The Ice Queen: The Tarrassian Saga

By Aria Mossi

On Earth, people refer to her as The Ice Queen. She is the world’s best paid fashion model, her face on every magazine cover, and everybody knows her name. But behind the curtain of fame, her life is lonely, secluded, and the Ice Queen persona keeps everyone at bay to be alone with her dark past. A price she is willing to pay until the day she is taken from Earth by alien slavers, and her life changes forever, the balance of power shifting. Or does it? It turns out Humans, Aliens, Monsters are equally scared of The Ice Queen. They are no match for the defiant coldness that lives inside her heart.  

Until Him. The King of Tarrassia is everything she is not. Wild. Arrogant. Reckless. He thrives on being out of control. There is no escaping his madness, his matting Sign or his passion. Her coldness angers him, her defiance makes him laugh, but he is determined to melt the ice and discover, once and for all, the woman beneath. 

With enemies closing in, both will discover they may be strong separate, but united, the Universe has no match for her Human spirit and his Tarrassian heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781800469778

Aria Mossi

A literature teacher by trade and bookworm at heart, Aria Mossi lives in rural Suffolk. However, her cosmopolitan ethnic background makes her feel as though she were a citizen of the world, including the alien worlds she is so fond of.

Book preview

9781800469778.jpg

Copyright © 2021 Aria Mossi

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Matador

9 Priory Business Park,

Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

Tel: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781800469778

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

In the memory of my two grandmothers and

their never-ending love for storytelling.

"Shelegiel dances,

silently,

upon the house of man,

leaves no trace upon the sleeping land"

Peter Mohrbacher

Angelarium: The Encyclopedia of Angels

Contents

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

EPILOGUE

THE TARRASSIAN SAGA

PROLOGUE

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS EARLIER

The heavy rain hits the small windows as the gloomy London afternoon rolls into an even gloomier evening. The room may be small and dark, but there is no space for gloominess inside. The young mother holds her beautiful newborn daughter. She rocks her gently and the swinging motion of the nursing chair soothes them both. Her other daughter plays on the little woolly rug in front of the fireplace. She is only five years old, but her big grey eyes watch her with a worried look. She knows something is not quite right. She was always too wise for her young age. Mother gives her a bright smile and invites her to come closer. The little girl kneels by the nursing chair and places her head on mother’s knees.

There is no need to be worried, my beautiful flower, I will always live inside your hearts, says the young mother, brushing her fingers through her daughter’s long white hair. Her other daughter, only a few weeks old, opens her grey eyes and squirms in her arms. She is perfect. They both are. She may not have long left with them, but they will be well looked after. Who wouldn’t want to adopt two exceptionally beautiful little girls? There is no need to worry. She can’t let them feel her pain or her worries. She must give them all she has left to give. The memory of her must be one of love and hope. She reaches inside the pocket of her dress to retrieve her beloved brooch.

Careful with the needle, my flower, says mother with a smile.

The little girl moves her fingers gently over the beautiful pearls of the water lily, then places the brooch on top of her little sister’s body.

You will give it to your sister when she is old enough to understand, won’t you, my flower? I know you will keep her safe and I know you will keep my memory alive. My brave flower, says mother with a bright smile.

Tell us the story of the blue water lilies, mother, will you? says the little girl, making herself comfortable by her mother’s legs.

Yes, my beautiful flower. We must always keep the stories alive. And you must do it for your sister when I am gone.

Her daughter nods, and mother closes her big grey eyes with a smile.

Once upon a time in a faraway country we nowadays call Egypt, there was an enchanted oasis. Hidden amongst the golden dunes of the desert, away from prying eyes, this was no ordinary oasis. A mysterious purple mist sheltered the most beautiful image. Bewitching palm trees and tall grasses gently swished in the breeze, surrounding a beautiful lake, as blue as the sky. But this was no ordinary lake. Every night, when the moon was full, magic from the skies would descend upon Earth.

