The Lineage

By Dale Martin

Wes Aettian never wanted, nor expected, to be King of Cassia. Not once in his 19 years had he even thought about it; that duty always fell to the firstborn son. Or so he thought. Of course, he also never expected his country to be invaded, his family to be forced into hiding for a year, or his father to die before he could explain all the secrets he had kept from his son – plans for resistance made even before the war began, the origin of his family's bloodline, and the role it plays in the universal battle between good and evil. The only thing his father left him was a simple metal ring too large for his thumb: a constant reminder of how big were the shoes he had to fill and how small it made him feel.

Cassia's conquerors – the Naborn – are a people who have been tempted and swayed countless times throughout history by various promises of power, always leading to their ruin. This time they are led by Kyrit Sha'ad, a man possessing powers Wes never even imagined possible. Inhuman powers. Worse, unlike any who came before him, Sha'ad knows the source of Aettian blood and he will gladly kill everyone on the planet as long as it meant the end of that bloodline.

In the end, The Lineage is a story about the enlightening power of unreserved faith when faced with even the blackest of darkness. With stakes as high as the fate of an entire planet in the balance with consequences that could reach across galaxies, Wes must quickly grow into the man he's not ready to be. Because King he is, unprepared, unsure, and suddenly in command of a web of resistance cells and thousands of soldiers looking to him to lead the way back to freedom.

If only he knew how.

The Lineage is a unique tale in that it combines the hallmarks of a military-based science fiction thriller with elements of fantasy and religious faith, and while the setting is alien it is reflective of our own world and our own battles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098352882

Book preview

1

Day 213/3735

Occupied Cassia. City of Kaiiff.

Each frantic step the two men took carried the fate of their people, if only they could make it back in time.

As they ran through the streets, nervous eyes peeked through window corners, drawn by the sounds but afraid to be seen. Were they fugitives? Simple curfew-breakers? Or just fools, driven mad by... everything? But the fury of the search, the manpower, made it clear they were something more.

Bundled in tattered, hooded coats, they stumbled through snow blown knee-deep. The wind rushed between buildings and pushed at their backs like a giant hand, its cruel howl whistling in their ears, a fog of swirling ice stinging their faces like blowing sand.

The larger of the two held out one hand as a shield, while with the other he held the arm of his struggling companion and pulled him along. Feeling a familiar rumble in the ground they quickened their pace, each step hopping from one hole and crunching into another. It was exhausting.

The rumble drew closer.

We have to get out of the open, the larger man shouted over the wind. He spotted a dark alley across the street. This way!

They jumped free of their last steps and landed on dirty snow crushed flat and smooth. Running became skating, their numb legs sliding around beneath them. Reaching the other side they jumped back into a deep drift, hopped past two building fronts, and then turned left into the alley and scurried behind a pile of garbage crates. As they hit the ground and squeezed against a wall, the larger man draped himself over the other, reached back to pull snow over their boots and legs, and prayed the wind would cover their steps.

How much... further? asked the smaller man, his lips shivering beneath a frozen gray beard. He was much older, his breathing rapid and sorely insufficient.

Five blocks, I think, give or take.

Too far...

Shhh! Don’t move.

The rumble was so close it shook snow from the garbage above them, and it was joined by a deep mechanical groan. The larger man turned his head toward the street and peaked through a space between the crates and wall, but pulled back with a jerk as a searchlight swept in like the sun. Swiveling from atop a military vehicle rolling methodically past the alley, pulverizing snow beneath its treads, the light scanned high and low and across the crates, then moved in a blink to the other side of the street as the vehicle continued on.

They waited a bit before sitting up.

The old man coughed and gagged as if to spit something from his lungs. Kel… He took in a wobbly breath. It’s too far. You have to go on without me.

Kel’s eyes stayed focused on the street. Nonsense.

The old man grabbed Kel by the hood with a trembling hand and pulled him closer. That’s an order, Major.

