, except a crippled slave.” Her voice was soft. Intense. Angry. She let the emotions run through her, and after years of denial, she embraced them.
“You are a warrior,” he said, cupping her face. “Powerful. Strong.”
“Broken and afraid.” She met his eyes frankly. “I’m property. I have no family. No friends.”
“I’m a friend.” It could have been a trite, easy declaration. Yet it wasn’t. It was the truth and froze the air in her chest. She wanted this man to take the burden from her, just for a moment. She wanted him to tell her he’d fix it. He’d fight for her and win. She wanted to be rescued yet was all too aware that she might be the one rescuing him.
