Freed By the Alien Prince by Tori Kellett
Chapter Fourteen
N’ameth’s shuttle still hadn’t returned when Sascha crept back to the camp. She didn’t have the heart to talk to anyone, so she decided to try and rest, but she shied away from the cabin she shared with Brey and Rachel and ducked into one of the empty ones. They always had spare sacking and rugs. She could manage. She debated trying to see if Voren could get in touch with N’ameth for her, but she’d seen his face and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to ask him.
It couldn’t have been much later when voices woke her. Not that she’d been deeply asleep—it was too hot—but they were distinct enough to bring her out of her doze.
“I am waiting for the signal.”
“And the female?”
“The female is none of your concern.”
She didn’t hear the reply or anything else, but she sat up, wondering why two warriors were talking behind the cabin. They weren’t loud enough to recognize, so she dismissed it. She was hungry and hoped N’ameth had returned.
She let herself out of the cabin and immediately noticed the guards standing by the door and wondered if it had been them she had heard, although she knew Starza and nodded hello as he followed her to the fire where Brey was talking to one of the N’olaan women. Would Brey still be upset with her?
But Brey smiled and introduced her to Mara. “This is Mara, mate to Inshtar.”
Sascha accepted the glass of gava juice with some relief and said hello. She noticed the stern-looking warriors dotted around the camp, all holding blasters. She looked at Brey. “No sign of Xar’ta?”
Brey shook her head. “The warriors are being vigilant.”
Mara cackled and patted the wicked-looking knife hung at her hip. In most respects, Mara looked like a human female with one exception, she had no hair. And not just on her head—no eyebrows or lashes either. She was also quite a lot taller than Sascha, but then most people were. And taller just for a tall human, not some seven-foot silver giant. “I can protect.”
“Is your mate one of the miners?” Sascha said, and Mara smiled.
“No. He is Kept.”
Sascha blinked. She wanted to repeat the word “kept” as a question, but it sounded insulting. “N’olaan has three separate classes,” Brey explained. “They have the Defenders a warrior class similar to ours. Then there are the Adept, the N’olaans who aspire to politics, commerce, and trade. They are also the musicians and the artists. The last group is the Kept. These are the treasured ones.”
Treasured didn’t sound bad, she guessed. “What was Senator Vashti?”
Mara spat, “Oath breaker.”
Sascha agreed.
“He was an Adept,” Brey said. “Mara is a Defender, but she also happens to be an explosives expert. She and Inshtar have decided to relocate here for six months.”
“You will join us for tea,” Mara said, not as a question, and as if he had been waiting for a signal, a smaller—much smaller—male version of Mara appeared from their cabin. He was mostly naked, his groin area covered with a small cloth that left nothing to the imagination. He carried a tray with three small shot glasses and a jug. Mara made a clicking noise in the back of her throat, and the male put the tray down on an upturned crate sitting between them and went to stand in front of her.
“You honor me,” Mara said, and that’s when Sascha noticed the tail.
Long, thick, and extending at least six feet from Inshtar’s naked ass, barring the small thong that kept his front covered, it wound around Mara’s frame. She purred, if that was correct, and lifted her face so that Inshtar could rub his cheek on hers. Mara—eyes dilated—glanced at her guests and shrugged. “He has need of me.” And she followed Inshtar into their cabin.
Sascha breathed out slowly. If she was honest, their display had gotten her a little turned on, and she missed N’ameth then with an intensity that hurt. “They seem very happy,” she said carefully. Anything to break the silence, really, plus she was curious.
“You just saw the difference between an Adept and a Kept,” Brey said. Did she mean physical? But no, Sascha didn’t think so. “With their relationship?”
Brey grinned. “Mara worships him, but no, I was talking about the physical manifestation of being a Kept.” Brey handed her one of the small flat cakes she was roasting, and Sascha accepted it gratefully. She didn’t hurry Brey to explain but waited patiently. Brey took a few sips of her tea appreciatively. “The N’olaans, as I said, have three class types of society, but originally it was two. Most males were like Inshtar. It was a very female-dominated society, and in a lot of respects, it still is. Over centuries, their males rebelled, and some physically cut off the sign they were Kept.”