Kel looked at the man’s face for the first time in hours. His wrinkled skin was red and chapped, his eyes barely open. I’m following my orders, he said. Order one: get you safely back to your family. Order two: get all of you out of this city. Tonight.

I’m... Another cough. I’m giving you new orders. Leave me here.

Kel shook his head. You know I can’t do that.

You must.

Sire… please.

My life is leaving me, Kel. If you try to save me, you’ll never make it back to the others, and I will still die.

Kel checked the street again and then stood. He pulled the hood from his head and brushed snow from his arms, his tired breath collecting around his perfectly military face. He looked down at his King. Can you stand?

My legs say no.

I’ll carry you, then.

Then we’ll both die, and all will be lost. He tried to sit more upright against the wall. More haggard breaths and coughs followed. I no longer matter in this. I’ve played my part as best I could. Any hope we have now rests solely with Wes. It’s his life that matters most now, so I… I relieve you of your duty to me, Major Kel Seret – my friend – and pray you will be as much a blessing to my son as you have been... to me.

But you’ve told him nothing, Sire. Does he even know about...

No, he doesn’t. I thought I’d have more time, but… but… You’ll have to tell him for me, at least what you can. Wait until you get to Naji, though. Falshawn will help him with the rest. But if… if… if you don’t make it back in time tonight, they’ll find him first.

Do you have any idea how hard a thing this is you’re asking of me? I swore an oath to protect you, even if it meant giving my life for yours. Now you want me to just walk away and leave you here to die behind a pile of garbage? I can’t do that, Sire. That’s not how it’s supposed to end. Not for you.

It’s exactly how God intends it to end for me. I can accept that. You must, as well.

There has to be another way. I can…

There’s not. Now please, do as I ask.

They could still hear the rumble in the distance and Kel’s instinct told him it was heading back. Time was running out. In his mind he calculated once more the distance, the old man’s weight, the time, the cold, the snow. He’s right. He took another long look at his failing King, twisted the knife in his heart, and slowly – reluctantly – conceded with a nod.

The old man was relieved. Thank you. Now, you mustn’t worry about me. God will take me soon enough, and the snow will cover me. It could be weeks before I’m found, and considering my appearance, it’s doubtful anyone would recognize me. He smiled and closed his eyes, speaking as quickly as his breathing allowed. Just another dead beggar, they’ll think. But you... you must get my wife and sons to Naji, just as we planned. I think that’s where Ben went, as well.

Kel pulled his hood back over his head and drew it snug around his face, but the old man’s eyes shot open. Damn! How could I forget? He set his left arm in his lap and pulled the frost-covered glove from his hand. You must take this.

He struggled to pull a simple metal band from around his thumb.

Sire?

It’s... The ring would not move past the knuckle.

Kel was confused.

With every tug the old man grew more frustrated by his weakness. It’s…for…Wes.

Kel bent down. Don’t waste your strength.

I have to... get it... off! He was breathing hard and fast.

Wes doesn’t need...

In a blur of desperation and with his last ounces of strength, the old man twisted his body, reached under his coat, pulled a knife from around his waist and plunged the blade toward his thumb.

Zor, no! Kel grabbed his wrist.

Zor’s hand shook and tears streamed down his cheeks. Cut it off, Kel! Hurry... cut it off... time...

No!

You must! Before it’s too late.

It’s just a ring.

Zor jerked his face toward Kel with absolute panic in his eyes. No! It means everything. Everything! We have to get it off now… before I die. How could I forget... stupid old fool. Give it to Wes. Tell him he can never take it off. Never! Understand?

But...

Do you understand? Zor snapped.

Kel nodded. Yes. He took the knife away and threw it down. But let’s get it off another way. He pulled off his own gloves and put Zor’s hand in between his to warm it.

After a few calm moments, Zor continued. It’s not just a ring. It’s the most important thing… more important than my life.

Why?

I can’t say. It’s forbidden. Even Wes can’t know. Not yet. That’s up to Falshawn to explain, just as her predecessor did for me. But you cannot fail in delivering it to him, or in getting him to Naji.

