Joined

By Mara Gan

Duty and prophecy get in the way of everything.

All I ever wanted to do was read my books, play my sports, and help people. Life and prophecy had other things in mind.

Helping people is what I do; as an empath and semi-frequent telepath, I can easily sense and understand people's needs and emotions. Sometimes even before they do. Being able to read everyone’s thoughts and feelings all the time can drive me crazy with anxiety, but that moment when I can finally make someone’s life better makes everything worth it.

Unfortunately, I’m also the next in line to rule the galaxy, I’m the only diplomat most planets will listen to, assassins try to kill me on an annoyingly regular basis, and a much-vaunted Prophecy has decreed that I’m going to die. Oh, and someone blew up my home planet.

Kind of a lot to deal with, right?

Too bad I just got another problem: a big, irritating, overbearing bodyguard with serious anger management issues.

And I think I’m falling for him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Jul 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945910364

Book preview

Joined

Mara Gan

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

––––––––

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

Joined

Copyright © 2017 Mara Gan

All rights reserved.

––––––––

ISBN: (ebook): 978-1-945910-36-4

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

––––––––

Edited By JoSelle Vanderhooft

Cover art By Najla Qamber

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

This book could not have been completed without feline assistance, unholy amounts of caffeine, and that wall I banged my head against.

She is the raven, and she is the wanderer

Chaos dwells in darkness while an ancient lady fights

She is the one soul created to save the galaxy

And swallowed by shadows in the ultimate price

—the Prophecy

PROLOGUE

It was a rather startling revelation to note that planetwide destruction was, objectively speaking, gorgeous.

I know that sounds weird, but the fireballs raining down on the valley below me were surprisingly pretty. Like rainbows.

I couldn’t even be bitter about it; bitter was a bland and wise emotion, one that involved thought and careful consideration. I had no such coherence. All I had was awe and fear, in no particular order, all blended together like a merry-go-round that had spun out of control.

Maybe not a merry-go-round. Maybe one of those horrid Spin-O-Tron rides where you went inside this room and it spun in circles so fast that you were pinned down until someone threw up and the vomit stuck to the wall. Not that I’d know, since I’d never been allowed on either one, but I’d read about them. Merry-go-rounds sounded somewhat boring and the Spin-O-Tron sounded horrible, and I didn’t really want to go on either one. Although I wouldn’t have minded being afforded the opportunity to try it, at least, even if it was boring or horrible.

I imagined that the scene before me was a lot like that Spin-O-Tron. Pretty and nauseating and horrible.

But a lot worse. Much, much worse.

But it really was pretty. Bright reds and oranges streaking across the sky, tiny embers floating in the air, little bits of green and blue and purple all that remained of the city in the distance.

And it was all surprisingly quiet. The monastery and surrounding forest were utterly silent, something that never happened, particularly to my attuned ears and senses. But it was. Completely, utterly, horribly silent. The kind of silent that’s unnatural, not the pretty kind like with snow. (Although snow was something else I’d only read about, so I wouldn’t really know. Halia didn’t get snow and I wasn’t allowed off the planet.) No, this quiet was deafening in a horrible way. Nauseating and horrible.

The destruction hadn’t quite reached me yet, but it would. It surrounded our little hillside monastery and there was nowhere for me to go.

I was well aware that I was in shock. But really, how were you supposed to react when the sky was throwing volcanoes at you? Was there a rulebook for this sort of thing? I’d been trained in all sorts of political and diplomatic scenarios, but this was hardly any of those things. I knew how to greet diplomats, listen patiently, discuss treaties, offer alternatives, that sort of thing. I even knew quite a bit about interstellar law, which was pretty good for an eleven-year-old. But genocide... genocide was new, even for a galaxy as screwed-up as ours was. A species here, a race there, but never a planet. Did the word genocide even apply when a whole planet was being eradicated? Did we need to invent a new word for what was being done to my home? Somehow planetocide sounded ridiculous and insufficient.

But then, I doubted a word would ever exist that could quite convey the present situation. Language just didn’t have that kind of depth.

Emotions, though; images, feelings... that could do it. Except my species was the only one in the galaxy capable of sensing another’s emotions, but that wouldn’t matter much once this destruction was over. Words would be all that were left.