The silver moon would lower a magic ladder made of light, all the way to the beautiful oasis. And each night, the stars would take turns coming down to Earth. As their shimmery forms touched the soft sand of the desert, they would turn into beautiful women. Their long white hair reached their feet and their silver eyes glowed in the moonlight. Their long dresses were made of light and a trail of stardust would powder the sand as they stepped on it. Each night, the beautiful stars would dance around the lake, to a tune known only to them. Their laughter would fill the moon with joy, and she would watch over them until the early hours of the morning. Long before sunrise, the magic ladder made of light would lower and all the stars would climb back to the skies. And so, every night they danced and laughed without a worry in the world. Little did they know, every night they had been watched by an old witch, with only darkness in her heart. She would hide her deformed body in the tall grasses and watch them with eyes full of envy. She knew well how to hide her ugliness in the shadows, as she had been doing so for many years. From the safety of the darkness, she used her evil spells to hurt the people in the nearby city. She loved to see them suffer. It made her happy. And yet, these stars dared show their beauty to her! Why should they have it all? Forever young, unimaginable beauty and outfits made of light, while she never had anything more than rags to hide her ugliness. Each day she would make potions and spells against the stars, and each night they would prove useless. The witch’s magic could not be compared to the magic of the stars. She couldn’t harm them while they were under the protection of the moon. But at sunrise, their magic would perish, and they would be nothing but useless beings. So, the evil witch put all her knowledge into creating the most enchanting music. Its magic entranced the stars as she played it to them. Their feet wouldn’t stop dancing and twirling around the beautiful lake, over and over again. As the night sky got lighter, the moon lowered the magic ladder and called for her children to come home. The stars kept on dancing, enslaved by the magical music. The moon called and called again, until one by one the stars heard their mother’s voice and broke the evil spell. All except for three… They were further away, and as the witch played her music louder and louder, they couldn’t hear the moon’s voice. The magic ladder went up and the skies turned pink as the sun opened its eyes. The beautiful stars didn’t even notice the bright morning light touching their flawless skin, taking its shimmer away. The evil witch came out from her hiding place and touched them with her magic stick. She took all their youth and beauty and gave them her ugliness. Their long white hair turned dull and tangled, their skin faded into wrinkles and the light died inside their eyes. And yet, they wouldn’t stop dancing, the magic music playing inside their minds without the witch’s help.

Many years had passed, and the old witch had become one of the most beloved ladies in the city by the river. Long forgotten were her evil spells and her wish to hurt the people. Her unimaginable beauty had brought her fame, riches, and many smiled at the sight of her. She didn’t have to hide; she didn’t have to repay evil with evil anymore. As the years passed, her heart softened, and the darkness was gone. She understood she was never evil, just hurt, scared and unloved. Each night, she would remember the stars she cursed to dance forever, until the memory of it took her happiness way. She had to do something, even if it meant using magic one more time, or losing her beauty and youth. She travelled to the hidden oasis and there, under the moonlight, she saw them. Three old women in rags, dancing around the lake. Only bare bones left of their feet and only shadows left of their silver eyes.

Her heart cried for them. She had to find a way to give them peace. But how? Magic couldn’t turn them back into stars. Magic can only take, it cannot give. Only love can give. So, she used all the love in her heart to cast one last spell. She turned them into flowers and placed them on their beloved lake. They would close their star-shaped petals under the moonlight to forget their pain and open them under the sunlight. And this is how the blue water lilies of Egypt were born. From the magic of the skies and the magic of the Earth bound together by a spell of love. The beautiful NYMPHAEA CAERULEA.

1

TARS

Pure frustration, aggression and whatever other things a King shouldn’t be feeling plague my sanity. I’d rather be charging like this through an army of vicious Noorranni, taking their filthy heads off. Instead, I’m charging through the gleaming corridors of the Royal Ship Levianha, on my way to meet the Royal Council. Levianha is the jewel in my Royal Fleet and the envy of the Galactic Empire. Despite all that, in the last six orbit rotations, since I became King, I have managed to avoid them all. I’d rather be on one of my warships and I’d rather meet with my Warriors. Thank the Astrals for the wars and all the lowlife scum to kill in the universe. Best excuse to stay away from king duties.