Kel opened his King’s hand, took the ring with his fingers and spun it free, easily, as if it had let go. He looked at it and closed his fist around it. I won’t fail you.

Zor smiled in relief. No, I don’t suppose you will. You do seem to have a knack for… His chest heaved. He grimaced and gasped for a small bit of air, but his lungs felt frozen. Major?

Kel dropped to his knees. I’m here.

The King’s eyes closed and his body rocked as he tried in vain to breathe.

Zor?

Tiny, tiny breaths. No… goodbyes, it seems. Go… quickly. One eye opened. Fluttered. Closed. Tell Loel... I’m...

• • •

Jat Aettian, 16-years old, sat on the floor beneath a pile of blankets and tried to stay warm. The peeling walls of the old two-story building in which he and his family lived – or better, hid – provided little protection from the cold as the constant, taunting wind easily seeped through the many cracks.

Across the room, his older brother Wes stood watch at a small window. With his sleeve he scrubbed away just enough frost to see down to the street below.

Between them, their mother, Loel, fought her nightly fight with an antiquated crystalline stove, stoking with a metal staff the few anik rocks they had to coax as much of the thermo chemical reaction from within them as possible. They lost three stones the night before, and the five they had left would last but another night, perhaps two at the most. Before the invasion and subsequent occupation, shopkeepers and street merchants sold the common stone by the bag for small profit, but now it was hard to find, hoarded as it was by the Naborn, for no other reason than to be cruel. If her husband, Zor Aettian, and his protector, Major Kel Seret, did not return home soon with more anik, they faced a very cold night huddled together under the blankets just to survive.

They’re never gone this long, said Jat, voicing what all three of them were thinking.

I know, she answered, still working the stones. Once a woman of royalty, her clothes were dirty, her dark hair brittle and unkempt, and her face had lost much of its once-graceful shape to nerves and malnutrition. She took a moment to compose herself before offering a comforting smile like only a mother can; a smile that said there was no need to worry. They’ll be back soon, I’m sure of it. Perhaps this time they found so much they’re having trouble carrying it all back.

Maybe they came across a sack full of food, too, added Wes, trying to help.

More root would be nice, she said. I’m running low.

I’d rather they find something sweet for a change, said Jat.

Maybe a whole trelumfruit pie, said Wes. With a big dollop of sugar ice right in the middle.

They shared a quick laugh and for a moment forgot, but the wind whistled again so as to remind them.

So, how sure are you? asked Jat.

Positive.

Her tone was convincing, at least for Jat. He was still – barely – the age where he believed his father was invincible and was pacified by her confidence. But Wes was just a little more than one-month shy of 20; not much older, but old enough to see his mother was only performing, and as she stared vacantly into the glowing blue stones her smile melted away. Defenses down, her eyes betrayed her and Wes saw the worry.

It had never really struck him before, but it did right then. Up until that night, he still clung to many of the same beliefs that kept Jat from worrying; the kind that told him his father couldn’t die. But deep inside was a growing feeling that ran contrary to those naive notions of his father’s immortality. While part of him struggled to hold on to the comforting thought that nothing could happen, the other half was convinced something already had.

Knowing the brutal conditions outside, it didn’t take much imagination to think of why his father and Kel were late. His father was sick, and it was so cold. Or they could have been robbed, or worse, caught breaking curfew. And for what? A few stones of anik?

In reality, though, Wes had no idea what Zor and Kel were actually doing that night, nor any of those nights when he thought they were scavenging for supplies. His mother did. She knew what her husband was up to and why Wes could not know of it, and this fear Wes saw in her was based on possibilities much more frightening.

2

It really wasn’t all that long ago when their life began to change. Just two-and-a-half years earlier, Zor governed a free Cassia, Tara’s most powerful and prosperous nation for nearly a thousand years. Like all the Aettian Kings that came before him, he governed fairly and, for the most part, effectively. But unlike all his ancestors, including his father and grandfather, his time on the throne was marked by troubles most unlikely, and they were coming to a head.