I must have lost consciousness. The window had blasted inward, lifting me off my feet and slamming me into the bookcase. I remembered the pain of a million tiny glass shards digging into my back and the crack of my skull as I hit the wooden frame of the shelf, but then... nothing.

I slowly came awake, taking stock of my body, and winced as I felt what must be glass

shards still sticking out of my back. My mouth tasted coppery, like blood, and oh lordy did I have a headache. I gingerly touched a throbbing area at the base of my skull, and my fingers came away red and sticky.

Great. I hated blood. I wasn’t good with blood. Blood needed to remain inside the body, not seep out of it, leaking all over the floor—

I took a slow, steady breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm down. It’s just blood, I thought. I forced myself to find that mental calm that was such a vigorous part of my diplomatic training. Focus on what you do have. I was awake, I was conscious, I was breathing. Clearly, all of this was good. I could surely manage to not throw up from a little blood.

Just to be certain, I didn’t look as I wiped my fingers on the carpet, trying to rid my hands of the evidence.

Anin had taught me to steel my nerves, Ena had taught me patience, and the Malaika had taught me to focus. I drew on their lessons and tried to calm myself.

The Malaika. My eyes suddenly shot back open as I remembered them. Standing swiftly, I winced briefly at the pain and dizziness but fought it off as I ran to the open window.

Well, open. The window was, more precisely, gone.

As was the forest.

I bit my lip to keep the sob inside my burning chest. There was no way the Malaika would have survived; the forest was nothing but ashes and smoke, a smoldering campfire of the beautiful green it had once been.

Every spare moment of joy I’d ever experienced had been there; with my tiny friends I had climbed trees, listened to the wind, and understood the animals. With the Malaika, I had experienced true peace, true freedom, and learned to calm the anxiety I felt from empathic overload.

The ancient cedar forest wasn’t the only thing that had been razed; the monastery I lived in was perched on a hill, overlooking the village and the valleys in the distance. Beautiful rolling hills, some forested and some grassland for farms, stretched as far as the eye could see. Little cottages and fences dotted the landscape, but there was little to see but pastoral peace and beauty.

All of that was gone.

The sky was crimson with fire; you know how sunsets look on particularly hot days? That part near the sun that gets all wavy-lined and fiery? That was what the entire sky looked like. Fire rained down like shooting stars, leaving gaping holes in the earth and changing the landscape. The air reeked of toxic smoke and chemicals that I couldn’t identify. I would find out later that the heat had been so intense that shadows had burned into the ground.

From my vantage point on the hill, I could also see something else I wished I hadn’t. In the rubble of the village, not every burning heap was part of a building. Charred bodies littered the landscape. Animals, humans, no one had escaped below.

Nausea threatened at the back of my throat. I braced my forehead against the splintered window frame and allowed myself one selfish moment of misery.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed away and willed myself to calm down. The Malaika had taught me to focus, and focus I would. I would steel my nerves and get through this. I was the heir to an entire galaxy, a leader, and no decent leader fell apart when things were crumbling. Leaders who found themselves in desperate situations did what they could to salvage those situations.

From one of the other windows, I saw something that spurred me to action. While the initial blast to the village had leveled much of the town center, the effects continued to ripple outward. But some people were still alive: desperate survivors tried to stamp out the furious flames to save their belongings—or their loved ones. Some were merely staring at the chaos while others screamed in agony amid the fiery rain that continued to fall.

I clenched my teeth. Maybe I didn’t have much time, but I wasn’t leaving without every last survivor I could find.

Halia might be lost, but we would survive.

CHAPTER ONE

Nine years later, in another part of the galaxy

"He’s what?"

A mercenary.

"You hired a mercenary to be the Heir’s bodyguard?"

From my place behind the wall, with the conference room’s door slightly cracked, I could almost hear Synie’s jaw hit the floor. I would have been surprised, too, had I not known this was coming.

I stood still in the next room, careful not to move or even breathe too loudly; my hearing was exceptional, what with these pointy Halian ears, but Kos’s senses and abilities made him practically omnipotent. The man was insane. Thanks to him, I swear I’d spent most of the past nine years honing my sneaking-around skills to such an extent that I could probably sneak into the royal treasury all by myself. Not that he’d told me to hone those skills—rather the opposite—but he put so many restrictions on my freedom that I’d had no choice.