Whatever happened to all our enemies? Why is there no one left to kill? I boom over my shoulder at my High General.

You killed most and drove the rest into hiding, my King, comes the answer in the usual controlled and diplomatic voice of my kingdom’s highest general. Even on a good span, Larrssian’s platitude and controlled behaviour are hard to stomach. Today is not a good span. And for the love of the Astrals, why is he walking so slowly? I need to get this done and go kill someone. Or fuck someone. Whichever I can get first.

Speak, High General! I growl at him as I keep walking towards the Royal Council Cave. Why is this ship so big? Why do we have to impress anyone in this entire universe? We rule it anyway. I rule it!

Please, Tars, comes the unexpected answer. Enough to make me slow down my pace. Tarrassians save the use of our given names for our most intimate moments and for our most treasured people. Otherwise, we address each other by our role in Tarrassian society. For him to use my name it has to be important. Not even my full given name. He calls me Tarsmiamin when he wants to tell me off for my reckless behaviour. And as one of my two oldest friends, he can do that without losing his tongue. But Tars? He hasn’t called me that in a while. He looks troubled or tired or… Hard to tell with the constant mask of platitudes and control on his face. I could read more on Tannon’s face, despite being covered in scars and the facial fur he couldn’t be bothered to trim.

Say your piece, High General, I say, refusing to address him by name.

This is your first official gathering with the entire Royal Council attending and…

What? I stop suddenly in my tracks, nearly bumping into him. Why are all of the boring old ruccusses attending? Don’t they have anything better to do? Like run the kingdom or something?

Larrs lets out a short sigh, as if to calm himself. Stupid of course, as he is always calm and in control. He is even in control when in battle shape. No Tarrassian is ever in control in battle shape.

You are the one meant to run the kingdom, and don’t call them old ruccusses to their faces, he says, once again with a tired look.

I refrain from saying it might be an impossible task and I ask the one thing that bothers me most.

Why a Royal Council meeting here? On board the Royal Levianha? Why in space and why not back on Tarrassia? Since when do they met in deep space, the old ruccusses?

Apparently, I had more than one question.

It’s an urgent Council, my King, and there is a very valid reason for meeting on the Levianha. It will all be revealed by your High Elder shortly.

He pauses with what looks like a troubled frown on his stony face, then carries on looking me in the eyes with a silent plea.

As a race of Warriors, Tarrassians can only follow and respect the King who proves himself in battle. However, in times of sorrow and despair, they need a king, not a warrior. Our great race has millions… the frown deepens for the sad reminder of our reality, while he corrects himself, thousands of great Warriors, but only one King. Despite your differences, your father was a great king. In the name of your parents’ memory, in the name of the Astrals and in the name of our friendship, I am asking you to walk into that Cave as a King and not as a Warrior.

My parents are dead, the Astrals and their ridiculous Sign are long forgotten. However, I do treasure your friendship, I summarised, before walking through the mirrored metal doors separating The Old Ways from the new ones.

Despite being one of the most technologically advanced races amongst the stars, we are as stuck in our old ways as it gets. While trying to stay away from Tarrassia and royal prince duties, I met enough races to know that knowledge and technology meant leaving the old ways behind. Not for us though. We are one of the most puritanical societies in the universe. There are only a few other races living on Tarrassia. And even though treated with enough consideration, they are never allowed to mix with us, or to breed amongst themselves. In time, Tarrassia gathered a considerable number of low servants from other races. Not slaves. Never slaves. We combed the Seven Stars and beyond to wipe out the pest of the slavers. All our servants are former freed slaves. They stayed with us because they had no home to go to anymore, or simply because they were grateful. Our morals are as strong as our skills in battle. As the universe’s strongest and purest race, it is our duty to protect the weak. Some of the races we saved from extinction consider us their gods. They built funny-shaped domes in our honour and prayed all day. As long as their females keep showing gratitude, I couldn’t care less what they were building, or what they were worshipping.