Cassia had survived countless external challenges and conflicts over the centuries. War with the Empire of Nabor, its neighbor to the west, was a common occurrence, and many times Cassia found itself leading great coalitions to defeat enemies allied against them. Through it all, Cassia never lost. Its people were brave, yet humble, believing in the ancient stories about the Creator’s role in their nation’s birth and giving him credit for their victories, their way of life, and their standing in the world.

During the rule of Zor’s father, King Win, the world found itself at war once more. The Naborn had grown strong and hungry again, and in a foolish quest to expand its borders to Cassia’s north, it attacked the small nation of Kuto Ah – Cassia’s oldest and closest ally. Win responded quickly, and the three-year Kutian War began. Determined to end once-and-for-all the Naborn threat, Win ordered all Cassian military assets be brought to bear like never before, and in the end, Nabor was so utterly defeated its Empire crumbled. Finally, it seemed, peace had a chance to survive. While Nabor was cast into ruin and poverty, Cassia’s wealth grew, and for the first time the people found themselves without an enemy growling at the gate.

When the crown passed to Zor in the year 3682, however, change was already bubbling to the surface. That absence of an outward threat turned the nation’s attention inward and slowly created the most troubling political environment in its history.

The destruction of Nabor and its aftermath were in complete contrast to the happy, safe lives lived by most Cassians. Many came to feel that was wrong, unfair, and the images and stories of devastated cities with starving children were easily used as proof that Cassia had gone too far in its execution of the war. The strings of sympathy played so powerfully that eventually people forgot it was Nabor that started the war and that they left many starving children themselves in Kuto Ah.

That sympathy hatched a movement, one determined to prevent a similar war from ever happening again. Little by little and at first barely noticed, the movement spread and a new belief took hold; a belief that war itself could be forever banished if the weapons that were used to wage it were made no more. Without them, it was claimed, borders could be erased, differences permanently mended, equality for all reached, and a truly united one world forged in their place. It was an aspirational goal aimed at everyone, but with no other nation even half as powerful, the movement eventually became solely focused on Cassia. The general mood of the nation became self-critical, even loathsome of what they had become; and to many of the loudest voices, what they had always been. The Kutian War became just the most recent example of a war-mongering culture built over the centuries, with guilt for all past wars with Nabor flipped and applied to Cassia, despite the evidence of history.

Over time, the movement became like a religion. Celebrities were swept up in it, academia bowed at its altar, and those willing to speak out against it were few. Most people grew timid in their speech, feeling as if their thoughts and words were monitored and measured for approval or scorn by a zealous and loud minority that would not allow ideas contrary to their own. They were going to save the world by changing Cassia; debate would only distract and confuse the masses. There could be no arguing that Cassia’s military power was at fault. Zor tried to speak out against the illogic of it all, using facts to counter the arguments of emotion, but as hard as he tried even a King’s words were not persuasive enough to cut through the smothering box that had been thrown atop the freedoms they had once so cherished.

Under Cassia’s duocratic system of government – part monarchy, part representational republic – the King held all executive power. The Senate, a still fairly young institution compared to the 900-plus year reign of the monarchy, had traditionally been little more than a forum for argument and grandstanding. Still, the majority sentiment had always been supportive of the King and the Cassian system. But the King’s power was not absolute, and that was highlighted in the last few years leading up to the invasion. Once enough Proxies saw they had no choice politically other than supporting the One World movement, Zor began losing battles over military budgets and priorities. Troop readiness fell year over year, as did morale.

Not so coincidentally, this global push for a disarmed, united world became pervasive enough to mask a growing threat. Like a bad dream that just wouldn’t go away, Nabor quietly came back to life. Led by an eloquent new leader named Kyrit Sha’ad, Nabor miraculously pulled itself out of poverty at an incredible pace. Sha’ad positioned himself as a man of the people, embracing the cause of the One Worlders and mesmerizing audiences with lyrical speeches calling for a permanent peace.