“You mean their tail?” Sascha asked quietly.
Brey nodded. “The N’olaans who chose to keep theirs originally were always Kept. As if they were subservient. But only those who don’t understand the bond between an Adept and a Kept still think that. The Kept will always have the power of their bond. It is a sign of a great failure if the Kept breaks the bond, and not many Adepts survive it.”
Sascha had never been into the domination and submissive scene, but she understood consent. She understood the power transfer could never happen unless the submissive…well, submitted. And Mara had gone into their cabin instantly when she had gotten whatever signal Inshtar had given her.
“The problem has arisen recently because some of their warriors are rebelling. The ones who did not have the mutilation as a young are sometimes choosing not to have it at all, and a lot of them are warrior class, not Kept. I believe their son is one of them and as such is prevented from rising in the warrior ranks.”
“Wait,” Sascha said carefully. “Are you telling me if he doesn’t get it removed, it stops him getting promoted?”
Brey seemed to consider that, obviously working out the translation, but she nodded. “Yes. It is taken as a sign they do not want to progress to the level of Adept.” She was silent for a moment while Sascha absorbed that. “I understand Tamrath, their young, will be arriving with more equipment from N’olaan in a few days.” She looked meaningfully at Sascha.
“Does N’ameth know him?” Sascha asked curiously. Brey nodded.
“He knows there are warriors coming. Who are coming. He knows Tamrath.”
“Maybe you could ask him to stay here?”
Brey laughed, and Sascha eyed her. “Are you saying he would experience the same bigotry here?” She scowled. She didn’t like that idea. She didn’t like that at all. But Brey smiled and shook her head.
“No, Sascha. I’m not saying that. I found it amusing that you thought it was something I could ask. Only another warrior, except in certain circumstances, can put forward another warrior.”
“Oh,” Sascha said. Alien politics. That made sense, she guessed. But she could mention it to N’ameth or Voren. Give them a hint.
“It is a shame you are not going to be a princess,” Brey said quietly. “Ishtaan needs females ready and willing to fight the old ways.”
Speaking of old ways.“I was told that your females used to have set ways of behaving. Not like Callie.” Brey knew Callie. She would know what she meant.
Brey snorted. “It is true, but we are talking years before the war. After the priestesses were hunted, females were steered to any pursuit that wouldn’t give them power over men.” She smiled to herself. “Although any female who would think they do not have the ultimate control with their warrior is very short-sighted.”
Sascha blew out a breath. She knew Lam’saak was trying to sway the odds in his favor, but she couldn’t really blame him for that. And it was nice to have it confirmed.
“Is that the problem? Was it that you feared being forced into a role you didn’t want?”
Sascha grinned ruefully. “I’d be the equivalent of a square peg in a round hole.”
Brey was silent a moment, but then her face cleared. “Ah, that you wouldn’t fit?” She took Sascha’s hand. “I think this is my fault as well. We haven’t spent that much time together, and I saw you as disciplined?” She moued at the word. “It is not an insult. I thought at first the king would choose you.”
N’ameth had said that. She must have everybody fooled. “I want to help. I used to look after children on my planet. Help them learn to read. Things like that.”
Brey’s eyes widened. “Like a matriche of many?”
“Not exactly. We used to look after the children while their parents worked. For example, if warriors have children but no mate, what happens to the children?”
“We call them the Lost. Family tries, if they have them. Or the village they came from, mine certainly. The ones with no one often do jobs others won’t in return for food. You saw the boys who worked down in the mine.” Brey sighed. “We have waited a long time for Ishtaan to be put right.”
Sascha heard the sound of a shuttle and took a relieved breath. She hadn’t realized how much she had been on edge. She needed to see N’ameth. They needed to talk, but more than anything, she needed his arms wrapped around her. And this time, she wasn’t ashamed of admitting it.
N’ameth landed the shuttle almost on automatic pilot, the same as he had taken off. Everything felt different now. His awareness of Sascha. His need for her. He powered down the shuttle and jumped out. Voren was waiting for him. “My prince.”