The Royal Council Cave inside Levianha was built to look like every other Council Cave back on Tarrassia, just on a smaller scale. Our Great Ancestors were born in the sacred Caves of Tarrassia, from the Spark of the Astrals and the Circle Nebula. Nowadays, we lived in luxurious homes built to please the senses. However, the most important rituals or decisions were still happening in the Sacred Caves. It is hard to imagine, that outside the dark, gloomy walls of this Cave, there is one of the most technologically advanced ships in the universe. The large oval room is lined with hundreds of torches, shooting out of the walls, dripping the sizzling gaarr oil to the uneven hard floor. In between the torches, the walls have been decorated with sparkling carvings of the long-forgotten Sign of the Astrals. My Council of ruccusses– because that’s exactly what they are, despite my General’s opinion – are gathered around the large table, carved from the same hard rock. All fourteen of them, plus the two Low Generals and the High Commander of the Royal Ship. What are they up to? They all look as formal as ever, wearing nothing other than the traditional Kannicloth low on the waist and the Swords of the Astrals. There is no room for shinny armour or fancy clothes inside the Caves. Which is really the only reason why I like the Caves. At least no one gives me the look for walking around wearing the traditional Kannicloth and nothing else. Not that I care. I am the King. I wear what I please. Besides, my temper makes my War Beast come to life every so often. I can’t really keep tearing through clothes. As I am about to say something to shock the seriousness out of them, I remember my promise to my friend. So, instead, I solemnly initiate our traditional salute. I take a fist to my left silent heart. They all reply with the same salute then bow their heads to me. I take a seat first, then the Elders, then my Warriors in order of age and rank. So many boring rules. Just because I’m the son of the perfect king, it doesn’t mean I have to remember them. As I wonder what to do next, the Elder of the Healers stands and opens his personal hollocom device, shaped like the great leaf of the Marni trees. The symbol of his House. The Elder was a great friend to my father. And as far as Elders go, he is probably the least annoying. I feel quite relieved he is the one doing the talking. He runs his claws through his white facial fur, trimmed close to his face unlike some of the other Elders. Their facial fur is longer, reaching their furry abdomens. I try to suppress an unwanted grin as I imagine Tannon’s wild unkempt fur at that old age.

My King, my Elders, my Warriors, I called the Royal Council gathering to discuss the future of Tarrassia, he says with a grim face, and a dark platinum-ore colour takes over his shiny eyes. This time I can’t suppress a growl. This is going to be long. I should have definitely stopped on one of the Yellow Planets to fuck a female. Or maybe two. And most definitely should have killed someone or something before coming here.

This is going to be quick, as urgent action is required, says the Elder, almost as if he can hear my thoughts. I know he can’t, because mind reading is not allowed inside the Sacred Caves. Tarrassians are going to be a thing of the past in no longer than 200 orbit rotations, he adds with a sigh.

A deadly silence descends over the room and I look at my High General. Unlike the other Elders, he seems to know what is going on. My Royal Ship’s High Commander, too. Oh, and my other two Generals are definitely in on it. Maybe I can kill someone here and now, after all.

Get on with it, First Healer, I snap, ignoring the silent warning coming from Larrs.

The Elder doesn’t even look at me. Keeps staring at the holographic leaf, as if he can see something we cannot.

It is no secret the numbers of our great race are falling with every generation. There are hardly any cubs born in our beautiful High City, towns and villages. The sound of happy cubs is dying around us. Most mated pairs have not been able to produce cubs, and there is no record of any pair producing more than one.

He stops and gives a quick glance around. The silence is as sharp as the blade of my Astral Sword. The Healing Elder has spoken of the unspoken. Even though we all noticed, no Tarrassian ever talks about it.

He takes a deep breath and continues.