Zor believed not a word of it, and in what ways he still could he kept Cassia prepared for war. It had always found a way to rear its ugly face over the centuries, and despite the flowery words being bandied about, he knew it would again. Cassia would be ready, he vowed, and that played right into Sha’ad’s hands.

To those watching, it became obvious: Nabor had had enough of war, while Cassia craved more. Nabor wanted to become a good citizen in a new global community, while Cassia kept troops amassed along the border, finger on the trigger.

The outcry became deafening, and even many of Zor’s strongest supporters fell to its power. High-profile individuals – even one of his own sons – used their influence to spread the One World message and speak out against Cassia’s position. But what they didn’t see – or didn’t want to see – was that each day Cassia grew weaker, Nabor grew stronger. While they called for Cassia to withdraw troops from the border, Nabor deployed them. It may not be long, Sha’ad argued without any apparent dissent, before the world would have to deal with the great Cassian threat if there was to be any hope for peace. One last shot may have to be fired, he predicted, so that no shots would ever be fired again. Bizarre logic, but they believed him.

It had been a battle of public relations, and two-and-a-half years ago Zor knew he had lost. That’s when he made the most unusual decision any Cassian King had ever made.

Day 25/3733

Free Cassia. City of Genus.

It was a meeting unlike any in Cassia’s history. Zor stood in front of the large round window that stretched from floor to ceiling in his office and watched the demonstrations outside the Royal Residence. There were thousands of people chanting and screaming, burning flags and images in effigy, calling for Zor to join with Sha’ad to lead the world into a new age of peace. They were there every day, and their numbers were growing. It was a sight he never thought he’d see, and it spoiled what would otherwise have been a beautiful day.

Behind him, seated in chairs positioned around his desk, were his top military and intelligence advisors. There was not a politician in the room, as he had lost faith in virtually all of them.

Holt Koradan, head of the combined Cassian intelligence services, was just finishing his briefing. If the current Naborn build-up along our frontier border continues at this pace, Sire, they will have the advantage in troops, artillery, even aircraft in little more than a year. To be honest, I have no logical explanation as to how they’ve been able to do it. But the numbers are accurate.

It’s not just about the numbers, added General Briz Abrums, Chief of Military Operations. Morale has flat-lined. The troops hear the news reports and talk with their families. They know what’s being said. When they go on leave, they’re spat at by protestors and shunned by friends. They feel like they’re the enemy, and they can’t figure out why.

Would they fight? asked Zor.

Of course, said Abrums. But not very effectively, I’m afraid.

Admiral Orn Zalpin, Naval Advisor, shook his head. I may have to disagree with General Abrums, Sire. I think the percentage of those who would fail to fight may be unacceptably high. We’ve had 13 desertions from ships at dock in just the past 60 days.

There was a difficult silence for a moment as Zor continued to stare at the view below, holding his hands at the small of his back. Dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit over a shimmering dark blue shirt and with silver white hair short and neat, he still looked fit and energized. Below the surface, though, the past few years had been a heavy burden on his health, stealing his vigor, and at times like this he could feel age catching up with him.

Sire? asked Abrums.

Look at them down there. They seem so convinced that what they’re doing is noble, patriotic even, they’ve become blind to reality. He looked over his shoulder at his advisors, then back to the window. War is coming, gentlemen, and faster than we think, yet I could go out there right now and tell them everything I know, show them all the intel, the satellite images, intercepts, and they wouldn’t believe a word. Not a single word. How has it come to this?

No one could have predicted this, said Flight Admiral Leaf Patney, commander of the Air Corp.

Zor spun around and raised a finger. That’s not true. Jeriko did. He knew it was coming. He warned all of us. He just didn’t realize he was already too late.

He also called for the end of the…

Yes, yes, I remember. Who knows. He may have been right about that, too.

Sire, said Zalpin. Perhaps we should worry less about how we got here, and decide what we’re to do about it.