“Where are the females?” The words were out before he could stop them.
“The female Rachel is with the N’olaan Mara discussing weapons.” Voren tried and failed to keep the frustration out of his voice. “The female Sascha has returned and gone—”
“Returned?”
“I understand she requested Lam’saak show her the forest behind the camp. They returned, and she retired to a cabin.”
By not so much as a flicker of his eyebrow did Voren show his disapproval, but N’ameth knew it was there. His heart sank. “I don’t think she wants to be a princess.”
Voren gazed at him, then sighed. “I can hardly offer you advice.”
N’ameth studied Voren. “I think, given the chance, you would choose the female Rachel.”
“I am unable to give her young.” Voren’s words were expressionless, but N’ameth heard the pain anyway.
“Have you talked to Azlaan? He may be able to heal you.”
“He cannot heal what isn’t there.” N’ameth gazed at Voren, shock robbing him of words. “It was a punishment,” Voren said quietly.
N’ameth froze. “What?”
“I was a sin. If I had gotten a female pregnant, it would have perpetrated a greater sin. Your elder sire couldn’t allow that, so he had my sacs removed.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” No, he did. “It was wrong, and I am ashamed to be born of that vescht. If I could bring him back, I would kill him again for what he did.” N’ameth extended his arm. “There is a tradition amongst warriors to have seconds. I would be honored if you were to be mine.”
Voren took a breath, and they clasped each other’s forearms in the greeting of equals. “And as such, you address me simply by my name, brother.”
Voren nodded once, and they let go, but N’ameth felt it was easier between them. He didn’t point out that Voren had been wrong about where the female Rachel was, but as she stayed hidden behind the first storage unit near the shuttle area, he would bet she had heard every word.
Sascha was standing by the fire as they walked into the camp. He saw her body tense, but he couldn’t work out whether that was in fear, disdain, or even dislike. He knew he was interested in only her. Interested? He laughed at the understatement. His body ached for her. She was his mulaa. As convinced of that as of anything in his life, he met her shadowed gaze as he stepped forward with Voren.
The brown eyes held pain. Something had hurt her. He stepped right up to her. “Sascha?”
She swallowed nervously. “Can we talk?” The unspoken “in private” was self-evident.
“Of course.” He led her some way from the fire. They were still in the camp and visible, but couldn’t be overheard.
She chuckled completely unexpectedly. “Q’at is such a pain in my ass.”
He stared at her, words swirling in his brain but unable to grasp the meaning. After a moment, he said, “I am an Ishtaan warrior.” He could have sliced his own throat. Why the hell had he said that? He should be pierced with a ceremonial sword, his heart taken by a blaster. He—
But Sascha laid her palm across his chest, which effectively silenced his brain. “I know.”
Did she? But what did that mean?
“I have a soft spot for warriors.”
“You?” His translator failed, and probably so did his heart.
“I meant Q’at was annoying the crap out of me. I heard his ranting and how he believed a princess should behave, and I reacted accordingly.” His lips parted, but she silenced them with a gentle finger. He couldn’t have spoken then if his life had depended on it.
“And I realized, more importantly, that his words were his.” He looked blankly at her, and she smiled. “They weren’t yours. I blamed you for what someone else said without you even being present, and that was so ridiculous it was ludicrous.” She took ahold of his weapons belt and used it for leverage to yank him closer.
“I’m apologizing because I didn’t ask you what you thought. When I met you, I told you I didn’t like misunderstandings that could be cleared up with a simple conversation.” She swallowed. “And I never gave you the chance to talk. Not once.”
The hurt, the pain in her made N’ameth tremble with the need to put it right. “I cannot imagine how hard it was to be ripped from your world and—”
She placed her finger across his lips once more. “Let’s just be clear on this. Yes, I loved my job, but I just got passed over for an outsider, which meant I would never have succeeded there. I was looking for something else when this whole thing happened.”
N’ameth clutched her tightly to him. “Then they were blind. How could anyone who knows you choose someone else?”
