Kidnapped By the Alien Prince by Tori Kellett
Chapter Fourteen
Zak made sure Callie was safely buckled into her straps as they sat in the small shuttle N’ameth was piloting to take them to the mining camp. He hadn’t spent a lot of time here over the last couple of months as Maylesh had gotten sicker and they knew this time she wouldn’t be getting better. Guilt pulled at his insides. They had never had a love match, and she had been so sick for so long he’d never really gotten to know her. She’d never even moved into their suite. She’d gotten pregnant nearly right away, and that had been it. The last time they had lain together.
He’d even asked her once why she didn’t share his rooms, and she had been silent for so long he didn’t think she was going to reply. Then she had told him it was because she had loved another.
Zak had been speechless. For a second, anger had bubbled up. White-hot rage had set his skin alight, but then he had stopped and listened. Her lover had been a warrior. One who had died six cycles after Zak and Maylesh had mated. He had been one of her personal guards, but because she had been promised to the First Prince, there had been nothing they could have done. It would have been a death sentence to lie with the future queen if anyone had found out. She only risked telling him now because she wanted him to find his own happiness, if that was ever possible, and the guard was dead. Zak couldn’t hurt him.
It made sense, though. Even when she was feeling better, once Kaleth was conceived, she never welcomed Zak near her again. He had thought it was because she was fragile, for cycles concerned he would hurt her even if it were unintentional, so he had never pressed the issue.
And Zak had felt for her. Wished that her life had been better and glad her guard had been able to bring her comfort when he was unable.
“Zak?”
Zak was brought out of his memories by a gentle voice, and he focused on Callie. He smiled.
“Tell me about the camp. How does it work?”
“I am ashamed to say the workers start at eleven cycles.” Because he knew what she was asking.
“About fifteen in human years?”
He nodded. “But there is an overseer, Xar’ta. He has worked there for a long time and does his best to keep the workers safe, despite what my sire ordered him to do. They work in two shifts, which was his idea. They used to just work through the daylight, but fewer men at a time are easier to supervise. It also means he can safely care for the younger ones. He puts them with the most experienced men. It’s safer all around.”
Zak shook his head, knowing he was clutching at excuses. “If we didn’t have the mines, the people would starve.” It seemed important for Callie to know that.
“Is Xar’ta expecting you?”
Zak shook his head. “I thought—” But he quieted. What had he thought? A visit from the king unannounced caused all sorts of problems, so why had he done it? He’d missed the last month because of Maylesh, and the visit the month before, his sire had refused to allow him at first, but then agreed. Xar’ta had been his usual efficient self. Zak had met the workers as much as he could, and he had to be really careful. If Xar’ta complained to his sire that Zak was spending too long in his inspections, his sire would simply have stopped him going. Anything that might interfere with the production of the crystal was frowned upon. It had been Zak himself who had started the visits. He had persuaded his sire that if the settlements were confident in the working conditions, they shouldn’t have any difficulties getting men.
There was something though. Something he wasn’t happy with, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He glanced at Callie. She looked paler than normal, and he had woken on his own that daylight, which was unusual. He had found her on the balcony watching the sun rising above the Duran mountains. She had said she had woken early and wanted to see the sun come up. She seemed okay. Maybe he would ask Azlaan to look at her when they got back. Zak had secretly wanted her to come back to bed, but they needed an early start.
N’ameth turned from the controls and grinned. “Be there in five.” Callie clutched Zak’s hand as the shuttle turned.
“We are safe, my Callie,” he assured her, and she laughed but seemed nervous. He caught N’ameth’s eye and willed him to slow. In a few moments, they were on the ground, and Zak unclasped Callie’s belt and they stood.
The door opened, and the ramp lowered. It was the very basic model. N’ameth had elected to come in the regular shuttle, which struck Zak as odd for the first time. Why wouldn’t he have come in the better one with Callie in here? This was usually for transporting crystals only, although if they were going for inconspicuous, no one would have given it a second look as it landed.
He glanced at his brother. “What is it?”
N’ameth looked over. “You tell me.”
He waved off that cryptic comment. It was a shift change. The dark shift would have come in for breakfast, and the daylight wouldn’t go out for another hour. Zak knew Xar’ta used this time for all his most experienced men to meet and share any problems.
He walked into the camp with Callie on his arm, making sure to measure his strides to hers. Voren and H’adaar flanked them. Lam’saak and D’estaan walked with N’ameth, and another two, Starza and R’orsch, walked behind them. Two other warriors were left with the ship.
“Zak,” Callie whispered, anxiety clear in her voice, and Zak followed her gaze. There was an area in the middle of the clearing Zak had never seen before. At least twenty, thirty men lay asleep on rough blankets—no, sacking—the type they used to line the village dwellings when they needed them built.
As his gaze focused, he saw the injuries on the nearest ones. The torn and filthy clothes, the blood-soaked rags. His breath caught as, with a soft noise, Callie bent down to a—Zak gulped—to a male who had what was left of his left leg wrapped in a filthy rag.