Zor smiled, nodded his head, and walked back to his desk and sat down. Instead of looking at the four men in front of him, he stared at his well-worn copy of the Holy Scrolls – the ancient words of the Prophet Lamasphadar – that sat on top a stack of reports. He ran his hand across its old leather binding. Even though he knew it word-for-word, he still read it countless times in search of the wisdom he needed right then. You’re absolutely right, Orn. We’re running out of time. We need to make a decision now and act while we still can, and I know exactly what we’re going to do.

He continued. Some time ago, fearing we might reach this point, I asked General Abrums to put together a plan for me under the highest secrecy. He coordinated with several of our best logistical experts, none of them knowing the whole reason for their work, only bits and pieces as needed. He looked at Abrums. Briz, I know you didn’t expect to make a presentation on this today, but please, walk them through it.

Of course. He turned in his chair to face the other three. "This plan is completely off the books, gentlemen. You can count on two fingers the number of people who fully know of it. Ops Designation is Underground. In short, we will sacrifice an all-out defense against any initial Naborn invasion in order to be fully prepared to fight a war of resistance, on our own soil."

The men looked at one another, brows clenched.

Resistance? asked Admiral Zalpin.

Hear me out, Orn. If we respond with all our available forces, we’ll only delay the inevitable. Civilian casualties would be enormous and the military would be left in shambles. With all that Holt shared with us today, I think we’d all agree with that. So, we will instead pull our finest troops off the front lines and place them in hiding. At the same time, under cover of ordinary supply movements, we will secretly divert munitions, communications equipment, food, water, fuel, transports, medical supplies, field weapons, artillery pieces – everything an army of resistance will need – to strategic underground bases and facilities throughout the country. We’re already constructing dozens of these, along with a web of covert communication cells to link them together. We’ve also begun a refit of the old missile depots in the caves in the forest area outside Naji, which will serve as a Central Command Facility.

I’m not sure I’m hearing this right, said Patney. Are we talking about surrender even before the first shot is fired?

Zor leaned forward. It’s living to fight another day when all hope is lost, Admiral. That’s not surrender. It’s survival. He pushed back into his well-padded chair and took a contemplative breath. "Believe me, I’ve prayed long and hard about this and I stand convinced this is the path the Creator has laid out for us. Sha’ad is as clever as they come. He has intended from the very beginning to use the political climate he helped create – that political climate outside – as cover for his plans. The fact that he’s done all this so quickly and easily has even caused me to consider some religious implications, as well. Regardless, it’s obvious there’s nothing I can say or do that will change the ultimate outcome. It pains me to admit it, but for the first time in our history I fear we are doomed to lose."

For what it’s worth, added General Abrums. I concur. Presented with the evidence you’ve seen these past several months, I would think each of you would, as well.

With lowered heads, the three men nodded in agreement.

Abrums continued. "This is our only chance. Sha’ad expects us to meet him on the open battlefield, where he knows he’ll win. What he doesn’t expect is something like Underground. If we have enough time, we’ll have an enormous surprise waiting for him."

The troops that will be pulled back; I assume we’re talking about elites and special forces? asked Koradan.

Of course. The Pantheon brigades will form the backbone, plus other elite units as necessary.

They won’t be happy. They’re not like the rest. They want to fight, and they don’t give a damn what any protestor or politician thinks. To take them out of the game they’ve trained their whole lives for will be a hard pill to swallow.

You’re right, said Abrums. They are a special breed, and that’s what we’re counting on. They will do as ordered precisely because of the breed of soldier they are.

What about a command structure? asked Zalpin.

Zor stood and circled the desk. He never liked to sit for long. When the time is right, each of you will be put in place to take command of sectors of the resistance, as will other officers we select over the next few months. When an attack is imminent, my family and I will be moved to the CCF in Naji. General Abrums will join me there.

How much time will we need? asked Admiral Patney.

A year-and-a-half, maybe two, Abrums answered.