She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Flatterer, you.”
But his translator worked. “I do not lie to seek your approval.”
And she must have believed him because her soft lips settled over his. For a moment, he was in heaven, until the rest of the world came to chase them back to Ishtaan. He enjoyed her all too briefly, then pulled away. He told her what Zak had said about Xar’ta and Tee’a.
“I also have something to tell you.” And she told him about Kash’ta and the children and where she thought the crystals might be.
“I think we need to go out early in the morning and find the young,” N’ameth said at last. He hoped the fact that he didn’t doubt her was what earned her immediate smile.
“I know you want to take warriors with you—”
“But it would scare them off.”
“Do you trust me to be capable to help and go on our own?”
N’ameth gazed at her. Knew how pivotal the question was. The fact that they were both at risk was indisputable. The fact he would do anything to keep her safe was integral. The fact that he would lose her if she wasn’t allowed to pursue her own dreams was something he needed to be aware of. And he couldn’t lose her. “Just us.”
And it was.
He didn’t join with her that night. It seemed more important to hold her cradled in his arms and keep her safe. And by keeping her safe, he had to let her fly, or she would be in danger. They whispered about the right way to bring the young home. The possibility that there were more out there. That it was indisputable that the royal family hadn’t been trusted and that they needed—desperately needed—to prove that their rule was different. The age-old good of many versus the one debate continued long into the night. N’ameth had never felt so stimulated, so humbled, and yet so powerful at the same time. When the night blackened and the stars shone, she eventually slept.
And he promised himself this would be how they spent every night for the rest of his life.
Sascha awoke to being kissed. She had a moment to worry about morning breath until she realized her warrior obviously didn’t care, then blinked herself awake properly. They were going to try and find the children. She remembered that, and somehow they had to ditch the guards.
It was funny, and she had to really try and keep from laughing because Q’at—the guard on duty—was asleep as they let themselves out of the cabin. They had suggested all these complicated scenarios, but in the end, they just stole away. She should have been nervous, even if it wasn’t amusing because she was on an alien planet. Her reality had done such a one-eighty she should have been traumatized.
Yeah. Maybe not.
Earth had never given her a seven-foot god with pecs the size of her thighs. Earth had never given her someone who was literally willing to die for her. And she knew he was. That responsibility was tremendous and was more likely to keep her safe than anything else.
And empower her. N’ameth’s love didn’t diminish her. She knew that now.
“You just sat by the tree and they came?”
Sascha didn’t blame N’ameth for his skepticism. But she nodded, and linking hands in the dawn light, they sat together.
A few minutes later, sitting with a blaster firmly pointed at both of them, she wondered belatedly if it had been a good idea.
Except the child pointing the blaster wasn’t the same girl. This girl was younger, even if her defiance, her disillusionment, was as old as Sascha.
“Why are you here, prince of Ishtaan?”
“To right all wrongs,” he said softly. Unthreateningly. Even with a weapon firmly trained on him, he made no move to reach for his own. Sascha didn’t speak. Even if the girl could understand her, this was one time when she knew she needed to stay silent.
“They all promise such,” the girl said.
“Help me prove I make no idle ones,” N’ameth said reasonably.
“This isn’t the girl from yesterday,” Sascha said and saw the frown and confusion directed at her and guessed she didn’t have the translation chip fitted, meaning Sascha could understand what was being said to her but not the other way around.
“Sascha says you are not the female she met yesterday.”
The girl met Sascha’s eyes, and her gaze hardened. “They are out looking for Kash’ta.”
“He’s still missing?” Alarm slammed into her, and she looked at N’ameth. “We have to help find him.”
N’ameth repeated her words and added, “How can we help?”
She lowered the blaster. “I will speak to the others.” Then she turned and ran.
N’ameth sighed and stood, holding out his hand to help Sascha to her feet. “We will return, but I think,” he said slowly, “that it is a good thing you know how to run a school. I have a feeling Ishtaan will have need of one soon.”
She gazed in the direction the girl had disappeared, a million ideas running through her head. But worry over Kash’ta kept her silent.