Kos was replying to Synie’s incredulity. In a manner of speaking.

"Kos, when you said you were leaving for a few days to find a Protector, I assumed you’d come back with some big, quiet, honorable boxer or something. Instead, you come back and tell me you’ve hired a mercenary?"

I stifled a chuckle. Synie was about to get even more indignant when she learned exactly who Kos had hired. Not just any mercenary. I hired Perseus.

There was a pause. I wished I could peek around the corner to see her face, but based on their voices, I had every reason to assume Synie was facing me and would not take kindly to me eavesdropping again.

Wait a minute, she said. I could almost hear her pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. You not only hired a mercenary, but you hired the most notorious one in the entire galaxy? Have you gone completely bonkers?

Yes. Yes, he had. I had thought much the same thing when I’d found out.

They didn’t know that I knew, given that I’d found out who he’d hired by going through Kos’s correspondence, but that’s what they got for keeping such secrets from me. That and the name of my Intended. I mean, really—it was my life and I was a big girl. I was the heir to the entire galaxy and they kept major details about my life from me like I was a child.

Hence the eavesdropping and database hacking. I didn’t even feel bad about it.

Okay, I did feel sort of bad about it. I was a pretty notorious for feeling guilty about anything and everything. And I knew they’d be mad. But I still didn’t regret it.

I sensed an unusual flicker of emotion from Synie; as one of the Mousai, the royal guardians on our floating city-station in space, she had an incredible amount of control over her thoughts and emotions—something for which I was grateful, with the way my abilities had been spiraling out of control lately—but I could occasionally get snippets from her and the other guards. Wait a sec. This isn’t... the same Perseus who had a Rage and—

The one and only, Kos replied, his deep voice surprisingly cheerful. I daresay the name has become unpopular in the past several years.

Kos, you can’t be serious, Synie snapped. "Mathans are insane. Perseus is the most insane. Most Mathans come out of their Rages. Perseus didn’t. Doesn’t that worry you?"

I think you’ll find he’s really quite calm when you meet him, Kos said dryly. His eyes have never returned to normal, that much is true, but I daresay he is not in a permanent state of Rage.

I had only gleaned a little since finding out my Protector’s identity, but even I had heard of Perseus. He was from the planet Mathos, a world about little which was known except that its people were incredibly strong and powerful, and prone to rather destructive fits of temper. Rages, they called them. Everyone gets angry; Mathans, however, entered a different brain cycle, much the way most of us fall asleep. Their eyes dilated and their tempers took over completely, and usually they left an incredible amount of destruction in their wake.

Perseus had apparently entered a Rage state, his first ever as a boy, and never quite come out of it. He was the only Mathan known to have gained partial control over his Rages, given that he was in a permanent state of one, and this automatically made him more feared than other Mathans. Whereas most Mathans were predictable in their unpredictability, no one knew quite when Perseus would snap.

And snap he most likely would, someday.

What can I say? Kos said. The Oracle said he was the one. I tracked him to a bar on Kroy a few days ago, pitched the job, and he said he would do it. He said he had some loose ends to take care of, but he’ll be here tonight, I should think.

"You... found him on Kroy? In a bar? Synie asked. There was a slight thunk, like the sound of someone sitting. Good god."

I could understand her opposition to that notion, given the reputation of that planet. On Kroy, women were just toys, bait for men, and even worse, the women seemed to prefer it that way. No women teachers, no women scientists, no women politicians, nada. It was depressing and offensive, to say the least. I wasn’t thrilled my future Protector had been on that planet, either, but given his profession, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But if he was a sexist pig.... Boy, were we going to have problems.

"How did you know he is even able to do the job? Synie asked. What if he’s slow and lazy?"

Kos chuckled. He is most certainly neither of those.

But how do you know?

The Oracle told me, he repeated. The Oracle has never been wrong. She told me to find and train Perseus. That he was the Chosen One, the one whose duty it would be to protect the Heir of Galaxia. He paused. The Oracle also told me that he can see the future. That’s part of why he has never lost a fight.

He can see the future? I figured most of that stuff about his abilities was just legend.