The Wise King, he says, reminding me of my father and of everything I am not, trusted me with an important mission many rotations ago. I have relentlessly researched and fought to bring answers to my King and Council and to save our society. On this rotation of our great sun, I present you with the findings of my research. It is perhaps sooner than I expected, but the timing was pushed forward as the solution was brought to my attention.

He raises his pale, translucent hand and opens the hollocom. Thousands of images start to move fast through the air, but not fast enough for our advanced intelligence.

Hundreds of subjects have been tested, as well as a long and laborious study of other races with similar problems. Soon enough, a few important facts showed themselves. As the universe hardened and became a more challenging place for life, in many races fewer females were born. Some races have become male only, and artificial cloning devices are all that’s keeping them from extinction.

Somehow, what he is saying is very upsetting to me. I don’t like my people compared to others. We are superior to all other beings.

Our females are strong, they are not giving up to the hardships of the universe, First Healer. We have just as many female cubs as males. Your findings are wrong.

I refuse to look at Larrs. I am the King. I say whatever I please.

A very good observation, my King, says the Elder, quite unexpectedly. It was the part that didn’t match the other findings. Despite our low number of births, there is an equal number of female and male cubs being born. We are not affected by the harshness of the New World. We are not affected by the new viruses sweeping through the galaxies, we are not affected by weakness.

As he speaks, I can feel myself growing out of my skin with pride for my people. Maybe our Astrals are long gone but that is fine, because we are the only Gods we need. Then, his next words fill me with rage.

We are being killed by our immense arrogance and pride. For as long as we were sentient, we considered ourselves better than all other beings, we refused to mate for procreation with other races, and what is more, we refused to mix in between clans and castes. In time, our blood has thinned and our genetic code has weakened. There is no strength left in us to give birth to new generations of cubs. We are exterminating ourselves, he ends.

This is an outrageous finding and I contest it, says the Elder of the Caves. And despite him being my least favourite member of the Council, I have to agree.

Outrageous and offensive, I say, hoping that will be the end of the nonsense. I am itching to leave this Cave.

The Healing Elder rises again undeterred.

I am not here to challenge or to force change. I am here to offer you my findings and the solution. We need new blood to strengthen our line. We need new breeders to create new, stronger cubs.

And how is that going to work? I challenge the fool. We are the strongest race in this entire universe. We are feared and worshipped as gods. How is the blood of the weaker beings going to strengthen ours?

Most of the Elders take a fist to their silent heart as a sign of support for my statement. Of course, they do. My statements are never wrong. I am always right. I am the King. And I so desperately need to leave this vexing Cave.

What weakens the blood is orbit rotations of inbreeding. Not weaker beings, says the Healing Elder. I stand before you today with the problem and the solution. The fate of our race is in your hands.

And what is the solution, First Healer? I boom, making the cave rattle. Send my Warriors out in the galaxy to spread their precious seed amongst weaklings? Bring the cubs back to be raised as ours? Oh, I know! Shall I go grab some females from the Yellow Planets, bring them round for a dark span meal at your house?

As I finish talking, I can hear my Low Generals, as well as my High Commander, trying to fight laughter. I can also see Larrs shaking his head at my outburst.

The Elder, however, is unstoppable in his mission.

That will not work well. We are a race of honour and high morals.

As he says that, Larrs makes a huffing noise, while grinning at me. I return the favour and expose my fangs at him.

We will not have breeding pleasurers as cub vessels. We will take mates and we will mate them in front of our Astrals and we will honour the tradition of our Mating Sign, says the Elder, while looking at the patterns on the walls with longing eyes.

Your Astrals and the Mating Sign, are all gone! Stories for cubs and silly young females to believe, I tell him, and I don’t care who gets offended.

That may be so, my King, replies the Elder, but unless we do something to change our ways, all the Tarrassians will be nothing more than legends soon.

I rise to my feet and smash my fists onto the rock of the table so hard, little sparks of glowing electricity fly into the air.

Change our ways? I yell at all of them, feeling the War Beast taking over and making my huge frame grow bigger.