What if they strike before we’re ready?

Abrums looked at his King. Then we’ll be caught with our pants down in more ways than one.

Zalpin shook his head. If the people ever hear of this, there’ll be political hell to pay.

I’m not worried about the politics, Admiral, said Zor, walking back to the window. My only concern is doing whatever we can to ensure the long-term survivability of this nation. If we’re successful and we still have a country when it’s all over with, I’ll face whatever consequences the people want to throw at me.

Koradan got up and joined his King at the window. Still, this will have to remain in the black; the deepest black. If the Nabs get even a whiff – before, during, after – it’s over.

I agree, said Zor. I can’t imagine more than just a few people outside this room who will need to know the full story. Counselor Falshawn, a few within my staff, my family.

Are you… He hesitated.

Am I what, Holt?

Are you sure that’s wise?

What? Zor looked at him. Are you afraid my wife can’t keep a secret?

There was an uncomfortable silence until General Abrums cleared his throat. I don’t think that’s what he’s suggesting.

My staff, then? Falshawn? My chil… He stopped himself and caught the look on the General’s face. My sons?

It would probably be best if they weren’t told.

Zor wasn’t listening. He looked instead through the window at the demonstrators. The wheels in his head turned, and after a moment he knew. It’s Ben, isn’t it? You’re worried about Ben because of those damned demonstrations he took part in.

Koradan nodded.

That was two years ago. Two years. He just got caught up in what he thought people wanted from him.

But Sire, he… started Patney, still sitting at the desk.

Youthful indiscretions, Admiral. I’m sure we were all guilty of a few of those.

I’m sure, Sire, but to do something like this we need…

Zor spun around. And what about Wes? Hmmm? Jat?

Patney looked uncomfortably at Koradan and waited for him to answer. Well, Sire, Wes has…

This is absurd!

I’m sorry, but he has said some things that…

Such as? Zor snapped, his jaw drawn in a defensive position.

Well, for instance, in a recent paper he wrote at university about the Jeriko years he said he agreed with the Proxy that the time of the kings was at its end.

Yes, yes, I know. I read it. You seem to know an awful lot about what my children think and write and say, and I don’t appreciate it.

"But Sire, such thinking could be construed as an argument against you."

Don’t be ridiculous! Wes is a thinker, that’s all.

No one in the room knew Zor better than Briz Abrums, and he quickly spoke up in an effort to ease the sudden tension. I don’t think it’s anyone’s intention here, Sire, to suggest your sons are a security threat, and I apologize for myself… He looked sternly at the others. And my comrades, for having allowed this most important of discussions to drift so far off topic.

It seemed to work.

"Our only point is that they are young, and like any young person – as we can clearly see outside that window – they can be prone to mistakes in judgment, well-intentioned or not. For Underground to be successful, we cannot risk such mistakes. A slip of the tongue to someone in the media, for instance…"

Zor raised his hand. He had heard enough. I understand, gentlemen. I do, and I apologize for my defensiveness.

Briz smiled. That’s what fathers do, Sire.

He thought a minute more. Very well. My wife will have to know some of the details: not all, but some. And my sons… they will know nothing of it.

3

Unfortunately, the Naborn did attack sooner than expected: several months earlier, in fact. Many supply shipments were never made, large caches of weapons were left undelivered, most of the higher-ranking command officers never made it to their positions, and some of the communication cells were incomplete, including the CCF in Naji.

In the confusion, Zor and his family were quickly evacuated from the capital in Genus in an unmarked airship, under the protection of a small squad commanded by a former special forces Major, Kel Seret, but the Naborn military moved swiftly through Cassia. The Aettian’s ship came under attack and crashed just outside Kaiiff, leaving the family of five and Major Seret – the only survivors – stranded inside what quickly became occupied territory, with all routes to Naji blocked.