Most legends do stem from truth, somewhere, Kos reasoned. Besides, it’s only until the Heir comes of age. Then she’ll be eligible for protection from the Mousai.

Bloody Oracle, she muttered. Someday I’d like to meet the Oracle for myself and give her a piece of my mind.

Maybe if she knew you weren’t going to lecture her, she’d allow it.

Maybe this Oracle of yours is entirely fictional.

You know she’s not.

Synie sighed. As the leader of the Mousai, her job was administering and organizing the security of the city. Despite my blatant disregard for her orders, she meant to protect me, and was really one of my favorite people. I admired her to no end; she had personally recruited and trained each of the Mousai, and her ability to organize, direct, and administer orders from the king was nothing short of awe-inspiring. I was thoroughly grateful that her species was long-lived, because I knew there was no one I’d rather have providing advice and protection for me when I took the throne next year.

The mystical side of the Galaxian system was beyond her expertise, though. Only Kos ever saw the Oracle. As the sole imperial advisor, Kos possessed knowledge that could probably destroy half the universe if he saw fit.

He was the other half of Galaxian administration. Galaxia was a vast city with a sprawling population all squeezed onto a large asteroid at the center of the galaxy, and Galaxia was also the name for the government that ruled the entire galaxy. As best we could, anyway. While King Cepheus was the official leader who met with planetary rulers, wrote laws, and made the decisions, Kos and Synie were the ones who executed these orders with razor-sharp precision. Synie understood real-world affairs while Kos oversaw the amorphous, mystical aspects of our government, of which there were plenty.

No one really knew a thing about him, either. He’d simply shown up at the city about a decade ago, right after Halia had been destroyed, and begun advising the king and queen, claiming he could speak to the Oracle. And everything he repeated from the Oracle turned out to be true.

I trusted both of them with my life, but I knew there was a lot more to either of them than I would ever discover. And that was alright with me.

Synie spoke. So the Oracle said he’s the one, eh? We’re just going to go with that?

Well, I may also have tested him a bit.

I arched an eyebrow, knowing full well that Kos was unmatched in combat skills,

although he rarely fought.

Who won? Synie asked.

It was a toss-up. I recognized the skills and cried uncle before one of us was maimed. Likely me.

So he’s... in shape, then?

I daresay he’s in good shape, yes, Kos answered wryly. Synie, you know you can trust me.

She sighed. I know, she replied. It’s just... his reputation. I worry about Meda.

You think I don’t?

I smiled a little, touched. I knew they loved me like the disobedient niece I practically was, but it meant something more to hear them say it when they didn’t know I was listening.

I didn’t mean it like that, she said. But she’s just so small, and so careless, and so damn stubborn.

I scowled. Synie wasn’t wrong, exactly, but she didn’t have to make that sound like an insult.

Kos laughed. She’s a survivor, Synie. I wanted to harrumph and say of course I was, but I kept my mouth shut. And she has us to help her, and now the most infamous mercenary in the galaxy has agreed to take on the chore of keeping her in line. We’ll manage.

Sighing, Synie said, We’d better. I love that girl.

We all do.

You’re both sweet. Misguidedly overprotective, but sweet, I thought.

He’s really a Mathan?

He’s nothing like Tollak, Kos said. You may actually like him.

I frowned, annoyed. Tollak, my would-be abductor from last month, had been Mathan. It felt more than a little racist to associate someone with him just because they were the same species. I hated almost nothing more than racism or any kind of inequality. And I wasn’t the kind of person to really hate anything.

Except beets. Beets were disgusting.

I am sure I will, if you recruited him, Synie said. But... a mercenary? How do we know he still won’t be stealing and cheating his way through Galaxia? You know that would make the princess angry.

Indeed, that had been one of my questions. I didn’t dislike mercenaries, exactly, but they didn’t have a lot to recommend them; they lied, they cheated, and they stole. It was in the job description. And they did it based on whoever paid them the most money. They had no loyalty or sense of honor at all. And unfortunately, our galaxy was full of them. Money-grubbing, dishonorable meanies who would sell out their best friends for a bit of gold. To me, mercenaries were one of the biggest problems in the galaxy.