For a moment, there was complete silence as Zak, N’ameth, and the others all stared in utter disbelief. Then a cry went up, and one of the larger-dwelling doors opened and first a male, who Zak knew to be one of the supervisors, came out followed by Xar’ta. He stumbled slightly as he saw Zak but then bowed.
“First Prince, we are honored by your visit.”
“His Highness King Zakaarir,” Voren interrupted before Zak had a chance to correct him, and Zak watched as the male paled, and every ridge on Zak’s plates seemed to tighten as his skin prickled underneath them.
“I wasn’t informed there had been an accident. We received no request for medical supplies,” Zak said.
Xar’ta started blustering. “There was a minor cave-in yesterday. No major injuries.” Zak simply gestured to the male with the missing leg, and Xar’ta sighed. “A previous injury, sire. He breaks the crystals up. He doesn’t go into the mine obviously.”
Zak glanced at N’ameth. “Get Azlaan here. Tell him he needs help, and instruct him to bring medical supplies and transport for at least thirty Ishtaans.”
He glanced down and saw Callie was murmuring gently to an old male in the next pallet to the injured one. She was holding his hand, and there were tears running down the male’s gaunt face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to understand a word she said, but the comforting touch seemed to be enough.
Zak turned to Xar’ta, letting the disgust show on his face. “I want to see everything. Every building, every store. Then the mines themselves.”
Xar’ta started sniveling. “I’ve done my best, Your Highness. I was acting on the king’s orders. I had no choice but to obey his every whim. He would have had me killed.”
Which was true, and Zak tried to calm himself down. He knew—absolutely knew—that Xar’ta obviously had instructions to hide the true state of the camp from Zak, which was ultimately Zak’s fault for not digging deeper. Xar’ta was just obeying orders.
They started at the nearest huts. There were some workers still asleep, but these—even though dirty—were uninjured. Then he saw the stores. Zak tried his very best not to be violently ill when he saw the Kare’kash rodents crawling all over the threadbare sacks that moldy grain was spilling out of. Their droppings were poisonous. There was nothing else. He wasn’t expecting fresh food, but he expected the black nutrient bars to be here. “Where are the rest?”
Xar’ta shook his head. “My king said fresh ingredients were better, but—” He waved a hand at what the king had obviously considered “fresh.”
Zak stood for a moment, a deep shame rolling over him. This was his fault. He had allowed this.
“There was nothing you could do,” N’ameth said quietly as if plucking the accusation from his brain. “He would have stopped the visits, and at least this way you could do some good.”
But not enough. “Burn it,” Zak snapped and whirled around. As he let himself out into the sunlight, he saw the bigger shuttle just landing and for a moment watched Callie as she walked from blanket to blanket, laying a gentle hand on the shoulders of men trying to get to their feet, Voren by her side with his hand on his weapon. Knowing she was in good hands, he glanced over at some dwellings on the far side of the camp. They were all closed up.
“Closed for the Dry, Highness,” Xar’ta explained. “It is safer to have these injured here where we can best tend them.”
Except they weren’t even under shelter. The midday sun would be brutal. He glanced at H’adaar. “Go inspect them. I want workers brought here to construct better living accommodation. See if you can save anything.”
H’adaar thumped his chest in acknowledgment.
“Wait,” Xar’ta rushed to stop him. “We have had sickness in there. I am not sure it is safe yet. We were awaiting supplies to cleanse everything.”
Zak glanced at Xar’ta. It sounded reasonable, but as he watched, a bead of sweat trickle from his hairline, and he brushed it away. His hands were clean, his bare arms strong and well-muscled. His plates seemed tended, oiled, and his weapons belt barely tied around what would have been a waist at some point. Whatever he was feeding the men clearly wasn’t staining Xar’ta’s lips. He looked at D’estaan.
“Secure him.”
D’estaan reacted immediately and subdued Xar’ta’s shocked protest by a boot to the back of the neck once he was on the floor. Zak didn’t wait to see any more, and he tuned out the cries as another five guards were similarly lined up. They had obviously thought to go for their weapons, and D’estaan and his men had persuaded them otherwise.
“Highness, please.” H’adaar stopped him as he put a hand to the door. “I beg you, let me.”
Zak shook his head. He was done making excuses. These were his people, and while his hands had been tied before, they no longer were. He pushed open the door. Even though it was locked, it offered little resistance to his strength. H’adaar followed him, and for the second time in a matter of moments, horror stole his words.
Young.
Filthy, gagged, and he would imagine starving. At least seven of them all huddled, chained together, and clearly frightened out of their wits. “Get Callie and the medics,” he ordered and took a step slowly. He knew he was scaring them even more, but he eased the gag down of the nearest and broke his chains and carried on for each boy. “My name is King Zakaarir. I am here to right all the wrongs done to you. I’m going to untie each one of you. Please don’t be afraid. You will suffer no harm.”
He heard the sound of derision from the first boy and glanced back. “I speak the truth.”
“You always lie,” the boy spat out hoarsely, his throat clearly dry. “You’re all the same.”
He heard the sound of distress at the doorway and spotted Callie, Voren, and Azlaan. “It’s a female,” another boy said in utter wonder. He knew Callie wouldn’t be able to understand them, but before he could explain, she hunkered down to the nearest. He looked barely four cycles.