“Where do you think he is?” She realized what a dumb question this was as soon as she spoke and acknowledged N’ameth couldn’t answer her.
“We will find him,” he promised. “As soon as they trust us, we can bring more warriors in to help.” She nodded, more satisfied, and N’ameth bent and circled her waist with his arm. He pulled her to him and kissed her. The bleep from N’ameth’s communicator came just as Sascha was seriously considering dragging her prince to the ground.
N’ameth kept ahold of her, but pressed the button on his communicator.
“My prince.” It was Lam’saak. Sascha knew she had to talk to him, let him down gently, but then he probably knew.
“Yes.” N’ameth held her gaze and lifted her hand to his lips.
“My prince. The N’olaan Mara needs the kefti explosives. I cannot find them in the equipment you brought back from the palace.”
She saw N’ameth wince. “When does she need them?”
“My regrets, but she cannot set the charges without them. She says the ones we are using are too unstable and that the mine has to be left for two daylights after they are used.”
N’ameth swore. Sascha’s translator didn’t pick it up, but she knew cussing when she heard it. He disconnected and looked at Sascha apologetically. “We are close to the Alliance coming for their quotas.”
“You need to go get them now.” She knew they needed the delivery that the Alliance brought in return. He nodded.
“How about you come with me?”
She grinned. “By the time I’ve said my goodbyes and gotten Brey and Rachel together, you would be on your way back.” He nodded but didn’t look happy.
“I want nothing more than to spend tonight in your bed, but the thought of an air-conditioned palace is too tempting to ignore. We’ll be ready when you return.”
He grinned. “And do you also find me tempting?”
Sascha wrapped her arms around him and didn’t answer with words. She still thought he understood her though.
When they got back to the camp, it was quiet. N’ameth kissed her gently and headed to the shuttle area, giving Voren instructions as they walked.
She thought it was a little unfair that N’ameth and not Voren would have to fly again as they were both pilots until she saw the injury that Voren was sporting. Apparently he had been training with Q’at, and he had called a halt, but Q’at hadn’t listened and had struck his hand. He now had it bandaged, and Sascha groaned to herself. Q’at was a menace.
Rachel was leading a training session when they got back, so Sascha didn’t interrupt, just briefly stood and admired the way Rachel had earned the respect she sought. Brey was cooking something that smelled divine, and she definitely wasn’t going to interrupt that, so she went to the cabin and gathered her few things together. Then, ravenous, she went back outside, and Q’at came to attention immediately.
She eyed him. “I think you would be better elsewhere.” And for the first time, she saw hurt in his expression. It was fleeting and probably imagined, but it made her pause.
She’d had a school custodian like this just after she had been hired for one of her first teaching jobs. Richard Notts had looked after the building for the previous forty years. When she’d first gotten the job, they clashed on what seemed a daily basis. Her wish to take the kids outside the classroom and teach lessons on the grounds sometimes seemed to go against every rule he had. They had learned to compromise eventually, and it was over a bee sting. She was the one who had gotten stung, but rather than panicking about pain and allergies and a million other things, she had actually turned it into a lesson for the kids.
Richard Notts had come and found her later and apologized. Admitted he was so worried about the kids hurting themselves and the school getting sued or him getting sued that he’d forgotten the kids didn’t just need to be taught math. They needed to be taught how to be adults.
And they had been the best of friends from that point. Sascha had even included Richard in some of her lessons, and he had been delighted.
Maybe she had misjudged Q’at. Maybe he was a Richard Notts. She sat down on one of the benches outside the cabin and wondered how to begin. “Do you have a family, Q’at?”
His surprise at her question was startling, but he glanced away and then sighed. “I used to.”
“Used to?”
He nodded, tight-lipped. “I had a har’fe. But I wish she had been my mulaa.”
Sascha took a breath. Most warriors—most Ishtaans—used the word “har’fe” to mean mate, but she had the feeling this was significant. And he said “had” in the past tense.
“Your mate?”
He nodded. “Dorrine. Eyes like the sea at K’artesh. Hair like the double moons. She was the best matriche you would ever want.”