We have to trust that the Oracle knows what she’s doing, Kos said. And we’re paying him. A lot. More than anyone else could. He doesn’t really need the money, and he certainly doesn’t need the prestige of kidnapping or killing the Heir to Galaxia. He’s rather known for being loyal to his commissions. It’s bad business to renege on an agreement, after all.

He’s rich?

I could almost hear Kos rolling his eyes. You don’t get to be a notorious mercenary in this galaxy without amassing a small fortune. Really, trust me—we can trust Perseus to work for us.

I heard a plop as someone, probably Synie, flopped back against the couch pillows.

You know she’s going to complain about having a Protector at all. She has this notion that she can take care of herself just fine.

Well, to a certain extent, she’s right, Kos said. She has a lot of spirit and she’s smart. But she’s one small target in an entire galaxy that would love to harm her. She managed to get away from Tollak, but he was drunk and not terribly bright. He paused. She was lucky Callie happened upon her when she did, or she might still have been carted off to god knows where.

Oh, I completely agree, she needs a Protector, Synie said. This has gotten out of hand, and the Mousai can’t guard her for another year due to that stupid tax law. Did you know Clee intercepted yet another transmission seeking the princess’s kidnapping?

My ears perked up. Another one? Clee had found several already, but they seemed to be increasing as I neared the age of ascension. I wondered what the price was up to.

I’m not surprised, Kos said grimly.

The Mousai were not technically allowed to guard me as the Heir. Galaxian royals were funded by taxes, and the Heir was usually not important enough to warrant protection. An Heir was easily replaced, but replacing a trained king or queen was far more complicated. The Heir rarely did more than train for the job of being the ruler anyway. I was unusual; I was discovered by the Moirae at birth, whereas most heirs were nominated and selected by the Moirae in their teens, and as such, the Moirae had trained me for the job from the cradle. I also had abilities no one, heir, ruler, or commoner, had.

And then there was that stupid Prophecy.

Regardless, the Mousai were only allowed to guard the king and queen, as per ancient Galaxian law, to keep the elected monarchy from getting too self-indulgent. That didn’t stop them from hanging out with me during their free time, though. I appreciated their thoughtfulness, but I also hated it; they weren’t spending time with me because they wanted to or because they liked me, but because of the Prophecy.

I sighed and scowled, and returned to the conversation.

I’d missed a few exchanges but realized the discussion was coming to a close. I could hear Kos moving toward me.

Crap, I thought, looking around. I had been distracted and now he was going to hear me escaping.

Luckily for me, Synie called him back.

Wait, she said, her voice suddenly hesitant and serious.

His footsteps stopped.

Synie sighed. With all my shock over who the Protector is, I’d almost forgotten to tell you. Clee has a theory about who was behind the Destruction.

Now my ears really perked up. When Clee had a theory, you could almost be certain it was the truth. The woman could put the most random shreds of information together to create the kind of answers crime scene investigators only dreamed about.

Unfortunately, she also was insane. Like, really insane. She left sticky note reminders to herself underneath other people’s beds and was convinced that hot chocolate spoke sign language.

And doubly unfortunately, I couldn’t stay to hear the theory. I had to go before Kos caught me eavesdropping.

I turned and ran smack into a wall of muscle.

Wincing, I looked up into the amused face of the man who was like a father to me.

Don’t you want to come in and hear about Clee’s theory, Princess? he asked, folding his arms. Or would you rather just listen from out here?

CHAPTER TWO

How long did you know I was listening? I bit my lip as I settled into a chair.

About the time we were discussing Tollak, he said easily, sliding into a chair across from me. Synie eyed me from her chair, annoyance written on her face. You huffed—loudly—when Synie mentioned him being Mathan.

Dang. Had I really? I thought I’d only done so in my head.

Kos smiled, his light green eyes kind as always. No worries, Princess. I didn’t want to deprive you of your eavesdropping fun. And you’re getting better.

Not good enough, obviously.

Synie waved her hand impatiently. Meda, you’re seriously not arguing about having a Protector?

I held up a finger. "I never said that. And I found out who he was a week ago."

Kos raised an eyebrow and Synie started. What? How did you know? she asked.

I shrugged. I went through Kos’s communiqués.

The unfortunate thing about Kos was that I couldn’t read him. He was the only person I knew who was a complete blank to me. I had gotten used to it over the years, but it was disorienting. I had the ability to read people’s emotions, and if they were particularly weak-minded or just upset, I could read their thoughts too; being upset tended to loosen control over the mind, which made it an open book to me. It was a pretty central part of how I understood people.