I have spent a life span watching our ‘perfect society’ treat my cousin like a feral being. Most, if not all, think Tannon is not even sentient. All because he is Tarrassia’s first and only half-breed. He is only good to win our wars and terrify our enemies. Do you think I will let any other cubs be treated like that?

I finish with a defiant look to my High General. To the pits of fire with all his pacifying nonsense. To my surprise there is a trace of a smile on his stony face and… pride?

The story of the Great Warrior is a dark page in the scroll of Tarrassian history, says the eldest of our Elders. Nobody can even remember the age of the Elder of the Spark Mountains. His authority is not questioned by anyone in our society. And not only because of his age, knowledge or title. He is the last Tarrassian alive to have seen the Sign of the Astrals or hear the beating of our second heart. The silent left heart. The one awakened by the Sign. His grandparents were the last Tarrassians blessed with that. Personally, I have my doubts. I am smart enough to know sentient beings need legends and hopes to push them forward. The Elders are also smart. So, yes, I do have my doubts. However, because of his blessed ancestry, the Elder of the Spark Mountains is the most revered Tarrassian. He has to give his blessing to every new mated pair on our planet. Hoping his touch would bring back the Marks, the Sign or awaken the silent heart. Honestly, that is a lot of stuff to bring to life. I would really expect more Tarrassians to question this nonsense. However, I am the King and I can question anything I please. The platinum ore in my eyes ignites, sending him a silent warning. No one hurts Tannon. Not in my presence.

The Great Warrior, he continues with a strong, stubborn voice, was not responsible for his parents’ actions.

I would choose my words very wisely, Elder of the Spark Mountains, says Larrs unexpectedly. Or maybe not so much. There is a reason why he is Tarrassia’s High General and my closest friend. Despite his annoying face, of course.

I only speak the truth, High General, replies the Elder. Yes, it was unfortunate what happened to the Great Warrior. Despite that, he was allowed to keep his Tarrassian mother’s title and the fortune of the family as the only offspring. It is entirely his choice if he chooses to keep an empty palace for servants to live in while he spills the blood of our enemies across the universe.

And stay on the Mother Planet for what? I more or less spit my angry words out. For every Tarrassian to stare at him? For our females to scurry away when they lay eyes on him? How is that going to be any different for a new half-breed?

That, my King, is a question for a different Elder, he ends, and sits again.

As if on cue, the Healing Elder stands, obviously annoyed with the delay.

I don’t need to recall the tragic story of our High Lady Oria, he says cautiously. The mother of the Great Warrior was not a willing participant in the breeding process. She was just the victim of the mating season rage of a former slave. We have all failed our precious female, while trying to be honourable and offer shelter on our planet to a half-sentient being. As sad as the Great Warrior’s birth story is, it was the foundation for my research. According to everything our advanced science has taught us, the Tarrassians shouldn’t even be able to create a cub with a different race. If it happened with such a lesser being, he says quickly, trying to avoid my angry eyes, it can only mean we must be compatible with others in the universe. Sadly, years of painful research has led to… nothing.

Isn’t that great? I say mockingly. However, the Elder carries on talking and I have to remember my promise to Larrs, to stop myself from removing his head.

We were never quite able to determine the home planet of the Great Warrior’s father. We still don’t know where the slavers had got him from. All we know is the creature had been used in the slavers’ fighting pits since he was a cub. And it is not important to find out, because we wouldn’t use such genetic material to rebuild our great race.

I watch my huge fists squeezing into the hard rock. I can see Larrs’ doing the same. The Elder carries on, unimpressed by the spectacle of pure force. I have to give him respect for that. Most, if not all, cower to me.

It’s just frustrating that all the other genetic code I have tested is not compatible with ours. We don’t seem compatible with other species.

Obviously not an issue for the King, mutters Larrs, and there is laughter around the Cave.

No need to get upset with him. Quite happy with my performance on the Yellow Planets. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the Elder has in mind. After what happened to Tannon’s mother, I was very careful not to spill a single drop of my precious seed into lesser beings. Good to know it wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Until now, he adds unexpectedly,