“Hello, my name’s Callie.” And she smiled, except Callie spoke in Ishtaan. The little boy took one look at her and burst into tears, launching himself at her, crying inconsolably until he suddenly went limp in her arms.
“What is it?” Callie asked, alarm in her voice. Azlaan left the other boys and came right over. “He passed out. Shock. They’re all badly dehydrated and malnourished. I can’t see any major injuries.”
“Search the whole place,” Zak ordered. “Get these boys back to the palace and the healing area. We’ll try and work out where they are from and arrange for them to go home.”
He turned, only to be met by the boy who had dared to challenge him, even if he thought it would have likely brought his death.
“What about the others?”
Zak frowned and dropped lower so he was less intimidating. “There are others? Show me.”
But the boy stayed where he was. “They cannot be helped. Cash’ta died in the Wet when the mine flooded. Rashtain tried to run, but he was caught. They lie far away.”
Zak swallowed down the sickness that roiled in his gut. “They are buried.”
The boy shrugged. “There is an area P’anchta uses. No one was allowed near. He took them there.”
“And who is P’anchta?” Zak said very quietly. Quietly because he was clutching the slim thread barely leashing his anger.
“He is a supervisor. He liked to frighten the younger ones.” Zak could just imagine. But even more heartbreaking, this boy—younger than Kaleth—didn’t count himself as little.
“Did any of the men help you?”
He shrugged. “The workers tried, but they would be whipped. Zimtash tried to save us food. He was caught.”
“Killed?”
The boy shook his head. “He was made to serve the supervisors. Anyone that pleased Xar’ta. He was a reward.”
Zak glanced to the pallets. “Can you point him out to me?”
“He is in Xar’ta’s dwelling. I haven’t seen him for weeks.”
Zak nodded and stood. “I promise Rashtain and Cash’ta’s bodies will be returned to their families, as will you all.” He glanced at Callie. The little one of four cycles had woken and was clinging to her in terror. She sat rocking him, his little head curled into her neck while Azlaan quickly examined him. Healers were distributing water and getting ready to move them. The trouble was triage. Everything in him pulled to get the young ones back first, but some of the injured men might need more urgent treatment. He glanced down at the boy. “What is your name?”
Blue eyes so like his own stared back. “Il’yaa.”
“Queen Calista will need help. She isn’t Ishtaan, and you don’t have a language translator fitted. The healers can translate, but the boys may not trust them.”
Il’yaa drew himself up. “I can help, my king.”
Zak nodded, called H’adaar to him, and stepped outside. He took a breath of clean air, then walked back to where D’estaan still held Xar’ta tied up, and five other men all knelt on the ground, guarded by R’orsch.
He looked over them. “Who is P’anchta?”
All the men looked up when he spoke, except the one he’d seen exit Xar’ta’s dwelling as they had arrived. He nodded to D’estaan, and D’estaan dragged him to his feet.
Zak walked around the shaking male in a circle as if he were examining him. He similarly wasn’t suffering from a poor diet. He had also cleansed recently, if not recently enough for Zak’s taste. “You are P’anchta? It will be worse for you if you lie.”
P’anchta cowered like all bullies once someone bigger and stronger threatened them. “Yes, my k—” But he never finished the word as Zak reached for his dagger and slit the vescht’s throat before he got the chance. He wiped his blade on the semi-clean shirt P’anchta wore and stepped over his body, focusing on the male he held responsible for everything.
“Xar’ta?”
The pathetic male looked up, terror clear in his eyes. “Perhaps we can go into your dwelling and discuss your treatment of the young.”
Xar’ta started shaking. “I had no choice. P’anchta said he would keep them away from the men for protection.” He clutched to his excuse as if he thought it offered a lifeline. “They are fiends. They would think nothing of using the young to satisfy their base urges, and I could not be seen to be favoring them. My king had quotas I was expected to fill.”
Zak nodded as if his explanation had been reasonable. He waved at the dwelling, and D’estaan dragged him to his feet. “I think we shall discuss it inside.”
Xar’ta quite clearly panicked, saying his dwelling wasn’t fit for the king and that surely he didn’t have the time, but Zak ignored his nonsense and strode to the dwelling. Xar’ta lunged after him in a desperate attempt to stop him, only to be stopped again by D’estaan, who once more drove him to his knees.
Zak took a breath, half-afraid at what he might see, and opened the door. He stood and stared, for the second time anger nearly robbing him of the oxygen required to speak, but this time for a different reason.
The explosion of opulence made him want to vomit more than the injuries and the starving young. M’apeth silks were draped over large cushions that lined the floor. Tables holding carafes of what looked like Aegian brandy and D’arsten wine. Nutrient bars by the dozens, carefully wrapped in sealed containers, were lined up against one wall. His eye caught something glinting in the corner, and he stepped up to it. He pulled at the silk that was draped over the cage, and Zak’s breath caught.
He whirled around and shouted to H’adaar, “Fetch me Azlaan immediately,” and then he hurried back to the cage to tend the young Ishtaan lying trapped inside on a pool of his own blood.