But Kos... nada. I studied his face, but it hadn’t altered with the news that I’d gone through his mail—again. I shifted uncomfortably.

Synie flicked a glance between me and Kos before saying, "I’ll leave that little tidbit between the two of you. But, Princess, you are going to have this Protector."

I sighed, letting my head flop back against the chair. I know. And I get it. But don’t expect me to like it, or cooperate much.

Do you want to know more about the Protector? Kos finally spoke.

Perseus, right? I considered what I’d learned. He’s Mathan, a mercenary—often referred to as the best mercenary the galaxy has ever seen—and has never lost a fight. Sounds fascinating.

Kos sat back. Is that so? And have you ever seen a Mathan in a Rage before?

No, but I’ve met many Mathans.

So you know their moods can be a bit....

Temperamental? Explosive? Unpredictable? Testosterony?

His mouth quirked. Mercurial.

Yes, I know, I said. Mathans are prone to losing their tempers.

That’s putting it mildly, Synie said dryly. Turning into an uncontrollable, furious killing machine is more like it.

Mathans aren’t so bad. Geôillur tends to be a bit grumpy, but he’s never gone into a Rage since I’ve known him.

Geôillur? Synie asked suddenly, sitting up straighter. Princess—

I winced. There was a small Mathan tavern on the Esplanade that I frequented in the late hours, but I tried to keep my visits there a secret, since Synie and Kos had forbidden it. I waved my hand. I know, I know, you told me to stop going there, I said impatiently. But Geôillur’s my friend. I can’t.

Geôillur was the owner and bartender. I had never told anyone this, but I’d only gone to the tavern in the first place because I had sensed his grief from across the city and wanted to see if I could help. Turned out his son had died and he had been contemplating suicide as his only means of coping with the grief—Mathans weren’t big on psychotherapy. He and I had talked for hours, and I had been going back ever since, just to see how he was doing.

He’d asked me never to tell anyone that he’d felt grief—Mathans weren’t big on non-angry emotions either—and he looked out for me when I was there. Mathan bars were practically designed to encourage the Rage, and Mathans were unpredictable in their normal state. Drunk and full of Rage, well.... Let’s just say Kos and Synie had good reason to worry.

Kos leaned forward. I’m scheduling the Protector ceremony for tomorrow morning.

My jaw dropped. Tomorrow?

Even Synie was surprised. That’s soon. Can the Moirae be prepared by then?

The Moirae were our society’s fortune-tellers and spiritual advisors.

Kos shrugged. Despite the fact that we haven’t had a Protector in centuries, it’s a relatively simple ceremony. His eyes turned hard as he looked at me. And we sure as hell need to get the princess protected as soon as possible—from herself if nothing else.

I frowned. I wasn’t accustomed to curse words in my line of work. They made me a little uncomfortable, although to be honest I couldn’t really say why.

Kos, Synie said thoughtfully, "do we know why Perseus can control the Rage? Is there a story we should be aware of?"

Quite a story, Kos confirmed, although it’s been embellished so much over the years that I suspect no one knows the full truth of the matter. All anyone knows for certain is that at some point many years ago, Perseus went into a Rage and never truly came out of it. He’s the only Mathan known to be in control of his Rages. That, combined with some precognitive abilities, has ensured that he has never lost a fight.

He’s a precog? I tapped my chin thoughtfully. That was interesting. And no one knows why he Raged so badly?

Kos shrugged. You can ask him, but I wouldn’t if I were you.

Sounds like a good conversation starter to me, I said cheerfully as Kos gazed upward in resignation. I eyed him askance. And the Oracle said he was the Protector, huh? Only him?

Kos chuckled. She did indeed. Don’t worry, Princess. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but I trust the Oracle. Perseus is the best person to protect you.

"I really don’t need protection, I protested again. How many times—"

You need a Protector, Kos said firmly. And whether you want him or not, you’re getting him. Get used to it.

Bah. So when do I get to meet him?

I imagine he’ll arrive late tonight, and Synie and I will get him settled. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning in the Chamber.

The Chamber? Why so fancy?