Once the acting Cassian government capitulated to his demands, Sha’ad began a massive hunt for the Aettians. Fearing capture, they took up hiding in what ended up being the one place Sha’ad never thought to look: in the small, insignificant city of Kaiiff, already teetering on economic collapse just weeks into the occupation. There, virtually right under the nose of the Naborn, the Aettians lived, and Zor’s plan of resistance continued. Lost amongst the beggars of the night and from secret locations throughout the city, King Zor personally directed what he hoped would be the final constructive movements of the rebel war he had planned for, and which he hoped to launch by the next year’s spring. But with each day spent in hiding and most nights spent planning a war, it was a dangerous game of hide-and-seek Zor and Kel played with the Naborn troops patrolling the streets.

Eventually, of course, Zor told Loel everything, and she did her best to keep the secret. That night, far more so than Wes, she knew the real dangers. As clever as they had been, Zor and Kel could very easily have been caught by a surprise patrol doing much more than the scavenging of which they pretended. Her husband and a trusted friend could have been in terrible danger. Worse, Zor could have been discovered for who he really was, placing them in even greater peril. Such a twist of fate would be disastrous for the resistance, quite possibly bringing it to its knees before it ever had the chance to stand and fight. These were all very real possibilities with deadly consequences, and Loel had to deal with them on her own because none of her children knew the truth.

• • •

The tug and pull of emotions within her was both mentally draining and physically painful, leaving her mind a twisted and confused place. As Queen she worried about the strategic implications for the resistance. As a wife she missed her husband. As a mother she continued to keep it all hidden from her children, bottling up all she knew and all she feared and did all she could to keep their bodies warm, their stomachs full and their minds and imaginations occupied. Sometimes she lost track of which role she needed to play. Stress was waging war on her, and it was winning. She had lost much weight, her sleep was erratic, and depression had long ago taken hold of her. But still, she fought.

She chased the what-if scenarios from her mind. Just in case they do find a trelumfruit pie, would you like something to eat before?

As long as it’s not burbur root again, mumbled Jat.

Good. Burbur root it is.

But that’s all we’ve had for a week.

Wes turned from the window. Be grateful we have anything at all. I’ve explained this before, remember?

I know, I know. I’m sorry. That sounds fine.

She smiled. Maybe the weather will break in a few days and something else will turn up. I can make a soup out of it, if that would make it better.

Jat nodded.

Loel leaned closer to the stove, jostled the stones around a bit more and adjusted a loose-fitting dial on its side. The intensity of the glow increased slightly, with enough heat rising to her face to cause her hair to fall in front of her eyes. She pushed it aside with a shaky hand, then stood and moved slowly to the far corner of the room into what might be called a kitchen.

Wes stayed at the window. He looked as far down the street to his left as he could, and then to the right. The whole area around their building remained empty. I wonder why we haven’t seen Teagan tonight? he said.

Why’s that? asked Loel from the kitchen.

I don’t know. It just seems like every time father and Kel are gone for a while, she comes around.

Jat wore a wry smile. I think Wes misses her.

Wes glared back.

Loel pulled out a metal pot and wiped it clean with part of her long skirt. I think you spend too much time talking with her, she said.

"If that’s all they’re doing," cracked Jat again.

Another glare.

I’m not sure I approve, she continued.

What’s there to approve of? We’re just friends.

Jat laughed, then ducked under the blankets when Wes faked a move toward him.

You seem to argue an awful lot when I hear the two of you, said Loel. She’s not a Believer, you know.

Wes looked back outside. Why do you think we argue so much?

Loel peered around the corner. Wes, these are... unusual times for all of us. I understand you want to spend time with people closer to your own age, and I know you’re careful about not letting on as to who you are. And she certainly is pretty...

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Jat laughed again.

She looked at Wes standing there and smiled. Give him a proper cleaning, she thought – which he’d not had in a long time – and a strikingly handsome young man would appear. His light brown hair badly needed cutting, a scruffy beard poked haltingly from his olive skin, and his near six-foot frame was thinner than it should have been for a boy – no, a man – his age, but yes, she thought, he was indeed handsome with many