“You have children?” Sascha hadn’t known that. Who cared for them while he was here?
He met her eyes, and his look changed. Bitterness crept in. Pain so startling she wrapped her arms around her waist almost in self-defense.
“We were blessed with seven young, all females.”
Something tight and sharp coiled itself around Sascha’s chest.
“Our first two young died before their matriche. She was there to comfort them in their final moments. I was at my duties, arranging a shuttle to be loaded with an Alliance shipment both times.”
Sascha brought a hand to her lips and tried to swallow the tightness in her throat.
“I resigned shortly after as my har’fe succumbed to the disease, as there was no one to care for my young. It took another ten years.”
Sascha wanted to ask “What did?” but she was afraid of the answer.
“And after the last had died, that was when I wished she had been my mulaa so that once the bond was broken we could ascend to Ash’dar together.”
She knew she was crying but endeavored to make no noise because this wasn’t about her. He’d lost his whole family. His wife and seven daughters. She couldn’t even imagine.
“I am sorry, princess,” he said after a moment. “I regret being so…forceful over your safety.”
Sascha tightly pressed her lips together and took a breath. She stood and enveloped the older man into such a tight hug he probably worried for his ribs. They were silent for a long moment as Q’at allowed himself to be embraced. He lowered his head, and for a minute, she knew—absolutely knew—that he needed this. And she understood his defeat. His shame that a warrior of Ishtaan needed comfort of any sort.
He stepped away from her and bowed. “My apologies—”
“Don’t you dare,” threatened Sascha, and she shared her hopes for her own guard. She wanted to explore the possibility of a school and needed a team of warriors to support her. He was quiet for a long moment as he worked through all her ideas but then smiled. “I think that those warriors with experience of young might be of best service.” He eyed her. “Although sometimes it is elders who still need lessons.”
She grinned and snagged his arm. “I also need to learn some self-defense.” He chuckled at her evil cackle.
“I think it might be my prince who needs the lessons more.”
She watched Brey as she cooked laminisk. It was a N’olaan dish made from shellfish as far as she could tell and looked very much like a risotto when she was done. It also tasted delicious, and she wished N’ameth was here to enjoy it. Mara had provided the ingredients, and it was amusing that they were eating better in a camp than they were at the palace.
Voren and Rachel came over, drawn no doubt from the cooking smells, and Rachel immediately asked what it was. Brey chuckled and said it was a wise warrior who didn’t always question what was given him to eat. Rachel grinned and regaled them all with tales of her Army days and the things she had eaten overseas.
After what had to be the millionth time, Sascha looked up at the empty sky, hoping to see a shuttle. She looked back and saw all three watching her with different looks of amusement. She grinned unrepentantly. A few minutes later, Voren got pulled away by another warrior, and Brey got distracted by Mara.
Rachel nudged her. “You look happy.”
Sascha nodded, then took the bull by the horns. “What are you going to do about Voren?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel’s eyes gleamed, so she must have some idea. “But I’m open to suggestions. He’s too proud for his own good.”
And if that wasn’t calling the kettle black, she didn’t know what was. But she was saved from saying anything at all when what seemed to be the distant sound of a blaster made her look backward toward the trees. All the warriors immediately withdrew their weapons, and Voren started shouting commands for everyone to move. The roar of engines suddenly broke the atmosphere, and just as Sascha looked up in time to see the shuttle that seemed to appear from nowhere, Voren shouted at Q’at as he raised his blaster toward it and practically dived on the other warrior to stop him firing at it. N’ameth. Ice slid through her veins. A plume of smoke trailed behind the shuttle, and it listed to one side. Voren was yelling at someone on his communicator. She felt a sharp tug on her arm and realized Rachel was trying to get her to move, but her legs were like lead. There was another blast, and the shuttle jerked again as if it had been hit.
And exploded into a million parts of fire and noise.
Sascha heard a scream in her head, and only when Rachel yanked her close did she realize that the sound came from her. She turned and buried her face in Rachel’s shoulder.
And wept.