It’s been centuries since Galaxia has had such a ceremony, Princess, he said with a smile. And this city loves you. It’ll be broadcast on the telenews tonight and tomorrow morning, and I imagine much of the city will turn out. Make sure you dress appropriately.

I puffed my cheeks out with a small scowl, knowing that meant my fancy white dress for imperial functions, a dress I hated with a passion. I stood, sensing the conversation to be at an end. Fine. Good night, my overprotective friends.

Synie gave a simple wave good night as Kos said, Good night, Princess.

I slid around the numerous chairs and made my way to the door where I had been unsuccessfully hiding myself earlier.

One more thing. Kos’s voice stopped me and I turned around quizzically. He smiled, but this time his smile had a warning in it. Stop monitoring my communiqués.

I bit back a grin as the door slid shut behind me.

Deep in thought about my impending Protector-inspired doom, I made my way back to my rooms. Luckily, although I enjoyed long walks, I didn’t have too far to go. Galaxia was unbelievably large, housing over 30,000 permanent residents, all of whom lived and worked in this city on an asteroid floating at the nucleus of the galaxy. However, for the most part this was a place to visit and trade, not a home.

The city was designed in a sort of spiderweb shape. The center of the web housed the palace, where the king and queen lived with their bodyguards, as well as the offices of government and the Chamber, the royal meeting hall where ceremonies were conducted and petitions heard, and where I had been eavesdropping on Synie and Kos.

Branching out from the palace were four Esplanades, large spheres that contained shops, restaurants, and businesses. The majority of daytime activity took place here. Branching outward from the Esplanades were the outer docks, for ships to power down, and the Habitat Cubes, where nonroyal residents of the city lived. Somewhere in the city was also rumored to be the Oracle—the being the Moirae prayed to when they needed ultimate guidance, the only one who could speak to Tykhe directly.

Even I had no idea what went on with the Oracle. Most of my day centered around the government offices and the Esplanades, where I could find easy, ready-made food and drinks to slake my caffeine addiction. I had explored some of the outer areas but rarely found time to venture that far.

I wasn’t tired and didn’t particularly want to head back to my rooms just yet. I felt oddly restless, that twitchy feeling those of us with anxiety tend to get; like I didn’t really want to do anything but desperately needed to do something. Briefly, I considered getting one of my favorite drinks at the Esplanade, but a quick check of the time revealed that the shop would be long closed by now.

A grin spread across my face as I realized what would not be closed.

CHAPTER THREE

Hiding in a Mathan bar was not easy.

I rarely bothered trying to disguise myself when I went out in public. Everyone always knew who I was anyway, so there wasn’t much point. But I didn’t want to risk Perseus recognizing me if he’d seen a photo of me, and this was the perfect time to observe him before he officially became my Protector tomorrow. I wanted to know about this man to whom I was entrusting my life, and I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer as myself; I would only get the answers I wanted if I came across as just another customer.

Unfortunately, I am rather small for a humanoid, and Mathans are rather large. So putting on a hooded cloak didn’t do much to disguise anything except my hair. I could only hope the bar had non-Mathan customers tonight, although past experience told me that was highly unlikely.

My new Protector was sitting at a table in the corner with two others. One was a mercenary I had seen in the city before and did not like in the least bit. Yalan, I recalled. Clee and Eute, another of the Mousai, had caught him trying to pilfer from the Armament, of all things. Gutsy, that one. He’d been in and out of our jail many times over the years. One point against my new Protector already: he hung around with Yalan. That couldn’t be good. Yalan was easily one of the slimiest mercenaries I’d ever met, despite being decidedly handsome and charming, but that paled next to the fact that we’d caught him trying to steal weapons. We hated arms dealers on Galaxia.

I had to choke back my surprise when I realized that Perseus’s second companion was Halian.

I had so rarely seen another of my kind that I often wondered if fewer had survived than I thought. This particular Halian was tall, strong-looking but lean, with shaggy, chestnut hair and golden eyes. He had the impish look about him that all of us seemed to have, as though he were on the verge of playing a joke on someone, and just now he was laughing at Perseus.

With my keen sense of hearing, thanks to the ears, I was able to make out some of their conversation, even with the crazed noise of the small tavern. I was relying on my other sense